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sugar-petals · 4 years

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Treats For You (M)

↳ PAIRING: yuzuru hanyu × reader

↳ PLOT: You tend to a nervous Yuzu the night before a skating competition.

↳ WORD COUNT: 9k | one shot | domestic au, smut

↳ WARNINGS ⚠️ pwp, dom/sub, feeding yuzu treats, pegging, some very wet oral (m giving), cum play, oh lord it gets graphic, fingering, crying, mommy kink, yuzu’s crazy back arch, rough sex, masochism, aftercare, some asthma talk

↳ CARO’S NOTE: inspired by this juicy gif. PS: since i usually post for other fandoms — if you’re unfamiliar with yuzu, visit this intro post.

Just two minutes after you switch off the light, he starts fidgeting.

Repeatedly, all while messing around with his pillow. Soon enough, the blanket you share becomes all disheveled.

You turn your head towards the window to check. All as usual. The blinds are perfectly drawn to shut out the moonlight. Meanwhile, the humidifier infuses the air in gentle ten-minute intervals. Not even the heater is bumbling tonight. Yuzuru keeps on rustling beside you, still. Some of his plushies fall off the bed, one after the other.

Of course he can’t sleep. It’s daunting, no precaution ever helps. The blanket couldn’t be any more crumpled up at this point.

„I’m so nervous,“ he finally sits up another minute later, causing the duvet to lift. A little sigh follows.

Eventually, you turn in the sheets yourself, now facing him. Or rather, what you can vaguely make out as his crouching silhouette.

„Hey,“ you mumble from your left side of the bed. „You watched all of the performances from last month.“ You pat Yuzu’s pillow, hoping he would sink down on it again. „At least twice. Or more.“

God knows for how many hours he stretched in front of the TV on his spongy blue yoga mat, reviewing mountains of footage with a furrowed brow worthy of a restaurant critic.

Every jump and every turn, analyzed over and over. Down to the millimeter. Even the costume got its fair share of scorn. Too wide there, this detail on the collar could be different, that part gets in the way while doing spins.

„It’s all— I don’t know what I’m lacking these days.“

The silhouette doesn’t look like it’s headed to lie down again for the time being. You reach toward your bedstand’s squiggly designer lamp. After fumbling about in the dark, you find the bulky switch at its bottom. On goes the light again. Perhaps a bit too bright, both of you squint hard.

„It’s not like you’re dropping to second place anytime soon.“

Given how you thought you could call it a day before Yuzu started to fidget, maybe your voice is not fully resonant yet. It still carries a little unspoken ‚…right?‘ with it.

As soon as you finish the sentence, you feel how he can pick up on it already. The humidifier dryly comments by puffing out a cloud of lavender steam.

„I don’t really know,“ Yuzu retorts twisting, going into a deep shrug. He is completely sunken now.

„Looks like a simple big hug won’t do, hm.“

Yuzuru ends up nodding. It’s more knowing than admitting. But you don’t like the sense of resignation that comes with it, at all. The problem goes a little deeper than just motivating him with the stats he ironically already knows, times better than you, even.

It’s been going on for the entire day. The last time he made such a grouchy face at his videos was around Christmas. Back then, he couldn’t quite get the jumps right at the start of his routine. But now? His scores are just fine. Not to mention the jumps.

„I didn’t think you were lacking,“ you say. „You just fell once during training.“

And that was because he was fooling around during a break, not in the serious exercises.

„Sorry for bothering you,“ he buries his face in the blanket, beginning to ruffle his hair all over the place. Frustrated Friday-evening-Yuzu always does that, but the energy doesn’t seem to go anywhere this time.

The murmur of his stomach isn’t hard to miss either. You lay your hand on Yuzu’s back.

„Is it because you didn’t eat?“

You wonder what he had for dinner.

Only more guilty stomach growling reaches you as a reply. Figures: He skipped it, and lunch, too. His breakfast was so frugal, you don’t even remember whether he had his milk or not.

Yuzu was already pacing around in the living room at that point. Recalling the tricky parts of the upcoming choreography, treading his feet into the carpet, humming the steady rhythm of his skating program.

„Maybe I’m turning into a snickers diva,“ a muffled little comment emerges from where his chaotic hair sticks out from the duvet. At this point, his face is all buried there.

„I mean. If you allow me to baby you…“

Three minutes later. You rub your eyes, shift from leg to leg. The kitchen floor is as cold as ever so you regret not putting on socks. Meanwhile, there’s no problem raiding the fridge.

You could go to the grocery store five times a day and buy everything Yuzu’s mouth waters over — it’d still be stacked to the top. Snacks, veggies, particular sports drinks in weird blue colors, Japanese pickled plums, gyoza left-overs, salad, various fizzy drinks, mostly lemonade.

It’s like that with any food. Out of sight, out of mind. He won’t bother getting up from the yoga mat if he’s fixated on the TV.

After making two distinct picks and checking whether the fridge door closes properly, then bustling at the sink with a towel, you trot back to the bedroom. Equipped. In the meantime, Yuzu has recollected his plushies from the floor, gently aligning them next to his pillow.

They’re all in their strictly defined place again. You enter just the second after he’s arranged them in the usual half-circle order, centered around his favorite, all-time friendly-eyed Winnie Pooh bear.

„Will you look at that,“ you plant your little kitchen conquests onto the bed, rousing approval noises from Yuzuru who sparkles right at the box and plate you brought along. The grouchy face dissolves, curiosity takes its place. His food reactions will always be the cutest to you.

„Strawberries!“

„From the market. Wasn’t too expensive.“

Freshly doused in the sink, plump and very ripe.

„And rice cakes!“

Truth be told, there couldn’t be a bigger comfort food on his list and you shamelessly exploit the very fact.

„Every competition has a victory meal. Here, fruits first.“

After plopping down on the mattress yourself, you pick up one, then two strawberries. Immediately, Yuzu’s little upturned mouth opens wide as if a tiger baby was yawning.

He chews more eagerly than you thought. If you pass him pretzel sticks while he reviews things on the TV, he barely eats one or two of them.

„I like these,“ he swallows, prying for the next fruit in your hand already. „Sweet!“

„Tastes best with cake,“ you rearrange your sitting position, making sure to park your cold feet next to Yuzuru’s very warm ones. His toes are readily brushing against yours, Yuzuru perhaps not even noticing they do. He’s too fixated on the little cakes. In all things he does— focus incarnate. He can’t help it.

„Yes, I wanna try!“

You rummage in the packaging you brought along, draw forth a first treat. A second one you set aside on the plate. Tiger baby opens his mouth even wider, in goes the first chunk of the rich delicacy. Lord have mercy on his stomach, it’s 11:15 PM. But what’s normal to him, anyways.

Ten more minutes pass. After the strawberry box is two thirds empty and three juicy rice cakes have embarked on their last journey, Yuzu looks a lot more content than before, even if his bedhead arguably makes him look like a mad scientist. Junior professor Yuzuru Hanyu, escapee from his genius lab that exploded in a blaze of smoke.

You take it as your task to brush the outlaw strands back into their place with your fingers after pulling out a wet wipe — those with the way too astringent citrus flavor— from your bedstand, cleaning your hands off the rice. It’s not like your hands aren’t sticky on the regular.

To your satisfaction, Yuzu looks like a swaying cat, nestled into his blanket. With no more stomach growling audible, gladly. You put the plate on the bedside table, lean forward to kiss his belly, and shoot him a fracture of an ambiguous gaze.

„So… Fancy getting even more stuffed?“

„Sure! Is it a surprise?“ Yuzu looks around, presumably searching for more food you brought along.

The pure soul.

„Well, we already had dessert.“

„Oh, right! But, what’s the food, then?“

A little pause follows. Yuzuru couldn’t look any more thrilled. You decide to go with it.

„You’re too innocent,“ you lower down your pants by an inch, thumbs demonstratively hooked into the hem. You raise your eyebrows into a question that he cannot miss. „If you want. You might wanna grab your spray first, though.“

Only the last part fully registers in Yuzuru’s expression that finally goes from curious to… sheepish. He caught on.

Asthma spray at 11:30 PM is a cue he’s gotten familiar with over the last four months. Not in a million years did he think he’d ever have to use it late at night. Whatever decision process is rattling through Yuzu’s brain right now, it’s a fast one, though.

„Ha— okay!“

„Alright, Yuzu.“

„Just once second!“

Food round number two, it is. You kick off your pants and underwear but make sure they don’t land any place where plushies are. Yuzu is already busy at the other end of the room, visibly at work with shaky hands, browsing the cupboard with meds next to the window.

Now that he’s double nervous, you curse your idea, but remind yourself of the last late-evening time Yuzu had his head between your legs. ‚I dunno, I was just concentrated‘ are the words that stuck with you after asking him how on earth he kept his breath for what felt like 45 seconds.

Whatever masochist devil has been driving him, it gave your boyfriend skills you never even knew were possible to have out of absolute nowhere. Not to mention how easily it distracted him from anything else in the world.

Maybe that focus is an effect easy to replicate, you think. Anything that can take his mind off the competition tomorrow is worth trying.

Carefully, you move over to the right side of the bed. Then, recline on Yuzu’s pillow — on his explicit wish two months ago, you meticulously keep that tradition — and feel surrounded by plushies already.

Back then, Yuzu insisted that he shouldn’t be the only one watching out for you when you’re having sex. And that the pillow just smells really good of your hair afterwards. So there you lay, feeling all kinds of horny. Given that Yuzu is already returning to the bed, swiping his hair off his forehead. Looking very refreshed, letting his breath play. Sexy.

And there it goes already. The I dunno, I was just concentrated gaze. You arrange your legs wide enough for Yuzu to settle in the middle, him still sitting upright. His hands are still shaky when they reach around your outer thigh, but his eyes don’t lie to you in the very least.

„Your breath alright?“

A little nod, but he doesn’t heed the question for any longer. There’s gladly nothing that his lung doctor can’t figure out. You count on that, but asking doesn’t hurt.

Meanwhile, Yuzu’s eager eyes are already drawn downwards. Getting bigger and bigger. The surprise he had anticipated in fact now dances over his face, flighty and polite, but nonetheless apparent to you. He’s smiling, and it looks shy in the light of the bedstand lamp.

„I, ah…“

It’s as if he hasn’t seen you naked before, every time. For whatever reason, Yuzu always reverts to virgin mode with his first glance. You admit it’s flattering and amusing alike, but also — leaves you with Hitchcock level suspense.

Yuzuru has proven himself to be an expert in summoning a beginner’s zeal, an almost childlikeness. That keeps you on your toes and promises an intensity that routine and pragmatic energy management could never give you.

After letting his eyes linger a little more, his lips become visibly impatient. He’s already licking them. You’d promised food, and he takes it seriously. That Yuzu’s fingers stroke rather weirdly at your thighs does not escape your attention either. They’re practicing.

„Help yourself, touch.“

The stroking ceases. Yuzu doesn’t hesitate to reach down with his left. How he touches you sends a row of tingles down your legs. His fingertips are amazingly dainty and soft. He explores. Then, soon keeps on caressing about, leans his head forward, all still from his seated position. It doesn’t take too long until he goes straight to getting you off with his right hand.

„This is, wow,“ he mumbles to himself, already immersed in rubbing your clit. Going in circles, taking his time. Alternating between index and thumb.

„Yeah. That’s the spot,“ you shift in the pillow, eventually finding a good position to relax. You exhale, focus on his hand.

„So smooth,“ Yuzu traces his joining left hand up and down your labia.

„Maybe someone wants a taste?“

You were right that he would forget practically anything else. The yoga mat worry brow is blown off his face. Substituted by— appetite.

„Not just maybe, actually.“

Spreading your legs a little more is invitation enough to have Yuzuru lower his head onto your pubic bone, tongue already searching for its favorite place. Your fingers gently interlace in his hair as soon as he starts sucking. Keeping his bangs out of his eyes.

How unafraid to bury his face he is you soon get to witness. You can feel the bridge of his nose glide from lip to lip, and the feathery light brush of his lashes at the base of your inner thighs.

Yuzu’s tongue has always been cheeky, but today, it feels particularly adventurous and slippery. He can’t help but fumble about with his hands simultaneously. Beginner’s zeal, you knew it’d come.

The bucking of your hips comes too naturally to be controlled. Nor does Yuzuru know just how to hold his head back from thrusting. This little shit. Whatever is in those rice cakes, it made him a new level of keen. Soon enough, his tongue has riled you up plenty, and his focused eyes have become entirely monotone. Only preoccupied with one thing and one thing alone.

Just how much he dedicates his attention has to be a thing for the books. You feel like blowing up and moaning like crazy at this point, but manage to at least puff out. He knows you’re way too close. There’s a little smile you feel in the way he eats you.

„So that mouth gets a cum filling,“ you twist your fingers out of Yuzu’s wild hair. It’s all tangled again. The return of the mad professor. He has all the space in the world to bop his head as much as he wants now. One, two, three plushies fall over and tumble around the mattress. He doesn’t notice.

The warmth between your legs has been growing ceaselessly. Now, ready to brim. With Yuzu’s agile tongue slipping back and forth over your clit in erratic intervals, you feel like losing your mind with every lick. The way his lips excite you gives off the lewdest sucking noises. All wet, and resolute like a chess player not to drop you off that high.

He keeps his laps consistent, leans in more, and eventually— tips you off the edge with a fast sequence of letting his tongue dip under the hood of your clit. And letting it stay there, all until your legs start twitching. You groan out.

Yuzu gets a big. Fat. Cum filling indeed.

Your breath goes short, you grab his shoulders. Growling, cursing. Trying to ride the wave, but the contractions catch you harder than you thought. You can practically feel how much you ooze out and ruin his face.

Bratty he is, Yuzuru forms his mouth all kissy and pecks your clit through every throb. Until the shockwaves subside, letting your shaking thighs off the hook eventually.

Too fucking intense. The surge of pleasure keeps on making your mind hazy long after your orgasm is over. To add fuel to the fire, Yuzuru rubs his belly, as if he just had two happy meals for the price of one.

Pulling off, his face is all bright and slobbery in its remaining smile. His lips are cum-glazed, and more than just plain sweat trickles down his nose. Nothing better than a facial right in front of twenty plushies. Who knew Winnie the Pooh himself would ever be eye witness to Yuzu’s sporty head game.

Friendly bear he is, it doesn’t seem to bother him. From unsuspecting comfort teddy on Yuzu’s lap 23/7 to live-action porn audience. First row, no popcorn though, but HD sound quality and claims to free spit. The guy is living his absolute best life, isn’t he.

„You… growling. That was pretty hot,“ Yuzuru says. His jaw is hanging all loose and most of his speech is slurred. Yuzu looks all satiated. In your mind, you pat yourself on your own shoulder. Boyfriend corruption: almost complete.

„Like being spoiled? I want you to clean that up.“

Yuzu squeaks out giddy in reply. A moment later, he goes back to lean down again, swallowing and licking up cum from your drenched, swollen lips. His slurping noises are indulgent, wet, and desperately slutty. He succeeds in cleaning you up, but keeps on messing up himself even more. Yuzuru delights in rubbing his whole face into your dripping pussy until his eyebrows are sticky, his lids and cheeks are damp, and you feel capable to get up from the pillow.

Despite not being underneath the blanket, you notice that your feet aren’t that cold anymore.

He sits on the bed like a mermaid, huddled close to you. Normally, he would visibly sort his thoughts like that, but now, all he does is blink and nuzzle up against you with his forehead.

Settling, Yuzuru doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands and you take it as a chance to pepper them with kisses. The back of the hand, the palms, the wrists. It calms you, and it calms him.

