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scuttling · 3 years ago

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Head Over Feet - Chapter 1

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Spencer Reid/Female Reader (Unrequited) Word Count: 5,233 Chapters: 4/4 Complete Tags: (Will be 18+, NSFW in future chapters) Unrequited Love, TW Suicide by cop Summary: Falling in love with one of your two closest friends was never something you planned; it only makes sense that falling in love with the other would also come as a complete surprise. *Inspired by/in collaboration with @ssamorganhotchner. Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Link to AO3 or read chapter 1 below! It’s 3 AM—well, you are in a part of suburban Indiana where it’s 3 AM, but that makes it a Virginia 4 AM—and rain patters against the window behind your head as you slump over in your usual spot on the jet’s couch. You are exhausted, the whole team is exhausted, and you’ve just closed your eyes when a warm body presses against yours, thigh to shoulder, and there is a soft sigh in your ear.

“I shouldn’t make coffee. I shouldn’t make coffee, right?” Spencer murmurs, and you turn to look at him, can’t help the fondness that shapes your smile. His hair is untidy from running his hands through it, his eyes tired and rimmed red, and his headphones are dangling around his neck, just like always. He’s so close to you your noses are almost touching.

You return his sigh. So many things in life are unpredictable, but your partner, your closest friend, is always a constant.

“You absolutely should not make coffee,” you say, your voice quiet in the dim cabin. “We’ll be home in almost an hour, and then you’re going to go to bed.”

“At this point, wouldn’t it be better to just stay awake?” he asks with a groan, resting his head against the seat behind him, and you roll your eyes.

“I know the statistics, and if I do, then so do you. Being awake for 24 hours is equivalent to having a 0.10 percent BAC. There’s no way you’ll make it through the day without hurting yourself.” You hear a soft laugh from your right, and it’s Aaron; you hadn’t even realized he was paying attention. You raise your voice a little. “Plus, Hotch said we don’t have to come in until ten.”

He glances over his shoulder at you, eyebrows raised.

“Did I say that?” His lips curve up in a soft smile, and his expression is warm despite the exhaustion in his eyes.

“Don’t you remember? I said, ‘Hotch, you should let us come in at ten so we can get some extra sleep. I think it would really benefit the team.’ Then you said, ‘You know what, you’re right. Wow, you really are the smartest and most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.’” You smile brightly, fully aware you’re being silly; it surprises you when his smile falters a bit, nearly imperceptibly.

“Hmm. Now that you mention it, I do remember something like that. I’m a great boss for agreeing to it.”

“The absolute best,” you reply easily, and the two of you look at each other for just a moment before he turns back to his work and you turn back to Spencer. “So, like I said. Hotch said we don’t have to come in until ten. You need to sleep.”

“It will be after 5:00 by the time we get to the office, more like 5:30. Ten minute wait for the forty-five minute train home means I’ll get there at 6:25—” You are not normally one to cut Spencer off when he gets talking, but this is sleep-deprived rambling, not an informational address, so you place a hand gently on his arm and he falls silent.

“So come stay at my place. I’m closer and you won’t have to wait for the train. We can get a few hours in and then stop at the coffee shop before we head to the office, okay?” The way he looks at you, soft, appreciative, makes it feel like you’re the only two people on the jet for a moment, and he wets his lips, nods.

“Okay. Thank you.” You smile.

“Of course. Maybe rest your eyes; if you fall asleep, I’ll wake you when we get there.” He turns on his music, leans against your shoulder, and takes your suggestion; it’s only a few minutes later that his breathing evens out, softens, and you try and fail to ignore the way that makes your heart ache in your chest.

When the plane lands and you’re grabbing your things, you come up behind Aaron, curl a hand around his arm just above his elbow. He turns to look at you, and he’s more worse for wear than you thought, so pale and tired up close.

“You’re going to go home and get some sleep, right?” All that changes is the set of his eyes, but that’s enough for you to know he has no intention of going home; you sigh. “Am I going to have to force you to come stay at my place too?”

It would be the first time he’s stayed over, where Spencer has crashed with you a handful of times; you are close with the both of them, but Aaron you spend more time with at lunch, or late nights eating dinner in his office, where Spencer comes over for movies or board games regularly. The dynamics of your friendships with them are so different, but both so good, so unexpected. You wouldn’t trade them for anything.

“That’s not necessary,” he says, doesn’t look like it’s a thought he wants to entertain. Maybe he thinks it’s crossing a line? Spencer will be there, so you don’t understand why he’d feel that way, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“I just want you to rest. It’s really no trouble, I have a guest room.” Spencer always opts for your long, overstuffed sectional sofa, so there’s more than enough room for Aaron to stay and get a few hours of sleep. He just shakes his head shortly.

“Thank you, but it’s fine. I’ll be alright. I appreciate your concern,” he says, and that’s clearly the end of the conversation. You just sigh, slide your hand off the back of his arm.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few hours.” You walk away from him, over to where Spencer is waiting for you, and the two of you get into your car and head to your place.

By the time you get there, Spencer is basically a big, sleepy baby, and you have to carry both of your bags into your apartment and keep your arm around him so he doesn’t slump over. You lean him up against the wall while you unlock your door, then push him gently onto the couch while you grab pillows, blankets, and sheets.

He has clothes in his go bag to change into, but you don’t bother trying to wake him enough for that, just make up a bed for him and take off his shoes, maneuvering him into a somewhat comfortable position.

“Hmm. Thank you,” he mumbles when you cover him with a warm blanket, and he turns his head to kiss you softly on your cheek, then burrows his face into the pillow and falls asleep.

You walk into your bedroom, kick off your shoes, set an alarm, and flop down face first onto your bed. Later that morning, you and Spencer bring coffee and breakfast pastries for everyone; you take Aaron’s coffee and a cherry danish and walk up to his office, knock on the doorframe with your elbow.

You are happy to see he looks a little better than when you left him, and he even softly smiles when he sees you standing there.

“Good morning again. Brought you a little pick-me-up.” You step into the room, set down the coffee and the napkin with the danish on it in the middle of his desk, then lean against it with one hand on the desk and the other hand on your hip. “You look decent.” He chuckles lightly.

“Somehow that doesn’t feel like a compliment.”

“It’s not, it’s an, ‘I wish you would have gotten some rest instead of being stubborn, but I guess it turned out okay.’” He looks into your eyes for a moment, and you hold his gaze. “When someone wants to take care of you, Aaron, you should let them.”

He looks away first, down at the lid of his coffee cup, clears his throat.

“That’s not always possible, but I really do appreciate your concern.” He sounds crestfallen in a way you don’t quite understand, and you hate that he feels that he can’t accept help. You’d hoped he was over that kind of backward thinking.

“You can talk to me about anything. I thought we were close enough for you to know that.”

“We are,” he agrees, looking over at you. There is that same dejected set to his eyes, and it makes you hurt for him. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this, years, back when his divorce was still a fresh wound. “Sometimes that’s not always possible either, even if I might want to.”

“I won’t judge you, you know. I care about you.” You reach out to put your hand on his, a gentle, comforting touch. “There’s nothing you could say to me that would change that.”

You are interrupted by a knock at the door—it’s Spencer, with a mouth full of cinnamon roll. Aaron pulls his hand away abruptly like the two of you are doing something wrong, and you furrow your brow. Spencer doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, JJ said there might be a case. We’re meeting.”

“Another case?” You take a few steps away from the desk, cross your arms, give Aaron some space. “We just got back five hours ago.”

“Sounds like we should have gone straight there instead. Spree killer, five dead.” He ducks back out of the room, takes off down the hall, and you turn back to Aaron. He’s standing, smooths a hand down the front of his shirt, and you sigh.

“What are the odds I can convince you to take a power nap on the jet? 50:1?” He cracks a smile despite his earlier demeanor, takes the coffee you brought and passes you on his way to the door.

“I’d guess more like 75.” You roll your eyes, grab his danish, take a big bite, and then catch up to him and hand him the rest to finish.

The case takes you to Connecticut, where you are paired with Derek to take witness statements at the precinct. The local police know the identity of the killer, a forty year old man named John Jackson, and your team has predicted that he won’t stop until you find him, and that he will likely attempt to go down via suicide by cop when you do, so everyone is on edge.

After almost three hours of taking statements, you and Derek break for water and coffee, stand at the watercooler shaking your heads.

“This guy is unpredictable. There could be another five, ten bodies before we finally catch up to him,” Derek says, taking a long chug of water, and you cross your arms, lean back against the counter of the kitchenette.

“Hopefully it doesn’t come to that. We’ve got roadblocks, right?” He nods.

“Every road in and out of town, with cops at all highway exits.” You vaguely remember the chief saying that, now that he mentions it; the hours are all starting to blend together, between the case and the lack of sleep, and your team is relying heavily on each other to fill in the gaps.

“Right. And helicopters.” You rub a hand slowly over your hair. “I hate these cases; it’s like the profile isn’t any good until you get to him, and by then it’s too late.” You check your watch, and it’s nearing rush hour, a good time to touch base with the team; you shoot Derek a glance, pull out your phone and gesture toward the hall, step out and dial Aaron.

When he answers, he sounds tense, so you don’t bother with pleasantries.

“Hey, just checking in. Derek and I are about done here; where do you need us?”

“There’s a checkpoint on I-95, mile marker 48; we have a few officers manning it, but we could use a car here, so if you two head there you can send one of them our way.”

“Got it: I-95, mile marker 48,” you repeat as Derek joins you in the hall. “Send a car your way.”

“Yes. Be careful,” he says almost like it’s an afterthought, and you shake your head lightly—as if you are careless any other time.

“We will, you too. Bye.” You end the call, lock your phone, raise an eyebrow in Derek’s direction. “Want me to drive?”

“Oh, and put my life in the hands of Speed Racer?” He takes the keys out of his pocket, holds them out like he’s handing them to you, then pulls them away.

“I've taken several defensive driving courses; I’m probably a better driver than you.” He holds them out again and you snatch them out of his hand. “And sometimes you have to be fast.”

That statement proves true when you are on your way to mile marker 48 and Derek spots the car the unsub was last seen driving. He confirms the plate number, confirms it again, just because your brains are kind of mush, and then you share a look and slam your foot on the gas.

Thank god for all those defensive driving courses.

“Hotch,” Morgan barks into his phone a few seconds later, “we’ve got eyes on the suspect. He’s headed northbound on I-95—we just passed marker 44. We’re in pursuit.” The unsub weaves in and out of traffic, a chorus of colorful language and horns blaring in his wake, and you do your best to keep up while maintaining a safe distance from other cars.

The chase goes on for several miles, and there seems to be no end in sight until you can eventually make out the red glow of the car’s brake lights from across the highway. It’s both a good and bad sign, one you were prepared for.

“He’s gonna bail, Derek.” You cut across several lanes of traffic to make your way to the side of the road, so you can pull off as close to him as possible. “We have to try to talk him down. Think he’ll listen to me?” The whole rampage was triggered by the anniversary of the man’s wife’s death, and you look similar enough that it’s a good possibility. Derek agrees.

“Worth a shot. Just keep your damn gun drawn,” he says, and you huff. You’re pretty sure every member of the team has used the ‘weapons down’ tactic on multiple occasions, but somehow only you and Spencer are always reminded of it.

“I will, but if he wants me to kill him, I’m not going to make it easy.” The unsub goes several hundred feet farther before pulling over, and you follow behind, turn on your four-ways, jump out of the car. Derek covers you, and you approach the vehicle slowly, gun drawn. “John Jackson. Leave your weapon on the seat and exit the vehicle with your hands up.”

The door opens, and you see one empty hand, but he still clutches a pistol in the other. Derek looks over at you, but you don’t dare take your eyes off of John.

“John. Put the gun down. I know you feel hopeless right now, like there’s no way out of this situation, but I promise you there is a way. I’m here to help you.” For the first time, he looks over at you, and you can see the pain in his gaze; it’s clear the man is broken, eyes sunken deeply in despair. He raises the gun—doesn’t point it at you, just raises it into the air.

“You can’t help me. No one can. She’s gone, and I’m left here—in pieces.” The last word is a sob, and you swallow hard, take a step closer.

“I know how much Kathleen meant to you, John, and I’m sorry for your loss. So sorry. But you know this isn’t how she would have wanted things to turn out for you; you know that, right? She loved you.”

“It wasn’t enough, in the end.” He wipes his forearm across his eyes, and Derek tenses, you can see it out of the corner of your eye, but that’s the only move John makes. “She took everything with her and left me empty.”

“It doesn’t have to feel like that forever. I promise you.” You take another step forward, hand outstretched. “If you just set the gun on the ground, I’ll come over and put you in some handcuffs. We’ll have to go to the police station first, but then we’re going to get you help. You’ll feel better.”

John says nothing for several seconds; you are so aware of yourself, your surroundings, that you feel each breath you take as if your body is moving in slow motion. You can see Derek tense again, just slightly; you can hear the sound of another car pulling up behind yours, of doors opening and closing, of shoes on pavement and guns drawn.

“John.” He sighs, presses his lips together, shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to feel better. I want to feel nothing.” He points his gun at you, and you don’t have another choice. If it’s not you, it will be someone else on your team.

He made his choice; you make your non-choice and pull the trigger.

You run to his side when he falls, and so does Derek: no pulse. You’re a good shot. It doesn’t feel like something to be proud of right now. You stand, and so does Derek; he reaches out a hand, places it on your shoulder.

“You tried, you know?” His voice is low, a little rough, and you nod your head. “Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Thanks.” You don’t say you won’t, can’t guarantee that. The two of you turn around, face the others, and you inhale deeply, exhale deeply, shake your head. Aaron and Spencer both come forward, and you’re a little torn, not sure whose eyes to seek for reassurance, whose words to seek for comfort.

Spencer makes the decision for you, jogs toward you and puts his hands on your shoulders, wraps his arms around you in a hug. You hold him close, rest your head against his arm, and look behind him, at Aaron, who seems more affected than you would have thought. You want to pull him in too, but he is not the public display of affection type, so you let Spencer be enough.

After a few minutes, local law enforcement arrives on the scene, as well as the coroner, and Spencer ushers you into an SUV so you can head back to the precinct.

That night, you are not just tired, but weary, when you make it home. You strip off your clothes and take a quick shower in hopes it will make you feel a little better, then pull on a short, fleece robe and pad to the kitchen to make a cup of herbal tea. You’re just throwing out the tea bag when there’s a knock at the door, and you take your mug with you to answer it.

You aren’t surprised that it’s Aaron on the other side.

“Hi.” Your voice sounds weak to your own ears, but he just nods, takes in your robe and mug of tea, offers his own greeting. “Do you want to come in?” You take a step back and he walks past you into the living room, sits down beside you when you curl up on the sofa. You face him, your shoulder against the back of the couch, your hands in your lap, holding your tea, and he mirrors your posture.

“I just wanted to make sure you were alright. I know what happened today was difficult for you.” The expression on his face is careful, guarded, but concerned. “How are you doing?”

You reach forward to set your tea on a coaster on the table, scooting a little closer.

“I’m doing alright.” He looks skeptical, stares you down with serious eyes, and you sigh, give in to his silence. You’re not one to easily fold under pressure, but when Aaron is the one applying it, it’s difficult not to. “It’s never easy to kill someone, but… it’s just a little harder when it's someone who clearly needed help, something we could have given him. It’s harder when we’re just too late.”

“I can understand that. Things could have gone so differently if he’d gotten help when he needed it. Maybe no one would have gotten hurt.” He reaches out a hand to carefully cover yours in your lap, looks at you with tender eyes. “Try not to focus on the maybe, okay? Life is hard enough without beating yourself up for something out of your control.”

You nod your head, blink back tears, and lean forward, resting your cheek against his shoulder; he puts his arm around your back and holds you tightly, allows you your moment, and when you begin to pull away he reaches for your tea, takes a sip.

“Minty,” he says, then hands you the mug, and you smile softly, take a sip too.

“It’s Sleepytime tea. Helps me wind down before bed.” It’s not until you say it that it dawns on you—how late it is, that he’s here anyway after almost two days with no sleep. “Let me make you a cup and then put you up in the guest room. Please,” you murmur when he looks like he’s going to decline. “It would make me feel a lot better about today. Just knowing you’re nearby.”

“Are you trying to guilt trip me?” he asks, arching a brow, and you shake your head quickly, reach for his hand again.

“No, no. Of course not. I just know you’re tired, and it would be nice to have a friend close tonight.” You squeeze his fingers, your hand warm from the tea, take a deep breath. “Stay?”

“I’ll go get my bag out of the car,” he says eventually, and you can’t help smiling.

“Okay. I’ll make you some tea.” The next couple of months are fairly commonplace, with cases dotted here and there, but nothing out of the ordinary, and nothing like those few sleepless days.

You have dinner with Aaron in his office a couple times a week, and it’s always comforting and enjoyable, that easy companionship. You spend time with Spencer at one of your apartments a couple evenings a week, and that’s where things get complicated.

He’s one of your closest friends in the world, one of two people you would do anything for, drop everything for at a moment's notice. As it turns out, he may also be more than that.

You’ve noticed for a while that you tend to gravitate toward him, that you’re drawn to him when he’s speaking, like an invisible magnetic pull. That you can’t help staring at his lips when he talks, his hands when he adds gestures, the serious look of contemplation on his face when he debates his next move as you play chess.

It feels innocent, mostly, until one day he leans over your shoulder to speak into your ear while you’re getting snacks in the kitchen, and you feel your face heat, your heart pound in your chest. He lays a hand on your back, which is not unusual, but he may as well be putting it down your pants for the way it makes you feel in that moment.

You open your mouth to say something, but ultimately you stop yourself. What would you even say? I think I might be in love with you? I think I want you? I hope this doesn’t ruin our friendship? Anything of those things would be the wrong thing, so you just push it to the back of your mind and do your best to let it go.

“Are you feeling okay?” Spencer asks one day while you’re pouring coffee in the breakroom, and rightfully so, because you’ve been avoiding him like he’s contagious for the better part of a week. He looks especially cute today, and he’s in a great mood, smiling and laughing at everything Derek and Emily say, and it’s too much for you to handle. You’re just proud of yourself for not saying something embarrassing.

“I’m okay,” you assure him with a light smile you don’t feel. “I’m just a little off today; I’m sure it will pass. Thanks, though.” You fill his mug, and he smiles back, nods.

“Of course. We can skip movie night tonight, if you’re not feeling up to it. I think we’ve both probably seen An American Werewolf in London enough times that we could recite it line for line anyway.” You have to laugh at that, because it’s true; it’s one of your favorites, always so easy to poke fun at that the two of you dissolve into giggles half an hour in.

“You’re definitely right about that. Yeah, let’s cancel for tonight. I’ll go to bed early, get some rest, be good as new tomorrow. Thanks for understanding,” you murmur, turning to look up at him, and he puts his hand on your shoulder.

“You’re welcome. I just hope you feel better soon.”

You hope you figure out what to do soon, too.

You’re getting ready to leave work later that night, shortly after everyone else has gone, when Aaron steps up beside you, clears his throat.

“Do you have plans for tonight? I was just about to order dinner.” You sigh, run a hand over your hair.

“Um. I was supposed to watch movies with Spencer, but I cancelled on him.” His gaze sweeps over you like he’s looking for signs of distress, eyes gentle but appraising.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes and no.” You immediately regret saying that, because it puts him on alert and you aren’t really in the mood to discuss it. “Yes—everything’s alright. I’d love dinner, if you don’t mind the company. And it’s my turn to pay.” You take out your wallet, shove the rest of your bag back under your desk, turn to look up at him. He’s still staring at you like he’s trying to assess your emotional state, and you exhale softly. “Can we just… eat and talk about Jack?”

It takes him a moment, but he nods, pulls out his phone. It’s nonchalant, just quiet acceptance of your terms; his eyes are kind when he looks back over at you.

“I have pictures of him from his last soccer game.” You feel almost overwhelmed with relief, lean against his arm to look at the photos of Jack and his friends in their uniforms, laughing and happy on the field. “Do you want tacos?” he asks, low, after a moment, and you nod your head and smile softly up at him.

“Yeah, but it’s Friday. Why don’t we just go eat? Work can wait until Monday.” It’s a suggestion you’ve made many times before, but this time, to your surprise, he agrees; you grab your bag, and he drives you to the restaurant where you have a margarita, and too many tacos, and so many laughs it’s like he’s almost a different person. He drops you off at your car afterward, and you lean across the seat for a hug, thank him again for taking you out—because, of course, he insisted on paying the bill even though it was your turn. It’s a better evening than you’ve had in the last few weeks.

You mess that up severely by going home and watching An American Werewolf in London anyway, and afterward you lay in bed, try to fall asleep, and think about what you’re going to do about Spencer. It’s almost midnight when you have the dumb idea to go see him—and it’s pouring, which makes it even dumber.