You feel entirely drenched, refreshed and relaxed at once. How Yuzuru cuddles against your legs makes your heart warm, and the moment is blissful.

One lavender steam cloud later, you feel like moving again. Maybe there are two restless people in this relationship. The thought of it is funny.

„We could go on a little more,“ eventually, you pat his head. „With something different if you want.“

„Do you still have energy?“ he asks. His breath is somewhat slowing already. It feels hot against your leg.

„More than before, actually.“

He sits up. Looks like you surprised him again. Little does Yuzu know how much he shakes you up.

„Really?“

You nod, twirling at his bangs now.

„I have an idea. So… you remember what’s been waiting in a box for a month.“

You can tell he knows exactly what you mean. No doubt he didn’t take very long to recall it, either. That tells you something.

„Can we use it?“

That answer was fast.

„It’s what I’ve been thinking.“

„We’ve been putting this off but I’m still curious.“

And your guess was correct. It’s definitely been on his mind.

„Yeah, you’re right.“

Promptly, you direct your eyes to the bedroom cupboard to your far left. The one containing various kinds of skating blades in slender packagings, tracksuits in dark colors, fan presents, and mail orders. Among them, a larger jet black box—

That neither Yuzu nor you dared to open given it was a product of a reckless button click at 2 PM.

Admittedly, after Yuzu passed you a way too expensive bottle of sake that he got for his birthday. Since he’s allergic to alcohol, somebody thought she could give it a sure try instead. Pouring $200 into the sink would have been the better option.

Said black box soon sits between the two of you, wide open to reveal the truth of what sake can do.

„Oh man. What have I done.“

That button click comes back to bite you big time.

„This looks, I think, realistic—?“

At least on the surface.

Of course, you drunk fool had to order the ‚sculpted, real-life imitation‘ version. You couldn’t be any more embarrassed. No more alcohol in this flat, that’s for sure. What else to do but take it in stride now that the box is already open, though.

„I uh, think so. At least with the veins.“

„It’s… it is really big.“

At least three times Yuzu’s flaccid size if you don’t hallucinate right now.

„I don’t know how I’m not gonna tear you apart. How many inches are these, 12? My drunk self is too ambitious.“

Maybe you shouldn’t have used that word and said ‚reckless‘ instead. Because ambition surely and habitually triggers a prancing and posing Shia LaBeouf shouting ‚do it!‘ in Yuzuru’s athlete brain. You can see it in his eyes and already regret thinking out loud.

„We can still try.“

„If that’s a good idea or not we will probably see,“ you begin to inspect the contents one by one up close. „I think I bought a weapon.“

„Now I know why they call guns a strap,“ Yuzuru equally peaks over the edge of the box, looking like his future just flashed before his eyes.

„Next time I pass the sake to your coaches or something,“ you end up pulling out the red harness kit that glaringly lays on top of the contents. All looking very adjustable indeed. „That’s what my midnight fantasy seems to look like.“

„Uh—huh!“

Yuzu snakes his hand into the box himself now. Pulling out a transparent, orange-pink 13 oz bottle with a bubbly-looking fluid inside. Gaudy stuff, but a generous amount.

„Mister Lube. My new best friend,“ he says, laying the bottle aside and then pulling off his black PJ shirt. Although he strips quite leisurely, you can tell that Yuzuru is a little tense in his torso. That you will attend to in a minute, you think. But beforehand, you let your eyes roam for something else.

„They probably have something to clean it with in there as well. Let me see.“

You find that even if you might have ordered all this pretty tipsy, the toy set does have its quality. Just before you want to ask Yuzuru to warm up, he visibly ponders, then cleans his pajamas off the bed to make space for a little area.

„If you don’t mind, I stretch my muscles,“ Yuzuru puts aside a couple of plushies, too, but keeps Pooh close, assuming his typical pre-training stances.

He knows himself. That’s good.

„Tell me if you need help for the thigh stretching.“

In the meantime, you ease into the red kit and arrange the box contents on the bed. There seem to be fifteen things going on at once. If this would be public in the slightest, you believe the two of you must look like a bunch of eccentrics to anybody who’d watch you.

Ten minutes later, Yuzuru might just be in Olympic shape, has downed almost half a liter of spring water in one go. You know that he could probably deliver a quintuple jump on the spot if he wanted. The strap-on is all assembled, clean, and you have stored away the practically empty box of sake sinnery.

„I’ll skate cross-eyed and cross-legged tomorrow,“ Yuzu stares right at your crotch, face buried in his palms. Only his eyes peek through the fingers. „Godspeed to my ass.“

You sure as hell won’t disagree. This strap is a threat.

„I don’t know why I had to order supersize out of all possible things. You need a prayer circle after this. Where’s Mister Lube?“

„Here, over here,“ Yuzuru passes over the bottle, shaking it.

„I’ll relax you as good as I can, okay. Before I get arrested for possession of weapons without a license.“

And annihilating Yuzu’s insides with that XXL dick that he sure as hell doesn’t just want halfway in. Lord have mercy. You can only shake your head at yourself for buying this.

„Honestly though. Does it really fit in?“

Yuzu leans his face toward your hip, now on all fours, taking the sight in. He still can’t believe his eyes.

„We’ll see. Let your body decide, not your pride okay,“ you poke the tip of the strap-on into his left cheek. Hoping that it takes away some of the tension, at least. „And you can still tap the mattress.“

„Okay. Tap the mattress.“

He nods quite avidly. Same protocol as always. No spoken safewords, only something that Yuzu can make use of with his reflexes. Speech? Nothing you can both count on as soon as horniness kicks in.

You tried that for the first two weeks and quickly settled for tapping instead. Especially because Yuzu likes to have fingers in his mouth every so often.

„I mean. You just did like five splits, didn’t you. Warm-ups always help. If your ankle doesn’t fall off?“

That mini workout was more than just impressive, in fact. And still, you eye Yuzuru’s notoriously injured foot. The slim little fella has a long history of recovery behind him.

„The ankle is decent, the usual stuff.“

„I wish we had a smaller toy to start out with,“ you scratch your head. That might be the one thing that’s been missing from the box. „We still have Mister Lube, anyway. Watch this,“ you pick up the orange bottle, flipping the cap open. „It’s actually scented! Worth ruining the bed if you ask me.“

On goes the fluid, you rub it all across the length of the dildo. Must be cherry flavor or something. Yuzuru sure makes big eyes.

„I knew I could count on Mister Lube.“

„Yeah, we use lots. And I’ll be very gentle.“

The cherry scent is gladly much less tacky than the bottle itself, not too artificial-smelling either. You squeeze out a second load and distribute it over the strap-on just to be sure. Yuzuru’s breath goes faster.

„Can I ask something beforehand?“

„Go right ahead.“

„I wanna suck first if you…“

Who knew. The lube probably made his mouth water.

Being honest, you think that it might be a good idea to get this going. Better than blowing his pretty back out right away and making a mistake, even if he is much less tense now.

„I don’t mind, Yuzu. You already have some chapstick on, right? Here.“

You level your hips to line up with his mouth more easily. You can tell that Yuzuru, after some heavy blinking, eventually braces himself. There’s nothing more telling than his tunnel vision plastered all over his face. His eyes, lids heavy, are hypnotized and seem darker. Yuzu’s bedroom gaze is the best in the world.

„Okay, I’ll start.“

A first kittenish lick. A second. A third. Then, brave lips — enclosing the tip. He audibly nips and swallows.

A few more licks, and repeat. Mister Lube seems to taste pretty good. You bless the shady company that manufactures the black box of sin for once.

You let Yuzu explore, pump his hand around the shaft, lick from all directions he fancies. Compared to his wrist, the dildo doesn’t really fall short in diameter, but with Yuzu’s face up close you are relieved it’s not a complete David versus Goliath match.

Soon enough, he musters the courage to open his mouth a little wider, cramming a bit more in than just the tip. You can’t deny you’re getting turned on again with the way he slurps and hums around your dick. With the minutes, he becomes bolder, moving his head.

Even if the lube gathers at his chin and seeps down to the bed, he keeps on sucking, now with a first pearl of sweat lingering on his forehead already. You’d never think it’d make him break a sweat. To be fair, he just did fifty jumping jacks in the warm-up.

„Want me to move?“

Two nods. You glide in, let your hips do the work how they want to. You don’t trust your online shopping choices, but your tempo, at least. Yuzuru is making all choked up noises trying to gobble up all the girth he gets, his fingers entangled in your harness. It keeps him in a steady place.

You can work from that, angle a few superficial thrusts into his mouth to get the saliva flowing. The blotch on your bed is already pretty nasty. The slow pace is apt enough to fill Yuzu’s mouth with spit bubbles that begin to foam out bit by bit.

After two more minutes of light back and forth, Yuzuru pulls off to speak.

„Please do it stronger. I don’t mind being hoarse.“

Not a second later, all he does is slurp up a very dripping shaft again. With difficulty jamming it in past the first few inches, but determined, anyway. You didn’t expect anything else.

Yuzu’s lips and eyes are all glossy by now. The portion of lube-infused spit has accumulated at his jaw already, soon to travel down to his throat.

Stronger, he says. Why not.

„Okay, get ready.“

„M—hm!“

An abrasive jab follows a shallow one. If it wasn’t for the lube, your dick would scrape right down his upper throat. But this way, the first dip goes in with sufficient slip and slide, not leaving Yuzu with too much dick in his neck for long. All your strap-on does is bounce right back.

What you do hear is Yuzu’s gag reflex… claiming its rights. Still understated, but nevertheless there. After three more thrusts, you decide to stay about halfway balls deep, watching Yuzuru squirm, even try to shove in about an inch more by pressing his head forward. His breath is clean and deep through his nose. You put a checkmark on the my-boyfriend-has-asthma list in your mind.

„You look good with a dick in your mouth.“

What is supposedly a ‚thanks‘ ends up as gargling and choking. Yuzuru starts getting wet eyes at this point. Even a little bow of his head is something that doesn’t slip past your attention. Mannered guy, isn’t he.

That praise makes him do the horniest noises is also something that you make a memo of. Along with seeing how it’s rendering him all aroused. You’ve seen those neck veins and red chin spots come out plenty of times to know.

A couple more thrusts are not a bad option, you decide. Although it seems that Yuzuru had the idea to hollow out his cheeks that very moment. The vacuum first makes your cock plunge in a little too fast than intended, then naturally pulls Yuzu’s head forward once you move your hips back again.

It’s why the second thrust catches him off guard, flattening his lips and making your dick slide into his throat with air going in. Yuzu ends up choking hopelessly. It doesn’t look like he’s retreating his head in the very least, however.

Instead, you feel his hands grab at your either hip to secure himself in place. A glance from above, slightly angled sideward, shows you just how hard and throbbing Yuzu’s own dick is, tipping against his stomach.

Once again, you make an impressed-my-dear face that he doesn’t overlook. His cheeks go hollow again and he keeps up the indulgent speed. Increasingly getting rougher and more pain-craving. Messier. Desperate.

Yuzu opens his mouth wider not to have his teeth get in the way. It’s serious business now. His throat makes the most disgusting, grunting noises. Oh. Shit. Yuzu’s greed and sloppy lips make your body burn up. Soreness is the very least he’s headed for.

„Wow, Yuzu. Wow.“

It’s not something you didn’t know already. This man is without a singular doubt a lunatic. You whisper more praises to him, your hands grabbing hold of his head to sustain the movement rhythmically.

Yuzu’s gag reflex has proven to only rebel every other thrust so you can pound away, at that time already giving up even the mattress that must be sopping wet to its core with Yuzuru drooling all over it. Too late for a towel altogether but fuck it.

Yuzu takes the choking well. He’s leaking spit all over, surrenders to your hands. Even if he doesn’t manage to deepthroat the entire length of the dick, he manages an awful lot of inches. By now, he’s gotten the hang of not letting too much air in. All while relaxing his muscles.

Beautiful hums, chokes, little whines. Too bad your phone isn’t close by. Recording this has to be your very next bucket list entry. You’re glad he asked about this.

You go on thrusting for a few more times until you feel your hips going tired. Once his nose starts getting all runny, you naturally slow down even more. Eventually, you help Yuzuru pull his head off. His lips are all puffy.

„B—woah,“ it’s all he can moan and splurt out, and you help him wipe the glob of saliva and snot from his chin with your sleeve.

Your pajama shirt might be ruined, but not as much as Yuzu’s tonsils. Who knows just how many times you were deep and fast enough to make them throb from all that friction. Seven, eight times? His food for tomorrow can be a light soup at best. Not even you were as sore after riding and sucking every last drop out of his dick last Monday.

You’re glad he has the rice cakes going through his system right now. Poor onlooker Winnie the Pooh is probably traumatized by now. There’s only so much crazy dicksucking a bear can handle watching. And still, he gazes at the two of you— in good spirits as ever, cheeks big and bright. In a way, he looks like Yuzu in this very moment.

„How you like it?,“ you softly caress his pinkish lips. „I need to know how many stars to leave on the website.“

It takes a few moments until he can form words again. His speech is fast. He’s still staring at the dildo.

„It was in so deep and, and on my tongue. The dick veins, I could feel them. They were like, like, it was massaging my lips. And I almost thought I could swallow it.“

You raise your brows. Lord knows how deep your cock was inside his brain, but he still picks these things up.

„Attention to detail. Nice.“

Maybe 4.5 stars are a fair deal. At least for throat fucking. The rest — remains to be seen.

„Did I do well?“

His eyes widen. The question is genuine. It’s not something you’d think he would ask. Whenever he trained, he would always rely on his own judgment.

„Ask yourself first, you were the one feeling it.“

That’s not the answer he expected, and he ends up getting red cheeks.

„I liked it,“ he stammers. „Was really hot.“

„It’s what I saw, too. Good job, babe.“

He’s blushing even more now.

„Ah— I think I tried my best.“

You smile and cup his slobbery face. So you’ve taken his throat virginity in the most spit-heavy way possible. He looks cuter than ever.

„Listen. You’re a champ. If I could, I would cum deep inside of you.“

„I think, that would be romantic,“ his wet lips break into an upbeat smile. Yuzu’s eyes get all crinkly.

„You bet.“

A big doting kiss for Yuzu’s forehead is the only thing your brain can conjure up at this point, so you briefly lean down to do it. Maybe Shia LaBeouf is not just exclusively at home in Yuzu’s imagination.

What you have to admit is that Yuzu’s overflowing athlete’s spirit has easily taken over your hips. You didn’t think you could move properly for that long. Maybe you still have some energy reservoirs left.

„And, and now?“

„I can stuff you with more dick. Up to you. Mister Lube didn’t run out yet. And if Pooh still likes watching.“

By instinct, Yuzuru’s hands snake behind his back to grip his ass, stroking what he knows is your delightful next target. You can tell by his eyes that there are a thousand scenarios going through his head.

„Pooh likes this… very much. He’s never seen something like that before. I think he is curious.“

It doesn’t take a Sherlock’s mind for you to know that he means— himself.

„I mean. I was surprised. If that monster fits into your little throat,“ you add, „anything is possible.“

That’s the final straw.

„I’ll do it,“ he says, moments later on all fours, face lowered and then rested sidewards on the bed, spreading his ass cheeks. Decision making when it comes to strap stuff is Yuzu’s forte, you jot that down in your invisible sex life journal. Not one bit of hesitation. By the looks of it, a very twitching entrance is waiting for you.

Testing period is over.

„Alright. I got something to drive home.“

Now that you think of it. If his ass is already only half as naughty as his mouth, you’ll need the help of a higher power.

„Shit. I think, it relaxes.“

At the expense of your mattress and blanket getting even more greasy with lube, you ease in the tip after massaging it into his sphincter. Yuzu’s ass still has to deal with that new sensation given how his leg muscles are going all bonkers. But indeed he’s grown receptive.

„Comfy like that?“

„B—big…“

„Attention, just a little tweak before I go on. Here.“

You softly press down on his spine with your palm entirely flat, and his back obliges immediately. His arch is leaving you breathless.

Yuzu’s head and chest are snug and soft against the bed while his ass is far, far up. He smiles seeing you venerate his back, he didn’t miss your reaction in the least. No surprise a third of your cock gets sucked into his ass just moments later. It caught you off guard.

Judging by Yuzu’s little yelp and his eyes rolling back, the way you went right into him has found pleasure. The bedposts creak a little because Yuzuru’s legs are shivering. As is his voice.

„I love it, I lo-, please, my, my ass!“

„Can I move?“

„Yes, please!“

The arch did the trick. You love your boyfriend. What follows is a slowly plunging series of rewards, ten, eleven times, pulling at his gripping asshole until it surrenders into going loose. Yuzuru has almost accommodated a third of the length you’re engraving into his ass. You’ll definitely keep using that brand of lube.

„Here, babe. I got a present for your prostate.“

Yuzu is making your favorite lawless face when you hit the spot, controlling the base of the dildo with two your fingers going around it like a cock ring. He looks as if someone just handed him a trophy too big to carry. From his perineum, a thread of lube comes dripping down with a squelching noise. The poor sheets. It’s another virginity taken.

In the meantime, Yuzu grabs hold of the duvet with unsteady hands. His entire torso is nothing but a shaky mess. So erratic. And sweaty. And docile. And beautiful. You want to award him plenty, your little present from above, the jittery boy underneath you.

Pounding away and making him grit his teeth is worth heading for a mean cramp, you don’t care. Watching how your cock is plowing in and out of him at jerky angles with the absolute lewdest, bubbling noises recompensates for anything.

Yuzu’s rolling eyes have become spaced out and teary, making him look like a crying saint about to enter the golden gates of heaven. Who knew angels had black hair.

With every stroke, his ass becomes every bit accepting to the point of almost glaring open to let you thrust in. Thank God. You compliment yourself on not falling short of the arguably lofty promise to relax him. Moaning Yuzu’s little ass is swallowing it all.

By the time, his rectum is going hollow and sticky, welcoming every move of yours by giving you ample right of passage. During some thrusts, you don’t even see his sphincter hold on to the dildo at all. His ass is almost as dilated as his loose mouth itself. Your thrusts are working on their own again at this point. What instinct is propelling you, who knows.

You love the sight and the happy squeals. You tease him with more speed. Not without effect, your hips lunge and aim deep all the more. You penetrate him far enough to start an excavation for ancient relics next Monday. With the tempo increasing, so does the chesty volume in his voice.

„It’s,“ he cries out, „in my belly! Ah! Ah, shit! Shit...“

You see Yuzu let go of the duvet with his left hand. It promptly darts way down to his abdomen where his fingers grope around.

„I can feel it,“ he whines, „It’s rubbing there, it’s a big bump!“

You sure won’t deprive your own hand from that sensation and reach right down, too. Which means leaning forward— and stuffing your strap even harder into his guts. Yuzu gasps out loud. Both your hands meet fondling about, cupping the sensitive area in search for the imprint of the dildo.

What Yuzu says is not understated. His slender little belly is all bulged out in the bottom quarter. Since he’s so thin, it’s almost scary how much your cock just dents him out and twists around.

„Jesus, Yuzu,“ you let your hand roam next to his, even lightly squeezing the area. It’s what really riles him.

What you thought was the maximum for him to take turns out to be nothing but a mere start. Yuzu is so obsessed to feel the bulge more that he starts bucking his ass onto your cock with the most unbridled voice cracks.

You can’t lie. His moans make your jaw drop. His usually so controlled body on the ice is now wrecking and writhing itself to get more dick.

A thin line of sweat goes on a pilgrimage down his spine already. He impales himself more, gyrates his hips more, whines out more. You wonder how he keeps it together and doesn’t spritz all his cum over the bed and the floor tiles.

It’s the sheer force of will. Always hungry for the next level. You can’t help but admire how enduring he is. And that’s just the first time.

Yuzu’s feet have become agitated on the sheets, responding to every thrust by dangling and swishing around. Yesterday, his right ankle was all stiff and even a bit swollen. Now, it’s moving all over the place. Looks like doggy style is putting all the tension off the ligaments. It’s something else you take deliberate note of.

After five more thrusts and hearing his whimpers getting all drawn-out, eventually, you retreat for a break, letting your cock rest on his left ass cheek. Yuzu inhales, gathering himself. He looks at you with big, glazed bambi eyes. Maybe even a bit incredulous.

„Am I, am I gaping?“

You don’t have to check twice to know.

„All lose. If you knew how far I can see inside of you. Hole new world.“

„Y/N!“

He can’t hold eye contact now.

„Naughty, huh. But I like what I see.“

Goddamn great ass. You firmly smack Yuzu squarely across his right butt cheek. He twitches, clenches, bites his lips more. They tremble.

„Ah! You tease!“

„Want me to put it in again?“

Wild nodding. Looks like Yuzu’s usual voracity on the ice does an easy, albeit not entirely seamless transfer to bed, too. He still ogles what is about to stretch him out again with due respect. He still can’t fathom something this massive was inside of him, you can tell.

Once you start moving again, you notice his feet and thigh muscles violently jerking. His prostate has gotten all sensitive. Probably all spongy and large by now.

You decide to angle yourself differently and take a deep breath. Impossible to draw this out any longer. From the vicinity of Yuzu’s pillow, you grasp the Winnie Pooh plush toy and maneuver it into his awaiting embrace. He holds it tight in an instant.

With impatient hands, you fumble around the bed for the lube bottle until you find it next to his right foot. Two, three, four generous squeezes onto his asshole, not very accurate at all. Several fine, oily traces end up trickling down his inner thighs. You don’t even bother closing the bottle properly anymore. Too much adrenaline.

„Grab those sheets and Pooh, Yuzu, grab hard.“

„I got it!“

„Time I fuck you up. If you’re ready?“

„Yes, make me cum, make me cum! Please break my ass,“ he’s whimpering. So badly. „I want it! I want it all inside.“

Mister Lube has a last job to handle.

Yuzu has crammed three fingers into his mouth once you get a hold of his hair and deliver the last hard movements. He takes the blows all babbling and sucking himself off. How his ass is not completely falling apart by now is a miracle of nature. Or maybe, just the blessing of his daily training.

The room is heavy with the scent of sweat and cherries. He’s loosened his core so much that sliding in is not a question of you avoiding a cramp anymore, but technique. You feel focused to zero in and not miss the sweet, tender spot. It makes him mewl the first time you push your dick tip right into it.

The second time, his eyes get big and fluttering.

„Please. Please, hurt me,“ he salivates, then eventually, grabs his plush harder. „Hurt me bad. I’m really begging you.“

Fast to oblige, you claw your hands around his waist and pull his body backwards. The ten nails digging into him are only the last needed set-up. The last jab comes in crisp, landing a severe and punctuated shock. Yuzu’s ass smacks up hard at your loins. The pain quickly snakes right up his spine and leaves his face contorted.

„Oh fuck…!“

Small, shaking Yuzu cums like fifty fireworks going off at once. Not even releasing his screams into the duvet really helps to mute out the heaviness of the first waves. You keep your cock right in place and let it buffer into his prostate at will.

Yuzu’s legs kick and tangle under you like pasta in boiling water. He cries and groans and curses, and cries out even more. You can see his entire back muscles at work now, going like clockwork. His moans each sound so ecstatic, it registers as a different language to you. He spirals far into his orgasm, sobbing, and it looks beautiful.

„Amazing, Yuzu.“

His semen lands all over his sternum and the sheets, shooting out in several bursts, one more pumping than the other. It’s almost as if all that strawberry juice converted nicely into a blotchy, white fluid.

His dick is still tensing up completely sensitive. Releasing cum, up until his legs stop going all over the place. Yuzu doesn’t let the sperm cool for twenty seconds that he already reaches down to pick it up, jerking his cock a last dozen times, only to bring to his mouth what his fingers collected. He sucks up all of it.

„Delicious, baby?“

„M—hm!“

„So nicely milked.“

His relished expression. You imagine that this must have been how the gods first tasted nectar.

While he licks away, Yuzu goes limp head to toe with you carefully pulling out your dick. Inch by inch. Not pulling. Only gliding.

Once you’ve removed the tip, he collapses into a sniffing, giggly puddle of serotonin. Crying, even when you lend him both your hands to lay his face into.

He’s so gorgeous.

Breathing hard, sweaty, drooling and messed up. His body is so steamy and loose, splayed out all the way before you. His entrance has turned all pink so beautifully. Hot. As. Fuck.

Most psychologists would envy you for being able to gaze this far into Yuzuru Hanyu’s innermost clenching being. How his ass is going to close until tomorrow’s competition, you don’t know.

Time to pray he won’t digest these savory cakes too fast. Then again, he didn’t eat properly at all. His body is probably soaking up all the fruit and rice in their entirety.

You pat his lower back gently, making sure to lay him down into a sleeping position already. Pooh is right by his side. Yuzu’s legs are still so dangly.

He’s really let go completely. You’ve not fucked his ass, but his soul.

You want to thank him for trusting you so much. Beside the shady black box manufacturer.

The bed is a glorious mess.

Removing the strap-on harness makes you feel just how loosened your own limbs have become, too. Come to think of it, this might be your new heavy-duty workout. None of your friends know you do this kind of cardio involving the best ass in the whole city as your personal trainer.

Yuzu’s butt has turned you into a drenched, wobbly homo sapiens that will probably look in the mirror by tomorrow and proclaim herself a bodybuilder from those sheer muscle burn gains.

When the two of you show up at the rink tomorrow, you both need hunky guys carrying you in by the armpits or something.

And the whole world will wonder how Yuzu’s wonky ankle magically recovered overnight but he can’t sit.

Changing the duvet at quarter past twelve with an unmovable Yuzu on top of it seems like a thing of the impossible. It’s soiled, it’s sweaty, it would probably make it to the first page if a reporter ever got hold of it.

But you take it pragmatically and opt for sleeping on Yuzu’s cleaner side of the bed intertwined. It’s surprisingly dry there. Big laundry day tomorrow, anyway.

The only thing you manage to do is reach for the window to open and to grab a glass of water from the bedstand to share. He’s chugging the remaining half down in one go. His hands? Oh wonder.

More than steady.

He calmed completely. After he puts down the glass, you scoot closer to him.

„Your foot — better?“

„Oh? I didn’t even think about it.“

He wriggles his left leg back and forth underneath the blanket, then concludes with a surprised face:

„It’s turning pretty well? I think you hit a nerve. Maybe you should split me in half more often.“

He shrugs. Yuzu’s serious face while saying that so dryly makes you laugh.

„Looks like it,“ you draw out the open lube bottle from beside you, finally closing the lid. „Do you… need a towel?“

„I just need you. I have to be disgusting for once.“

„I’ll scrape that all off tomorrow before we leave. Hot shower, five tons of shampoo. I’ll be breaking out the stuff you clean your skates with if I have to.“

That makes Yuzu chuckle. In fact, he beams a little.

„Sounds like something to look forward to.“

„I hope you can walk, anyway. Is it painful?“

Your biggest sorrow at this point. Taking his mind off was easy, but now he’s got boneless legs. Your conscience nags you for dicking him down out of all possible things.

„You have your weapon license now. I gotta admit… the last one…“

…was ass destruction 3.0, you complete his sentence in your mind. It’s nothing a normal human being could have stomached. „I’ll manage, though. I still feel my legs.“

„God, how does he do it.“

A smug „He’s Yuzuru Hanyu, that’s how, aw yeah!“ is what you imagine God’s answer to sound like. But instead, all you get is a little smile. Very well, from the little God in your bed.

„Pooh did this. When I squeezed him, I knew I could take it.“

He reaches to the middle of the bed. Five consecutive head pats for the bear plushie and Yuzu looks content already.

„Winning medals with just one working ankle is the same as doing it with a demolished ass to you, huh.“

„It’s not demolished, it’s improved and overhauled,“ he smiles. „Never felt any better. It was really good how you did this.“

It’s his strangest sport philosophy yet. But if you know one thing, it’s that Yuzu’s bizarre body hacks have gotten him the podium every time. You can already see him asking for another strap round before your mind’s eye. Before the next competition, at least.

„You honestly blow my mind.“

„And your dick, tomorrow night,“ goes Yuzu’s cheeky winner grin. There it is. Insatiable how you love it. You already feel the need to google ‚hip thrust strengthening exercises’.

Maybe, if science advances to that point one day, you honestly clone yourself so double your capacity. And so that you can spitroast him. Maybe you order another dildo from the website and pin it to the wall, anyways.

„Must be Mister Lube who did all of this.“

„I want to buy more of it tomorrow. Any other groceries we need, anyway? I’ll be cleaning the floor, too. I hope I’m not too worn-out after skating.“

„We’ll do one thing after the other, alright. There are still rice cakes left for breakfast, those will get you through the day.“

You’ve seen how much of an energy burst the cakes gave him.

„I really like those,“ he mumbles, then nuzzles into the pillow, sucking in your hair’s scent. Oh, it’s the moment you waited for. „Snickers diva… happy.“

A very cheery, puffy face slowly comes to rest beside you now, hair going in all directions. Infallible and ever-returning: Professor Yuzu’s explosive hairdo. Pooh is all clingy at his chest. A little worn from all the squeezing, but still with an amicable chuckle. You smile from ear to ear. It’s the most adorable thing you’ve ever seen.

You kiss Yuzuru’s little nose and lips until he’s making sleepy sounds. Either this is a late-night mirage created by your very moan-tested ears, or he is actually purring. You make sure the Pooh plush resting at his chest faces him correctly, then clear away the remaining strawberries, shut the window, arrange the blanket, put on your pajamas properly.

The humidifier whirrs in the background while tiger baby does one last big yawn before drifting off. In a matter of two minutes, maybe even less than that.

Just as you reach toward the bedstand to switch off the light, Yuzu’s hand curls into your shirt from behind. You turn, he is all dozed off. Not one leg fidgeting. However, talking in his sleep with his hand nestled into your PJs.

„Big hug please, Pooh mama.“

#figure skating #yuzuru hanyu #yuzuru hanyu smut #yuzuru hanyu x reader #yuzuru hanyu fanfic #figure skating fanfic #fs #figure skating smut #sub!yuzuru #dom!reader #treats for you #original content

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tlbodine · 3 years

Text

Things That Do (And Don’t) Sell Books (in my experience)

I’ve just finished reading this book:

I am both amused and a bit disheartened to have read the whole thing and discovered that I knew pretty much everything in it. Amused, because I guess I’ve picked up a lot of knowledge over the years. Disheartened, because it clearly has not led to me becoming the break-away success I always dreamed of. Ah well. Live and learn.

I’m all about transparency in this business, so I wanted to talk honestly for a while about book marketing and what I’ve experienced in terms of what does and does not seem to work. I’d love to hear your thoughts, so chime in with your own experiences!

Branding and Audience

The first third of Burke’s book is dedicated to this aspect, and it’s an important marketing step that’s easy to overlook. The idea is basically that you can’t market a product unless it has a brand identity. To create your brand, you need to do the following:

Identify the audience who you are trying to reach with your work, or who would be most receptive to what you’re writing

Identify your dreams and goals so you have a clear picture in mind of what you want to accomplish

Figure out how to position yourself in such a way that you a.) stand out from the competition but b.) people can still relate to and understand at a glance

Find a way to communicate your brand consistently in terms of the language used, your aesthetic, the way you act online, and so forth.