You text him to see if he’s still awake, and he doesn’t answer, but when you park you can see that his bedroom light is on, so you buzz anyway. He lets you up, clearly confused as to what you’re doing there so late; so are you, to be honest, but for some reason it finally felt like the right time to lay it all out on the line. When he opens the door, he looks even more taken aback than he sounded.

“Are you okay? It’s after midnight, and you’re soaked,” he says, pulling you inside and closing the door, and you shake your head.

“No, not really. I’m sorry for springing this on you, Spence, I really am.” You take a deep breath, try to calm yourself; your heart is racing. “I think I love you. You were the first person I clicked with when I started at the BAU, and it has become a genuine friendship that I treasure, but lately I’ve been feeling… more.” He wets his lips, frowns.

“I don’t think now is the right—” A slightly unhinged laugh escapes you, and it stops him mid-sentence.

“I know it’s not the right time, but I don’t think there will ever be a right time, so I’m just… just putting it out there, okay? I think I love you. I can see myself with you, I—I think we could be good together. And I know this is sudden…” you trail off when you see movement behind him; you lean to the side to peer around him, but he blocks you with his body. “Is someone here?”

“I tried to tell you it’s not a good time,” he says, and he sounds apologetic and maybe a little embarrassed on your behalf. You swallow hard.

“Who’s—who’s here? Is it someone I know?” He shakes his head, and you exhale a ragged breath. That’s a small miracle, at least, that you didn’t just spew a love confession in front of one of your friends—well, two of your friends. “I should go. I need to go—I’m sorry.” You back up, but you bump into the door noisily; you forgot he’d closed it behind you. Someone comes into the hall to check on the sound, and of course, it’s a beautiful woman wearing one of Spencer’s sweaters and not much else. She is your opposite in every way, and that makes it hurt so much worse.

You really never stood a chance.

“Spencer? Is everything okay?” she asks, arms crossed over her chest, and you fumble for the doorknob, wrench the door open, and take off down the hall.

You run for your car—the rain has only gotten heavier, and if you were soaked before, you’re downright sodden now, your clothes soaked through—and you tug on the door handle, but it doesn’t budge: locked, of course. You pat your pockets for your keys, but by the time you find them, the small surge of adrenaline you felt has left your body, and all you feel is heartbreak.

You rest your arms against the window, your head against your arms, and take several deep, gasping breaths; tears follow, burning hot, streaming down your face, and for a few moments you just let them, let yourself ache with embarrassment and bitterness until it physically hurts to continue.

You exhale softly, wipe your face with your wet sleeve as if that fixes the problem, and then unlock your car and head to the only place—the only person—you can think of with your head so messed up.

Taglist 🤍: @thaddeusly @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc @wishuhadstayed @averyhotchner @hotforhotchner11 @itsmytimetoodream

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x reader #head over feet

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get-shiggy-with-it · 4 years ago

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*°:⋆ₓₒCollab Masterlistₓₒ⋆:°*

Pairing: All Might x Gn!Dom!Reader (Theme for this month was sex work au!)

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: 18+ this is a dark fic, both dubcon/noncon, straight up, forced submission, bit of mind break, dom/sub dynamics, sub!All Might, dominant All Might later in, dark All Might, violence against reader, bodily harm, face fucking, spanking (for Toshi), thigh riding (for Toshi), blackmail, minor mentions of blood, bondage/rope play, reader is gender neutral, no pronouns used

Summary: You work as a popular dominant for pro heroes who need to give up control once in awhile and Yagi Toshinori is one of your best clients. But when word gets out to the media about your involvement with pros, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Though you quickly discover All Might does not take kindly to anyone who threatens his reputation.

It was all about the exchanging of power.

About the relinquishing of control—about letting go and the freedom that came with it.

And you?

You were just there to facilitate, to take over, to release all those bottled up years of stress that the camera’s weren’t supposed to see.

But you did.

You saw all of it.

It was about trust too. Trust in you to give them what they need and trust in them to do exactly as you instructed. And most of all, trust that everything stayed confidential. That the things said through tears and whimpers and sighs were kept quiet. Trust that they would show you the same respect and privacy you showed them.

You took these rules very seriously. They were the foundation your business was built on and it had earned you quite a lot of credibility. You prided yourself on it, as you should. Professionalism was key in your line of work. It made the clients feel a bit more comfortable—counteracted the sense of taboo that was usually associated with people like you.

People in “your line of work,” was the common way of referencing it. But you preferred to be clear and upfront, not skirt around the edges as though your job was something shameful.

Language was important too.

“Client,” “session,” etc...all added a buffering degree of separation for those you serviced. It was a crucial part of the balance which has allowed you to be so successful. They needed to be able to remove themselves from who they became once you were alone together. You’d learned that some amount of plausible deniability was key to achieving the complete relinquishing of authority. They had to be able to convince themselves after they’d walked away, that the crying, begging mess they’d become wasn’t who they really were—wasn’t actually a part of them, just something you’d done.

And by them, of course, you meant the heroes you served so dutifully.

And by serve, you meant completely and utterly dominate.

Contradictory to most common misconceptions, your job wasn’t always about sex—though it could be and was at time—but truly, it was about release.

And above all, it was about power and who got to hold it.

When that structure was broken—when the rules were strayed from—that’s when things got murky. But you were good at what you did, so luckily, that hadn’t been much of an issue.

What more could one expect from someone whose services are sought out by the Symbol of Peace himself?

Hm.

You really ought to get that put on your business cards.

***

It was late when he came to you, though that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Occasional hero work coupled with a teaching schedule and numerous media appearances left one very little free time. Fortunately, you conducted most of your business during the small hours of the morning, so Yagi Toshinori showing up at your door as the clock ticked its way past two wasn’t a shock.

You fell into the usual rhythm of things easily.

Toshi was one of your newest, but most favorite clients. You came highly recommended from many of his coworkers, and after an initial meeting over drinks to discuss his needs, you struck up a routine that worked for the both of you.

Of course he paid you handsomely for your time.

Constantly being in the public eye, acting as an unwavering representation of hope for the future was tiring. You were more than happy to take the weight off his very broad shoulders for once.

And bend him over your knee instead.

“Five,” he panted, whimpers of thanks and your name spilling out around his loose tongue as your hand connected sharply with the meat of his ass again.

You always asked to be called by name, no frilly titles to get in the way and complicate the dynamic. When they walked into your space, they set aside their hero personas and you afforded them the same intimacy.

Names meant something. Names were power and so they mattered, particularly in this game you played together. Equality had to be achieved before domination.

“Good boy Toshi, you’re doing so well,” you cooed and brought your palm down twice, watching the skin on the backs of his thighs bloom pink like sakura in the spring.

“S-six, seven,” there was a wet spot forming under his mouth on the sheets and on your lap where his cock was bare and leaking. “Ah, please—harder!”

You raised your brow as he turned his head to look at you with those teary, dark eyes and you could never resist a look like that.

“You want it harder, why’s that?” you wound back and smacked roughly over the raised welts that made him hiss and sob. “Is this what you deserve for being so weak?”

He may have been thin now, skeletal compared to the face he showed the public, but you didn’t mind. He trusted you enough to let his guard down, and his weight was still thick and full across your legs. It was invigorating to see a man like All Might, reduced to this. Whatever pent up guilt he carried inside, you were here to help let it all out in the best way you knew how.

“Yes!” Toshi cried and buried his face into the plush fabric of your comforter as you delivered the last three harsh blows of the punishment he paid you for. “Fuck yes, I’m weak and I’m a failure and I deserve this—!”

“That’s right, you’re a piss poor excuse for a hero and you haven’t earned your title,” you wrapped two thick locks of his hair around your hand and yanked hard till he craned his neck to face you. “What would the world say if they could see what a sobbing mess you are when no one’s looking?”

He opened his mouth to speak, hips twitching and grinding uselessly against your thigh. The second that plush pink tongue dipped past his lips, you were rearing back to spit straight between his teeth.

Toshi’s face was always priceless in these moments. You’d almost be willing to do it for free if you only got to see the way his brows shot up and those red rimmed eyes blew so wide as you steeled yourself and looked him dead on.

“Now, swallow like the little bitch I know you are.”

And he did, of course he does, because behind your bedroom door Yagi Toshinori was your good boy. So you got to watch his throat bob as your spit slid down and he moaned so pretty at the awful things you said to him.

Your palm kneaded against the red, raw flesh of his ass and you watched how he squirmed at the sting. The room was filled with the scent of sweat and expensive cologne. Your head was spinning from the smell alone and the high of the control you wielded over this man. His hands fisted hard in your bed sheets and you let him helplessly rut against you a few times before running your free hand up the graceful curve of his spine.

“Oh, you really are so disgusting Toshi,” you mused as your nails dig into the planes of muscles to drag angry red lines over the skin. “Did you really get that hard from me slapping this tight little ass of yours?”

He groaned pathetically and nodded, not bothering to hide how his dick had been oozing obscene amounts of precum every time you etched a new welt on his skin. The blush that crept up his chest and painted his cheeks had spread between his legs too. The unfairly massive cock that Toshi sported was flushed a dark angry red at the tip and you couldn’t help but have mercy on him.

Well, only a little bit.

You weren’t here to be nice tonight, even if a part of you might have liked to be.

“Do you want to cum, Toshi?” you asked, lacing your voice with the false sweetness you knew he loved. “Have you been aching for it all night?”

He keened, crying your name and rutting his hips harder against you. It sent a rush of warmth between your legs despite your better efforts to remain unaffected. This wasn’t about you, this was about ownership and his pleasure.

“Mhmm,” his voice was little more than a rasp, “wanna cum so bad, please!”

You laughed, but it was a cruel thing and you knew he could feel the rumble of it in his scarred chest.

“You did so perfectly taking your punishment,” you raked your nails over the raised handprints again just to hear him cry out. “I suppose I’ll let you cum, but you’ll have to work for it.”

Toshi’s breathing was ragged as you helped him up to straddle one of your legs. His swollen cock rested on the plushest part of your thigh, the tip nudging your hip and drawing choked gasps from the man towering above you.

He stared down at you, confused when you didn’t move to stroke him.

“Go on, then,” you smiled up at him, resting your weight on your palms so you could lean back and watch the show. “I said you’d have to work for it, didn’t I?”

You punctuated your question with a bounce of your knee that rocked his length against the fabric of your pants. It didn’t take long for him to catch on, eyes squeezing shut against the waves of shame and embarrassment that just made it so much hotter as he slowly began to ride your thigh.

He might be paying you to be ruthless, but Toshi was kind to a fault from what you’ve learned of him and he ke[t most of his massive weight held on the balls of his feet so you weren’t crushed below him. Under any other circumstances, you might have actually enjoyed that quite a bit, but his face—cherry red with spit-slicked lips held parted with the force of his pants—was enough for now.

His cock was so heavy you almost couldn’t believe it was real. You nearly didn’t the first time he’d stripped for you, but even just the drag of it through your clothes was delectable. It was so long and thick you needed both hands to wrap fully around it, and he gushed like a fucking gieser when you got him under your metaphorical boot.

With every rock of his bony hips, his length was forced up against the curve of your stomach and he whined at the glistening strands of slick that connected his tip to you.

“Come on, Toshi,” you clicked your tongue disappointedly at him, letting a hand fall to the puckered skin at his waist, squeezing harshly. “I know you can do better than that.”

He was beyond words now, you could tell by the way his jaw was loose and his teeth clacked with every thrust, but he did gasp out a long, high pitched moan that made up for it. The speed of his humping increased, becoming erratic as he hunched on the bed, hands beside yours. He loomed over you but anyone could tell just by the composed, serene smile playing at your lips—and the absolutely wrecked noises spilling from Toshi—just which one of you was really in control.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?”

You knew he liked it when you spewed filth to him right before he boiled over and you were more than willing to oblige.

“You’re gonna cum like a fucking teenager humping his pillow, isn’t that right?” you snarled the words up at him and he really did cry then, big fat tears dripping down onto your shirt. “All Might, the number one hero is gonna cum all over my lap like the slut he is.”

He nods frantically. You know his balls were tensing up as he sobbed and spluttered—completely ruined. Just the way he needed to be.

“Then cum.”

You finally wrapped your fist just around his aching tip and he exploded into your palm. Rope after rope of sticky, white release coated your arm and dripped onto the bed. He kept grinding his hips, working himself through the climax, cock still pulsing and leaking in your grip. You didn’t mind the mess.

He always tipped a bit extra if he left stains anyway.

Such a gentleman.

When the last wave of his orgasm had petered out, Toshi collapsed to the side with his face buried in your pillow and his long legs still strewn across your lap. He didn’t usually ask for much in the realm of aftercare, preferring that you cleaned him and let him rest for a bit before he suited up and rushed off into the night.

You gave him a minute before you got up to wet a warm cloth in the sink. He looked so destroyed, you couldn’t help but admire your handiwork. As you palm his ass once more, fingers spreading him so his pink hole was on display, you slipped your phone silently from your pocket, and snapped a few shots of the nasty red hand marks and smears of cum as he groaned deeply at the touch.

His voice was lower as he grunted and you could tell he’s coming out of the subspace you’d thrust him into hours before. Quickly you slid the device smoothly away before lifting his legs from you and settling them gently on the bed to work on tidying up your mess.

You didn’t feel particularly good about keeping this kind of collateral, but as much power as you hold in the four walls of your bedroom, you were frustratingly weak once you left them. These men you worked with, while generally professional, were also top heroes. Top heroes who really didn’t want their embarrassing private lives getting out. Top heroes who thrived off reputation and who would willingly throw you under the bus in a second to protect that.

You liked Yagi Toshinori.

But you didn’t know him.

Smacking someone’s ass or stroking their cock every few weeks didn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things.

So you kept your personal insurance that would be there should one of your clientele decide to forsake you in favor of their public image. And you would never use it unless you absolutely had too.

After all, this was about trust and power and the exchange of those two things. Or at least it was supposed to be. Trust was quite a subjective thing.

The general citizenry trusted All Might to protect them against the growing evil in Japan’s underground. But behind the scenes, you knew his failing health had caused him to seek you out as the intense guilt of his lie came crashing down on him.

Toshi trusted you to relieve his pain and indulge in his degrading fantasies, and you hadn’t failed him yet.

But your trust was not easily bought, and none of your customers ever paid much mind to whether your perceived belief in them was genuine.

After so many glimpses into the messes of pro-heroes personal lives, you knew you’d have to be your own protector. Hence, the photos remained in a locked folder hidden away as you sat yourself down next to the dozing hero and wiped away as much evidence of your meeting as you could.

“How are you feeling?” you asked quietly, lathing the warm cloth between his legs and softening length.

“Good, all things considered,” he responded, voice returned to it’s normal, deep baritone.

“I sincerely hope you won’t have to do much sitting tomorrow,” you quipped and it earned you a chuckle.

“I’ll manage.”

You rolled him gently and finished clearing the rest of his spend from the flat expanse of his stomach. Toshi mumbled his thanks and you gave his thigh a friendly squeeze before retreating from the room to shower and change yourself.

He’d be gone by the time you got out, notification of payment on your phone and a sizable tip left on your dresser as a parting gift.

And as long as Yagi Toshinori was just as good a boy on the outside as he was here, then the world would never need to know what their Symbol of Peace got up behind your closed doors.

***

“All Might! Mister All Might, sir!”

The grating voice of that shithead reporter echoed through the speakers of your headphones over and over again. Your hand shook as the train stuttered to a halt and a wave of passengers burst out onto the platform.

“All Might, are the rumors true!?”

Your stomach sank as the reporter shouted your name above the ruckus of microphones and camera flashes and roaring bodies. Their voice was like chalk on your tongue, dry and cracked and clamoring to know whether the Symbol of Peace was involved with the recently revealed ‘seedy’ and ‘scandalous’ sex ring between yourself and multiple top ranking heroes.

You’d been out having a relaxing lunch with friends in the city when everyone’s phones blew up. It wasn’t that you hid the general details of your job, but by the looks on their faces were enough to make your face burn. The judgement was clear—what you did was abhorrent, disgusting and by extension, so were you. Reporters had caught you on camera with a certain second ranking pro and very quickly deduced exactly who you were and what services you offered.

The tabloids took it and ran, dragging your reputation behind them.

Call after call and text, dms on your social media pages, all from news outlets requesting interviews or quotes or hero fans calling you a ‘shameless whore’ for going after pros—hell death threats had even begun to fill your inboxes.

Hero fans really were ride or die, you supposed, although the ‘die’ in that scenario seemed to refer more to you than themselves. They would never believe their precious big boy crush had ever associated with the likes of you, had ever willingly kneeled for you—had ever enjoyed it.

They couldn’t understand the things you did, all they saw was some false emasculation.

And if it came out that Toshinori had any contact with you, his career would be ruined.

You had hoped from the little you’d learned about him in your sessions, that he’d simply deny knowing you existed at all. That he’d have mercy on you, treat you like the thousand helpless civilians he pulled from burning buildings or whatever the hell heroes did these days.

But you’d been right before to say that you didn’t know Toshi.

And now you certainly didn’t like him either.

“Are you one of the pros involved?” the reporter hounded again as All Might’s massive form panned into frame.

“As your Symbol of Peace, I certainly do not partake in such degenerate behavior,” his words rang out, deep and resonating. “I would never associate with someone who’s actions border on criminal.”

The dark, soulless pits he called eyes stared mockingly from your tiny screen as his signature laugh reverberated through your ears along with the train’s clacking breaks. You ripped the headphones from your ears and closed out of the app, ducking your head and pushing towards the door. Everyone’s eyes were drilling into you, worming deep under your skin and making you squirm like so many of those heroes had done on your silk sheets.

Rationally, you were aware not many people would have seen the story yet. Tabloid trash took a day or two to disseminate into the general social media outlets and for people to take notice. Your friends only knew because your name stuck out to them, but you were hardly recognizable in your typical citizen attire. Even still.

Your life, your work, all of it was on display.

And he’d called you a degenerate.

The infallible All Might had taken your name and tossed it in the guttered, likened you to a villain and single handedly destroyed everything you’d built in the process.

Years of effort and crawling your way up the ranks of society all for nothing.

All so some washed up hero could keep his fantasy of success going for just a little longer. Toshi trusted you with his secrets, his weakness, his body, and you’d defended that at every turn. The only thing he had to do was pay a small fee for your time and discretion.

But no amount of money could fix your toppled character. Nothing could reverse your place as a disgusting slut in the eyes of literal millions of people.

Bold of Yagi Toshinori to underestimate you so thoroughly, to think that you’d sit back in the rubble as he rescued cats and little kids and lived his delusion of perfection.

This was about trust and power.

When those lines were crossed, that’s when things got messy.

And you’d make sure to leave so big a mess, Toshi would never dream of coming back from it.

***

Your apartment building was thankfully free of any press when you arrived home. It had been a few days since All Might instigated your public slander, but the mass media hadn’t managed to track you down after you went into a short period of hiding.

You needed time to let all your other clients involved in the scandal play their cards.

There would be no use in condemning one just to have them warn the rest of their equally impending doom. That way you could be assured they’d all come crashing down with you. Especially the blonde poster boy of hero society himself.

His would be the sweetest fall.

It had been long enough now that you could start compiling. You locked the door behind you, shrugging off your coat and settling on the couch. The plush cushions sank as you fell back, pulling out your phone and scrolling through your contacts. Toshi was there, two red and blue hearts on either side of his name. You pulled up his text thread.

You’d thought about going public of course.

Of course you had.

Your entire career had been trashed, you’d been shamed by the number one hero himself and your personal life was blasted over social media.

But you were human, so you were weak.

And you had liked Toshi.

Well, you hated him now—a deeply dark, burning resentment—but before that, he’d been so sweet to you in a way that most were not. Respectful and nice and you were unused to it. So, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to eradicate his credibility in the same outright manner.

No, you had decided you’d give him a chance.

Because you were better than him.

A chance to atone, come clean, apologize the way you’re sure he would if his public image wasn’t so goddamn important to him. So you didn’t reach out to any of the media outlets that had been hounding your socials for the past week, and didn't offer them the inside scoop quite yet. Instead, you stared at the handsome contact photo of your hero client and slowly typed him up a message he couldn’t ignore.

It was short and sweet, polite but firm. You acknowledged he most certainly did not want to speak with you—in fact, you weren’t very inclined to speak with him ever again either—but you happened to be in possession of some fairly compromising photographic evidence of your time together. And if that evidence were ever to, say, end up in the pocket of the exact scandal rag that sent voice clips of All Might all but denouncing you as a whore to the nation, well. Things would certainly not end well for him.

But, you were nothing if not professional.

He knew that.

You never wanted to use these, but he had forced your hand. Of course you were more than willing to work out a deal with him.

He was your favorite client after all.

In any case, he knew how to reach you, and he had a generous 48 hours to give you an answer to your proposition.

Oh and you were kind enough to provide a little snapshot of just exactly the type of evidence you meant.