When it comes to brand-building as an author, I think I’ve got a bit of a corner nailed down. I at least hope to be perceived as someone level-headed, thoughtful, generally positive/empathetic and humanist, but also critical and looking deeper into the meanings of things -- all of which are traits I personally possess and which are baked in to the work I do. In support of that branding, I curate my activity online as best I can: I post things that are of a certain horror aesthetic that I feel overlaps with my own interests/style; I give writing advice and boost people in the community where I can; I wade into discourse selectively and thoughtfully; I give media reviews and analysis that I think would be interesting to like-minded people.

The “identify the audience” part is much harder for me. I’m still honestly not sure who my ideal reader is, or where exactly to go to find my audience. At this point I’m kind of scattering crumbs of myself out into the wind and hoping it will attract people who will, in turn, be interested in the work that I do (and both willing and able to support it financially).

Things I’ve Done With Varying Degrees of Success:

Aforementioned blogging activities. I have slowly but steadily grown my following her on tumblr and other social media sites as well as my author newsletter on substack, but it’s not clear to what extent that following translates into book sales. My writing advice posts vastly out-perform all of my other content, but I haven’t seen compelling evidence that the people interested in my writing advice are especially interested in my fiction -- it seems to be two separate groups, with maybe a sliver of overlap.

Content marketing with more short fiction. This seems like it should be the safest, surest way to find more readers, but it’s time-consuming and discouraging because of the discoverability cycle. My horror flash fiction posts don’t get nearly as many notes as my advice posts. My attempts to get into the big anthologies that pop up have so far amounted to little, although I do need to write more. It’s just that coming up with new ideas and writing them all the time is a lot of work, and if it’s not paying off maybe I’m still better off dedicating that work to my novels.

Sending ARCs to book bloggers/reviewers/booktube etc. I sent out dozens, if not hundreds, of these and got next to no response. I do think part of the problem is that, at the time, I had no Twitter presence, and -- like it or not -- there seems to be a bit of cliqueishness to this aspect of the book world. Now that I’ve spent more time on Twitter ingratiating myself with the horror community, I suspect I’ll have a somewhat easier job securing blurbs and reviews at least from the people in my extended social circle. But I won’t know until I try it again. *I also know I would have greater success with this if I’d been sending paperback ARCs instead of digital. I didn’t, because the cost of buying more author copies + shipping was prohibitive.

Author Newsletter. I maintain mine in conjunction with my Patreon account. I send a monthly news round-up, making a point of shouting out both industry news and the milestones/achievements of others in the community as well as providing what I hope to be value-added or interesting content (in the form of blog posts my patrons vote on). It does OK. I average a couple of new sign-ups per month this way and tend to hover around a 25% open rate, which isn’t terrible. But it’s not great, either, and I won’t know for sure whether any of those opens will actually yield sales at any point.

Interpersonal relationships/community building. Hands down the most successful “marketing” thing I’ve ever done is make friends with people. My writing discord group is small but very close-knit and interacting with them is one of the genuine highlights of my day. I didn’t really make it with mercenary intentions of selling books, but it has directly resulted in sales. Similarly, there are a handful of authors from Twitter and Wattpad that I’ve developed genuine friendships with, and we buy each other’s books and support one another. This whole community aspect is extremely rewarding and I’d do it whether or not it sold books, but it’s also not exactly easy to scale. I can only maintain genuine friendships with so many people.

Posting in reading groups. The books that allow self-promo are so saturated with it that nobody pays any attention. The good groups do not allow self-promo, unless it’s in the form of getting down in the comments and recommending a book on a per-person basis to people looking for a specific thing, and only then if you’re not being spammy. Again, this is time-consuming. You could spend your entire life in these groups, hand-selling books to these people, and maybe picking up a few sales. They do seem like a good place to identify trends, though, so they’re good for market research if not direct selling.

Things I Have Not Done, But Which I Suspect Would Sell Books

Paid promotions. The golden ticket for book sales still seems to be landing a BookBub promo. If you’re unfamiliar, this is where you price your book at 99 cents or free and then pay bookbub to include it in their deals newsletter. Bookbub is very popular and moves a lot of copies. Ideally, you want to set it up so that your cheap book is the first in a series, and people snap that up and then come back to read the rest. This requires you to have written a series. Also bookbub is expensive because these are premium ads. We’re talking hundreds of dollars for one ad. There are other book promos that are cheaper but don’t have the same buy-through rate.

Ads on facebook/amazon. I’m only dimly familiar with the ins and outs of these ads. They can be relatively cheap, but the amount of visibility they have is tied to your budget -- so the more you can spend on a campaign, the better your performance will be.

Calling bookstores/libraries and asking them to order. I should do this. I have not done this purely because I am a coward.

I am not certain what more I can do to promote my books without spending money.

I understand the “spend money to make money” concept, but I also understand the “I have a limited budget and cannot spend it willy nilly on things that still might not actually pay off, especially considering how expensive self-publishing is when you want to do it right.”

...This post ended up in a much more bitter place than I meant for it to. Sorry. I’ll check in if I remember additional points that could be successful strategies.

#writing #publishing #writing advice #publishing advice #writeblr #long post

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iturbide · 4 years

Text

Bad End AU

This thing is eating my brain at present and I still don’t have a fully fleshed-out plotline for it yet but I have a lot of things that I want to explore and it’s very likely it won’t happen in order after I get through the opening sections, so consider this a masterlist of what to expect down the line.

(Please note that the list is in flux, not all events are necessarily in order, and things may be added as ideas occur; also, feel free to ask if there’s something you want to see discussed more)

The Fall of Fodlan

Claude is defeated at Derdriu; Edelgard chooses to kill him, and Byleth makes the blow

Hilda, who had been holding her own, fights her way to Claude too late; before she can take Edelgard out, Byleth strikes her down, too

Nader takes a small party from the Almyran fleet back to the Derdriu harbor with the intent on bringing Claude’s body home; on finding they’re still alive, both Claude and Hilda are evacuated back to the fleet

Claude comes to while in transit back to Almyra; he and Hilda talk about the battle and the future

On reaching the Almyran harbor, Nader flies to the capital to inform the king and queen; both immediately rush to their son’s side

Nader takes a small contingent of Almyrans to the Locket to kidnap Holst, who is in bad shape after hearing about Hilda’s death at Derdriu, and bring him to the capital to reunite him with his sister

Edelgard executes Dimitri at Tailtean and proceeds to Fhirdiad; news of the king’s death reaches Almyra only after Fodlan has already fallen

United Adrestia: Years 1 - 2

Claude opts to take an advisory position in Almyra, rather than challenging his father for the throne. Since she’s technically supposed to be dead, Hilda stays with him in Almyra.

Following in Judith’s footsteps, Claude begins to organize an information network that extends into Fodlan, and contacts Ignatz to act as a key source within the Alliance.

Dorothea moves into the Enbarr palace with Edelgard; Ferdinand assumes the role of Prime Minister advising the Empress; Lysithea and Hanneman begin research into Crests in hopes of finding a way to restore Lysithea’s shortened life; Petra remains in the Empire as a representative of Brigid’s interests.

Despite Edelgard’s high expectations, efforts to oppose the Agarthans are hampered by limited information and unrest throughout the conquered territories.

Edelgard attempts to ally with Almyra in hopes of securing the aid of their military to keep the peace in the former Alliance territories; her treaty is soundly rebuffed by the king and queen.

Edelgard receives the response from Almyra and is significantly less than pleased, but leaves the Imperial messenger unscathed.

Left to enforce the peace by her own means, Edelgard redirects Hanneman and Lysithea’s research away from Crests, assigning them to work with Linhardt toward more direct measures to support the Empire.

Seeing no other recourse, Edelgard reveals to her allies that there is another threat in the shadows, Those Who Slither in the Dark, shaking their confidence and shattering their trust.

Rumors begin to circulate in the former Kingdom territories about a living Blaiddyd heir; Hubert sends agents to investigate and deal with the issue.

The same rumors reach Almyra, prompting Claude and Hilda to infiltrate the Kingdom on a covert investigation.

While exploring the former Gautier territory, Claude and Hilda stumble across Ashe and Annette, along with a group of old Kingdom loyalists and a teenager named Nika who looks shockingly like Dimitri.

Hubert’s agents launch a surprise attack, during which the child’s Major Crest of Blaiddyd flares; with solid evidence in hand, Claude offers them all refuge in Almyra.

On reaching Almyra, Claude adds several key conditions to the terms of their asylum, which the Kingdom loyalists are forced to comply with for Nika’s safety.

United Adrestia: Years 3 - 7

Nika begins training under Claude, Hilda, Ashe, and Annette in a broad variety of subjects, ranging from diplomacy to horseback riding to weapons handling.

Hubert continues struggling to root out the Agarthan threat, a task made more difficult by the limited information available to him and the unfavorable conditions in the Empire at large.

Caspar is tasked with keeping the peace in the original Imperial territories while his father is charged with enforcing Adrestia’s rule in the former Alliance.

Ferdinand continues to challenge Edelgard regarding her plans for reform and equality in the expanded Empire, attempting to prioritize the needs of the people over the hunt for the Agarthans.

Bernadetta begins to withdraw despite Edelgard’s firm insistence that she appear at the capital to offer counsel.

Lysithea reaches out to Edelgard directly regarding her reduced lifespan; the Empress dismisses her worries as an Agarthan lie, given that she was never told the same.

Dorothea moves out of the Enbarr Palace, too dispirited by the state of the Empire and the truth of Edelgard’s deception to bear living beside her in silence.

Wary of the inevitable problem the surviving Blaiddyd might become, Hubert sends assassins into Almyra to deal with Nika; none return thanks to Claude and his parents.

Lysithea, realizing that her time is growing short, prepares her will and informs Lorenz of her plans to bequeath the Ordelia territory to him; in response, he tries to find some way to extend her shortened life.

Ferdinand finally exhausts Edelgard’s patience; he is dismissed from the position of prime minister and “reassigned” to govern Hyrm as his late father did before him.

Lysithea passes away; the remaining three Golden Deer meet following the funeral to discuss the state of things under Imperial rule, and Lorenz despairs that he chose the wrong side in the war.

Nika approaches his mentors to ask about Dimitri, the half-brother he never knew; he asks, too, about Edelgard, and though Hilda, Annette, and Ashe speak viciously against her, Claude is calm and reasoned in his criticisms, giving Nika deeper insight into the qualities of a good leader.

United Adrestia: Years 8 - 12

Under mounting pressure from the old Kingdom loyalists tasked with his tutelage, Nika copes by spends increasing amounts of time with Claude, which proves invaluable for both his training and his mental health.

Lorenz makes frequent visits to the former Ordelia territory to oversee and manage affairs, putting him in contact with Ferdinand in the neighboring Hyrm territory across the river; the two begin to meet and talk regularly.

Dorothea attempts to coax Bernadetta out of hiding in the Varley Manor as often as she can; she gets no response directly, but occasionally finds a new picture or embroidered plush as proof that her friend is still there.

With conditions in the Empire worsening due to heavy taxation and growing famine, Hubert pulls Petra into assisting him directly with the Agarthan threat; as she is still a political prisoner in truth, she has no choice but to comply.

Upon careful review of several documents left by Dimitri, coupled with Ashe’s and Annette’s recollections, Claude reaches out to Ignatz and asks him to deliver a message to Dorothea.

Despite her low spirits after performing the Empress’ Opera, Dorothea is overjoyed when Ignatz approaches her and readily invites him in, sharing seemingly incidental details of the former Black Eagles’ lives before Ignatz relays the missive Claude had sent.

Having Claude’s oath in writing that her actions will never be revealed, Dorothea agrees to help and returns to the Enbarr Palace, removing a document related to the Arundel family history from the archives and passing it to Ignatz.

With the document in hand, Claude finally manages to put the missing pieces together regarding Dimitri and Edelgard’s shared history, and confirming that the Empress killed her step-brother at Tailtean.

On the eve of Nika’s 24th birthday, Claude reminds him that the choice of whether to return to Fodlan or not is one only he can make: he’ll be an adult by Almyran law the next day, so no one can force him to go if he doesn’t want to.

Nika decides to return to Fodlan; Claude challenges his father for the right to accompany Nika as Almyra’s ambassador and leader of their allied forces.

The Fall of the United Adrestian Empire

The Almyran army breaches Fodlan’s Locket with help from Holst, then proceed to cut off the Empire at Myrddin before they can mount a defense.

Lorenz allies with Claude and takes over the defense of Myrddin with help from Hilda; Claude and Nika proceed north to recapture Derdriu and upset the Empire’s power center in the former Alliance.

Making their way west from Derdriu, Claude and Nika enter the Kingdom territories; with Ashe and Annette’s help, Nika begins to rally the Kingdom loyalists in the far north.

The Kingdom forces make their way to Fhirdiad, growing larger with every town they pass through; riots erupt in the capital when the Blaiddyd heir arrives, overwhelming the Imperial forces stationed there.

Nika claims the right to rule by virtue of his Major Crest of Blaiddyd and ascends the throne of Faerghus, taking Areadbhar in the process.

Pushing south, Nika and the Kingdom army force the Imperials back to the original border between Faerghus and Adrestia.

Claude and the Almyrans make their way east to Myrddin and reunite with Lorenz and Hilda; both armies proceed toward Enbarr.

The Kingdom and Alliance forces converge in Varley territory, meeting only cursory resistance; Raphael finds Bernadetta locked in the Varley manor and manages to coax her out.

On reaching Enbarr, Claude reveals the sibling relationship between Edelgard and Dimitri, branding her as a kinslayer for executing her brother at Tailtean and sowing turmoil through the Imperial capital.

Edelgard refuses to forfeit her claim on her conquered territories, leading to a battle within the Enbarr palace; she is eventually defeated and subdued.

With the Alliance territories conquered by Almyran forces and her claim to Faerghus tainted by the blood of her brother, Edelgard is forced to cede both holdings and old borders are re-established.

Edelgard is further forced to abdicate the throne in favor of a successor; while her heir’s training is not yet complete, Claude recommends Ferdinand be reinstated as Prime Minister and advisor to the throne.

Nika returns to Faerghus to start rebuilding; Claude leaves Lorenz in charge of the Alliance territories, citing Almyra’s hands-off style of governance, before returning home to challenge his father for the throne.

#fire emblem: three houses #fanfiction #bad end au #this is mostly just basics #there are so many details that go into all of this #like just imagine: ignatz at the opera #i've bee having so many thoughts about this #and a lot of them make me sad #but claude basically adopting nika makes me happy #the double-edged sword that is bad end au

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gypsydanger01 · 4 years

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THE STORM - Part twenty

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon prime tv series)

Pairing: Black Noir x OC

Disclaimer: I don’t own The Boys, only my OC characters and certain pieces of au plot.

Comments, reviews, constructive criticism, and other requests are always more than welcome!

The Home Invasion

As night fell upon the city, Black Noir suited up. He wanted to settle in for the night and forget the situation that plagued him but couldn’t with the conflict unfolding in his head. He had very clear orders as to how to deal with it. He’d never felt remorse for carrying out orders and he shouldn’t feel any now.

And yet, the fact that she was his target weighed down on his shoulders like an unmovable load. The difference was that he knew her. He’d watched her for a long time, learning her routines, likes and dislikes. And then she’d allowed him a glimpse behind the scenes during their quiet moments together. She had felt real.