Your thumb hovered over the little blue arrow to send. The phone clacked against your nails as it shook in your grip, slick from sweat and frayed nerves. You couldn’t quite tell if you were anxious or angry or some awful combination of the two, but your heart was in your throat as you shut your eyes and pressed send.

There was no going back, and if this all came tumbling to the ground, you promised yourself that you would shatter gracefully.

Letting the screen go dim, you stared in silence at the small check mark confirming the message had been delivered and your fate sealed. You pulled yourself to your feet and made your way to the bedroom.

He’d get back to you soon, or maybe he wouldn’t. You couldn’t know for sure whether or not Toshi would simply ignore your texts and be blindsided when the deadline passed and you destroyed him all over again in a far less enjoyable manner than you used to. But whatever the case, it was out of your hands for now.

With aching feet and tired eyes, you stripped slowly and stumbled towards the bathroom. Turning the water to just below scalding, you did your best to scrub away any pesky remaining guilt that clung to you in a thin, suffocating film.

You told yourself that there was no other choice. That you would have found another way if there was one. That this was how business often went. You had seen it before when you first entered in the field of sex work and you’d see it again. So you scrubbed yourself raw and let all your doubts trickle down the drain.

Tonight, you would sleep restlessly, but it was a fair enough burden to carry for your honor.

You were foolish to believe the cost of revenge wouldn’t bear a heftier price.

***

You woke slowly, trapped momentarily in the strange limbo between sleep and consciousness that fooled you into thinking the strange tightness at your wrists was nothing more than a leftover side effect of a dream.

The reality was so much worse.

It wasn’t until you felt the blunt, radiating sting of knuckles backhanded against your cheek that the haze of sleep fell away, and you could truly appreciate the scene before you.

Which was to say, you could take the opportunity to scream before Yagi Toshinori’s fingers were shoved down your throat to muffle the noise. He was large, shirt seams full to bursting, and sporting an expression you’d never seen before. His eyes, while always dark, were like holes now and they filled you with an unfamiliar sense of dread.

He’d called you a villain before, and now he was looking at you like one too.

“Oh no,” Toshi hissed. His voice was impossibly deep, reverberating against your ribs painfully, “I don’t want to hear anything out of you.”

One quick bout of struggling made it very apparent he didn’t want you moving either as your wrists had been bound behind your back and your ankles were similarly immobilized. The fingers in your mouth pressed hard on your tongue, his thumb pushing below your chin to make you choke and splutter.

“You really let all that power get to your head, didn’t you?” Toshi’s voice was buzzing in your ears and mingling with the pain in your jaw. He put one massive knee on the mattress and hooked his fingers behind your teeth, forcing you to sit up from the bed.

You could feel your face burn as he looked down at you, drool slipping passed your lips and coating his fingers. The straining bulge in his pants looked even bigger than you remembered now that he was no longer the slip of a man you’d come to know as Yagi Toshinori.

No this was All Might, the Symbol of Peace.

And you got the feeling that whatever was about to happen, it was not going to be peaceful for you.

He had you tied and trussed like a piece of meat, and he would treat you like one. You’d seen this before, you’d tied these knots—he’d been where you were now, but he’d asked for it. The loss of control was never something you’d delighted in on a good day, and now the rising pressure in your chest and the sensation of walls closing had panic coursing through you.

“Did you really think that I’d come back here willing to grovel at your feet?” he jeered, the trademark smile on his face more snarl than grin.

He shook your jaw violently in his grasp, listening to the joints pop as they tried to stretch around his thick fingers. Your name left his mouth in a mock coo, just as you had done to him so many nights before. “Remember, you might get to call me a bitch but it’s only because I let you.”

Your hands trembled violently against the bonds which tore the delicate skin and rubbed it raw. Toshi’s free hand traveled along his thigh to rub himself through his pants, his knuckles brushing your nose as he bucked into his palm.

“But now you’ve stepped out of line,” he mused and clicked his tongue as though you were a student who’d done poorly on his latest exam. “And I’m going to make sure that whore mouth of yours never utters my fucking name again.”

Eyes wide with horror, you watched as Toshi’s fingers fumbled with the button and zipper of his slacks until his cock had sprung free, monstrous in length and girth, dripping onto your forehead.

You’d seen it before, but it seemed bigger now. So big that you’d never been able to take it, and Toshi had been staunchly against you ever trying lest he quite literally split you in two. But any kindness he’d shown you before was clearly off the table. His fingers pumped in and out of your throat as if preparing you somehow to take the stretch. It wouldn’t help. You knew that. He knew that.

Toshinori smiled as he removed his fingers in favor of digging the spit slicked digits into the joints of your jaw, ensuring you wouldn’t bite down on him as he pressed the spongy tip to your lips. The panic that had set in—making your blood rush and your limbs shake—was constricting your chest and the pressure of Toshi’s dick pushing past your teeth made your breathing even more erratic.

You whimpered loudly, trying to wrench your head away as the strong salt and musk flavor of his pre cum spread across your tongue, but that only made him thrust forward harder. His length quickly hit resistance back of your throat as you gagged and tears burned at the corners of your eyes.

The ache in your jaw was already unbearable and your bottom lip was being rubbed raw by warm spit and the friction of Toshi roughly fighting to sink his dick fully into your mouth.

“Mm, that’s it,” he groaned as you inadvertently licked over his tip, trying to force him away. “You look so much better like this.”

He ran a falsely sweet hand across your cheek, collecting the stream of tears and using the moisture to slick the rest of his length. Your chest heaved in a mixture of gags and increasingly violent sobbing. You were stretched painfully wide as he rolled his hips again, pushing the thickest bit of his cock into your mouth and forcing your teeth to dig painfully into your upper lip. With the next thrust, he was able to sink another excruciating inch deep into your throat. Blood rushed from where you bit yourself and caused crimson streaks to form as Toshi fucked slowly into your mouth.

Your mind was slipping.

You’d had so little time to process the encounter, so instead your brain had secluded most of your consciousness into a precious little box, away from the intense burning in your throat as Toshi finally sank all of his innumerable inches completely into you. Your throat bulged and protested, tightening in an attempt to force him out.

It only made him moan loudly and dig his fingers into your hair.

“See?” he huffed, pulling out at an agonizing pace only to ram his length in roughly to the hilt. “I’d never lie to my public, you really are just as much of a slut as they say you are.”

You shrieked around his cock, though it was muffled so badly by the lack of air and the wet slap of his constant thrusting that no one but you could hear the screaming in your own head. The pain was unbearable, this awful friction burning sensation that had your stomach churning and your chest wracked with stifled cries. Your bound legs kicked and your fingers grasped useless at the sheets as Toshi fucked your mouth reckless abandon.

Time blurred along with your vision, whether from the lack of oxygen or the tears you weren’t sure.

And most horrifyingly of all, was the pleasure that grew as your mind drowned the pain in darkness. You felt as though you were floating, disgusted but euphoric and the slide of him against your lips became delicious. Heat rose in you and built between your legs accompanied by a distant and unfamiliar ache to please, to be touched, to taste him, to obey.

You wondered if this was how he felt when you forced his mouth on you. If he slid into this strange space where your mind was a separate entity and the only thing that mattered was the pain and the pleasure and the release.

Because somehow, in the midst of your struggle and revulsion, he’d made this strange, incorporeal part of you enjoy this.

All the fight had drained out of you, letting your jaw hang slack and your tongue flick up to catch his tip on every backstroke. Your eyes flitted up to look at him through the haze of tears and sweat, hoping strangely that he’d be pleased with you. And the groan you earned yourself was delectable.

You gave in, then. Let yourself be swept away by the rushing of blood in your ears and the rhythm of Toshi tearing you apart.

At some point, you could distantly feel his thrusts becoming more erratic, turning into a rough grinding in your mouth.

You couldn’t even taste it when he came, his cock was too obscenely deep in your neck, but the warmth of it burned your bleeding throat and filled your belly with a hot finality.

You weren’t even afforded the dignity of spitting his seed onto the floor where it belonged, ignoring the searing voice in your head that revealed in being rewarded with his essence.

When Toshi finally pulled out and tucked himself away, your head fell limply to your chest. A series of violent coughs erupted from you as a thick, viscous mixture of blood and spit and cum dripped from your tongue.

Those impossibly large hands gripped your chin once again, forcing you to look up into those piercing black eyes.

“Now, you’re never going to speak about me again,” he wasn’t asking but you glared up at him as his hand fumbled in his pocket, pulling out his phone.

The device was comically small in those hands of his as he aimed it at your ruined face and snapped a picture—the flash blinding you while he reached around and roughly undid the knotted rope keeping you in place.

“Because if you do, I’ll make sure those reporters know everything I said about you was nothing but the truth.”

The loudest part of you wanted to scream, to punch and bite and tell him it wasn’t. That you were a professional, with self-respect and dignity and you were good and your job, but—

But when you opened your sore and aching jaw to shout, nothing came out.

No sound, no yell, no words.

Just this awful rasp that made your throat feel like pins were sticking into the abused flesh.

“Well, looks like I might not need this after all,” Toshi dangled the phone in front of your face before pocketing it once again. “Looks like you won’t be saying much of anything for a good long while.”

And then Yagi Toshinori left.

He turned on his heel and walked out as you toppled off the bed behind him, trying so hard to scream despite the pain and the ripping in your chest—whether they were curses or cries for him to stay, you weren’t sure.

But there was nothing either way.

So you sat and screamed in silent agony at his retreating form until the sound of a door slamming rang out through your home.

It seemed that in all your years of playing this game, you’d finally been toppled off your tightrope.

Because you were good at your job, so you knew. It was all about the exchange of power, and yours had just been thoroughly stripped away.

#all might x reader #yagi toshinori x reader #toshinori x reader #tw dubcon #tw noncon #tw blackmail #dark all might #dark yagi toshinori #mha smut #all might smut #mha x reader #mha fanfic #bee.writes

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farouchelyoptimistic · 4 years ago

Text

HyunJi: Visit

Soo Hyun hums as he punches in the security code of the door, pushing it open after the brief beep. The familiar scent of honey and vanilla fills his nose, making him erupt into a small smile.

The house was quiet as he entered, the cove lighting dim and warm-toned. The floor to ceiling glass windows reflected the lights from the city below. The silence doesn't bother him, he was used to it. It was always quiet in his girlfriend's abode, she enjoyed the tranquil serenity that comes with it.

The paper bag in his hand made soft noises that sounded louder in the vast space of her living room. Filming had been going on for quite a while, and it had been getting harder and harder to reach her every day. She had scenes back to back and a few ads to shoot in her spare time. That was the price of her growing popularity, the recognition he was terribly happy that she was getting.

She was a marvelous actress, excellent. Despite her prowess, she was fairly underrated and he hated it. He wanted people to see her beyond her elegant beauty, he wanted her to be seen by her undeniable talent. And now she was getting it, and it made him so proud of her. But along with that came fewer hours with her, fewer days to spend together.

Compared to the frequent visits and the well-planned secret dates here and there, this time he could even barely see her despite being in the same place every day. The only time he could see her was when they had scenes together. The fact that he had to corner her away on set to steal a few glances, a few touches, a few smiles made him fairly frustrated.

He used to have his girlfriend all to himself, and now he's sharing her with the entire world. He's not a selfish person, but when it comes to her, sometimes he wished he was.

This was one of the very few nights that they were both free. He doesn't waste the opportunity to buy her favorite meals to go, bringing it to her home to share with her.

"Hi, Manny!" He coos, squatting down to pat the dog's head, it's fur warm and soft to touch. It wags its tail, putting out its tongue as it welcomes the all too familiar visitor. Gone were the days when it used to bark at him endlessly, threatened of his presence, or probably even jealous that he'd take all of the attention. But now, they were best friends.

He chuckles as he stands up, making his way further into the living room, past the kitchen. He smiles widely at the sight of his woman sitting prettily on the couch, dressed in a light pink nightgown, her hair cascading elegantly over her shoulders.

"Yea Ji-ah!" He calls out to her in a joyful operatic voice, routinely skipping towards her with her a huge smile.

"Ya." Her low voice stops him in his tracks. It was chilling, cold. It almost sent shivers down his spine. When she looks at him, he shuddered, freezing him in his spot. Her eyes were sharp, lacking emotion altogether. Terrifying almost.

"You noisy little prick." His breath falters, shock starting to bloom all over him. He blinks once, twice, thrice. Trying to figure out what vile sin he had done to his girlfriend for him to get stabbed by the invisible daggers darted from her eyes.

It takes him a few seconds before he sights the script on her lap. Realization dawns over him, making himself let out a breath. Aaaah.

She had been rehearsing, which means his Yea Ji wasn't here tonight. Moon Young had paid a visit. That was the effect of her method acting. She had to be the character altogether, and sometimes it takes a while longer to let go of it. He understood that was what worked for her, and he could say she was doing a good job manifesting it.

He had been used to it as well. There were days when he visited only to find a timid Sang Mi sprawled on the living room floor. The other time it was the outspoken Hae Ji reading a book by yhe window. Tonight it was a very annoyed Ko Moon Young.

"Ko Moon Young, I didn't expect you would visit." He chuckled, the amusement in his voice ringing as she turned on his heel towards the kitchen counter. He knew she's still trying to snap out of it, so he prepared all the food quietly, bringing it over on the coffee table between them in the living room.

She quietly slides down from the couch into the warm carpet. She picks up her chopsticks and eats silently, chewing, and swallowing. He smiled watching her eat.

He had longed to hear her talk over dinner tonight, but by the looks of it, it wasn't going to be happening. He loved listening to her ramble about the most mundane things, her low pitched voice becoming music to his ears. The sultry, raspy tone of it making his heart come to a calm, bringing him serenity.

She was quiet, but he still enjoyed it. He was happy just by watching her eat, devouring everything in front of her. If there was one thing she and Moon Young had in common, it was the appetite. He had worried about her thin physique early in the relationship, but seeing the amount she manages to gobble down, he realized her eating dynamics had nothing to do with her figure. She was just natural beauty. Lucky him.

He made the kind effort if washing a few dishes, humming softly as the water gushes through the faucet. When he feels tiny arms wrap around his waist from the back, he smiles. He loved it when she did that.

"Is this Moon Young, or is my Yea Ji back?"

"I kicked Moon Young out. She tried to steal my boyfriend." He chuckles, turning the faucet off before he wipes his hands dry.

He wiggles in her hold, turning around so he was facing her. He lets out a smile, wrapping his arms around her small frame. She looks up at him with a smile, eyes curved into thin lines, and in an instant, he loses the capability to breathe. She continues to take his breath away, every single time.

He squeezes her tighter, pulling her impossibly closer.

"Did you enjoy the meal, hmm?" He tucks a few strands of hair behind her ear, marveling down at her. When she nods he smiles, cupping her small face in his large hand. When he leans in for a warm kiss she automatically closes her eyes, both of them smiling in between.

Her hands instinctively travel over his firm arms, around his nape, her fingers through his hair. He holds her tighter as if it was possible to have her any more closer. Their bodies were already pressed tightly against each other.

When he pulls back, he grins. He took pride in the idea that he was able to kiss her like this, hold her close. Touch her. Do things only others can imagine. He took pride in the fact that now she had freely allowed him to make her feel things, do things, to take the lead.

He couldn't forget that there was a time when even the slightest touch bothered her. Sent her blushing excessively, cowering under his stares and gentle brushes. He thought he was probably so despicable, she couldn't bear even the slightest intimacy.

But it wasn't him. It was her innocent values, blooming from her genuine wholesome perspectives of the world. He learned to ask for permission whenever he wanted to kiss her, to gradually inch his hand to hers so she doesn't get startled. It took her quite some time to get used to it until all the permissions became automatic. Instinctive.

He didn't need to work it out anymore. She could read it in the way he looked at her. And she learned to be confident around him as well. Initiating gentle touches, hugs, short kisses. They've come a long way, but she still had that innocence in her, the innocence he loved so much. He loved anything about her anyway.

"You stink." She mutters in a chuckle as she buries her head against his chest, inhaling his manly scent. He only laughs, swaying her side to side. She was the most honest person in the world, she was incapable of lying. So he really does stink.

"Hmm, really? I just came from the gym." She laughs.

"You should have showered." His laughter thunders, throwing his head back.

"I know. I was thinking I'd shower here instead. . . . . with you." She automatically unlinks her arms around him, playfully pushing his chest.

"Ande." She takes a step back, turning around with a laugh. It wasn't like she hated intimacy, she just can't help but feel uncontrollably shy. Even after all the nights they've spent together, she still couldn't help the warm blush that would creep up her cheeks.

He chuckles, holding on to her wrist to pull her back gently. He wraps her arms around her again, searching for her face. She couldn't look at him.

"Weh? It's not like I haven't seen y---" He gets cut off when she presses a hand against his mouth, sending both of them in light laughter.

"Stop it." She whines, furrowing her brows, pouting her lips.

"Stop what?" She lets out a gasp when he slightly lifts her up, setting her feet on top of his. He grins at her before he pulls her closer, pressing another kiss on her lips. He slowly walks them across the room, her feet on top of his, taking every step he was taking.

She held his arms tight, maintaining her balance as he leads her. She giggles in between the kiss.

"I know what you're trying to do."

He chuckles while he kisses her.

"Really? I'm just making my way to the shower." She shakes her head, smiling as she closed her eyes. Gone were the inhibitions when he starts to trail kisses on her jaw. She clears her throat at the growing heat that was starting to spread like wildfire all over her body. Her reaction to him was automatic.

A low moan erupts from the back of her throat when he trails hot, wet kisses down her long neck. She finally gives in to him as he makes his way inside the bedroom, straight to the bathroom. He was a little persistent than usual. He must've really missed her. But she couldn't deny it, he missed her too.

-end-

#psycho but its okay #its okay to not be okay #kim soo hyun #seo yea ji #hyunji #hyunjicouple

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franeridart · 5 years ago

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hi!!! first of all i adore your art so much!!!! like daddy jesus, it gives me life. u draw rlly good poses, so maybe u have some tips? or any good places to find references cuz i can only find pretty stiff looking pictures and thats sad :((((

Tips! Yes! I have those, since it’s a thing I’ve always struggled a lot with too, so I ended up hunting down and hoarding tips like an artist dragon with fancy pictures of gold - disclaimer, even though I know of these tips it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m good at following them. Because I’m a mess. SO! TIPS!

- When trying to decide on a pose, try to picture the whole action behind it instead of just the single instance! If we were to talk in animation terms, I’d say try to picture the whole sequence instead of just a single, specific frame of it. What is your character doing? Picture in your head the whole movement, and then pick a frame that’s smack in the middle of it - this is because generally the stiffer moments through an action are the beginning and the end of it, so drawing the middle will give your pose a lot more life! If you’re unsure about exactly which moment of the action would work best, draw thumbnails of a few different “frames” of it and pick the one that flows best for you

- Related to that, when looking for references generally I prefer looking for videos instead of pictures, specifically to get a better sense of how the whole movement flows and where it would be best to stop it. In the same vein, I’ve made a habit of at least partially always keep an eye out for body language while watching movies/tv shows/cartoons&anime, because while real life is just as much a good source of reference as anything else, actors and animators tend to exaggerate movements to make them more captivating and eye-catching, and that’s what we’re looking for when drawing too! It’s all in the drama of it, look for the drama

- “A real life person wouldn’t do that/move like that/bend like that”, that’s okay, this isn’t a real life person! Exaggerating the shapes and lines is a good way of increasing the flow of your pose, as long as you don’t make it grotesque then pushing on the shapes and curves is always a good idea! Unless you meant to go for grotesque, in which case push all you want, who’s to stop you. In this specific area action lines are your best friends, so if you feel your pose is stiff or lacks life, try finding the action line in it and push it more - you can find a lot of youtube tutorials on action lines and gesture drawing, in case you want to look more into that! Only god and my youtube history know how long I’ve spent doing just that

- Talking about youtube, if you want to work on your flow a good way is to try out the one minute figure drawing exercises - they give you a pose, you have one or two minutes to sketch it out depending on the video, then it moves to the next pose. It’s a good way to loosen up your lines, in my experience! This is a nice playlist for that, in case you wanna give it a go!

- Rewinding a bit and going back on body language, if you want your pose to feel alive and be realistic while at the same time conveying a specific mood or feeling, maybe you’ll want to look into how people express themselves through body language! I always see this suggested to writers to set the mood without explicitly stating the emotion, but it’s a wonderful tip for artists too the way I see it (mostly so if you’re drawing a comic, actually!). A good list is this one, give it a skim!

- More than a tip it’s a trick, really, but giving a prop to your character can help make the pose more interesting - there’s only a finite number of things a character can do standing alone by themselves with nothing to occupy them with, an object or an animal or a second character to interact with really do make finding an interesting pose easier!

That was a lot of theory there, wasn’t it, let’s go for some practical tips too (featuring Horikoshi’s pencil sketches, because I love them and he’s very, very good at this whole posing thing)

- If you picture your character as standing in an open space and the eyes of the viewers as a camera, moving the camera around them to find an interesting angle adds a lot of depth to the pose. It can be really, really tempting to just draw them from the front and eye level, but sometimes even just raising or lowering the camera the smallest bit helps with giving the drawing life - perspective! I know, I hate it too orz but we’re working hard to overcome that problem, because look at Horikoshi’s latest Kirishima sketch!

so alive! So beautiful! The pose in itself isn’t all that special, but the angle he decided to draw it at sure helps give him life. A thing I do often is to draw a thumbnail of the scene I’m trying to draw from the most boring angle possible, to make sure of where everything is, and then metaphorically move the camera around to try and find a more interesting angle to portray it from - it helps! At least, it does for me haha

- Keeping it asymmetrical makes the pose dynamic! Let’s look at Toga over here

Her legs and arms are an obvious example of this, but specifically I marked for you the hips line and shoulders line to show you how they aren’t paralel either, because that’s a little thing that’s generally a good idea to keep in mind when you want to give a bit more of movement to your posing! It’s true in photography too, actually. If you want a full body selfie to look good, try keeping shoulders and hips on non-paralel lines, it makes the whole thing look a lot more professional

- Keeping that Toga pic as our set example, hair and clothes give a lot of movement to the pose too! If you draw someone in the middle of an action, their clothes and hair are (possibly, if the clothes are loose enough and hair long enough) going to move with the action too - they show the direction of the motion, so keep that in mind when drawing them. Additional tip! If your character is just standing still, wind is a thing you can always make use of to give a bit more movement to the whole set-up!

- It’s a good idea to keep all the noise in your pose on one side, to give it a bit more balance and make it less chaotic - let’s use Jirou here as our example

the lines on the right side are a lot more simple and straight than the ones on her left, as I tried to very roughly mark for you - all details and “noisy” bits are all on the same side too, so that your eyes can easily focus on what’s important in the pic without getting lost all over the canvas. Balance and asymmetry! Again! It’s an easy way to make poses interesting, after all!

- That said, it’s not like you can never keep it symmetrical - the human brain actually likes that symmetry a whole lot, finds it compelling! It has to be perfectly symmetrical, though. Let’s look at Bakugou, because why not, always a good time to look at Bakugou

if you drew a line in the middle of his face and down his body, you’d see he’s pretty much perfectly symmetrical - that’s nice! That works! ...why does it work, though? This goes a bit more into composition and less into posing, but this has to do with the rule of thirds: generally and very simply, the rule is that for a picture to be well composed it needs to be set so that the main focus isn’t smack in the middle of the canvas. Some examples with the pics I just posted up there!

The way the bodies are positioned and the way in which the empty spaces are used respect the rule of thirds pretty dang neatly, and that helps make the pictures look less stiff too, between the others things! It gives balance to the whole composition, and makes it more lively! (The reason why it works with Kirishima is that the focus of the drawing is less him as a whole and more his face and right fist - so very neatly positioned! I’m in awe, ngl)

Bakugou’s case is a bit different thoguh, and that’s why the symmetry works there!

when you want to go for the symmetrical look you sort of need to forget about the rule of thirds, as far as I’ve been thought - symmetrical means tidy, and it’s only really tidy if it’s symmetrical based on a line traced right in the middle of the canvas, so Bakugou’s center is right along the median axis, and his pose works even if it’s pretty stiff, by all means.

(this goes into the rules of making a good portrait work, actually, but the lack of empty space all around him helps with keeping it looking well composed and tidy, too. There’s a lot of little tips and tricks that help make a pose work when it comes to composition, really!)

(Also, to be fair this last bit about the rule of thirds wasn’t exactly necessary or particularly well explained, I’ll be real, but while browsing Horikoshi’s twitter I realized how neatly all his sketches follow the rule and I needed to gush about that for a sec, it’s how being a fan works haha hope it was useful at least a bit to you, though!)

#fran answers #art tips #long post #so long!#but i hope at least something in here might be of help to you #posing and composing are a very very complex and big topics #i'm still working very hard to try and figure it out myself #let's do our best together!#sexy0android

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iventurely-blog · 4 years ago

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Market Sizing. All you need to know.

Some might argue that market size has to be the first thing that you should get your arms around. The rationale behind this statement is that it’s fairly easy to dig up this information as it is almost always available for public access and all you need is google it or use databases. If the market seems too small, do not linger to drop an idea outright especially if you are after VC’s money as market will definitely be one of the most critical points they might be drilling you on.

There are multiple viewpoints on how to think about the market. YC (Y Combinator) in its lectures determined that for the idea to be venture fundable the market should grow at least 10-20% annually and have at least 1 mil potential users. It might not be the case though if you are sweating on B2B (business to business) idea. Alex Jarvis (expert in a startup world) in turn articulated in his blog:

“For grand plans, the market needs to be a billion minimum.”

Indeed, they are pretty much aligned in their thoughts. They just put it in a different way.Assume you are going to operate on $10 mil market and capture even 50% of it, you’ll still get very low and probably not enticing number for VCs to bother. In Alex’s words:

“Your market size sets a ceiling for your business idea.”

VC’s PERSPECTIVE

However, none of this is helpful unless you understand the perspective of the venture funds. Hands down the best explanation I've seen so far was in Alex's blog. I’ll summarize it briefly here for the story to roll out smoothly but if you are interested in the subject, I strongly encourage you to hit the link and read the whole thing.

VC usually get excited when it sees that the value which it can return is somewhat commensurate to the total size of the fund (i.e. 1Bn fund will be looking for the companies that might potentially grow up to 1Bn in value). Considering they usually secure 20% equity for their investment and return 10x invested capital, you should expect that they would want your startup to grow 50 (10x / 0.2) times the capital raised.

I’ll throw in a simple example to help you get your arms around the seemingly intricate logic. Let’s say the fund’s size is $100 mil (average) and fund's investment totalled $10 mil after several rounds. VC will be looking to return $100 mil and expect your company to grow up to at least $500 mil in value (10 mil x 50). If you are in SaaS business, it will be an equivalent of around $50 mil in ARR (annual recurring revenue) as value of such company will approximate 10 revenues. Make up some numbers and take a crack at it yourself.

MARKET DYNAMICS

You might argue that the market that you are seems small as of now, but what if it has a positive TREND? Does it matter how the market might look like in 5 years or so? Or how is it changing? More so, one might say, what if the market is big (more than $1Bn), but it does not demonstrate any growth in the day and age; that could be for unsurmountable barriers or lack of interest to enter (low margins per se). Does it still look good for a potential investor?

Ripple Ventures suggests that founders think of the trends as the only ally to help investors to get over the seemingly small market. And trend might mean either the market will sky-rocket in the upcoming 5 years or your startup will capture most of it. For instance, take ride-hailing services. Before this innovative solution paved its way to the market, demand for taxis was much lower due to both higher prices and the tedious process of arranging one. After Uber, Lyft and other companies started the ball rolling and disrupted the market, brought demand to a different level. You might be curious how did those companies helped investors to envision these coming? This appears to be a big challenge. At an early stage, investors are predominantly gravitating towards the projects that are demonstrating, how YC would call it, “founder’s magic” meaning that theirs is something special around the people on a team.

However, when it comes to trends another thing blows up at our faces and this thing is TIMING. One might ask, how timing is different from the trend? The answer is that timing should be deemed as a specific spot on the trend line. You want to get to the market at the right time when it will yield you the best slope so that not everyone yet realized that the curve is getting steeper and at the same time you won’t have to educate your customers in case you’ll start raiding the wave too early.When pitching the market make sure that besides the magnitude, trends and timing you demonstrate and understanding of:

o Your customers / users and who are they;o The status quo and how much it costs for the current users;o How much the problem costs to your potential customers and if it’s a vitamin or painkiller problem type;o Your customer’s budget and indicate if it’s going to change;o The buying process.

This all factors are illustrative of how good are the conditions of the market to enter right now and what edge you might potentially have on it.

MAKE SURE YOU ARE ESTIMATING YOUR MARKET

Compelling pitch deck starts with a market. Bad one with the wrong market. The most frequent mistake founders make is estimating any other market but the one they will actually be part of. It is crucial to have a thorough understanding of YOUR market. Many startups have a delusional idea about what market they will be playing at and thus demonstrate to investors their incompetence, enticing them to say “No” without hesitation. One silly example of estimating a wrong market. Assume you’re planning on opening a grocery store and in a pitch deck you indicated whole grocery retail market. Although it might look compelling at a first glance, 70% of it is being occupied by national retail chains and to claim another 30% you’ll most likely have to build another chain. Building a retail chain is however a different exercise and has nothing to do with opening a small grocery store in your neighbourhood and will demand other competence and skills. Another example. Imagine you decided to open a small farm to grow produce in your barn and one small nearby store decided to buy a small amount to test if their customers would like it. They located it beside other produce on the shelf and put a sticker “Super Eco Produce” You were so excited with first sales so that you rushed to your laptop and updated the market slide with the chart of wholesale produce market in Canada. Hold on for moment… Did you start to squeeze out current players on this market? Are you actually competing with all other suppliers of produce? I don’t think so.Remember! The size of the market that you target is in fact the size of the largest competitor who you want to force out of it. In this case be open minded, don’t deem of your competitors as only direct who produce adjacent product or render similar services. Every new product (iPhone) will gratify all the same demand (smartphones) squeezing out feature phones from the market. You may also think of your competitor as a “status quo” in case you are the pioneer. Think how people are currently solving the problem and you might run into your market eventually. Always remember, if you do not force anyone out, you most likely don’t have a target market. Non-existent target market has no size to it. In fact, you can talk about the target market only after your first sales. However, NOT any sales! But the ones that would trespass the territory of some other player that is already operating on this market. All the rest are your fantasies and imagination!Another thing to figure out is if you’ll be part of already established market or you are planning on creating a new one. The former is fairly easy to define, and you only have to research online for some yet available reports. The latter in turn is not that obvious and you better try to figure out the best alternative for your solution – what is the status quo (current way of doing things) and how much people are paying for it?

HOW TO ESTIMATE

When it comes to estimating the market, I oftentimes run into the following buzz words: TAM (total addressable market), SAM (serviceable addressable market), SOM (serviceable obtainable market).

o TAM - total market demand for a product or service

o SAM - the segment of the TAM targeted by your products and services which is within your geographical reach

o SOM - the portion of SAM that you can capture

At a first glance it’s a fairly simple but at the same time convoluted approach, as no one knows for sure how to define TAM and SAM. And believe me, the last thing investors want is for you to bog down in confusing explanations and make them strain their brains. Especially if you could have avoided this. Try to not annoy crap out of them with such minor things.I’d recommend that you provide straight forward names for whatever you estimated instead and not get into the weeds of the concept. Leave all these notions to academic world. However, to help you familiarize yourself with a concept and wrap your head around the idea I’ll bring a fairly dumb and simple example. Imagine you’re launching new smartphone in Canada with a plan to expand to US. You can easily google global market. That will be your TAM. Then, you’d want to look up for North American market to account for geography and hence estimate SAM. The last step will be to estimate the chunk of the pie that you can potentially eat away from your competitors. The tricky part I alluded to before is what should be defined as SAM here. Is it a Canadian market or North American? From where I stand you can throw in whatever one you deem is more relevant and compelling. The bottom line here is as following. Do not let your audience strain their brains to much over this irrelevant jargon.For what it’s worth, investors tend to take these calculations with a grain of salt as most of the founders are unable to explain how exactly they arrived to the market share number (SOM) that they threw on the slide. As you may imagine from founder’s perspective it should be taken for granted and thus is very rarely well-thought through. However, with clear go-to-market strategy and well-articulated thesis as to why founder thinks he or she can capture a particular portion of the market, investor’s concerns might dissipate. I’ve never ever encounter one in my life though. If you have, would be grateful for sharing one with me.Unfortunately, there is no way to escape throwing in a bunch of assumptions when going throw the calculations and everyone is well aware of this in startup world. However, you’ll be held accountable for most of them, so be prepared with your rationale.In fact, there are only two approaches (that I’m aware of) to get a grasp of your market:o Top-downo Bottoms-upLet’s go over each of them in more details.

Top down

Your initial steps here will be to:1) Figure out you TAM by looking up the number in yet available researches2) Dissect it to what’s relevant for your projectI’ll steal an example from Ripple X Fellowship materials, since I believe it is both simple and illustrative and hence why would I bust my ass…Let’s say you’re building a tomato delivery business in the United States.

The Bureau of Labor Statistics publishes an annual Consumer Expenditure Survey (CES) which tells us that the average household spends $751 on fruits and vegetables every year, for a total of $94.4B spend every year in the US.

About 30% of the population (according to the CES) lives in large cities so we’ll assume only 30% of those sales can be served. That reduces our estimate to $28.3B.

Also, not all of the fruits and vegetables that are purchased are tomatoes! According to the USDA, only 5% are tomatoes (which are legally classified as a vegetable in the US). That reduces our estimate to $1.4B.

Of course, not everyone will order their tomatoes on demand! Supermarkets will always have some market share, so we will assume that 20% of households would order their tomatoes on demand if offered. This brings us to $140M.

Finally, our business model assumes consumers will buy more tomatoes when they are delivered straight to your door! Our expectation is to grow tomato consumption by 10%. This increases our estimate to $154M.

Bottoms-up

This approach is different as you have to pid down potential number of users and only after to work your way up.

Start with the number of end-users that will want your product.

Figure out how often they will want your product (monthly SaaS fee, or they will buy something from you two times a week).

Take your pricing structure and find the product of all the variables above.

I’ll steal yet another example from Ripple X Fellowship program materials, which are by the way publicly accessible, to illustrate how this approach would look like in already familiar aforementioned context.

How many consumers can we reach? Based on the effectiveness of commercials, billboards and other channels our head of marketing thinks we can reach about 35,000 households in our hometown of Oakland, CA.

Let’s say the price of tomatoes which are around $1 for a large tomato in the area. Local customer survey tells us that consumers buy 3 tomatoes when they go to the market once a week. That means the average consumer would buy $150 of tomatoes per year. That brings our estimate to $5.3M.

Finally, we will assume that we can expand into the top 30 cities based on our operating plan and available capital. That gives us an audience of 1.1M households or a total of $156M.

Remember one thing, you can either eat at already established market or solve for some inefficiencies of and challenge the status quo solution. To estimate the former, you can feel free to use both top-down and bottoms-up approach. However, to illustrate the latter, you can use only bottoms-up as there is no established market as we got used to think of it. Your market will rather represent the amount of costs that all your potential customers/users are incurring as of now sticking to the status quo solution.

CONCLUSION

Sure thing, you need to know your market but do not linger! Look up yet available researchers and databases (Statista, IBIS, etc.). It should be fairly simple, though sometimes tedious. I bet somebody have already done all heavy lifting for you. You just have to figure out where to find it. After you found it, start with bottoms-up analysis. Think of it along the following lines. There’s probably 100K people that might buy this. At $10 a month that’s $1.2 mil in ARR at 10% market share. That will leave you with max exit value of $12 mil (10x revenue). To figure if it’s a good or bad number, scroll up to look at it from investor’s perspective. Most certainly if you hope to trigger investors interest towards your idea, you’d probably want to demonstrate that there is a certain trend working its way up that will make the market grow 20-fold in five years or so and how you’re tapping into it. Don’t forget to locate a spot on a trend’s curve (where the industry is right now) to illustrate that the timing is the best to start working on this idea at this very moment. Remember!!! You want to show that you’re in a perfect storm (Ripple Venture’s term). When using top-down approach try to be as specific as possible with the numbers you pick. At the same time don’t think just 1% of the market. As big VCs would say, um, why not 30%? It’s ok to think expansively when evaluating your idea, you just need to have a thesis as to why you think you can own the market.

#startup startups entrepreneurship entrepreneur startupedu venturecapital venture vc founder founders co-founders

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amanda-keay · 4 years ago

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Next Level Painting Skills To Improve Portrait Painting Techniques in Oil

This year I’ve taken a step back to explore some of the techniques that I learned when I first started taking lessons. I noticed that I started to pick up some bad habits in the last few years when I was rushing a lot of the paintings and getting ready for exhibitions etc. So this year I got in touch with my art teacher and I’m trying to focus on quality rather than quantity. One major change in how I’m painting now is that I’m using a physica reference photo so I can color match and prove my colors. I find this a lot better to improve my color mixing abilities compared to looking at a monitor for reference. A screen monitor always makes a photo look more vibrant than it really is and it’s hard to understand the true colors of the picture, and you can’t put paint on your screen to color watch. So here I’m actually holding the photo in my hand (I’m displaying the model in the video so you can follow along with what I’m painting).

Shapes and planes

I love the photo that I’m working with because I can see so many different shapes and planes on the model’s face. And that gives me more to work with. I have to keep in mind that no matter what part of the face I’m painting, everything is three dimensional. Nothing is flat like a piece of paper, and this is a real person. It’s more intuitive if you imagine that you are painting a ball, the shape is obviously a circle, but the planes curve in all directions. Each latitude and longitude is different in color which makes it look three dimensional.

Similarly to portraits, every part of the face, essentially anything that has a round surface gets cooler as it recedes away from the camera, and that it’s not just cut off like a piece of paper, this is really important in painting anything that has a curved shape. In this painting, the colors become more cool as it’s further away from the light source. So the plane change on the forehead is not only going from left to right, but it’s also curving up and back. This means that whatever color you use for the forehead, it doesn’t just meet the hairline all of a sudden, there’s actually another color there, a cooler tone that makes it look like it’s receding back before it reaches the hair.

Color Strings

Knowing how the planes change on your subject will help you understand the colors that you should be looking for. Sometimes we have to know the subject first before we mix the color. I won’t be showing the color mixing palette in this video because I want the focus to be on brush handling, and this particular technique that I’m demonstrating is applying color strings. Imagine a curved surface with light shining on it from one side. The color on the surface changes as the planse changes, and each plane is a different color string. Going back to painting a ball; imagine a globe, we all know that it has latitudes and longitudes. If you were to paint the globe, each row of latitude is a color string, and so is every vertical line of longitude. Each one of those is a color string, and I am mixing and applying each string individually.

Choosing the right reference photo and model

So it’s kinda like sculpting with oil paint. Instead of doing what I usually do, which is applying paint on the whole area and then mixing additional paint on it while it’s wet, here I’m treating each plane change as a different color. Now this works particularly well under the circumstance that the lighting and angle of the model creates very dynamic colors. You don’t want to choose a photo that’s over exposed, like with a flash cam, which flattens out a lot of colors and you lose the beautiful natural facial structures and features. You want the model’s pose to be anything put straight up front facing, like a passport photo. It can even just be a slightly tiled face. This will create a dominant side of the model's face and the photo to have one dominant light source. You also want to be able to see everything in the photo without it being over exposed, or too dark that you can’t see what's going on in the shadows. That way you will be able to see the model's face like a 3D structure with different colors on each plane.

Edges

The way that each area of the face fuses with each one another creates edges. These are the boundaries between two areas. This can be the area where a shadow meets light or when an object meets a different object. I want to focus on areas where dark meets light because this is easily missed, usually there’s a warm color string in between the dark and the light. Shadows never just go from dark to light, there’s always a warm and more neutral color there. It’s very small, and ignored by a lot of people because you can usually get away with leaving it out. But if you try to paint it in, your subject will look that much more three dimensional. That’s the difference between a face that just looks like a face and a face that is really coming alive. You can see this example where I painted the hair that’s casting a shadow on the side of the cheek. there’s a warm shadow before the flesh tone begins. Same thing with the crease on the cheek beside the mouth, there’s a warm tone beside the crease before it transitions into a highlight color on the face. And this happens in creases and wrinkles in all sizes. Now I know this can be a challenging addition to what you’re used to painting, but what you can do is start looking for those colors. Train your eyes to start seeing them first then it’ll be more intuitive to paint.

Order of operation:

Another technique that I’m demonstrating here is how I’m painting outside in. Meaning I’m painting around the face and working my way into the focal point of the painting. Sometimes I do like to start on other areas like the eyes or whatever pops out at me the most. But for this particular technique, one of the reasons for painting around the focal point is because of the emphasis on edges. The area around the edge that you’re painting needs to be wet in order to blend and fuse together. You should never lay wet paint on a dried surface of a different color. So for the first part of the painting, I am working on the hair, the hairline, and the edge of the cheek together. Another reason why I’m working outside, going from big to small is because typically the closer to the center of the painting, the more fine details there are. Because that’s where the focal point usually is. And therefore you waste less time if you have to change or redo something along the way that has less detail, than to render a lot of fine details for a long time and then having to change it after.