She lied, and she wasn’t who she said she was, but some part of him desperately clung to the possibility of there being an essential reason. She wasn’t Sarah, she was Marianna, a woman with a whole different story behind her. She’d never shared details on her childhood, or her reason for working at Vought. She was a mystery, an intricate set of questions he couldn’t seem to unravel.

But he’d gotten a glimpse past the happenings of her life, the superficial happiness she expressed. He’d gotten a look straight into who she was in the moment. By her side, he felt untouchable and accepted. He felt like she truly saw him. There had always been this knowing look in her eye and he now wondered if she had always known what he truly did for Vought. Who he really was behind the façade of advertisements, movies, and interviews.

He left his tracker on the table and wore a suit with a disactivated camera.

When he’d pulled his gloves to wash their cup, she’d respected him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to hide here.”

He had promised himself he’d keep her safe from any form of harm.

A part of him insisted that their time together had been genuine.

At that thought, he violently stuck a final knife into its sheath and walked out the door.

He arrived at her home and stopped in the shadows to observe the quaint abode. He could hear the tv playing and the oven on in the kitchen. The lights were on throughout the house, and he wondered if he’d walk in to find her chilling in her armchair, wrapped in her light blue blanket. He could almost see her swinging the door open with her wild hair and searing dark eyes.

But this was no social meeting. He moved stealthily towards the house. He was filled with disappointment at the prospect of their meeting ending so quickly. Would he be merciful if he gave her a quick and painless death?

Mr. Edgar wanted her alive, but he’d looked into compound 15 and the experiments that were carried out at the cold, isolated facility. A quick death would spare her a life of pain under syringes and surgeries, tests, and experiments.

He made his way to the back and jumped over the fence. He inched towards the door to the kitchen and heard the tune she always seemed to mindlessly hum.

Was she baking?

Well, Mr. Edgar had said to catch her off guard, making sure she didn’t have time to counterattack. Still, he’d expected to encounter the formidable fighter of the night before, the threat to Vought.

Was it her? A wave of doubt surged through him.

He broke the lock and quickly entered, observing the space for any sign of her. The oven was on, indeed, but when he crouched and peered inside, he found it empty. He followed the sound of her humming to the kitchen table, where it emanated from a small recording device. He almost smirked, glad this would indeed be a match of forces.

And then he took a step into the living room and pulled the invisible wire which unleashed holy hell on him.

The woman waited with bated breath as she heard the bombs go off in quick succession, making tremors run through the house.

It was definitely her.

Black Noir stilled and waited for the dust to settle. The tv remained untouched and continued playing Frank Sinatra’s greatest hits. He pulled a few nails from his suit but didn’t bother with the rest when he realized how many there were. He took caution in stepping forward into the room, certain that there would be more devices planted across the house.

He wondered if she was even there, or if she was long gone and had left this surprise for him.

From overhead, Sarah silently dialed her house number and heard it ring at the entrance. His heavy steps boomed through the space below until he stopped in front of the ringing phone. Was she calling? If it was her, he decided to indulge her.

Noir picked up the phone. Another explosion caught him off guard, and plaster blew into the air like the finest snow. It didn’t send him to his feet, but this one did send him a few steps to the left. Standing tall, he smiled under the mask. He was impressed.

He headed down the hall he’d never ventured before. He passed an empty bathroom to his right and moved towards what he presumed to be the bedroom. He slipped a knife out of its sheath and readied himself.

Well, he definitely wouldn’t catch her off guard at this point.

He kicked the door down only to find the room empty.

He stared at the space and listened closely for any sound, whether it be her heartbeat or breathing. The man grew frustrated and stormed back into the living room where he searched for the remote to the tv. While Frank Sinatra’s songs were enjoyable, he preferred silence when hunting.

Sarah flipped the hatch and let the stairs fall out before he could find it. She jumped down from above, softly landing in a crouch.

“Are you looking for this,” she asked, holding up the remote controller and turning up the volume.

Impressive.

She watched him but couldn’t gauge his mood. He just stood tall with a knife held loosely in his hand. Watch that, she noted to herself. It would take less than two seconds for him to flip that knife in her direction. It would then sail in the air for less than a second before it sunk into her neck. She would then promptly bleed out and die.

She caught the twitch in his muscles as he raised the blade and flipped it her way. She barely missed it, ducking behind the ladder.

She peeked out and pressed her palm to the closet near her, sending it flying towards Noir. He side-stepped it but was still caught by the explosion that it produced as it crashed to the floor. She must’ve stashed a bomb in there as well.

Dust in the air, he used his high-grade eyewear to locate her amid the plaster, ashes and smoke clouding the air. She moved forward and they were soon locked in hand to hand combat. Equal forces clashing together again and again. Any time he got too close for her liking, she’d make sure to transfer energy when landing a punch. He’d flown backwards through a wall, through a cabinet, over the couch and every time he stood and shrugged it off.

She could feel the energy coursing through her and wasn’t sure how long she could hold it. It felt like fire was tearing through her, waiting to break free. And while she knew she’d survive, she wasn’t sure if Noir or her next-door neighbors would.

A knife was sent her way, and she moved just in time for it to only nick her across the cheek. It reminded her of the one she’d sent his way at the archives. The fire only grew impetuous, driving her forward and keeping her alert.

The dust had settled since the last explosion, and the only sound in the air was another Frank Sinatra song crackling through the tv’s ruined speakers. Black Noir drove a long dagger through the tv screen and twisted it before ripping it out. The tv died out, and they were left in silence.

Noir could hear her clearly now, her fast heartbeat and the blood rushing through her veins. He could also discern a distinctive buzzing sound. It was so low, a normal human being wouldn’t catch it, but he did. And as it grew louder, he didn’t know what to expect.

She cried out, and his first instinct had him taking a step forward. But she immediately reacted to his movement by kicking the shards of the entrance mirror on the floor, sending the jagged edges hurtling at him.

He moved back and they stood facing each other, unsure of the other’s next move. Sarah clenched her teeth and held fast on her control as she felt the fire pulling it apart.

She was strong enough to beat him, but could she do so without losing herself, without clearing the whole block? She’d sworn to herself that she’d rather swallow the energy and have it consume her than leave casualties. She held fast and waited for Noir to come at her again.

But he did the most unexpected thing. He dropped his defensive stance and simply stood by the broken tv screen. He watched her, observing the pain in her shoulders, and the anguish in her eyes.

“You won’t take me,” she whispered knowing he could hear her every word even from the other side of the room. He simply watched, giving no answer, nor any signal he’d heard.

He simply watched her, amazed at her strength and perseverance. There was something wrong, something obviously causing her to clench her teeth and force herself to take deeper breaths. Still, he’d never been met with such a force, and he had the distinct feeling that she was holding back.

Then the doorbell rang.

She glanced at the door and then back at him. She signed for him to stay quiet.

He only watched her, and the familiarity of her hand’s movements, the gestures that made up their language crashed into him.

She made her way to the door. What would she find? She imagined a team of Vought agents ready to take her in. She expected guns and tranquilizers pointed to her face.

Instead, she found two police officers. She slid her utility belt off and dropped it in the corner. No need for them to question the number of daggers currently hanging from it.

“Good evening, ma’am. Is everything okay?”

They scanned her black suit, and disheveled appearance. The cut on her face was already healing but hadn’t faded entirely. She focused on keeping it together and rebuilding her control.

“Everything’s fine, just getting dressed for a party,” she acted confused.

They didn’t seem convinced. “Well, we received a call from a neighbor asking for us to check on you due to strange sounds. They said they heard crashing sounds, like someone thought the house was being destroyed—"

That’s accurate.

“—and that there might have been a break in, or some severe case of domestic abuse.”

Depends on how you look at it.

She laughed, “Oh no, I was simply moving some furniture around and renovating the living room. Nothing to worry about,” she explained. “And actually, I should go finish getting ready for the party I’m going to. I’m sorry for wasting your time.”

The other officer chimed in, “Miss, you have a cut right—,” he paused when he noticed it had disappeared. “I could have sworn I saw—”

“No, it’s alright, it’s probably the lighting out here—it’s really bad,” she cut in with a soft smile. “This place really needs renovation,” she added for good measure.

They both looked skeptical but ultimately walked back to their patrol car and slowly drove off.

A high-pitched voice yelled out to her from the neighboring house.

“Sarah, honey, is everything all right?”

Sarah peered into the darkness and found her sixty-year-old neighbor leaning over the porch railing. She should’ve known Margaret was the one who called.

“Yes, Margaret, thank you but everything is fine. Sorry I worried you,” she called back apologetically.

The older woman waved it off and pushed her small glasses back up onto the bridge of her nose.

“I thought you had bombs going off in there,” she exclaimed incredulously.

Sarah played it off as though it were nothing, “No, no, just renovating”

“What was that dear?” she called back. Margaret was partially deaf.

“Just renovating,” she spoke louder. She heard Noir moving through the house and knew he was doing so on purpose, so that she’d know.

“Oh okay,” Margaret finally accepted it, presuming something was wrong with her hearing aid. “I’m going back in, dear, it’s chilly,” she waved and disappeared into the house.

Thankful of this, Sarah spun around and softly closed the door. The belt immediately found its way back around her waist. She crept towards the living room and noticed that someone had put out the small fires that had started licking away at her couch in the midst of the explosions.

A piece of paper was pinned to the wall by a knife inserted to the hilt.

Let’s talk.

And beneath those words he’d added in smaller calligraphy, I still like you.

Her head almost spun at the words. But she realized he was referencing their last encounter prior to everything changing.

He had confessed that he really liked her, and that she was his favorite person.

He was either asking her to trust him and walk into that room to have a civil conversation, or this was a ploy to lower her guard. Still, she realized he probably wanted an explanation.

How had they gotten to this point?

She stepped amongst the wreckage that was her living room and moved towards the kitchen where she knew he’d be waiting for her.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @ateliefloresdaprimavera @ellejo @dust-bun @coco724 @proximio-5 @damiminator @omegahighendpro @rpgluvr95 @sweetrabbitteamx @rayray1463 @mialexisrodrigues

#the boys #black noir #the boys amazon #the boys tv #the boys season 2 #fanfiction #oc story #black noir x oc

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linklethehistorian · 3 years

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Randou and the Sins of Season 3's Fifteen Adaption (Interlude)

Episode 27 — The God of Fire: A Post-Section Addendum

Forgive me for backtracking for a brief moment, but in hindsight, there were two small things — particularly relating to the subsection of this section, which is titled “The Confrontation with Sheep at the Arcade” — that it seems I failed to properly address in my initial posts on this subject.

After realizing this mistake during the long struggle to get back on track with rolling out the rest of my article, it became apparent to me that I had three choices: I could go back and try to edit this information into the main article, hoping that it would fit well into what already existed without clashing with the carefully written transitions between sections, I could wait until the very end of my article and then make a post addressing the matter in hindsight, risking my audience becoming and remaining conflicted over certain bits of information until then, and being totally unaware of the one thing I accidentally skipped over, or I could simply make a separate addendum such as this to address it here and now, as soon as possible, and not have to worry about fitting it directly into the previous section for the time being — without having to give up either the chance to talk about it now or even to potentially go back at the end and try to fit it back into the main article at my leisure, as well.

Naturally, as I’m more than sure you can already see for yourself, given that you’re reading this, I decided to go with the last of these options, as I felt that this was the one that would offer the greatest amount of opportunities, with the least amount of potential problems that could come out of it. As for whether or not I will eventually, upon the completion of this very long analysis and review, attempt to backtrack and merge this added data into its rightful place in the main piece, that is something which I will have to decide when the time comes, even if I have a very optimistic outlook on this prospect right now, but in the meantime, I will just be sharing it with you here, and placing the link to this post somewhere in the Masterlist between the discussions on Episode 27 and Episode 28.

On one final note before we jump into this, if this post seems a bit sloppier than usual or just flows less smoothly than the rest of the article in any way, I truly apologize, but if that is indeed the case, it is likely due to the fact that I have had much less time to plan for my discussion of these things than I have had for everything else I’ve talked about up until this point. I promise that if in hindsight I should sense any need for it, I will attempt to re-write it in a better, more comprehensible format at a later date, but at the moment, I’m afraid that this is the absolute best that I can do if I am to get this information out in a timely manner.

Now, with that said, let’s go ahead and get into the actual things I’d like to talk about.

Dazai’s Previous Invitation to Join Sheep, and the Gang’s Initial Misunderstanding About His Affiliation

Okay, so this one is honestly a little embarrassing for me to admit to forgetting in hindsight, purely because of how often the subject is referenced in the novel despite being completely removed from the television series’ adaption, but in earnest, part of the reason I didn’t even think about it at the time was due to just how inconsequential this information was in the grand scheme of things; nevertheless, for those of you who truly want to know everything that was changed or omitted from Fifteen in the anime — or even just want to know more about the events and details of Dazai’s life — these facts probably still will be of some interest, so I will mention them anyway.

Contrary to how the show presents it, in the original version of the tale, Sheep actually do not immediately look upon Dazai as a threat when they first meet him in the arcade, nor does it even cross their minds that he might be a member of the Port Mafia; rather, their first thought upon seeing and conversing with him was simply that he had to be someone whom Chuuya had been looking to recruit into their own ranks.

Interestingly, it was also very briefly mentioned much earlier in the novel by Dazai himself — back during his and Chuuya’s initial meeting in Suribachi City — that the bandaged brunet actually was once handed a formal invitation by Sheep to join their organization but ultimately refused their offer, although this does not appear to be the reason why the gang now mistakes him as a potential new member of their group, given that, at the very least, the members there in the arcade seem not to recognize him whatsoever; in fact, they even question Chuuya’s behavior in seemingly having chosen to induct him without first receiving the council’s pre-approval — an accusation which Chuuya curiously, actively chooses not to correct, likely purely because he does not want to look like a traitor in their eyes, should they realize Dazai was actually with the Mafia. Indeed, it isn’t until Dazai purposefully outs himself as a mafioso in order to stop them from taking the redhead away with them that Sheep realizes the truth of things — at which point Dazai ends up having their captive members released in order to appease them, as we see in the anime, and things then go on to unfold as I have described previously in my article.

However, while of this might be very intriguing and, at the least, a bit insightful into how Dazai knows as much about the organization as he does, to be totally earnest about the matter, I must reiterate all the same that the removal of this information from the show was on the whole a very wise one that I can wholeheartedly support, for its existence truly doesn’t affect the overall storyline in any majorly impactful way, whatsoever — so much so that even I, a very dedicated Fifteen enthusiast, was able to easily forget about its existence during every one of the multiple times I wrote, read, and re-wrote the section dealing with the episode in which it mostly would have been present.

Looking back on it from that angle, I suppose, then, that my failure to bring it up prior to this probably did not change all that much, but still, in the interest of transparency and thoroughness, I wanted to make a small addendum post about it, anyway — and besides, there was already another matter regarding the arcade scene that I needed to speak on to begin with, so why pass up the opportunity to do this at the same time? There was genuinely no reason why I should have resisted.

Sheep Truly Being the First to Leave the Arcade in the Novel & DarkestJay8686’s English Translations

Now, in regards to that other matter I needed to address, for anyone who might have already read and/or started reading only DarkestJay8686′s English translation of the Fifteen light novel upon discovering my article, I am sure that there is probably a lot of confusion resulting from the conflict between my assurance that Sheep were the first to leave the Arcade before Dazai and Chuuya, and DarkestJay’s translation, which depicts the exact opposite of this, and for that I deeply apologize — not because I am wrong about it (as I am not), but rather, because I failed to discuss this apparent contradiction back when I first brought it up, even though, rightfully, I should have.