Brush Handing:

You’ll notice I’m applying paint with a very small brush, essentially painting each plane, and then softening the edges with a dry nylon brush. You’ll notice I Labeled Dry Brushing in all the areas where I’m doing this blending technique. The most important thing about this is always keeping the nylon brush dry. After every softening touch, wipe the brush on a paper towel to make sure there’s no paint on it, and then keep blending and softening the painting. When it’s over softened, you come back to apply more paint, to make certain parts stand out more. Dry brushing is not only to blend but you can also move the paint around to change the shapes on your painting. This technique is amazing, and it’s basically my get out of jail free card that I picked up on since I started painting. Because sometimes the brush that I’m painting with is hard to get it right from get go. And having a dry brush will allow me to move the paint around, or blend without adding more paint or making it more messy. This dry brush will allow you to carve your subjects with more precision especially when you’re painting small and detailed areas of the face like the eyes and the mouth.

In summary these are the main techniques that I’m demonstrating throughout this painting. Always analyze the subject you are painting whether it’s a face, fruit, landscape, or florals. Think about how the subject bends and how all the planes are changing, and work in sections so you can really understand the structure of that area. Whenever a dark and light color converge, look closely and apply the warm mid tone that’s in between the light and shadow. Working outside in, apply each color string separately and then soften the whole area with a dry nylon brush. And last but not least, keep practicing. Because that’s how you will continuously evolve and rediscover yourself as an artist.

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rawresparza · 5 years ago

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I'm just itching for some fluffy Barisi. Do you have any (wait, that sounded weird, but I hope you know what I mean!), or can you magic some out of thin air with your amazing writing? :D

Mm, I went into this intending fluff and it immediately turned into angst. But there’s ultimately fluff underneath at all?? Just something I got into my head and had to get down, I hope it came out okay because I haven’t written anything in what feels like forever.

WARNING: mentions of past abuse

–

It’s funny how drastically three words can change everything.

It can change a dynamic, a relationship, a life.

“I love you.”

Perhaps it’s arrogant in a way to think of it but Sonny has never said it to anyone who hasn’t said it back. Then again, he’d never meant it as earnestly as he does now but maybe that should have been his first red flag. Maybe he should have taken it as a sign to be more cautious. Instead, he’d let himself be blindsided. He’d opened himself up to the risk of Rafael not being able to say it, too. He’d just never once even considered it would turn out that way.

And yet, here they lie in frightening silence, shoulder to shoulder in Rafael’s bed. Rafael still hasn’t said a word, his reading glasses perched low on his nose as he fixes his gaze on the case file he’s no longer reviewing. Sonny had protested when he’d brought the file with him to the bedroom but Rafael has court tomorrow and he’d wanted to make sure he was as prepared as possible. Rafael had batted those long lashes over those pretty green eyes and Sonny had folded much faster than he’d like to admit.

Sonny can’t take his eyes off Rafael. Every so often, he realizes he’s holding his breath, waiting for a response he isn’t sure is coming. He breathes in deeply through his nostrils then back out, chest rising and falling in a way that doesn’t betray how erratically his heart seems to be beating.

Is this how it ends? No. No, it can’t be. It doesn’t have to, anyway. Sonny can wait, right? It’s a little soon, in all fairness, they’ve only been dating for ten months; but ten months is almost a year and a year is a good amount of time to allow for two people to know whether they’re in love or not, isn’t it? He’s said it to exes sooner than that.

And look where it got you, a little voice in the back of his head whispers. His voice, the one he prefers to keep buried because when it rises, it tends to hand out uglier truths. He doesn’t love you. Hell, he can’t even bear to look you.

Sonny fights against that train of thought. Whatever is going through Rafael’s mind right now, it’s far from disgust. Sonny can at least be confident of that.

“I—”

“You—”

They both cringe, offering each other weak smiles.

“You first,” Rafael urges gently.

He still doesn’t quite make eye contact. Somehow that’s more hurtful than anything else right now. Somehow, Sonny has come to the conclusion that if Rafael would just look at him, they can fix this. They can come to an understanding. Rafael can get back to his case file, Sonny can get back to catching up on Game of Thrones (because Amanda has threatened to spoil the ending if he doesn’t finish it soon) and everything will be as if there hadn’t been a disturbance in the first place.

Because you are a disturbance. A weight on his shoulders, one he doesn’t want to carry anymore.

Sonny clears his too dry throat. “It’s okay if you don’t. No pressure. I just— I looked over at you and you had those little lines between your brows you get when you’re concentrating or you’re— yeah, those, you’re doing it. Your tongue was sticking out a little, too, you know I love catching you do that.” Rafael blinks but he remains patient, waiting for Sonny to reach the point. “Anyway, I do. I love you. You don’t have to say it back or anything, I guess it just seemed like a good time to let you know.” He pauses, unable to help himself before adding, not quite unbitterly, “I’m sorry I was wrong.”

Another long stretch of silence passes between them and Sonny very nearly volunteers to simply go home but then finally, finally, Rafael lifts his head. Sonny doesn’t expect to see Rafael’s eyes welling with tears.

“I’m sorry.”

The words come out raspy, like Rafael had been screaming even though he’s barely managed to string together a complete sentence for a solid five minutes now, and Sonny notes the way he has to force a swallow and the slight tremble to his bottom lip. It makes Sonny sit up straight, attention rapt now because this isn’t how it’s supposed to go, this isn’t how Rafael is supposed to react.

“Hey.” He shifts a little closer, prepared to reach out to take Rafael’s hands but freezing when Rafael flinches. Sonny feels like the rejection like a slap to the face, he’s borderline certain he’ll find the remnants of a handprint on his cheek in the morning and realize he hadn’t just imagined it. His mind races with his options, with failed ideas of what he can do to understand what’s going on, to make this better.

You shouldn’t have opened your damn mouth. You could have avoided all this in the first place.

“Please talk to me, Rafael,” Sonny says. His hands settle on gripping a pillow so he can hold it in front of himself like a protective shield, hugging it close to his chest, as if it might repel whatever undoubtedly horrible thing Rafael is going to say next. “Is it me? Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Rafael says quickly, shaking his head. At least there’s that. “No. I want to say it, Sonny, I do.”

Sonny blinks back the hot tears forming in his own eyes now, lifting his gaze to the ceiling as he blinks hard to avoid letting the tears fall. “So why don’t you? It’s okay, I won’t be upset. If you don’t feel that way yet, I’ll understand.”

You’re a liar. You’re a liar and you’re not dating a fool. Weren’t dating, anyway.

“It’s complicated,” Rafael murmurs, “and it’s not fair to you.”

“You’ve always been complicated.” Sonny tries to say it lightly, his effort to inject a little bit of lightness into the conversation even though he can sense the dark clouds falling into place above them. “I have time, Rafael. If you want to tell me, you know I’ll listen.”

Sucking in a breath, Rafael sets his case file and glasses down on the nightstand beside him. It takes him a moment to collect himself and Sonny can’t see his face now but he can see Rafael’s jaw working, can see the attempt to square those shoulders, to effort to keep it together. If there’s distinct reasoning behind all this, maybe that means they’ll be okay after all. So he stays quiet, lets Rafael work his way up to speaking again on his own time.

“It’s what he used to say.”

Sonny narrows his eyes when Rafael doesn’t expand, not quite understanding what he’s supposed to gather from that statement. “What who used to say?”

Rafael continues on as if he hadn’t heard the question. Maybe he really hadn’t. “He said it every time it happened, without fail. I get it now, I get what it really meant, how empty it was but at the time, I wanted to believe it so badly. I let myself believe it all those years.”

Very nearly, Sonny almost asks for clarification again but then his eyes find the stray cigarette burn on the curve of Rafael’s shoulder then the half-square scar toward Rafael’s tailbone and it clicks. “You’re talking about your dad.”

Rafael barely nods his confirmation. “He loved me so he had to teach me. He loved me so he had to make sure I knew better. He loved me so he knew I’d understand why I couldn’t tell anyone why I had a limp at school the next day. He loved me so I got to choose which belt he’d be using.”

Sonny’s eyes flutter shut, his fists tightening over the sheets as he tries not to audibly react. That’s not what Rafael needs right now. It isn’t often Rafael talks so openly about his childhood, Sonny doesn’t want to risk making him close off again. Still, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t wish he could travel back in time just to beat the ever-loving hell out of Rafael’s father then travel back a second time to do it all over again.

“My mom tried to stop him once. He broke her nose. I told her if she loved me, she’d never interfere again and it worked. She never did. My father was really good at showing how much he loved me, he just did it with his fists.”

“Rafael…”

He trails off. What is there to say? There’s nothing you can say. You’re useless, you can’t do anything to fix this.

“I’m telling you this because I want you to understand that for a part of me, love is always going to be associated with that pain. Those memories. When you say you love me, it’s like I can hear him, too. It’s just… hard sometimes.”

“You never have to say it back,” Sonny rushes to say, not entirely sure that’s what he’d actually meant to say or whether it would be even remotely helpful. “If you want me to stop saying it, that’s okay, I’ll find another way.”

Rafael shifts his body so he can face Sonny again, his whole expression softening now. The lines between his brows are gone, there’s just affection and a little bit of regret in his eyes, though Sonny isn’t sure what that means.

“I don’t want you stop, that’s the thing,” Rafael tells him. He hesitates just slightly then reaches out to gently unfold Sonny’s fingers from the sheets until he can link them with his own. “I want you to say it because coming from you, it’s so different. I know you’ll never hurt me, I know that. The thing about abuse is, it’s forever, no matter the source. It stays with you for life. It’s not something you can switch off when the memory of it becomes overwhelming. Forty years. Forty years and I can still remember the first time he hit me as clearly as if it’d happened this morning. But I carry on, I suck it up, because that’s what’s expected of me. That’s what I need to do if I want to live my life. And I need you to understand that just because you can’t fix it doesn’t mean you aren’t still the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Sonny snivels, bringing Rafael’s knuckles to his lips and gently pressing his lips against each one. “I get it. Whatever you need to do, I get it, I’m glad you told me.”

“I do, by the way,” Rafael says, tilting his head with a faint smile. “I really do. I want you to know that. You are the reason I believe the good in love again. It might just take me a little while before I can actually say it.”

“I can wait,” Sonny promises. “It’ll be worth it.”

He listens for the voice in the back of his head to sabotage the moment, to try to convince him Rafael would rather fabricate a complex lie than spare him the nasty truth, but there’s nothing. The voice has quieted for now. All that’s left is the comfort of knowing Rafael loves him, too. That’s all he needs, really, words are just words.

Some things, sometimes the least obvious things, are simply better left unsaid.

#barisi #rafael barba #sonny carisi #svu #tw: abuse #prompt fill #my writing

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arczeroes · 5 years ago

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Hey! Do you have any advice for drawing hands? More specifically holding something?

Hi! :DI actually do have some advice, although I oftentimes don’t follow it myself! (Which is not a good thing, don’t be me)Because of the fact that I’ll only answer in text, it’d be really helpful to look at all the hand tutorials I reblogged in the past. You can find them here: https://arczeroes.tumblr.com/tagged/hands(You can also replace “hands” in that instance with other stuff like “torso” or “colors” or “anatomy” and you get many other helpful posts)1. Finished, not perfectMake sure that even if the hands that you’re drawing look “bad”, that you finish it nonetheless! Don’t fall into the trap I did and not finish any pictures because the hands or any other feature don’t come out how they should. Through that, you’d end up discouraging yourself and then fall into an artblock. Just finish it! No one will really mind! In the Virgil picture, I thought that the right hand looked too much like a claw and that the left hand was way too flat, but in the end, I heard no one complain about it!2. The “butt”You can simplify the bottom of the inside of the hand by drawing a “butt”! It helps you show what part of the hand is in front of the other and the inside of the hand doesn’t end up looking “empty” or like something is missing!Examples:https://arczeroes.tumblr.com/post/152031529414/undertale-cat-dasher-flash-undertale-cathttps://arczeroes.tumblr.com/post/143170603669/batsquatchstudios-the-big-post-of-things-about3. Gap between the fingersI know you specifically asked for “hands holding something”, but I think this can also be helpful!Try to make sure to draw a curved “gap” between the fingers when they’re in more neutral positions! That way you give each finger space between the knuckles so the fingers don’t look like they’re mushed together!Example:https://arczeroes.tumblr.com/post/145809548044/youre-so-good-in-drawing-hands-do-you-mind4. The little bone on your wristOn the outside of your wrist is a bone that sticks out a bit! Adding it to your drawing can sometimes help break up the line from the arm to the hand! It all depends on the style though. Some people like a straight line from arm to hand, others like to “split” those areas up a bit!5. The curveTry holding your hand in a natural position and then look at your fingers. Would you connect one finger to the next with a line, you’d notice that they form a “curve”. Paying attention to that can help you in making sure that one finger doesn’t break the flow and make the hand look wrong. The same goes for the knuckles! When you draw a character holding something, make sure that the knuckles aren’t all set up in one straight line!Example:https://www.deviantart.com/nk-chan/art/mini-hand-tutorial-683205526. Have the index finger “stick out”Often times when you look at someone’s drawing of a hand holding something you can see that the index finger isn’t “sticked” to the other three fingers. Instead, it’s moved a bit up or is moved a bit forward. I think that can help break up the form a bit and make it more interesting!7. Flatten out the tip of the fingersThat’s actually one thing I didn’t really pay attention to in my last picture, but by looking at tutorials right now I can see what I could have improved. When you draw the fingers with a “sharp tip” it can make the fingers look as if they’re turned in a different direction than they actually are. Flattening them out can help you with maintaining flow and not confusing yourself!Examples:https://arczeroes.tumblr.com/post/144149016429/grizandnorm-tuesday-tip-wrist-control-anhttps://arczeroes.tumblr.com/post/152193533069/giancarlovolpe-americanninjax-anatoref8. Draw the finger that’s closest to you firstThat’s a weird trick I have heard somewhere before, but I have to say that it really, really helps when you get the shape that’s closest to you first!9. Other tutorials that could help youHow to draw Hands - Sycrahttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qUbt1l4tBJgHow to draw dynamic hands - Sycrahttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3-SqpnZ2rnIHow to draw hands - Bluefley/Marc Brunethttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lNkCxLdAocEEpisode #26: How to draw HANDS - KNKL/Kienan Laffertyhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ulfuiOPY64The one tutorial that helped me a lot tbh:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T-Rgo-ze8Lw-I know I sadly couldn’t help you a lot with “How do you draw a hand holding something” much, but in the end it’s kind of a case of “use a lot of references” and “simplify with shapes” and practice. I don’t think there is “one” way to fully teach you how to go about drawing a hand like that. It all depends on your style too! Keep in mind too that you don’t have to follow any of those tutorials. Everyone draws things differently. Everyone has a different twist on how they do things. Don’t let tutorials stop or limit you! They’re more like guidelines than “set rules”!All in all, just keep in mind to not stop a drawing because the hands don’t look alright or perfect! Just try your best, I believe in you!

#ask #tutorial #hands #hand #I am the prime example of a person #who knows a lot #but has never practiced so doesn't really use the things she knows #don't be me #just a while ago I finally learned of letting go #and just going for it #knowledge does not equal skill #so please please practice the stuff you see!#ihateeveryoneintheuniverse

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readingwebcomics · 5 years ago

Text

Analyzing Questionable Content: Pages 151-200

High school bully or not, I’d like to reiterate the fact that Dora’s presence is so terrifying that it can repel a trained government agent. That’s a level of badass we should all strive to be.

…I mean like, don’t actually beat people up and steal their cigarettes, lung cancer is bad. But still!

Before getting into things, I’d like to open with a little bit of bookkeeping: First, as was pointed out to me by at least two different people, I COMPLETELY misread #123 – it was Marten who was helping Steve out on a date, not the other way around. This was completely my bad, so I personally retract everything I said about Jeph’s timescale.

Secondly, on my point on Dora’s identity crisis, user Scarlet Manuka had this to say:

For the time frame of Dora's goth phase, I think that Jeph is actually trying to present this as a genuine identity crisis for Dora - but it's also likely one that's been a long time building up. She's probably been becoming increasingly disenchanted with it for the last couple of years, and given that Raven complains that she's missed fifteen or so meetings, it looks like she's already subconsciously let it go quite some time in the past. I think we're seeing more the conscious realisation of a process that's already happened. In many ways that's what an identity crisis is: the realisation that the slow incremental changes we all experience every day have added up into something big while you weren't looking, and that something you thought was part of you really isn't any more.

That’s a perfectly fair point and one I didn’t consider. Thanks for bringing this up, under this light the time frame of Dora’s realization and her gradual shift into a different identity over the course of the next few comics makes perfect sense.

Finally, it was pointed out to me by Marco on the QC Forums that it’s only fair to link to the comic itself in these posts. While I had figured it was really simple to find the comic for whoever’s reading it considering it’s one of the biggest, longest running webcomics out there, they do have a point that I at least owe it to supply links to the site in these posts. So from now on, the dumb intro blurb to each of my posts will hyperlink to the first comic in the batch I’ll be talking about. That way, you can read along with the analysis if you so wish. Cool? Cool.

Now with that all out of the way, let’s move on to the analysis. Agent Turing has nope’d out and Dora saw herself out, letting Marten know that if he buys her dinner she’ll call it even.

This is a weird case of me totally getting WHY Jeph’s going this particular direction – he needs Marten and Faye at an ice cream shop to reveal a bit more about Faye’s backstory, which we’ll be touching on a bit later – but the particular setup for doing this feels… off. This right here reads like a textbook case of a writer going “Fuck, how do I get these characters to do XYZ…” and this being the best solution they could come up with. What’s worse about this is that only a few panels later, Jeph offers a much better alternative:

Literally all he had to do was have Faye be the one to bring this up: Instead of the panel with Marten blatantly asking “So THAT happened, what do you want to do now?” have Faye be the one to bring up that Marten owes her a little something for helping out with the situation, he brings up the ice cream parlor and then the rest of the comic goes on as normal. This may sound pedantic, but it’s a case where just a slight change in wording makes all the difference between sounding contrived and sounding natural.

I have… issues with this comic.

On one hand, Faye is opening up more about her past. A small, innocuous thing spurred her on to open up a little more to Marten, the reminder cracking her mask and showing just how much trauma she’s really containing within. You can tell this is more than just “bringing back memories” – his death had a profound impact on her, there’s something she’s not wanting to bring up or discuss but is being partially dragged to the surface. This is good character writing, and an amazing step in Faye’s character arc. It spurs curiosity, sparks intrigue, makes you WANT to keep reading to see the next time Faye’s mask cracks because you want to see what she’s hiding underneath it.

On the other hand… there’s no nice way to say this – at this point, Jeph is not talented enough at drawing to portray this from an imagery standpoint. The faces are too stiff, the expressions to stock. Faye doesn’t look like tears are escaping from her despite her best efforts to keep a straight face, she looks like she’s mildly disinterested and a blue line to represent tears was drawn on top of her face. Writing can take you far, but the thing about comics is that the written word is only half of the story. Anything you sell with words, you need to also be able to sell with expressions, with physicality and staging.

I’m not an expert in art – not by a LONG shot, I couldn’t draw a comic to save my life – so I can’t exactly offer any advice on how he could’ve made this work better. I’m at least glad to say that with time Jeph came to improve his artistic style, making moments like this feel a lot more natural down the road. He eventually gets comfortable enough with his drawings that he’s able to tell a story using JUST body language, which is admirable. Clearly, we’re not there yet… and unfortunately, it hurts the mood that this comic is trying to sell.

After a week of guest comics, we continue the story with Faye sharing stories about her childhood with Marten, showing just how comfortable she’s become around him that she feels at ease sharing details about her past she likely wouldn’t share otherwise.

Oh, and we’ve got some revelations about Marten’s past here. The Thanksgiving comic where he talks about how his family drives him crazy is starting to make more sense now, isn’t it?

Here, we see three things displayed. First, the fraction used in Marten’s dialogue instead of just saying “half”. I… don’t get why that is. It makes me irrationally angry though. I’m aware that’s fully on me.

Second, this serves to showcase both Marten’s blasé attitude about his strange upbringing and offer potentially an expiation as to why he seems so passive about everything. I’ve offered up the idea in a previous post that when he goes out and makes a choice, it’s enough to completely shift his entire world, so that may have served to encourage him not to not want to rock the boat and keep his head low. This, however, might serve as an alternative explanation, or at least another piece of the puzzle – growing up in a… let’s call it “untraditional” household where his parents were clearly quite open about what they were doing with his son, the fact that Marten grew up to be rather milquetoast serves to make a certain degree of sense.

Third, Marten’s being sassy. I like when Marten’s sassy. As I said, his character kind of… devolves in later comics, so seeing him have a spine enough to throw this out is always fun to read. Plus, it also serves to showcase how comfortable the two of them are with each other that Marten can sling this stuff out without fear of retaliation.

Setup...

The next day, Faye’s leaving for work when a surprise visitor comes to their door.

Marten’s comment always makes me laugh. This comic in general is just hilarious, from Amanda – Faye’s sister’s name is Amanda by the way – triple bomb thrown right into Faye’s lap to Faye’s 404 error to Marten not even missing a beat in his reaction to what’s going on in front of him.

Honestly, I’m with Marten here. And once again, I’m afraid I have to point out the fact that Jeph isn’t quite talented at drawing facial expressions yet ruins the punchline to Faye’s joke in the last panel. At least the writing serves to keep the humor going strong, and don’t mistake me here – these next few comics are gut busters. I fucking love the chaos Amanda causes by just stepping into their lives.

Oh yeah, I guess I should talk about Amanda now, shouldn’t I? Well, uh. Hm. She’s a Lesbian. And she’s a bit of a troublemaker. And like a little bit of a ditz?

…yeah that’s literally all I can think to describe her as. Cut me a little bit of slack here though, at the time of writing we’re on page 4010 and I’d be genuinely surprised if Amanda was in more than 50 pages total. The only real significant things I can think to say about her as a character is how what she says and does serves to inform Faye’s character.

Like right here – we can see the whole “doesn’t plan much further than the very next step you’re about to take” mentality runs in Faye’s family. Also, Jeph’s trying different angles out! Good on him, even little changes like this can serve to make the action feel at least slightly more dynamic!

“Clitoriste” is an amazing word and I hope to find a way to work it into at least one conversation before I die.

Amanda hangs around the coffee shop, swapping sex stories with Dora as Faye desperately tries to claw her own eardrums until Marten comes along. And as I’m saying this, I realize with hindsight that Dora’s being super cool right now, not only letting her loiter around her business but also realizing she was kicked out of her house at least in part because of her sexuality and so is letting her know “Hey, fucking girls is AWESOME, right?” to keep her mind off current events. The more I talk about Dora, the cooler she gets, seriously.

“Aerodynamically curvaceous” is another amazing phrase, this one great enough that Jeph eventually made it into a T-shirt. Seeing as I have as many curves on me as a string bean does, there’s no way I could get away with wearing it myself, but the fact that the shirt exists makes me a little happier to be alive.

Anyway, this comic goes on to show that despite the circumstances, Amanda is taking this rather well all things considered, and Faye has faith that given some time to sit with the information their mom will come around… Also that Faye was a damn good student, which might go on to explain how she was able to absorb so much information about guitars when her ex rambled on about them so much – she just retains information THAT well.

This comic… raises a LOT of questions. The last comic involves characters from another webcomic entirely, making this a fun little Easter Egg/crossover sort of deal. That being said, this raises a LOT of questions about the continuity of QC. Does it take place within the universe of Diesel Sweeties? Or does Diesel Sweeties exist within the universe of QC? The fact that we have a humanoid robot here – does that serve to shed a light on AI development in the QC universe? Did Jeph consider what AI development there would be at this point in writing? I assume not, as thus far the only intelligent devices are Anthro PCs. Is Clango an Anthro PC? Is he a prototype of a more advanced synthetic?

These are questions that were never intended for me to ask, aren’t they? Yeah. That’s what I figured. Considering the fact that Amanda has a girlfriend is canon, and the following phone conversation on the next page is canon as well, the best way to rationalize this is to just pretend that last panel doesn’t exist. Remove it entirely, and this strip fits in perfectly with QC’s established continuity and universe thus far.

Unless you REALLY want to find a way to fit Diesel Sweeties into QC’s universe, which I suppose wouldn’t be that difficult considering it’s a non-plot focused gag-a-day comic, but that’s entirely up to you.

Oh, and speaking of the conversation the two have over the phone:

Credit where it’s due, Dora’s expression on the first two panels is clearly different from the standard set of facial expressions Jeph usually puts on everyone. It’s always nice to see some experimentation! And here’s another situation where Amanda’s main purpose is to drive forward Faye’s character – here we get another hint of something that happened in her past, confirmation that she hasn’t dated anyone in a long time and some kind of source of a reason why she hadn’t. The scar on her chest, the death of her father, the lack of a love life stemming from some event… pieces to the Faye puzzle are falling into place, but we still don’t have everything. We’re given just enough to inspire further curiosity though, which – and I know I’ve said this a hundred times before, but I will say it a hundred times again – is good character writing.

…all that said, I sincerely hope that phone was shock proof. I don’t think her Mom’s exactly going to be in the mood to get her a new one.

Considering Amanda stole her credit card and all, I don’t blame their mom for being furious at her. That said, it’s nice to see that it didn’t take long at all for her to calm down and want to talk things over.

And here, we have specific confirmation that there was a set of “circumstances” that led Faye to want to leave home and move up here. Another piece of the Faye mystery falls into place.

Amanda’s immediately heading off to the airport to return home, leaving Marten and Faye to reel in the wake of an… I’d say it’s fair to call it an intense day.

HAH! If you haven’t read all the way through QC, you don’t understand why that’s so funny in hindsight. Trust me, give it another few hundred comics and it’ll make sense. God, I wonder if that specific reference was intentional on Jeph’s part, or if he just likes Vespas? Then again… he IS an anime buff, it’s entirely possible both events stem from FLCL.

Oh hey, there’s that pink Anthro PC again. We saw them back at the LANPark. Haven’t added them to the character list though since we don’t even know their name, but it seems like Pintsize has friends and a life off-panel. Good for him! I do wonder what ends up happening to these guys later though… Most likely they all just drift apart and move on with their lives.

...Why am I so sad all of a sudden?

And here we see an example of the two of them openly flirting with each other, dipped deep in sarcasm of course but that’s just how these two roll. Their inter-personal relationship has progressed really well and at a nice, natural pace so far. At this rate, something should be coming to a head very soon – either one or the both of them need to acknowledge the fact that they’re getting closer, or something’s going to happen that will throw a monkey wrench into the dance they’re performing.

Ugh. I’m coming to hate whenever Marten says “What do you want to do now?” Maybe it’s just me, I’m willing to accept I’m reading too much into this, but whenever he says that all I hear in my head is Jeph going “I can’t think of a more natural way to transition into this next scene so I’ll have Marten ask this question to push the scene forward.” It just feels like bad storytelling to me, it really does.

Now, I need you to hold onto your seats right now, because what you’re about to read next might just be the greatest comic you’ve ever read in your life. The mere act of seeing this may very well knock you out of your seat. Are you ready for this? I don’t think you are – I don’t think ANY of us are. Brace yourselves.

My man, Jimbo! And yes, he is officially called Jimbo now, so we’ll be changing the name in the character stats screen at the end of this post. And this man, this absolute LEGEND, is living the dream – quitting his blue-collar job to pursue his passion in writing! He’s worked hard to get where he is in life, and now that he’s here, the fruits of his labor are paying off! As a commercial electrician who’s writing on the side, I strive to be like Jimbo one day. God bless you, you absolute PINNACLE of human achievement!

I can’t NOT show off more Jimbo comics, he’s just that great. Also, Faye’s drunken antics are fucking hilarious.

Credit where it’s due to Faye for not only helping Jimbo out with his writing but also doing it as a completely on-the-spot Haiku, while totally piss drunk. Not even going to lie, that takes talent.

Faye’s willingness to engage in behavior like this raises… questions. Questions that I’m not entirely comfortable asking right now considering the author’s own past with alcohol. I’ll touch more on it when we reach the batch of comics 501-550, I’m going to need more time to prepare myself to talk about it in a way that’s as respectful as possible.

And finally… the moment of truth. When long-time readers of QC remember the Pre-500 era, there are two things that come to our mind: The actual conversation that happens at issue 500 that marks the transitional phase of QC into the kind of webcomic it is today… and the headbutt-crotch-vomit comic.

Behold.

I’m not even going to try offering commentary here. Absolutely nothing I could say can be better than what you just witnessed in this comic.

This page right here… it has an interesting dynamic between its first and last panels. Panel one, again, Jeph takes the time to make a new facial expression for Faye as she’s waking up, one that looks nice and works with the dialogue to communicate how she’s feeling. And then in the last panel… well, I don’t think it’s exactly controversial to say that her face in the last panel doesn’t communicate the confusion and rage she’s supposed to be feeling as expressed in the dialogue, is it? Jeph is getting there, his artistry is clearly evolving, but he’s not quite talented enough to pull it all off quite yet. Still, little improvements should be applauded!

And here we get another character confirming suspicions raised back in #172, that being Faye clearly has some relationship hangups stemming from something happening in her past. This raises some concerns considering their more flirtatious behavior around each other and their developing inter-personal relationship. At this point, SOMETHING has to happen to inspire a reaction or change out of one of the two, or they may very well find themselves trapped in stagnation… keep that in mind for a little while longer. On the art side of things, something to note that I just realized… Steve has a shine in his eyes to make them look more natural and full of life, but Marten’s doesn’t. Is there any particular reason for this? And why am I noticing it just now? Actually looking back a few comics, the “shine in the eyes” detail only started with #186… again, in all characters except Marten. Is there a significant reason for this? Or is it just a detail that’s easier to do with the shades of color in people’s eyes except for Marten’s for whatever reason? I don’t have an answer, but it’s something to keep in mind at least while we watch the art evolve.

Also, one more thing?

Either Marten’s a liar, or Faye’s ass is just THAT good that it converted him. My money’s on the latter, considering people routinely talk about how baller Faye’s ass is.

Yes, I did just use the word “baller” unironically. No, I don’t have any shame, thanks for asking.

…payoff.

And again with the fucking contraction thing… It’s not subtle if other characters are pointing it out! I know, I’m the only person willing to die on this hill, and I KNOW it’s long-passed and nobody’s concerned about it anymore, but it genuinely bothers me! This is a stupid character traits that… bah, I’m not going to repeat myself again. On a lighter note, this particular comic showcases how much better Jeph’s gotten at drawing faces. It’s not much, but it’s better than the stock expressions that most characters usually wear, and you can see some subtle actions and thoughts expressed in the way Dora or Faye’s eyebrows move, in which direction their eyes are facing… it’s nice stuff.

I won’t show everything in these next three comics, but I wanted to showcase this series of events at least because this is some good character writing that says a lot about both Steve and the new girl Jeph introduces.

Setup…

Payoff…

…and subversion of expectations.

Sorry Marten, but I’m with Steve here 100%. That was clever, well-played, and EXTREMELY hot all at once. It’s too bad we don’t end up seeing much of Ellen after this because she has SUCH a strong established introduction.

And what fortunate timing – we have another collection of guest comics, which ends RIGHT at #200:

And here we go – the spark of conflict in the relationship dynamic between Marten and Faye that I predicted we needed. How’s Faye going to deal with this? How’s Marten going to deal with this? What if on this date it turns out he’s actually, seriously interested in Dora? Would this push Faye to action? She’s made it clear, at least to the people around her, that she’s not interested in pursuing something with Marten… so what if someone made her put her money where her mouth is? Well, we’ll find out one way or another come the next batch of comics.

While we’re still talking about this batch however, let’s do our usual deal of comparing the art shift between the first and the last comics in the batch:

This is a clear-cut example of a lot of small, subtle tweaks happening over the course of a long enough period of time making a clear, distinct difference. The biggest change, of course, being the faces of everyone as I’ve been bringing up all throughout this post – everyone looks so much more EXPRESSIVE. You can get a proper read on someone’s mood based on just how they look alone now, and I find that super impressive… admittedly, it also makes me wish that Jeph could/would re-do the ice cream comic in this newer art style to properly capture the expression on Faye’s face that he wanted to capture, but you know. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve.

So what did I think of this batch of comics so far? Personally, I think it’s the best batch yet – the best improvement in art, the most introduced on Faye’s character, the best sarcasm from Marten… a LOT was improved in this batch, and that deserves praise. I like where the plot is going, I want to know more about Faye, and I am hooked on the will they/won’t they story, especially with the newer developments in the complexities of their relationship web coming into play.

All that said, let’s take a look at the data analysis for this particular batch:

Marten: 34/50 – 68%

Faye: 33/50 – 66%

Dora: 12/50 – 24%

Amanda: 12/50 – 24%

Steve: 6/50 – 12%

Pintsize: 5/50 – 10%

Jimbo: 3/50 – 6%

Ellen: 3/50 – 6%

Turing: 1/50 – 2%

Grand Total:

Marten: 166/200 – 83%

Faye: 163/200 – 81.5%

Dora: 51/200 – 25.5%

Pintsize: 50/200 – 25%

Steve: 22/200 – 11%

Amanda: 12/200 – 6%

Sara: 7/200 – 3.5%

Jimbo: 5/200 – 2.5%

Turing: 4/200 – 2%

Raven: 3/200 – 1.5%

Ellen: 3/200 – 1.5%

Scott: 2/200 – 1%

Miéville: 1/200 – 0.5%

Ell: 1/200 – 0.5%

Do note that in this last batch, 12 of the 50 were non-canon guest comics, so I didn’t count any characters showing up in any of them. Either way, it looks like Amanda was in enough comics to create a barrier in the stats between main and major supporting characters and minor characters as far as amount of time they’ve shown up in the comic goes. I don’t know if anyone else finds that as interesting as I do, I just think it’s neat.

In any case, tune in next week for the exciting conclusion to the double-date story! And a trip to the hospital!

…the two things aren’t related, I swear. See you then.

#Questionable Content #Faye #Marten #Pintsize #Dora #Steve #Long-Form Analysis #Analysis

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thelionshoarde · 7 years ago

Text

The Bergatt Affair; Obi/Zen/Shirayuki

This was written months ago and never finished. Also, never properly edited. SO MANY LIBERTIES TAKEN. This is written as OT3, but the meat of the story that currently exists revolves around Obi and Zen within that dynamic. Mostly SFW, I’m pretty sure?

There wasn’t much time between telling Shirayuki that he had to go and actually leaving, but she still managed to pull him into an alcove off the main passage of the Pharmacy Building. Obi ached to see the tightness of her jaw, and the unhappy line of her mouth. “Mistress,” he murmured, the word tripping roughly over itself. “I --”

“I know,” she cut him off. “I know.”

Stiff, she reached into her bag and tugged out a folded piece of material, most of it pale, expensive leather, but with a flash of gold and black design on one edge. She shook it out, movements sharp, and reached up towards him. Startled, Obi ducked his head down as Shirayuki tugged the head covering over his hair. Her knuckles brushed against his cheekbones, and Obi’s breath caught in his chest.

“There,” she announced, back straight, gaze level. “That’s better. It’s been a while since I saw you wearing something like that.”

Obi reached up to touch the edge of the head covering. It was a good fit, and matched the uniform he was wearing, suiting it perfectly, though Zen had long forbidden him to wear such things. His ever present cowl and mostly dark colors were as much leeway as he could usually expect. “Mistress...did you have this made for me?”

Shirayuki smiled at him, a brave, pained curve of her mouth and said, “Maybe I did.”

Unable to resist, Obi grinned back, teasing. “Did you get permission from Master? He thinks I look far too much the rogue like this."

And, damn it - he had said just the wrong thing. Her smile broke, settling back into somber lines. “Be a rogue, Obi,” she told him. “Be whatever you need to be to help them, to keep them safe.”

For a moment, all Obi could do was marvel at her.

“As you wish, Mistress.”

He straightened, shouldering his feelings, the sharp-bright ache in his chest, the fear that crowded at the base of his spine, the eagerness to see Zen, the despair at leaving Shirayuki behind; he folded it up and put it away. Shirayuki watched him, her eyes wide and clear, and Obi felt her see him, felt the weight of her gaze and expectation all the way to the marrow of his bones.

Then she reached her hand up, small but strong, and laid it across his chest, over his rapidly beating heart.

“Come back safely, Obi.”

Despite himself, he couldn’t resist one last backward glance.

But maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. Shirayuki stood on the balcony, watching him leave, and never averted her gaze. The visage of her standing there, her hair a bloody beacon in the encroaching dark, solid and strong and determined; brave for him, for Zen, for Mitsuhide and Kiki; alone and lonely and willing to wait.

It was something to hold tight in his heart, that perfect accord between them.

Obi went to him in the dark. Even with the heightened security at the Knight’s Circle it was child’s play for Obi to scale his way to Zen’s window. Balancing easily on the balls of his feet he slid the window open, poking his head inside wearily. Warmth billowed into his face, the closed air of a room lit by a crackling fire in its hearth, smoky and tinged with sweat, glided across his skin.

Zen watched him from his bed, eyes wide open despite the late hour, and entirely unsurprised.

“Ah,” Obi said, hesitant suddenly. He hadn’t quite expected his Master to be awake, and though he had made himself welcome in Zen’s rooms time and time again, that seemed so long ago. He and Shirayuki lived in Lyrias, far from the comforts of Wistal Palace, far from Zen’s familiar, dear face; a face now dark in places where bruises were setting in, and ghostly in others where bandages had been applied.

Obi’s abdomen burned, his wound protesting -- or something more. He couldn’t be certain.

“Mistress will be furious she wasn’t here to treat you,” Obi said, helpless.

Zen snorted, relaxing into his pillow. He tipped his head back, gazing up at the ceiling and exposing the long, strong column of his throat. Obi wet his lips, fingers curling too tightly against the window frame.

“Not as furious as she’ll be when she finds out you reopened your wounds -- again -- climbing through my window in the dead of night. You dumbass. Get in before you fall out!”

“Perish the thought,” Obi gasped, dropping lightly into the room. “I haven’t fallen out of a window since I was seven, I’ll have you know.”

“Seven?” Zen smiled. “You certainly did start early, didn’t you?”

What was it, Obi wondered, that felt so different? He perched on Zen’s mattress like a bird in a cage, knowing it a trap but wanting, strangely, to be kept anyway. But that was hardly an unfamiliar feeling, at this point, and yet something had him on edge, his nerves a warning tangle, screaming at him to get out. Carefully, he smoothed the cover beside his thigh, and said, “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean, Master.”

His heart was beating so fast.

“I missed you,” Zen said, like it was easy. “I hate that it took a damned assassination attempt for me to be able to see your face. This is stupid, and I’ve missed you.”

There it was, Obi thought, a crackling white static momentarily filling him. That was the difference -- Zen had changed the steps on him, and now Obi found himself stumbling. Zen was not meant to do this to him. The last barrier crumbling, and all of Obi’s defenses already turned to dust.

Zen was not supposed to want this.

The only safety Obi had between the two of them was that they would never allow Obi to love them as he wanted; that they would never let anyone else fall so close into their space.

Obi thought back to when he’d first met Kiki and Zen as they watched the Bergatt boy head off into the night. The way that Zen had looked at him had been a flame that licked him from the inside out, shocking. His words -- “I just want to fly into your arms right now." -- had been more so, and only Kiki charmingly joining in had turned it into a joke that Obi could find a response to, allowing Obi to open his arms and welcome an embrace that he knew wouldn’t happen. Couldn’t happen, in that circumstance.

Then, it had been easy enough in the hectic rush of their mission to set it aside. Now, in the aftermath, it hung in the air between them. Obi had sensed the change the moment he met Zen’s eyes. Had recognized something he’d only seen directed at him by people who didn't matter: surrender, and desire. It was terrifying. And Obi hadn’t the slightest clue what to do.

“Master --”

Zen reached across the space between them to lay his own hand atop Obi’s where it fretted with the cover. The touch was light; barely a graze of calloused fingertips atop Obi’s knuckles, but enough to shatter him, enough to make his heart stop.

Obi slid out from beneath Zen’s hand, twisting his body like he was dodging a thrown dagger. He forced his voice to sound normal, light and joking, even while he kept his back to Zen’s gaze.

“Have no fear for your lonely heart, Master. I’m sure you’ll see her again, soon. The Mistress, that is. I can’t imagine the elder Highness himself could keep her away, not after this.” He made his restless way about the room, picking up a ledger Zen had worked on, flipping through it, casting it aside.

“Obi.”

His fingers lifted a half-empty tumbler of whiskey to his mouth and tipped it back; it burned, tasting expensive and strong.

“Obi.”

That voice was like a claw at the back of his throat, talons digging in, raking down his spine.

“Of course I miss Shirayuki,” Zen said. “I miss her all the time! Every breath. And I -- I hate that the two of you are in Lyrias, and I’m not.”

“Wish you could trade places with me?” Obi grinned. “Sorry, Master, but you know that --”

“Shut up,” Zen scowled, blue eyes no less fierce for the dim light. “I wish I was there, with the both of you. The only thing that makes me feel better is that at least you’re together.”

There was a heavy pause, then, as though Zen was waiting for Obi to respond. But Obi had no response. Everything he had to say he had been saying for ages, now, over and over again. The weight of his dagger felt heavy at the small of his back; it took all his effort not to reach back and touch the ornate handle. Instead, he pressed the rim of the glass to his lips and remained silent.

“You’re being deliberately difficult, Obi. It. Ugh! What was it that she said once?” Agitated, Zen had sat up, shedding his blanket, looking charming and approachable and utterly endearing in his simple sleep shirt.