Be that as it may, I need you to understand that I did actually have a specific reason for why I had previously chosen refrain from talking about it, as although I did sincerely think about and even strongly consider adding mention of this whole ordeal to my disclaimers and notes at the beginning of this article back when I had first prepared to post it, in the end, I was simply too concerned that it would be considered somehow rude or unfair for me to do so.

My train of thought back then was — mistakenly — that to express anything other than complete praise and pure, unconditional endorsement of DarkestJay’s work would be to instantly and irrevocably make myself come off as a disrespectful, ungrateful monster who has no appreciation for the people who dedicate their free time to making these stories available to non-Japanese speaking members of the fandom, no matter how kindly I may have tried to word what I had to say. I was utterly terrified that, even if I spoke highly of the translation as a whole and encouraged people to read it, if I also had explicitly addressed the reason why I personally did not recommend using it as the sole source of knowledge of the book at the same time and mentioned any of the mistakes I found to be made within their interpretation of events, then I would be seen as criticizing the author for things that truthfully were likely to largely not be in any way their fault. Obviously, in hindsight, this line of thinking was not the best to listen to in light of the misunderstandings it could cause, and I realize that, but these were nevertheless my thought processes at the time; having had time to think deeper on the circumstances now, though, I of course have also come to the conclusion that none of these other concerns of mine need be had, so long as I try to approach the matter as delicately and respectfully as I can, however big these fears may have been at the time, and so, I intend to finally speak about it at long last.

Furthermore, while I in no way want to seem like an opportunistic profiting off of someone else’s misfortune — as I assure you that I, too, was quite saddened to hear of their struggles and wish it hadn’t happened — seeing as that their work was nonetheless sadly removed from WattPad, and they had to relocate to another platform where they wouldn’t have to fear censorship again, thus requiring me to have to provide y’all with a new link that actually works and leads you to where you need to go to read it, I think that is really the perfect time for me to preface my sharing of that new link with this little PSA of a sort.

So, if you’re keen on getting that new link I mentioned and want to learn about the reason why my information about Sheep’s departure from the arcade doesn’t line up with their translations, as well as why it’s inadvisable to use their otherwise mostly excellent translations as your sole source of info on Fifteen rather than reading it alongside the other trusted translation I have provided at the beginning of my article, feel free to hop on over to this post to find out.

[View the masterlist]

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et-lesailes · 5 years

Text

controversy

pairing: chris evans x reader

themes: light angst

word count: 1670

summary: dating chris evans while being a celebrity yourself, you are strongly encouraged to make choices that will benefit your public image. when chris’ latest movie tanks with the critics, your manager insists that one of these choices be breaking up with him.

taglist: @viarogers, @evanstush, @chibi-crazy, @chalamet-evans, @world-of-losers,@songforhema @sebabestianstan101 @tanyam93 @b-val1@wonderwinchester@little-miss-exo @poerebel @bitchbabes-world @gogomez-509

note: requested by @immajustreadwritereblog // thank you for waiting, love! i actually really liked this request because i have a lot of strong feelings and opinions on the rsdr drama and so i had a lot of muse writing this. also, to anyone reading this- if you’re like me and hate sad endings (yes i’m a hypocrite for hating them yet writing one anyways ok i know), let me know if you’d like to see a part 2 ;)

** please send an ask if you would like to be added to my taglist of any chris evans related fics!

You sighed as your eyes skimmed what felt like the thirtieth article you were receiving via text that day, too tired and upset to properly read it. Your manager was spamming you with messages, insisting you call her, but you did not have the strength. You knew everything she was going to tell you; you had been in the business long enough to know how it all worked. It was no secret that the Hollywood life was twisted underneath all of the extravagant parties, lavish mansions and penthouse homes, and exotic vacations. You and your boyfriend weren’t very caught up in that life, anyways-- the two of you were much more simple, enjoying your time in your apartment with his dog, Dodger, and taking trips to visit his family in Boston-- nothing grandiose. Unfortunately, that did not mean you could avoid the gossip, scandal, and pressure that came from being a celebrity.

“Break up with him. You can get back together with him later, when this all blows over, but you can’t afford bad publicity right now. Not with your new movie coming up.”

You’ve read the message from your manager over and over again, feeling disgusted for several reasons. Not just from her suggestion, but because of the fact that this is the life you’re associated with. You chose this life, you chose to deal with these consequences.

You closed your eyes for a few seconds before finally looking at the article more properly. “Netflix’s Red Sea Diving Resort gives Chris Evans a white savior complex,” the title blared, making your eyebrows furrow in annoyance. However, the current problem in your relationship was not because of your image potentially getting ruined due to being in a relationship with the man now surrounded by controversy.

The current problem was that ever since the movie and its negative reviews, Chris had been a different person. The man who used to be constantly smiling, joking around, and showering you with love and affection 24/7 was now far more reserved and quiet, his eyes having lost their slightly mischievous twinkle. You completely understood. As an actress, you knew how difficult it was to be passionate about a project only to have it completely tank; it was especially difficult for Chris because of how hard on himself he was. He was selective with the roles he played-- he picked the ones that stood out to him, that meant something to him rather than going for anything that would give him more fame and success. You remembered how intrigued he had been by Red Sea Diving Resort when he had first heard of the idea, you remembered how excited he was to learn of the conflict and culture and how he hoped he could bring more awareness and meaning to it on the screen. You completely understood why he would act differently, and you understood why he might be slightly distracted from your relationship.

But it had been nearly an entire month since the movie was released, and you still felt as though you hadn’t had a proper conversation with your boyfriend in the same amount of time. You were not exactly happy about this; as his girlfriend, you wanted Chris to be able to communicate with you, to be able to let you help him when he was struggling. You were understanding in the beginning, but it was becoming too much now. You did not want to break up with him for the sake of your image, but rather for the sake of your own sanity. You missed having your best friend, but if he was not going to let you be his best friend, then did you have a choice?

One more chance.

You decided you would give him one more chance. Whether you were doing this to be fair or because you couldn’t let go, you didn’t know, but you didn't want to think about it deeper.

He walked into the apartment back from the gym and you looked up, your heart already stinging. In the past, he would have come straight to you, scooping you up roughly in his arms only to playfully bounce you around and tell you something silly along the lines of, “I like using you for lifting much better than weights, baby girl!” But now, he just came over with a mumbled hello, giving you a somewhat distracted kiss on the head before going into the bedroom.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to be patient. Coming over to the bedroom, you asked gently, “How was the gym?”

“Hm? Oh, it was good.”

“What’d ya work on today?”

“Oh, just arms and abs. Nothing special.”

“Are you free tonight? Maybe we could go out, get dinner or ice cream or something, it’s been a while…”

“Ah, I really wish I could babe, but I’m kind of tired today. I’m probably going to call it a night pretty early. But you should go out with some friends or something, maybe see if--”

“Are you serious, Chris?”

You finally snapped, nothing but misery and annoyance in your eyes as you looked at him. He blinked, clearly more concerned now as he straightened up from where he had been lounging on the bed. “What, baby?” he asked with a frown, and you scoffed, feeling tears stinging at your eyes simply from all the built up stress and frustration from the past month. “Are you really that oblivious? You’re seriously blind to the fact that we’ve practically been nothing more than roommates these days? When’s the last time you’ve even kissed me and meant it?”

He sighed deeply, running his fingers through his hair. “Look, you know it’s nothing to do with you. I’ve just been feeling a little stressed lately. The media’s really been killing me over here, doll.”

If he had told you this a couple of weeks ago, you would have felt sympathy, but not now. “The media’s been killing you for four weeks now, Chris, and I get it. It sucks. But I’m your girlfriend, you’re allowed to vent to me about this stuff, you’re allowed to tell me how you feel! Do you really think shutting yourself in like this and keeping quiet is going to do anything? You used to be so open with me, does that need to change because of a setback?” You sat down next to him, trying to blink back tears; you hated that you cried when you were angry, it really took away from trying to take charge of the situation. “We’re actors, Chris. This kind of thing happens, you know that. And it’s awful, and it makes us feel crappy, but we’re in it together now. You’ll bounce back from this because you’re an amazing and talented actor and you have fans who know that.” You sniffed as you looked away, talking softly, “You have every right to be upset about the situation. But you had no right to toss me aside in the process.” He seemed heartbroken as he listened to you, which only hurt you even more, but you ignored it as you stood up.

“Did you know my manager’s been nagging me to dump you for the past few weeks? Because of how Red Sea Diving Resort turned out?” You scoffed bitterly as you looked away, crossing your arms over your chest. “I could never, ever break up with you for something so shallow. You mean way more to me than some dumb Rotten Tomatoes review. But this, Chris? Ignoring me, shutting me out, wallowing in your self pity-- I think these things are all pretty good reasons as to why I should listen to my manager and end it.” You knew your words were harsh, but perhaps that was what he needed. A slap in the face, like reality often dealt out.

You looked back to him. He was quiet, there was pain in his eyes. You waited, but he did not say anything. Making a soft noise of disappointment and disgust, you turned around, going into the closet and grabbing a bag, starting to throw clothes inside. This seemed to stir something within him; he immediately stood up with wide eyes, coming over and taking hold of your shoulders. “Baby, please. No. Fuck, I-- fuck, babe, I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry. You’re completely right.” He turned you around so that you were facing him, nothing but guilt and sorrow in his blue orbs. “And I should have realized it earlier. I don’t know what got into me baby, I’ve just been so damn worked up over this, everything else slipped away…”

His apology meant a lot, but you still couldn’t help but feel betrayed from all the built up tension. “And what if it’s too late for an apology?” you whispered, looking up at him with tears in your eyes. “What if the damage has been done?”

He looked down at you, his own eyes tearing up as he shook his head. “Please. No. No, baby, don’t leave me, I’m done sulking, I’m done being a fucking baby about this. I didn’t even fucking realize how bad it was, I know that sounds dumb but I was so caught up in all of the Red Sea shit. I know that’s not an excuse, but please, please baby, forgive me..”

You took a deep breath, wiping at your eyes. “I need some time, Chris, you really hurt me over the past month. I’ve made the mistake of giving the wrong people a second chance, and I need to think about if you’re the right person.” You could feel your heart tear apart as you saw a tear roll down his cheek; standing on your tiptoes, you wiped his tears as you kissed his cheek. “I’ll call you, alright? I.. I still love you, Chris. I just need time.”

With that, you took your packed bag and walked out of the apartment, forcing yourself not to look back at the love of your life’s face.

#chris evans imagine #chris evans #chris evans fic #chris evans angst #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you

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aion-rsa · 4 years

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Top New Horror Books in January 2021

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In the Garden of Spite by Camilla Bruce

Type: Novel Publisher: Berkley Release date: Jan. 19

Den of Geek says: This novel for fans of the line where true crime meets horror follows Belle Gunness, a real life serial killer. This looks like a darkly fascinating portrait of a wicked and deadly woman, showing how the “Widow of La Porte” clawed her way through history, leaving victims in her wake. Publisher’s summary: They whisper about her in Chicago. Men come to her with their hopes, their dreams–their fortunes. But no one sees them leave. No one sees them at all after they come to call on the Widow of La Porte.

The good people of Indiana may have their suspicions, but if those fools knew what she’d given up, what was taken from her, how she’d suffered, surely they’d understand. Belle Gunness learned a long time ago that a woman has to make her own way in this world. That’s all it is. A bloody means to an end. A glorious enterprise meant to raise her from the bleak, colorless drudgery of her childhood to the life she deserves. After all, vermin always survive.

Buy In the Garden of Spite by Camilla Bruce.

In Darkness, Shadows Breathe by Catherine Cavendish

Type: Novel Publisher: Flame Tree Press Release date: Jan. 19

Den of Geek says: Intentionally disorienting fiction can be hit or miss, but in this case it sounds like the non-linear storytelling adds to the intended feeling of a nightmare. Old-fashioned Gothic horror fans with a taste for dark fantasy might enjoy this one. Publisher’s summary: In a luxury apartment and in the walls of a modern hospital, the evil that was done continues to thrive. They are in the hands of an entity that knows no boundaries and crosses dimensions – bending and twisting time itself – and where danger waits in every shadow. The battle is on for their bodies and souls and the line between reality and nightmare is hard to define. Through it all, the words of Lydia Warren Carmody haunt them. But who was she? And why have Carol and Nessa been chosen?

The answer lies deep in the darkness…

Buy In Darkness, Shadows Breathe by Catherine Cavendish.

A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson

Type: Novel Publisher: Nyx Publishing Release date: Jan. 31

Den of Geek says: Dracula retellings are common, as are takes on the famous vampire’s wives. This one sets itself apart by focusing on a relationship between the wives themselves, coloring in the classic story with what the author calls “sapphic yearning at the opera.” Publisher’s summary: Saved from the brink of death by a mysterious stranger, Constanta is transformed from a medieval peasant into a bride fit for an undying king. But when Dracula draws a cunning aristocrat and a starving artist into his web of passion and deceit, Constanta realizes that her beloved is capable of terrible things. Finding comfort in the arms of her rival consorts, she begins to unravel their husband’s dark secrets.

With the lives of everyone she loves on the line, Constanta will have to choose between her own freedom and her love for her husband. But bonds forged by blood can only be broken by death.

Buy A Dowry of Blood by S.T. Gibson.

Subscribe to Den of Geek magazine for FREE right here!

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emospritelet · 5 years

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Manifesto Prompt : Anna insists it will look good if Sutherland is the one bringing Belle the folders back to wherever she is.

[AO3]

Sutherland had spent a restless night, and felt tired and irritable the next day. Press briefings and the planned visits to a local school and hospital were the last thing he felt like doing, but he drank several cups of coffee and ate a good breakfast, which made him feel a little more human. If no less irritable.

One of the chief reasons for his bad mood faced him on every news channel: Miss French, with her flashing blue eyes and perfect lips, puffed up with righteous indignation and berating him in the marketplace. He sounded calm when he spoke to her, his demeanour smooth and unruffled, but some of the newsroom guests on the early morning newspaper review segments still found something to criticise. Sutherland scowled from his place on the couch as they wondered aloud whether his lack of reaction suggested that he didn’t care about the suffering of ordinary people in deprived constituencies like Avonleigh.

“Public service passion standing up to posh privilege,” announced a left-leaning columnist, a disdainful twist of his lips showing beneath one of those hipster beards as he shook out the paper. “Sutherland has to expect more of this as we get deeper into the election year. There’s a lot of dissatisfaction with the Government, and I’m sure the redoubtable Miss French is only the first of many to confront him over his record.”

“There’s a certain amount of glee all over Twitter at Miss French’s outburst,” added his female counterpart. “I won’t repeat the hashtag that seems to be trending, though.”

“Belle French is only saying what many in the country are thinking,” went on Hipster Beard. “Looks as though Sutherland might have his work cut out for him in appealing to ordinary working people.”

“It’s not as though I’ve had a lack of bloody critics up to now,” growled Sutherland, glancing at the coffee table, where Miss French’s folder of research still sat. He still hadn’t decided what to say to her.

“No press were allowed in when the two met for a discussion last night, but I suspect the Prime Minister might find it difficult to charm his way out of this one.”

“I’m not trying to charm my way anywhere,” said Sutherland loudly, as though the panel could hear him.

“What have I told you about yelling at the TV?” Anna swept into the room with an armful of newspapers and her free hand clutching his leather briefcase. “Turn that off, we have to be on the move soon.”

“Fucking gladly,” he muttered, flicking at the remote control and shutting off those having a laugh at his expense. “Any coverage of what we actually came here for?”