With a clatter, Obi set the empty glass down. “Now, Master, when am I ever difficult? I think you have me confused with some other dashing rogue."

“That night you ran off, and we had to find you -- you remember. She said you make us feel safe.”

Damn it. Obi stared at the window, now shut, and thought about escape. Zen was not letting this go, apparently, no matter how much Obi dug his heels in. He let his breath out in a trembling sort of sigh, wondering how long he would hold out -- how long he would want to. Wondering if this would be the final thing to tip him into running, or the final stay to tie him firmly into place.

Obi’s voice came out like an echoing scrape, rasping. “She said you don’t need to put up any defenses around me.”

“Yeah, that was it.” The way he sounded -- fond, exasperated, pleased that Obi was finally going along with him -- made Obi shiver, and begin hunting desperately for the bottle of that whiskey. He had a feeling he’d need it. “And I think I’ve said it before,” Zen mused, “that your face relaxes me.”

Before he could help himself, Obi barked out a startled laugh. “My face is the most relaxing,” he agreed, “full of goodness and light.”

“We like it.”

Obi looked at him sharply, unnerved. What was he meant to do with that?

“Me and Shirayuki,” Zen insisted. “We like having your face around.”

“...Where’s the whiskey?"

Zen rolled his eyes, but pointed at a side cabinet. Obi, finally able to move, lunged for it, watching Zen carefully with a sideways gaze the whole while. Zen had his elbows on his knees, his blonde hair shadowing his eyes. His shoulders were relaxed, but Obi saw the pink flush on his cheeks in the flickering light of the hearth. It was mesmerizing, that touch of emotion; the slightest hint of discomfort to prove to Obi that this wasn’t exactly easy for Zen, either.

That this took effort. That Zen was making an effort.

And for him, of all things.

Despite the quiet between them, neither of them were aware of the visitor until a knock came at the door, which meant either Kiki or Mitsuhide. Obi glanced at the bottle in his hand, grinned a little, and tugged the cork out. By the time Zen called for the intruder to enter Obi was seated cross legged atop the trunk at the foot of Zen’s bed, facing the door, bottle at his lips.

Nothing to see here, he thought. No earth shattering revelations potentially about to occur. My world isn’t being completely upended at all, nope!

“So that’s where he went,” Kiki said, closing the door behind her.

“Miss Kiki!” Obi cheered. “I missed you, too!”

Ignoring him, Kiki looked at Zen for half a beat, her face still and sharp, before some of the tension in her posture subsided. “The Captain put together a bit of gathering, but your presence isn’t required, Your Highness."

“Are you certain? I can come down if you think it’ll help."

“No," Kiki shook her head. “Not this time, Zen. Stay. I’ll let Mitsuhide know he doesn’t have to sit outside your door all night, since Obi’s here.”

“Hey,” Obi protested. “Where there are knights gathered, there is drinking! Gambling! Potential swindling to be had! What if I want to leave?”

Kiki looked at him, and Obi regretted opening his mouth.

“He won’t leave,” Zen said. The easy, assured way he said it felt like a hand at Obi’s neck, holding him. The whiskey burned; his abdomen burned; his eyes burned. Everything felt touched by fire and danger. Zen’s voice steady in the dark, laying claim to him. “I’ll keep him here until sunrise, at least.”

“Very good,” Kiki said, with the faintest touch of a smile. “Have a good night, Zen. Obi.”

The door shut and latched with a quiet snick. Neither of them spoke. A log split in the fire, snapping loudly. Obi lifted the bottle to his mouth and drank. His hand might have been a little unsteady, because some spilled from his lips, trickling down his chin. He wiped at it with the back of his arm.

Zen sat behind him, waiting.

“Mistress isn’t fond of me drinking. She’s worried about my liver.”

“That sounds like her.”

Obi smiled, lopsided but real. He missed her. He was even looking forward to the scolding he was going to receive. As much as he disliked displeasing her, having all that irate focus honed in solely on him was going to be bliss.

“She doesn’t like to be left behind.”

“No,” Zen said softly, voice nearly a whisper. “I imagine not.”

“I don’t want to steal from her,” Obi finally said. It hurt, getting those words out. He wasn’t certain if they were the right ones -- in a way, he wasn’t certain if they were even true. But he wanted them to be true.

Behind him, Zen gave a long and gusty sigh. “You aren’t stealing anything from her, Obi. This -- what I feel -- I feel for both of you. I’m not giving you anything of Shirayuki’s that you don’t already share with her. She knows that. And I’m not taking you away from her. Obi. Come here.”

Obi set the bottle unsteadily on the ground. Kneeling up on the trunk, he turned, staring down the length of the bed at Zen. Every muscle was tense; Obi could practically feel himself vibrating with it. “Master,” he said. “I am not an easy thing to --”

Frustrated, he cut himself off with a sharp snap of his teeth.

How was he meant to finish that thought? Obi didn’t even know the answer inside the privacy of his own mind. He wasn’t certain his heart had invented a language for it yet; the translation from feelings to words wouldn’t come. He was not an easy thing -- that was a truth in and of itself. Yet somehow Zen and Shirayuki had netted him between them, holding themselves firm when his restless feet thought to wander past.

“I don’t scare that easy,” Zen snapped. “Now, come here.”

“Temper, temper. Do you speak to all your bed mates this way?” Obi crawled his way up the bed, slow, a little unsteady. “Should I be warning my Mistress against your crude behavior?”

Zen wrapped a hand around Obi’s bicep as soon as he was near enough, using strength hard won by daily training to haul him the rest of the way up the bed. Obi caught himself before he toppled face first into Zen’s chest, and found himself nearly nose to nose with him.

“You’re Obi,” Zen whispered, breath tickling Obi’s skin. “Not anyone else. This me exists because it’s you, you know.”

Obi wet his mouth, and watched Zen’s gaze drop to follow his tongue. His flush, which never quite left, darkened, spreading to the tips of his ears. Obi felt again like a bird in his hands, trapped and happy, anxious and lonely, trembling inside his skin. He wanted to kiss Zen’s red ears, and pull his head back by his perfect hair to reveal the length of his throat again.

“You sweet talker,” Obi smiled.

Zen’s eyebrows shot up as soon as he saw Obi’s lips curve, and his gaze snapped back up. “Done dragging it out again?” he teased. Obi reached for the belt at his waist, unbuckling it with careful fingers and laying it across the bedside table within easy reach, the dagger given to him when he finally allowed Zen to make him his knight glinting in the firelight. Zen dragged him back close when he was done, and Obi dared to let him.

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?”

With a pleased little noise, Zen leaned back against his pillows, drawing Obi down with him. Despite himself, Obi couldn’t help the stiffness in his limbs. He wasn’t used to touches that mattered, the kind that had thought and meaning behind them; he wasn’t used to wanting it, even after all this time with Shirayuki and Zen. Even here and now, when he was trying to let himself have almost everything he wanted.

He had told Zen once that he would go anywhere for the two of them, and it was true. Whatever path they tread, whatever direction it led, Obi would head down it in the end. They had become inevitable, Obi thought, a constancy. The type of forever Obi had thought didn’t exist. Yet here he was.

Obi settled against the pillows cautiously, trying to relax. But every brush of Zen’s body against his was electric, startling. Obi could hardly keep himself from flinching when Zen’s knee nudged against his thigh; couldn’t keep himself from panting when when Zen wrapped his fingers around Obi’s forearm carefully, raising Obi’s wrist to his mouth and kissing the thin skin there, carefully.

“Master really does have beautiful eyes,” Obi whispered, feeling reckless and restless.

Zen snorted, and bit Obi’s thumb gently between his teeth before releasing him entirely. “I’m glad you think so. I also think you’re far too over dressed for sleeping.”

“Sleeping?” Obi couldn’t help but arch a brow, even as he sat up to unbuckle his cowl and shrug off his shirt -- carefully, oh so carefully. The mess of white bandages were stained red in places, and Obi winced to see it.

“Sleeping,” Zen confirmed, glaring at Obi’s stomach. “Shirayuki really is not going to be pleased with you.”

#ans #obizenyuki #ot3 #bergatt arc #maybe some day i will finish this??#my fic #BABIES ILU

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tomatatoro · 7 years ago

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Oh almighty napkin arm with googly eyes, I humble peregrin dare come forth with a request... could you make some character design breakdowns for some more realistic characters? Like your power ranger fanart? I tried to break them down on my own, but I'm not sure I did it that well... it's incredibly useful and interesting... Keep being awesome, and thanks for how you already helped me anyway!

Thanks for the patience, had to mull this one over. The more complex a design gets, the more difficult it is to break down. Basic character design tips may not be enough…so let’s delve into:

Character Design Tips Part 2!

Before we start, it’ll help to read my last character design post, where I laid out four concepts: shapes, silhouettes, colors, and inspiration. In this post, I aim to build on and rephrase these in a way that hopefully makes it easier to apply them. I’ll be drawing examples from my Power Rangers (2017) fanart to illustrate my points.

(Disclaimers:)

(Ideally, you should already be comfortable with drawing people. If not, look into figure drawing, gesture drawing, etc.)

(Whereas my previous tips were more tried and true, the tips here are more my own thoughts, so they may be half-formed.)

(Again, these are not rules. They’re just tips to add to your toolbox; the more tools you have, the more versatile you’ll become.)

Without further ado, let’s start!

Based off what we know about shapes, silhouettes, colors and inspiration, I want to cover: lines and angles, external and internal silhouettes, values, and references.

1. Shapes => Lines and Angles

Last time, I laid out three basic shapes:round, box, and triangle.

Problem: limiting yourself to these 3 shapes can be useful and fun for simpler designs, but they may be too simple or look out of place on more complex designs.

Solution: let’s go to the next level! Instead of shapes, shift your thinking to lines and angles!

Lines can be curved, straight, or diagonal.Angles can range from obtuse to acute angles.Follow your intuition: what feeling do you get from each line or angle?If I follow my own intuition, I see that:

curved lines = natural, soft

straight lines = balanced, grounded

diagonal lines = off-balance, in motion

obtuse angles = broad, relaxed

right angles = rigid, unnatural

acute angles = slim, dynamic

If this sounds familiar, you’re right! It’s just the shapes all over again:

curved lines make round shapes

straight lines with obtuse/right angles make boxy shapes

diagonal lines with acute angles make triangular shapes

But lo! Since we broke the shapes into their smaller components, it’s much more flexible! Now we can use lines and angles for more complex designs:

2. Silhouette => External and Internal Silhouettes

Last time, I explained the silhouette test: if you black out the figure, it should still be readable.

Problem: blacking out the figure only tests the outline of the design, i.e. the external silhouette. But what about the inside of the design?

Solution: block in the figure and test for the internal silhouette!

If you want not just an interesting outline, but an interesting costume, block in the major components of your design to see if it has a readable internal silhouette. This test can help you avoid boring or cluttered costumes and makes your design stand out. If your internal silhouette is too empty, try adding props or designs. If it’s too busy, simplify it.

3. Colors => Values

Last time, I talked about the 60-30-10 and 70-30 rules for color.

Problem: those rules work on the assumption that you’re only using 2 to 3 colors. But what if I want to use more colors?

Solution: good news! The same idea applies if you split your palette into 3 major values: shadows, midtones, and highlights.

Balance your palette by converting your colors to grayscale and applying the 60-30-10 rule to the values. This is related to the idea of silhouettes; if you get a nice internal silhouette, you’ll probably end up with a nicely balanced set of palette values, and vice versa.

(Fun fact! You can split your palette in different ways. In a watercolor tutorial, Miyazaki splits the palette into bright, dark, black, green 1, green 2, blue 1, and blue 2.)

4. Inspiration => References

“Good artists copy, great artists steal!” -Picasso

Problem: Coming up with something 100% original is tedious and doesn’t always give great results. It saps the inspiration right out of you!

Solution: It’s a lot easier to steal ideas from references!

Note: don’t just copy, steal! Cherry-pick/massage the aspects of the reference you find the most appealing and work them into your design. Ditch anything that you don’t care about. Make it your own! Make it something you can put your own name on! Below is the reference image I used for my designs:

And below is my fanart:

That’s it for now! Thanks for reading! If you guys want to see any other topics, feel free to ask and I can try my hand at it.

If you want to see my previous character design tips, click here.If you want to see the full-size Power Rangers fanart lineup, click here.If you want to see other character designs I’ve done, click here.

#Anonymous #reference #tutorial #Character Design #Power Rangers

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allenmendezsr · 4 years ago

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Frank Gotch, the first American professional wrestler to win the world heavyweight free-style championship, and credited for popularizing professional wrestling in the United States once said, “Conditioning is the greatest hold” – And he was right!

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Conditioning Mistake #1: Focusing on Aerobic Fitness

Combat, like life, does not happen at one constant rate of speed. It is multi-faceted in nature. There will be periods of brutally intense activity followed by lulls in the action, again followed by another flurry of activity. Being able to use those lulls in action to recover is a critical ability for the warrior.

Steady state cardio, Long Slow Distance (LSD) training simply will not cut it. Running on a treadmill may be appropriate for a hamster in a cage, but human beings require more. Long distance running can be beneficial for mental toughness and/or active recovery, but it should not be the primary focus of a warrior’s endurance training.

Conditioning Mistake #2: WOD Envy

The current rage in conditioning training, especially when talking about combat conditioning, is to completely change up the workout for each and every session.

This has the advantage of keeping the training fresh and throwing the body into chaos each time so it never knows what hit it. The hardcore advocates of this type of conditioning stress that this environment will create a very broad and general fitness that prepares the trainee for almost every physical contingency, both known and unknowable. This enables one to prepare for the chaos and uncertainty of combat by training in an uncertain and chaotic environment.

Seems to make a lot of sense on the surface, right?

However, one of the problems resident with this type of training is that random training yields random results. It’s difficult to measure progress when the parameters are constantly shifting.

In order for the body to produce an adaptation for improved performance in life, sport, or martial art, we must apply specific stimulus as per the SAID Principle (Specific Adaptation to Imposed Demand). This basically means that the body adapts with a specific type of fitness to any demand which is imposed on it. When the same exercise is performed for too long, the body adapts to the stresses of each set and the adaptations or returns get smaller and smaller. Once it has adapted to the stress, then it’s time to change or increase the stress or else we fall into that trap of diminishing returns.

Conditioning Mistake #3: All High Intensity ALL the Time

Training harder demands training smarter.

We all know people who think they can continue to grow and continue to make gains indefinitely by simply pushing harder and harder in their training day in and day out. But what always happens to them? Injury, burn out, sickness, stagnation. Then what? Well, once they get back on their feet they start the same cycle all over again. Why? Because maybe, just maybe they weren’t pushing hard enough or using enough brute force last time to succeed and this time will be different. Riiigghhht…

How about this instead?

Train Smarter AND Harder.

Bring the intensity every workout, yes. Push the limits, hell yes. Keep moving forward, always. But not always in a straight line. What do I mean? Training smarter involves the usage of planned back-off workouts and deload weeks which, in effect, allow the body to take a step back in order to spring forward again with greater energy and intensity.

Additionally, it is of paramount importance to have a properly structured strategy in place for recovery and restoration. Continued progression and development demands it. Without a recovery strategy, the gains in fitness slow, plateaus are hit and NOT overcome, injuries occur, and as we said earlier, progress sputters to a screeching halt.

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“In my opinion WarFit is a great program! Jon has provided great detail in this program and it is very easy to use. It is presented to you with great explanations and step by step instruction. it’s all laid out in front of you all you have to do is DO IT! Warfit will give you muscle hypertrophy, muscular endurance, cardiovascular endurance, Mobility and functional and tactical strength. I really enjoy the set rep schemes that Jon uses along with the different protocols and the way he combines them. This program has the feel of old school bodybuilding, calisthenic resistance training along with modern tactical functional training. I like that each day has a different focus. Again, it is a very well-thought-out program and I know it will give you great results – I know it kicked my butt!”

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My students (I hate the word “client” – I’m a coach not a hair dresser!) pay me upwards of $350 to design a customized, comprehensive program like this for them.

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What about hiring a personal trainer to create a program like this for you instead?

Sure. You could… But 99% of the personal trainers out there in your local gym are just out of school. They took some classes and a few multiple choice tests. Their amount of real world experience and training is very limited. Not to mention that you will not pay them a small, one time fee, but depending on where you live, you could end up paying them over $500 to $1,000 for just one month of training with little or nothing to show for it! Why waste your time like that when I have done all the leg work for you already?

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He is also a certified Underground Strength Coach -Level 2, an ACE and FMS certified Personal Trainer and the founder of Warrior Fitness Training Systems. In 2008, Jon wrote the book, Warrior Fitness: Conditioning for Martial Arts, and since then has created numerous other online training and coaching programs helping people around the world become the strongest, most capable versions of themselves!

ClickBank is the retailer of products on this site. CLICKBANK® is a registered trademark of Click Sales, Inc., a Delaware corporation located at 917 S. Lusk Street, Suite 200, Boise Idaho, 83706, USA and used by permission. ClickBank's role as retailer does not constitute an endorsement, approval or review of these products or any claim, statement or opinion used in promotion of these products.

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wizzard890 · 7 years ago

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(Hey guys! This is @veryunmarvelous‘s fashion consult. Here’s a link to the masterpost of what I offer. )

Things you like:

Drapery: you like the visual interest of sweeping, narrow layers, and different fabrics working together in a single outfit. You said you’re nearly six feet tall, so I think this is a fantastic instinct on your part. You’re leaning into your height, rather than away from it! Those long layers draw people’s attention up and down your body, underlining what a tall, cool drink of water you are. Now, I know you live in a desert (the same desert, coincidentally, I used to call home), but layers are honestly doable all year around, even the hot summer months. It’s all about what you’ve got on underneath. Also, I notice that while all the draped outerwear you like is fairly long, you’ve brought a variety of shapes to the table. That’s great, you want to keep layers from becoming stale. A thing over another thing is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, lots of room to play with pattern and color and texture. On the other, it’s easy to get lazy? So go with different cuts and sizes.

Movement: It’s all over everything, in skirts and tops and the aforementioned layered garments. Many of the blouses you sent have that gentle cross-bodied swoop, or an interesting gathering in the fabric. The skirts you’ve designated for “out of work” wear are cut so they’ll sway with your hips and stride as you walk. Even the trousers tend towards the wide-legged. But take a closer look: the clothes don’t necessarily have to fall away from the body to have that flowing appeal. The grey dress under the jean jacket is as bodycon as it gets–and still sweeps gently upward at the thigh. You like your garments to be dynamic, no matter how simple.

Bold, colorful prints/statement detail: even when the garments you sent are a single color, they usually have something eye-catching: those amazing floral cutouts on the white skirt, and the blue and white piping on the camel pencil skirt; they work with the buttons to draw the eye up the model’s leg. It’s pretty clear that you gravitate towards these items, but you might need a little urging to try them out. It can be hard to get up the nerve to take this specific leap, since there’s so much shit out there about prints and who can wear which ones. It’s incredibly stressful trying to keep up. Luckily you don’t have to, because all those rules are ridiculous. Look at the checkered pattern that lady is wearing with her gentleman friend. There isn’t a single body type that wouldn’t be able to carry that off. Yes, she’s very straight up and down and it looks great, but curves would give the print even more dimension. Always always risk a pattern. As long as you like the underlying colors, and the print itself is copacetic with the feel of your outfit, you’re golden. The only bit of advice I’d give, as a large-busted girl, is to make sure that the pattern of your garment doesn’t pull across your chest. Finding the right size is everything in this case.

You’re also in a position where the clothes you wear at work haven’t typically been ones you can wear in your daily life. I think that’s a pretty common divide. Still, we should find you pieces that can transition between the two. Obviously there are some things, like showing too much skin, that are right out, but you should be able to get as much out of your clothing as possible. Fortunately, your fondness for layering means that we can potentially have garments that do double or even triple duty. My suggestion would be to mind the material when you’re buying jackets, sweaters, or wraps. You never want to go too heavy in the desert, or you’ll be stuck with something you can only wear three months out of the year and never be able to incorporate it into another season’s outfit. Err on the lighter side, the money you spend will go further.

Sample outfits + pieces!

So I want to do work and going out looks for you, using really flexible pieces that can go into any number of outfits.

The first suggestion falls into the category of “need a pep talk to put this on”, but trust me! This high waisted skirt has the same trail of buttons you liked so much in the last picture you sent. It’s longer than that one though, so you can wear it without worrying about accidentally flashing anyone. You’re also the perfect height for a structured midi skirt. (I have an alternate skirt if you’re not wild about navy, it’d be easier to wear with tights; I had it open in another window the whole time because I couldn’t stop thinking about how great the color would be on you. You can substitute it for the navy one in the rest of this section if you want.)

For going out: you could wear this with any cute t-shirt, and you tend to like basic tops that showcase more exciting pieces anyway, but for the purpose of this outfit, let’s go with a tiny bit of visual interest. This soft white choker blouse will go with every other piece I give you. Now throw this metallic textured kimono over the top. You can close it if you like, but I’d recommend knotting the tie in the back like a bow and leaving it open. This means you can wear a figure-hugging skirt at work, but the flow of the kimono will keep it from being butt-emphasizing. Go safe with the shoes, this is already an eye-catching outfit. We didn’t really talk budget on heels, but I’m including some currently-trendy ones in an adorable color that would be a bright pop to compliment the silver in the kimono. You can find these cheaper anywhere.

For a work outfit, I puzzled over the menswear trousers for a while; I love the shape, and think they’d look fantastic on you, but I wanted to marry them to the bright colors in your pictures. Here’s a happy medium! High-waisted, pleated, wide-legged pants, very similar in shape and cut to the buttoned ones you sent me. The shade is wonderful, and you can dress these up or down. A fun pattern would complement these perfectly, and I noticed that most of the blouses you sent are button-ups, we’ll meet in the middle on that too. (note: the listed sizes are UK specific, so check the chart before you buy!) You could wear pumps or cute sneakers or flats with this outfit, it’s comfortable as hell. May I recommend court heels?

Aaaaaand miscellaneous pieces:

This ticks all the skirt boxes: bold, good for work and play, and cut in a super cute a-line. That’s a statement piece, you won’t need a big necklace with this one.

Okay I’m swinging for the fences here, but come with me on this journey before you dismiss it. We’ve established that you like button-ups, you also like denim shirts, but more than anything, you love waterfall shapes. Four out of your pictures include waterfall details in the garments, including all the coats. It’s too warm to buy a good waterfall coat now, the only ones are like–satin or crepe for summer, and they tend to be super cheap-looking. This shirt though. This shirt has a waterfall in the back. It drops low enough that you can wear a bra (that’s key), and the shape of the falling fabric gently draws the front hem of the shirt upwards, which highlights the narrowest part of your waist. I legit think you’d kill in this. Even if it’s too outside the box right now, know that I believe in your ability to wear it.

And last but not least, a casual summer dress that I extrapolated from what you sent me. I loved that little striped button skirt the model with the sunglasses was wearing, and I wanted to bring that drapey line through in a dress instead. She’d paired it with a bardot top, which makes me think you’re probably comfortable with showing your shoulders, so voila! A breezy midi dress in a sophisticated dotted print. If the straps are a little too naked for you, I’d suggest wearing the button-up floral blouse I linked up there, and tying it up at your waist. You can do that with pretty much any shirt, including t-shirts. Then you’ve got a cute buttoned skirt.

I hope this helped! Happy dressing!

ALL ITEM RECS

Tailored high waist navy pencil skirt with military detail (asos, $64)

Pink ruched asymmetric zip front pencil skirt (river island, $56)

White batwing blouse with choker (asos, $24)

Textured stripe kimono (elvi, $51)

Cross-strap pink mules (topshop, $85)

Orange wide leg trousers (river island, $84)

Silk blend floral print button up shirt (marks & spencer, $48)

Studio printed midi skirt (eloquii, $89)

Stripe shirt with deep cuff and open back (asos, $28)

Knot front polka dot midi dress (topshop, $75)

#i stayed up so late doing this i'm so exhausted #but it was a rousing success so that's all that matters #guys these take...a while #it turns out #so i'm adjusting my schedule ever so slightly re: turnaround #i'm having so much fun though #i hope you're into it too #emily: high femme cyborg stylist extraordinaire #clothes clothes clothes #stylist #fashion advice #fashion consultant

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aliaoren · 7 years ago

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in the name of art || Grace&Alia

Date: 24-25 August 2017 Location: Dani & Sam’s Wedding Reception / The Villiers Estate Summary: Running into each other at Dani and Sam’s wedding reception ends up with Grace and Alia showing up to a meeting with one of Grace’s potential art clients. Also, Alia gets a painting, and the both of them may or may not be mistaken for being girlfriends.

With @gracevilliers

It was unlike any other reception that Alia had ever been to: there was a general sense of cheer and merriment in the air - but without any of the hurriedness or formality that tended to weigh the ceremony down. The newlyweds had cut their cake with a sword, of all things, and Alia had clapped loudly with the rest of the crowd when they’d done it.

After having indulged in her fair share of cake and bubbly, she took to the dance floor, and it wasn’t long before she spotted familiar golden locks. Excusing herself from her current dance partner, she moved over, knowing the woman could sense her approach before she spoke. Still, she cleared her throat, extending her hand with a smile. “Fancy seeing you here, Ms. Villiers. May I have this dance?”

Grace was surprised to have obtained an invite. She had only spoken to Sam and Dani briefly at her party, but an olive branch had been extended, and it seemed Dani was true to their word about wanting to start over. The wedding was an unorthodox affair, but enjoyable, much more so than the boring one she'd been subjected to.

The scent of Alia's perfume caught her attention, the intimate familiarity of it penetrating the air as the naga moved closer. Grace expelled a happy sigh as she turned to face the other woman, placing her hand in Alia's. "You can have far more than that."

Maybe it was a childish, schoolgirl thing, but Alia couldn’t help the way her heartbeat picked up as Grace placed her hand in hers. She used it to draw her in closer, wrapping an arm around the other woman’s waist. “Is that a promise?” Her words were accompanied by an arch of her eyebrow as she moved in time with the music. “This is a nice reception. And I daresay this place rivals yours in its grandeur.”

Grace’s keen ears caught the heartbeat as it picked up and it brought her a not-entirely-small thrill. If her heart could beat, it would likely have done the same. She did so enjoy Alia's company, in so many ways. "Practically a demand," she whispered in Alia's ear as she drew her closer, following the steps of the dance. "It certainly is. I'm sure they'll be very happy together." Not all marriages were like hers after all.

The whispered words - so promising, as they often were when it came to the woman in front of her - caused a pool of warmth to settle low in Alia’s belly, and she resisted the urge to turn her cheek so she could capture red lips. “Can I let you in on a secret?” she asked. And then, lowering her voice, she continued, “I don’t actually know either of them.” She exhaled a quiet huff of a laugh. “I received the invite, and, well…” She squeezed her fingers a little tighter around Grace’s waist briefly. “…here I am. But they do seem like a good match.”

Grace chuckled. They already had such a casual and easygoing dynamic, but one in which they could still drive one another crazy. It was everything she could have wanted. "Well, I won't tell," she answered, her hand wandering over Alia's back. "You should come home with me," she said plainly. She wasn't one to beat around the bush.

Truth be told, Alia had been hoping for such an invitation - she just hadn’t realized it would happen mere minutes after laying eyes on Grace again. Not that she was complaining, though she still pretended to consider the other woman’s offer. “I don’t know,” she started, tone doubtful even as her eyes sparkled. “Will you have chicken and onions for my eggs this time?”

The fluttering of Alia's heart never failed to stir her every emotion. Grace was drawn like a moth to a flame, and her only saving grace (no pun intended) was that Alia seemed to be drawn to her in much the same way. "I would have had them for you if the people at the BBQ hadn't eaten all my food," Grace chuckled, fingertips dancing across Alia's spine through her soft dress. "But I restocked my groceries after you left. You can have whatever you desire." And it wasn't just limited to food.

Alia sent Grace a look that bordered on admonishing. “Excuses, excuses,” she responded, her lips curving into a small smile as she felt the play of Grace’s fingers against her spine. She had a few ideas of what she desired, right now - and she stepped away from the other woman momentarily so that she could twirl her properly, just the once. And when both her hands were settled firmly back on the angle of Grace’s hips, she murmured, “You certainly drive a hard bargain.”

Grace knew that fire in Alia's eyes. It was one she herself had possessed on so many occasions. She quite liked the fact that Alia had decided to lead, and she followed along with it eagerly, twisting back into Alia's arms with a widening smirk. "Oh, I know I do."

They had the self-control to indulge in a few dances and a few drinks before rushing home and falling into bed together. Grace would have been lying if she'd said she hadn't been hoping their entanglement would be more than just a one time affair, and it was a pleasant feeling, waking up again in Alia's arms. Thankfully, this time, Alia wasn't sneaking out this time. "Mmm, morning," she mumbled, her fingers wrapping around Alia's lazily.

It was almost funny, how this was starting to become a pattern: meeting unexpectedly (or as unexpectedly as two individuals could in a small town like this one) at a party, then spending the night together. Well, Alia could see it becoming a pattern, if they let it. She woke to the feeling of fingers tangling with her own, and blinking her eyes open, she came face-to-face with Grace. “Good morning,” she murmured in response, stretching - her body still boneless, weightless from the previous night’s activities. She tucked her chin so that her lips could graze the curve of Grace’s shoulder, and pressed a quick kiss there. “What time is it?”

Grace could get lost in the soft feeling of lips on her shoulder. She's been starved of affection for longer than she realizes. She'd had plenty of sex, but not much softness, and indulging in it made a pleasant change. It had been a while since she had anyone she could be as relaxed with as she was with Alia. The mention of the time caused her to grumble sleepily. She stretched over Alia to reach for her phone, clicking the button on the front to reveal the time. "Almost nine." Then, letting out a sigh. "Bugger. I have a meeting."

Alia sank back into the pillows, openly admiring Grace’s form as the vampire reached over her for her phone. Unable to resist, she reached out and dragged her fingertip against the other woman’s side, watching the play of muscles in respond to the stimulation. “A meeting?” she repeated, eyes snapping back up to meet Grace’s. “What sort of meeting?” It was a curious question rather than a demanding one, one free of expectation - though now that she was thinking about it, she knew so little about Grace and what she did.

The brushing of a fingertip against the side of her stomach sent a shiver down her spine and Grace exhaled with a bite of her lip at the sensation. She could have easily fallen straight back into bed with Alia, but she had work to do. "Mmmm," she grunted in protest, forcing herself to sit up. "I'm looking at an artist for the gallery." She glanced over her shoulder. Alia was honestly one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen, and her words slipped out without hesitation. "Shower with me. Save both time and water," she smiled. "You can come with me if you want. I wouldn't mind a second opinion."

“You work at a gallery?” Alia tilted her head, surveying Grace as though trying to decide if that suited her or not. Propping herself up on her elbows, she grinned. “I do not think that showering with you would actually save us time,” she admitted with a laugh, leaning over now so she could trail her fingers over Grace’s hips. “You go ahead, and I will go after - I promise not to make us late to your meeting.”

Grace Villiers didn't pout, but Alia's refusal to shower with her definitely made her consider it. She gave her a light kiss on her lips instead, knitting her brows together ever so slightly. "It may not seem like it from our recent interactions, but I do have some self control you know." Another kiss, then she smiled. "Alright, I'll be right back." She disappeared into the bathroom, emerging about ten minutes later and beginning to dry her hair. "All yours."

Alia smiled at the peck on her lips, and then again at the second one. “Who said /your/ self-control was the one in question?” And when Grace was done, it was her turn - and within fifteen minutes, she was done and freshly showered, exiting the bathroom to pull on her dress from the evening before and running her hand through damp locks in an attempt to tame it. That was to say, it wasn’t very tame at all, and she only hoped that it wouldn’t make a bad impression on this artist Grace was meeting. “I’m ready to go if you are.”

There was no doubting that Alia was breth-takingly beautiful, but if that had been her only appeal, Grace would have grown tired of her relatively quickly. She was far more than just a pretty face. She was amusing, playful, intelligent, even if she did have terrible taste in neighborhoods. Though she really would appreciate a second opinion on the artist she was meeting, this served another purpose too. It would allow them to see if they had anything in common outside the bedroom. "Excellent." Grace led Alia to the garage where her Porsche was parked and held the door open for her. The artist only lived a little way outside of town. "The gallery isn't open yet, but I want some new blood lined up for the opening."

With a house as grand as Grace’s and sheets as silky as Grace’s, Alia didn’t know why she hadn’t expected to be led to a Porsche. She smiled her thanks as the other woman held the door open for her, sliding onto the leather seat easily as she waited for Grace to start the car. “When is the opening?” She stared out the window as they drove. “What kind of art will you show?”

It was a good thing Grace didn't mind talking, especially about herself, because Alia always had so many questions. She wondered if she should have had some in return. "I've been an art dealer for much of my life, at least my vampire life and I show all types. I don't have a date in mind yet, but I have a location. Once I choose the artists, we can move forward." She glanced across at Alia briefly. "What about you? Have you any passions?"

At least for much of my vampire life—and suddenly, this begged the question: “And how long is that?” The words had tumbled from her lips before she could stop them - but in all honesty, she was very unlikely to have censored herself to begin with. She chanced a glance at Grace, tamping down the urge to run her fingers over her knuckles - the woman was driving, for heaven’s sake. “I like anything to do with the outdoors,” she replied simply. “Running, hiking, swimming.”

Alia looked as if she had just commited some sort of social faux-pas. Grace was fairly sure the 'never ask a woman her age taboo' didn't apply to vampires, and she answered casually, not thinking twice. "About a hundred and twenty years or so." The outdoors weren't exactly her passion, but she was a physical being, and she could fend for herself. "Well, lucky for you, I have a daylight ring."

“Oh. What brought you to Soapberry?” There were plenty of other places in the world to be an art dealer, after all - though the same could be said of bartending, and there were already plenty of bars for such a small town. Grinning now, Alia turned to Grace. “Are you saying I can pick any outdoor activity I want and you’ll come along?”

"Roisin. My friend. She lives here. I had been moving from place to place for some time and the thought of a town where I no longer had to hide was just... appealing." In all honesty, Soapberry probably wasn't the ideal location for an art dealership, but Grace could make do. She really did it to keep herself occupied anyway. It wasn't as if she needed the money. "Within reason," she answered, almost a warning, though not a harsh one. "I do like to experiment." She turned left, following the directions the artist had given her. "What about you?"

It was nice, to move somewhere and already have a friend. “That is partly why I came here too.” Alia paused, and then clarified, “I was traveling for a while - I was in Australia, last. But it gets tiring, not being able to be yourself.” Her lips curved upward at the gentle warning. “Don’t worry. I will go easy on you. I like to try new things, too.” Settling back against her seat, she watched as Grace made a turn, pulling onto a smaller road. “So what kind of art does this artist do?”

These stages in a relationship were unusual, the awkward getting to know each other. It wasn't too awkward, thank goodness, just a natural conversation, but it would be a while before they really knew each other. Surprisingly, so far she was actually planning to stick around that long. "Being able to be oneself is a very freeing feeling," Grace agreed. "They do landscapes, bold ones with lots of colors, sometimes surrealist, the sort of art where you can pick out every star."

It sounded interesting, the artwork, and Alia was curious to see it with her own eyes. She was more curious, however, to see what Grace liked, and what she thought of it. And as they pulled up into the driveway, and Alia slid out, she looked over the roof of the car at the other woman. “Do you have a favourite artist? Or a favourite style, maybe?”

"I like Van Gogh. Especially the water lilies and gardens. Anything that isn't a drab city is alright by me." Lowry and his grey stick figures could rot for all Grace cared, but people did enjoy it, and she wasn't running a gallery just to please herself. "This is the address," she said, stepping out of the car and locking it with a click of her keys once Alia had exited too. The man who answered the door was tall and dark-skinned, a wide smile and pleasant demeanor.

"You must be Ms. Villiers. I'm Karl. Do come in."

"A pleasure," Grace answered, shaking his hand. "And this is my associate Alia."

“Nice to meet you, Alia.”

“You too, Karl,” Alia said, taking his hand in hers as he offered it. A brief smirk flitted across her features at the word ‘associate’ before it was gone, though she said nothing, her attention instead drawn towards the paintings she spotted behind the tall man. “Is that—”

Karl glanced behind him, and smiled. “Yes, of course. It’s still a work in progress… but these ones here are done.” He led them over to another small room, gesturing towards the paintings.

Alia leaned in closer to look at one of them that had caught her eye, flashing Grace a hint of a smile. “These are lovely,” she murmured, wondering at the brush strokes and how he’d created something so life-like.

It was probably a good idea to bring Alia with her. Alia seemed like a people person, and although Grace could be exceptionally charming, she also was a bit of a snob. Karl, the sort of tall wiry fellow with paint stains all over his hands might not respond to that. "My colleague is right. These are quite breath-taking," Grace said, studying the works. "I especially like these ones, night-time in the desert. Do you paint these with reference photos?" It was one thing to look at them online in an email, but another to see them in person.

Karl accepted the compliment with a casual wave of his hand. "Thank you. I've got my own website, which I sent you, and the sales are decent, but your gallery will help me get to the next step, I think."

Of course, this next step wasn’t Alia’s to grant, and so instead she asked him other questions - from what sort of paints he used, to how he worked with the brush to get the sand in the desert to appear just so - while Grace made her decision. The painting she found herself returning to was one of a waterfall, and a lone person in red standing right below it. After another moment, she returned to Grace, voice low as she prompted, “What do you think?”

Grace enjoyed watching Alia take in the young man's art. He was exceptionally talented and he seemed pleasant enough, but Alia was still the real star of the show. She was practically a piece of artwork herself. "I think we can definitely make this work." She stepped closer to Alia, lightly putting her arm around her waist. "Which one is your favorite?"

Alia smiled - first at Grace, and then at Karl, though the look she gave him was one of encouragement. “I like the one with the waterfall,” she said, lacing her fingers with Grace’s as the vampire rested her arm against her waist, and gently tugging her over. “Look how this person here stands out, alone in the thick of it.” She fell silent for a moment, and then turned back to Grace. “Did you say you liked these ones?” Now she was leading the other woman back to the desert paintings, dotted with stars in the night sky.

It was probably rather obvious by now that they weren't strictly colleagues, but Karl was clearly too polite to say anything. Grace wouldn't have minded if he did. After all, plenty of people worked with their wives or girlfriends.

"Oh yes, these are quite exceptional."

Her smile widened. "Karl, I'm going to have you in the gallery for my opening."

"Really? That's amazing!"

"I'm glad you think so, and I'll have my attorneys send over the contract as agreed. But I'd like to buy your waterfall piece privately beforehand."

Alia continued looking at the paintings as Grace conducted her business, though she was paying enough attention to catch the tail end of the other woman’s statement. She glanced up sharply at Grace, raising an eyebrow. “I thought you preferred the desert pieces,” she said.

"I do," Grace said, looking over her shoulder with a smile. "But this is for you."

“Oh, no,” Alia shook her head, moving closer to place a hand on Grace’s waist. “I cannot accept that.”

Karl was grinning, clearly amused at this whole exchange. "Please, it's my pleasure. Clearly your girlfriend wants to do something nice for you. How can I get in the way of that?"

Alia’s eyes widened momentarily, and she folded her arms across her chest. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for the misunderstanding. “Well, darling,” she started in a slow drawl, the word stilted and foreign on her tongue as her fingers sought out the sharp edge of Grace’s hip once again. “I guess he does have a point.” She wondered, though - if they were to actually acquire this painting - where in the world it was supposed to go.

[Grace] Clearly Karl hadn't been as polite as she thought. Either that or he was too polite. He was already plucking the thing off the wall. He hadn't been meant to drop the G word though, but it was too late for that. "Aren't you a darling? Send me the invoice. I'll make sure you receive a prompt payment."

"Oh, my pleasure." Karl handed the painting to Alia with a smile. "You two make a lovely couple. I look forward to hearing from you."

Alia took the painting with a slight frown, and walked to the car in relative silence. “I guess we were not lucky enough to get the couple’s discount,” she joked, even though Grace hardly seemed like the type to bother about discounts. “Thanks for this. I can still—you know, I can pay you back for it.”

"It's a gift," Grace said, planting a soft kiss on Alia's forehead that wasn't entirely for appearances. "Thank you again, Karl," she said, looking at him over her shoulder. "We'll be in touch."

Alia was glad to be back in the car, the painting safely in the backseat. She waited until they were on the road before turning to Grace, a teasing grin on her features. “So, we went from associates to girlfriends in the span of… half an hour?”

Oh, of course Alia would mention it. Grace should have expected as much. It was too much to assume that she would let it go. She gave a small smile, reaching over before she started the engine to give Alia a brief kiss, smirking against her lips. "His words, not mine." She straightened up, turning the key in the ignition. "But I think we can swing a first date."

As Grace leaned in to kiss her, Alia reached a hand over to pull her in closer, elongating the kiss. “Uh huh. Say what you will, but my fake girlfriend just got me a painting. What did yours get you?” She arched a brow, smirking right back. “You mean our second date,” she said without thinking. “Or did you forget that time you asked me to dance with you in the middle of a bar?” She supposed the other times in between were something else altogether.

"Well, I always was a generous lover," Grace teased, starting the car. "Second date it is. But just remember, you promised to go easy on me."

#c: grace villiers #p: in the name of art #usfw #for like 2 seconds just in case

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