“Some,” she said. “Not as much as we’d like. Which is why today is important.”

Sutherland ran a hand over his face.

“Fine,” he said tiredly. “It’s the school first, yeah?”

“We’re scheduled to be at St Cuthbert’s in thirty minutes.”

“Any more coffee?”

Anna gave him a flat look.

“You already look as though your bloodstream’s pure caffeine.”

“Yes, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

She sighed heavily, dropping the newspapers on the table.

“Fine. Don’t complain to me when you get heart palpitations.”

“As if.”

She poured him another coffee, and one for herself.

“That’s it. It’s not very hot, either.”

“It’ll do.”

Anna sat down on the couch next to him, crossing her legs and giving him a thoughtful look.

“Didn’t you sleep last night?”

“Not much.”

“What’s the matter?”

Sutherland gave her a level look.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, the Belle French thing’ll blow over,” she said impatiently, waving a hand. “Especially with what you plan to do with her. Assuming she agrees, of course.”

“I think you should ask her,” he said. “I’m willing to bet she’d respond better to you than to me.”

Anna shook her head.

“If you give the folder of research back and ask her yourself, it’ll look better,” she said. “She’s more likely to be persuaded that you’re taking her seriously that way.”

“I’m not making another press opportunity out of this,” he said impatiently. “Either she’s interested or she isn’t; I’m not having the whole thing play out on national media.”

“So go over there before we leave,” she said. “Wait until all the press are on the bus and pop to the library. That way you’ll be assured of some privacy.”

“So she can tell me to fuck off without anyone hearing, you mean?”

Anna looked irritated, slapping her hands down on her thighs.

“Why are you so convinced she’ll be hostile?”

“Experience?”

“From what you told me, your meeting last night was perfectly civil,” she countered. “And you’ve faced far more urgent crises and not batted an eyelid. What’s making you lose sleep over this?”

Sutherland hesitated, reaching for his coffee as he thought it over.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It bothers me. Can’t explain it.”

She was watching him with a shrewd expression that usually meant she had worked something out, but wasn’t ready to tell him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it anyway, so he drained the lukewarm coffee, pulling a face.

“Come on, we can think about Miss French later,” he said, pushing up off the couch. “St Cuthbert’s, right?”

Thirty minutes later Sutherland was walking down a school corridor with the Deputy Head of St Cuthbert’s, Mrs Nolan. She was a petite, dark-haired woman with a pixie cut and a kind smile. The press pack, kept in line by Anna, followed as they walked, and Mrs Nolan explained a little of the history of the school, and its more recent issues.

“The school’s pretty much at capacity right now,” she said. “Class sizes have increased over the past couple of years, but we’re still just about on target.”

“Do you have trouble filling teaching vacancies?” asked Sutherland, and she shrugged.

“I think our turnover is less than the inner cities, but sick leave has increased with the class sizes. We’re forced to use more substitutes than I would like, and we’ve had to cut back on after-school programmes.” She glanced at him. “I don’t know what the kids would do if it wasn’t for the parents that run sports clubs. And Belle with her classes at the library, of course.”

Of course, he thought wryly.

“I thought you could meet with the Year Threes,” she said, drawing to a stop outside a classroom door. “They’re doing a project on Vikings.”

The classroom was bright and cheerful, pictures of Viking longboats and Norse gods pinned up on the walls and the children, all around seven or eight, seated around tables with paper and paints. They looked up, eyeing the visitors with curiosity.

“Good morning everyone!” called Mrs Nolan.

“Good morning Mrs Nolan,” chorused the class. Mrs Nolan put her hands together.

“I’m sure you all remember me saying that the Prime Minister would be visiting us today,” she said. “He’s come to take a look at your project work, and these nice people have come with him to take some pictures.”

One ear on the clacking of cameras around him, Sutherland crossed to squat down by the nearest table. A small girl with round glasses and two brown braids was carefully painting a large tree with spreading branches.

“Hey,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”

“Effie,” said the girl, not looking at him.

“Is that for your project?”

“It’s Yggdrasil,” she said placidly, brush swirling on the paper.

“It’s very good,” he said. “I was never much use at drawing when I was your age. Or any age, really.”

Effie finally looked at him, her thick glasses giving her a somewhat owlish expression. Eventually she nodded, as though she had remembered something.

“You were on the telly,” she said decidedly. Sutherland smiled.

“That’s right.”

“Miss Belle shouted at you,” she added, and Sutherland felt his smile slip a little.

“Yes, she certainly did.”

“I like Miss Belle,” she said, dipping her brush in the paint again. “I’m sure if you say sorry, she’ll be nice to you again.”

Sutherland wanted to sigh. Flashes in the air made him very aware that the press were getting every moment of an eight year old giving him advice on how to handle Miss French.

“Do you go to the library?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” she said eagerly. “I go every weekend, and just read all day! Miss Belle makes me tea. And she has biscuits.”

“Chocolate biscuits?” he asked, and she beamed.

“One day we had chocolate fingers.”

Sutherland put a hand up to cup his mouth, as though they were sharing a secret.

“I like to dunk those in my tea,” he whispered, and she giggled, nodding.

“What would you do if the library wasn’t there?” he asked, and she wrinkled her nose

“Dunno.”

“Is there anywhere else you can go to read?” he asked. “What about home?”

Effie rolled her eyes.

“I have twin brothers,” she said, in a deadpan tone, and Sutherland nodded.

“Well, it was nice to meet you, Effie,” he said. “Good luck with your project.”

“Thank you.” She gave him another thoughtful look. “Be nice to Miss Belle.”

“Of course.”

Sutherland straightened up, mouth flattening as he moved on to the next table. Miss French certainly has her supporters. I suppose it’s hardly surprising if she’s teaching them all after school. Perhaps once we get to the hospital I’ll finally be free of her. Unless she has a part-time job as a bloody paramedic.

Two hours later, Sutherland was walking the hospital corridors with Miss Fay, the Matron. He was due to tour the wards before sitting down with the Board of Directors for a lunch meeting. The hospital smelt strongly of disinfectant, and ahead of him a janitor with a beard and a surly expression was mopping the floor.

“We had an outbreak of norovirus in December.” Miss Fay walked serenely along the hospital corridor beside Sutherland, brown hair brushed into a neat, shining bun. “It meant closing one of the wards during a flu outbreak, but I ordered a deep clean, so we managed to get it under control.”

“Did that result in any cancellation of procedures?” asked Sutherland, and she sniffed.

“Some, but we’ve rescheduled ninety percent of them. It was more a case of delay than cancellation. Difficult decisions needed to be made for the good of all.”

“Indeed.”

They drew closer to the janitor, who had grounded his mop and was glaring at Sutherland from beneath heavy brows.

“Sorry we’re undoing all your hard work on this floor,” said Sutherland apologetically, and the man’s scowl grew.

“Not as sorry as this town’s gonna be when the library closes,” he said roughly.

“Leroy!” snapped Miss Fay, and his scowl twisted into something sullen as he drew back. Sutherland shook his head.

Miss French again. I can’t escape the woman. She’s bloody everywhere in this town.

“I keep hearing a lot about this library,” he said. “You make use of it yourself?”

Leroy raised his head, a suspicious look on his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Belle helped me get this job. Let me use the computer, helped me with my application - she’s like an angel in this town. And book club once a week’s the only thing that gets me out of the house in the evenings. Take that away, you take the town’s heart, don’t you get that?”

“The Prime Minister isn’t taking anything away,” said Miss Fay stiffly. “And I suggest you find another floor to mop. Go on, now.”

Leroy muttered something under his breath, pushing his cleaning cart with him as he stomped off.

“I apologise for Leroy,” said Miss Fay. “He rather idolises the librarian, it has to be said.”

“So I see,” said Sutherland. “Do you know Miss French?”

She sniffed again.

“I don’t use the library myself, but she runs a book reservation and collection service for our longer-term patients. Brings a trolley of books around twice a week.”

“That sounds like a useful service,” said Sutherland. “What do the patients think?”

“Oh, I’m told they appreciate it. She reads to a few of those with impaired vision.”

“Sounds as though she’s very dedicated to her profession,” he observed, and she shrugged.

“Perhaps.”

“What impact do you think the loss of that service would have on the patients?” he asked.

“Well, I daresay they’d get over it,” she said. “No one’s irreplaceable, are they? Their families would have to step up, instead of leaving it to others. Follow me, I’ll show you around Paediatrics.”

She marched on, and Sutherland shared a look with Anna before following.

“Miss French’s role seems to extend beyond that of a regular librarian,” he murmured, watching the back of Miss Fay’s head as they walked.

“All the more reason to have her on our team, wouldn’t you say?” whispered Anna, and Sutherland sighed.

“Alright, fine,” he said, his voice still low. “I’ll talk to her.”

#fic: manifesto #sutherelle fic #sutherelle #my fic #ripperblackstaff

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jackmichaelstudio · 4 years

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Juror’s Statement, Lees-McRae College Student Art Show, Spring 2021

Last week, I had the pleasure of serving as juror for the annual Student Art Show at Lees-McRae College in Banner Elk, NC.

If you’re an art student or young artist and you’ve ever wondered what goes into a juror’s decision-making process for a show - whether it’s for basic inclusion in the show or for awards - please read on.

JUROR’S STATEMENT Lees-McRae Student Art Show, Spring 2021

Jurying a student show is a difficult task. Submitting to a student show is equally arduous, so first and foremost, I want to congratulate everyone for having the courage to submit your work.

By nature, the jury process is neither kind nor an exact science. Evaluating artwork is, in many ways, a subjective exercise mediated by personal taste. But it is also a skill honed by experience, research, and by regularly considering artwork from ancient eras to the present day. As an artist and educator, I’m old enough to have developed a time-tested approach to evaluating craftsmanship, aesthetic quality, and cultural thoughtfulness. However, I’m still young enough to remember the undergrad-era sting of having my work – which I (wrongly) felt had singular vision and emotional importance – overlooked for awards and inclusion in shows. I remember asking myself “Why me?”, not knowing then what I know now: that a juried show is not only about the artwork; it is a relational exercise between artists, artwork, and the juror.

Ideally, a juror’s initial decision – the making of “the first cut” - is based on a combination of objective factors such as craftsmanship, presentation, technical skill, and attention to composition. If these are lacking in an artwork, then the work cannot hope to be a vehicle for greater meaning. At best, artwork with a dearth of craftsmanship and skill is mere decoration; at worst, it is a weak monument to an artist’s inability (or unwillingness) to commit their time and energy to their own ideas and personal potential. Young artists often struggle with this truth, making halfheartedly-crafted work that bounces around between mediums and themes, never pausing long enough to develop the technical expertise necessary to be a truly good artist. In the great quest to know what their work is “about” and how to make it, art students often make the mistake of looking for an idea that is “worth believing in” or seeking a new process – usually a novelty-based one that they feel is unique - before they really believe in and commit to their work. To those young artists, I say this: you think that commitment to your work is an elusive feeling that will finally grace you if you find some idea/process worth believing in…but you have it backwards. Belief does not pave the way for commitment; if you wholly commit to your work in both idea and process, you will create things worth believing in.

Aside from attention to craft and technical skill, it is this commitment to ideas and methods that guided me in making “the second cut” to select the award winners for this show. Ultimately, I was looking for artworks that answered “yes” to the following questions:

Does this artwork successfully convey a mood or message without being trite or didactic?

Aside from basic technical proficiency, does the work evince a developed sensitivity of material handling?

Does the work go beyond mere observation/decorative quality to compel the viewer with a question or deeper attention to an idea? Does it invite me to explore it further?

Does the work successfully avoid cliché?

Has the artist pushed boundaries, broken rules, taken risks, or at least tweaked the conventions of this medium’s typical subject matter?

Does the work resonate with me in some way, either stylistically or ideologically?

Is the work creative, free from derivation, and in possession of a sense of inventiveness and original thinking?

Does the artist un-self-consciously embrace a style that is markedly his/her/their own?

Would I like to see more work by this artist?

Is there a harmonious marriage of form, subject matter, and content?

Does the piece exhibit the potential to grow into a broader, more mature body of work that seeds new, kindred artworks in the future?

Does the work take an unapologetic critical or investigative stance in relation to a specific idea of contemporary relevance, or at least to our culture at large?

And Does the combination of ideological specificity, emotional vulnerability, and attention to craft & content indicate that this young artist might on the verge of truly committing to addressing the ideas in this work for the sustained near future (the next 1-3 years)?

I want to emphasize that every submission I reviewed had positive attributes; there were several of solid merit that did not receive an award. There were also many works that answered “yes” to some of these questions, but fell short of award due to craft, presentation, or technical issues. There were just as many works that displayed adept material handling but fell prey to cliché or to being mere observational decoration. To those of you who did not receive an award: please continue (or start) to believe in your ideas and commit to technical expertise and attention to craft. If you do, good things will happen.

To those of you who did receive an award: I wholeheartedly congratulate you! I, as your humble juror, did not give you an award – you earned it.

Ultimately, the pieces selected for award in this show (some to a greater extent than others) positively addressed the above questions in a way that marked them out from the crowd while also evincing technical proficiency and attention to craft. Even in the case of top awardees, however, the aforementioned questions should be embraced as consistent guidons to propel further improvement. I encourage you to copy these questions out and keep them in a place where they will confront you every day (whether you like it or not). Look at them, strive toward them, and internalize them until your own work resoundingly and consistently answers “yes” to each and every one. There is always, always, always room for improvement. People in other professions may have the luxury of someday “arriving” at penultimate expertise but as artists, the only thing we can get comfortable with is the fact that we will never “arrive” – we will (if we are smart and lucky) always be seeking, evolving, pursuing.

I encourage all of you – awardees and others alike - to continue to submit your work to shows such as this one, and to juried shows and calls for proposals or residencies on a regional and national scale. Exposure to the judgments of a wide variety of arts professionals (in addition to your stellar faculty) is the most valuable and surefire way of challenging and maturing your own ideas and skills. This is true even – and perhaps especially – when things don’t go your way.

Above all, I hope that all participants of this show remember this: thick skin is important. As an artist at any stage in your career, many of your best efforts will result in disappointment, but the number of disappointments is a downward-trending arc over time: the longer you do this wholeheartedly, the more sublime, elating wins you will achieve. Rejections are not a reason to quit; they are reasons to lean in and commit to your ideas, skill development, and professional growth sooner rather than later…or get out of the way of those who are doing that and find the path of expertise and interest that is truly for you. As a student artist, if you are successful at only 10% of your pursuits, you are doing well. So cultivate patience, perseverance, skill, and a thick skin. Happiness isn’t a function of chance – it is the result of ideological commitment and technical expertise exercised over time, resulting in somewhat-consistent success. Start today.

Finally, I want to thank Lees-McRae College and the Art Department for your genuine hospitality and for the invitation to jury this show – it was truly an honor. I see deep promise in a healthy selection of this work. That is no doubt due to the Art faculty doing the energetic, dedicated, and often emotionally-taxing work of molding young people with ideas and feelings into young artists with mature ideas, considered feelings, and – above all – work that expertly carries the resultant messages and investigations. Thank you for your service to the future of art and artists in our region and beyond, and thank you again for having me.

Warmly,

Jack Michael Art Instructor, Blue Ridge Community College

#art #artist #artists #artstudent #artwork #gallery #exhibit #kunst #artschool #makeart #makeartdaily #illustration #painting #drawing #design #photography #sculpture

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atopfourthwall · 5 years

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Having seen Mike J's "Evolution Of The Angry Critic" Video; How would you say your Style has evolved, since starting your Show?

Yes I have, since he very kindly asked to use footage of my show as examples of the format (which indeed is accurate - I do still follow that format). I'd say the overall STYLE has not changed, but what has is the content. While the majority of it is still more about snarking on the comics and having a fun time with them, I've spent more time actually diving deeper into the context of the material, doing more thorough analysis of characters, artwork, problems with format, and issues with the industry that help or hamper the medium. I also still consider the format a review while others would argue it isn't. A review, in the end, is simply giving an opinion - what the underlying question is whether it's a GOOD review or not - whether the opinions expressed are backed up by evidence and the analysis. I also argue that the recapping does serve a purpose to provide context for the critiques, otherwise there can be a problem with the audience not knowing what you're talking about. Many times, people will give the context in a short sentence and then go into more detail as part of the analysis, which is just as valid a method of performing a review/critique/etc. I prefer the page-by-page for me because let's face it, comic books are a niche market and some of the stuff I cover is VERY obscure and vague. Not to make yet another punching bag of Doug, but one of the problems with SOME of the clipless reviews he's done is that it assumes the audience is already deeply familiar with the material he's talking about. For instance, back when I was on the site I TRIED to watch his review of Hocus Pocus... and I was completely lost because I have never seen Hocus Pocus outside of the occasional gif that someone would post. I have no idea of what the hell he's talking about some of the time because he never bothered to describe the context of the scene he was critiquing. And the same goes for his review of the Wall - I have no idea what the hell he's parodying, what he's talking about (the unintelligible singing didn't help), or what it is he's taking umbrage with. Another thing that's definitely changed for me is a willingness to look at GOOD stuff. Back in the day, one of the reasons why a lot of us were unwilling to review stuff we liked or thought was good was because we didn't think we were capable of making it funny. It's easy to tell jokes and snark on terrible media, but stuff we like? It can come across like we have harsher opinions than we really do about the material or that we can't find a way to say anything of substance beyond "It's good. We like it." Over time, we've found ways of laughing and having a good time with the stuff we're talking about, me especially as I've reviewed stuff like my favorite comic of all time or critically-acclaimed work, where suddenly it's less mean-spirited jabs at bad stuff and more good-natured ribbing like we would have if we were a bunch of friends talking about it after having seen it. We don't need to make up things to find fault with - just talk about the material and why we like it or what we have an issue with that we can't get past.

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starstruckteacup · 4 years

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Cottagecore Films (pt. 11)

A Little Princess (1995)

starring Liesel Matthews, Liam Cunningham, Vanessa Chester, Eleanor Bron

synopsis

I was extremely disappointed in this film, to put it lightly. The story itself was beautiful, but that is thanks exclusively to the novel on which it was based. The movie itself utterly failed to convey the magic and timelessness of the book. The acting was flat, emotionless, and forced at every point, from every actor (except for maybe Cunningham, but he was absent for half of it). One would think a gaggle of girls would have some form of natural chemistry, whether pulling them together or apart, but not a single child actor portrayed even the remotest semblance of a relationship to another. (Note: I describe in my review of Pan’s Labyrinth what quality acting from a child looks like, for reference.) Even Matthews and Cunningham could not pass a believable father-daughter relationship, despite the story being about that. As far as emotional acting, the adults were just as bad as the children. They couldn’t even feign a single moment of joy, sadness, or anger, regardless of the context. I actually laughed for the entire scene during which Sara nearly died because of how bad the acting from the adults was. At least Chester seemed somewhat worried; Bron and the nameless police officers stood around so vacantly it looked like they forgot what was happening. I really was appalled by the abysmal acting, especially when so much was handed to them in the story. I want to preface my next point by saying that yes, I know computer animation was still a work in progress in the 90s. But this was horrifyingly awful. I have never once, not in my entire life, seen CGI as terrible as the monster in Sara’s stories. I nearly gave up on the entire movie within the first five minutes because of that monster. And it kept showing up, which absolutely ruined whatever favor I tried to hold for this movie. If you don’t have the budget, which this film clearly didn’t, don’t try to animate a monster. It’s that simple. I wish I had more words for it but it was truly so atrocious that I’m at a loss. Any good will I hold for this movie is due to my fondness for the story (no credit to the film), the settings (while not exceptional, they were fairly pretty), and Liam Cunningham’s acting. 2/10

Elizabeth: The Golden Age (2007)

TW: blood, mild gore, torture, racism against indigenous people

starring Cate Blanchett, Geoffrey Rush, Clive Owen, Abbie Cornish, Jordi Mollà, Samantha Morton

This film is the sequel to Elizabeth (1998) (see part 10 of my film reviews), which continues the story of Queen Elizabeth I as her rule progresses. Tensions between Catholic Spain and Protestant England grow ever greater, escalating to treasonous plots and assassination attempts. Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, and King Philip II of Spain conspire to depose Elizabeth and place Mary on the throne, restoring Catholicism as the national religion. Even as these events lead to war between the two superpowers, the court provides no sense of stability as new faces and new stresses surround the Virgin Queen. She forms a strong friendship with the pirate Walter Raleigh upon his return trip from the New World, where he seeks to establish colonies under the English flag. However, his stay is extended greatly when Elizabeth’s selfishness and pride take over, and are only broken down in the face of battle when she puts him at the forefront of the British navy. Outnumbered, Elizabeth will need Raleigh’s loyalty and cunning, along with the unwavering loyalty of her people, if they wish to survive the Spanish onslaught.

While still a drama, this film proved to be much more war-oriented than its predecessor, but I’m not sure it did either as well. I liked the deeper look this film gave us into the Elizabeth’s mind, especially with her social and emotional conflicts. They remind us that she is still human, despite the somewhat cold appearance the first film gave her at the end. She is more mature, and even more prideful, but there’s still a limit to what she can take as a person. I think the first film gave a better portrayal of her complicated mind, but this was a solid continuation of what years of ruling can do. I also liked how much detail they put into Raleigh’s character, which the first film didn’t do as well with its secondary characters. We got to know more about him, even if he did still feel somewhat surface-level. I think the dramatic aspects could have felt more high-stakes than they did, especially for the characters who were actually in danger. Even though so many characters were actively committing treason, I only felt that level of tension with one: Mary Stuart. Her death was particularly elegant and laden with symbolism, and even though I knew the outcome historically the scene still delivered the anxiety it was meant to. The others simply didn’t have the same delivery. Even the assassination attempt didn’t project any kind of concern, regardless of one’s historical knowledge. The war focus was a fairly different take than the first had, which I appreciated. The film established a strong balance between the tensions in England, Scotland, and Spain, and did a good job making the stakes very clear for each group. Given the uncritically positive stance on England that this film takes, I would have expected the film to villainize Spain a little more to form a stronger dichotomy between the two rulers, but Spain was presented rather neutrally to the audience. The Spanish ruler and nobles didn’t have much character, despite being the antagonist. As for that uncritical positivity regarding England, I do have a bit more to say. Although to an extent it makes sense that the film would lean in favor of England, given its content and the point of view from which the story is told, it became overbearing at times. England could do no wrong in this film, despite children dying in battle, indigenous people being humiliated and dehumanized for show, talk about slavery, and a complete disregard for the suffering of non-white and non-Protestant groups. In contrast, the first film heavily criticized England, from Mary of Guise shaming Elizabeth for sending young children to war, to Elizabeth frowning upon Walsingham’s torture methods (granted she never stopped them, but she didn’t approve as readily as she did in this film), and so on. Although England in truth did all of these things without rebuke, the film could have handled it more gracefully and came across less like propaganda, at the very least. 5/10

Loving Vincent (2017)

TW: suicide (action offscreen, death onscreen)

Sensory Warning: movement of the impressionistic paintings can be very disorienting for those with sensory processing difficulties. I had to break from watching multiple times so as not to become ill.

starring Douglas Booth, Eleanor Tomlinson, Jerome Flynn, Robert Gulaczyk

This fully hand-painted animated film follows Armand Roulin, a young man with a severe temper, on his way to deliver Vincent Van Gogh’s last letter to a living recipient. When he reaches the town where Vincent died, he begins speaking to a variety of villagers with their own stories about the artist, and their own theories about how he died. Armand tries to piece the puzzle together, wondering if the death was not a suicide as claimed, but rather something more sinister.

This film was spectacularly breathtaking. The amount of work that went into painting every scene was awe-inspiring, and definitely sets the bar high for any other films of its kind. The team of artists that created this film represented Van Gogh’s unique art style exquisitely through their loving application of oil-based paints, and truly brought to life the emotion he put into his works. I wish I hadn’t struggled so much with the constant movement, as I feel I would have been able to appreciate the film in its entirety better, but as it was I struggled to pay attention to the story because the art style consumed too much of my sensory processing capabilities. As for the story, I thought it was interesting, but I found it lacking despite the incredible artwork. Foremost, after some cursory research, I discovered that the homicide theory on which this film was based was only acknowledge by one individual, and spurned by hundreds of others. Although the film leaves the verdict open-ended, both to Roulin and to the audience, the story itself seemed to lean into the homicide theory, then completely give up on it with no resolution, so it came across as fairly noncommittal. I won’t argue for or against the theory, as I don’t know nearly enough about Van Gogh to assert an opinion, but I’m somewhat unsettled by the amount of weight it gave to it without any kind of evidentiary support, only to dump it as if the writers changed their mind themselves. The pacing was also slow for a murder mystery, which is basically what the story turned out to be. I would much have preferred the film to cover Vincent’s life, or even the days/weeks leading up to his death, instead of only featuring him in other people’s flashbacks. This kind of existential impressionism should capture the life of its creator, not the mundane views of people who didn’t understand him or even hated him. There wasn’t anything wrong with the film, per se, but I wish the writing was given as much love as the art was. 7/10

Part 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // 7 // 8 // 9 // 10

#cottagecore #gardencore #naturecore #flowercore #cozycore #historical drama #period drama #art film #film #film review #movie #movie review #activities #mine

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hopelesstvaddict · 5 years

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The Last of Jon and Sansa

[No review for the series finale - I don't know if I want to write one - but suffice it to say I may be in the minority that was satisfied. For now I'm back to writing on interesting aspects I take out of the episode. This should be short. Shorter than my combined review of Episodes 3 and 5. I hope]

A lot has been said about the series finale. Most critics and most viewers have been left disappointed which was predictable. Jon as a character in particular was a big contentious point. The episode seemed to cement this idea that he really was a lovestruck fool in the end. That, all this time he really loved Daenerys. And yet the behaviour viewers have seen is at least as erratic as Dany's changes of mood. The previous episode seemed to point at the last of their relationship as news of his birthright spread and he couldn't return her affections, which was part of what set her on her path to her barbecue fiesta in King's Landing. So naturally what everyone expected was the final Dance of Dragons i.e. the final clash between the last two Targaryens. A bit late in the endgame but due nonetheless. The first part of the episode even seems to point in the right direction as Jon wearily witnesses Dany's speech to her armies and guesses nothing good is going to come out of it, especially when he hears her utter the name of Winterfell. He's again agitated when she sentences Tyrion, upset at the carnage, the useless slaughtering of prisoners and worried as she looks past him - with a look that carries nothing of love there, as the distorted version of Truth plays - and enters the ruins of the Red Keep. So in that first part of the finale, both Jon and Dany still seem to be consistent character-wise.

And then suddenly they don't. Jon visits Tyrion who has the greatest difficulties to swerve Jon into doing the right thing when the Jon viewers know would not hesitate and would absolutely know what to do. One could argue that the resurrected Jon is less certain, more doubtful of everything that's not White Walkers- related but come on. Is it love ? Fear ? We don't even know what it is that restrains him. He certainly doesn't seem to know either. And Dany is no better. The next time she sees Jon, she's all of a sudden all over him again. Bad writing ? Or maybe she feels so elated over her victory that she feels in a good mood ? Enough to forgive his betrayal ? He did betray her, per her own words. And she was angry with him. And as Arya pointed out, she knows her claim will be threatened as long as he lives. Well she seems to forgive him. But not the others. She goes on about wanting them to rule side by side and for a split second I thought ‘oh she's gonna off him’. That's the big twist. He's not killing her, she'll make an attempt. Except no she really was in love all over again. Consistency ? Think again.

How does Jon respond ? With his favorite sentence. ‘You are my queen’. Duty duty duty. But no ‘I love you’. Thank the Gods. Because that at least leaves room for interpretation and is a remnant of consistency carrying over from Jon's behaviour from Seasons 7 and 8. For those who cling onto the lovestruck fool theory, it works. The general audience stopped there. And for those who wish to find a way to tie all of this, it leaves just enough to try and understand Jon. As everyone pointed out, blocking his point of view was a huge mistake. Strangely the show tries to satisfy everyone but ends up frustrating everybody instead by relying too much on the fans' ability to figure everything out themselves and expecting them to find the truth. Sometimes just spelling it loud and clear works better. Anyway Jon protects himself by appealing to Dany's sense of entitlement. And proceeds to do the deed. His reaction to it and how he fares for the rest of the episode is thankfully consistent with who he is as character. Kit Harington really played it well. Once again, it works whether or not he really was in love with her. If he really loved Dany, the tears and the angst and the guilt all work themselves out on their own. If he didn't, it still works in terms of the man he is and what he has done - a man of honor who has committed the highest treason, a protector of the innocents (this plays into his final fate as he returns with the people he spent so many seasons trying to protect) who has murdered an unarmed woman (to save thousands of innocents but still...) Too bad Jaime isn't around anymore to give him a prep talk.

But what's interesting there - and I finally get to the main point of this - is the presence of Sansa despite her physical absence. If there are so many downsides to this way of making fans analyze and guess instead of simply telling it the way it is, it is still amusing and interesting to try decoding and admiring it when it's properly done. Per their own admission, Sansa is one of the producers' favorite characters and they have done her mostly right - certainly not perfectly, not even admirably, but she fares much better than the rest of the cast. The relationship between Jon and Sansa has been one of the most important on the show, ever since they reunited back in Season 6, retook their ancestral home as a team and ruled it as a team. The dynamics established between them has been an important part of Seasons 6 and 7 as it was shown that they were often at odds with each other as essentially two strangers rediscovering themselves but that the partnership could potentially lead to greatness if allowed the time to develop. Unfortunately it didn't achieve its potential. So much foreshadowing, so many Ned/Catelyn parallels... All wasted away. Or was it really ? Game of Thrones has always been about the be-careful-what-you-wish-for trope. And not fulfilling the potential of Jon and Sansa as a ruling team also works with the bittersweet ending which basically denies everybody their wishes. At best, the characters end up with satisfying situations but not perfect ones. Perhaps it was best to leave Jon and Sansa in this state rather than explicitly declare them in the end. We all saw what happened with explicit relationships. Sure it's frustrating but Jon and Sansa were always about the subtlety of subtext, analysis and interpretation. In that regard, if indeed the producers were trying to set up the pair during Seasons 6 and 7, then Season 8 did not destroy them - which is more than can be said for the show's flagship pairing - but it didn't exactly prepare the ground the way the two previous seasons did. Subtlety was still the keyword but it largely took a step back compared to the rest. Blame it on the shortened amount of episodes.

It was established clearly that Sansa plays an important part in Jon's life. Season 8 reminds viewers of this in the season premiere. Unfortunately, it does not seem to explicitly go anywhere. Except, once again, we are supposed to look deeper than what we see on screen. Astute fans have deduced that Jon's dismissive behaviour towards Sansa was really his own way of protecting her against Daenerys. That again is brought up in the series finale where both Arya and Tyrion mention Sansa as a potential dissident to her reign - the notion of how Jon will deal with protecting his sister from her. Dany has low-key threatened Sansa several times and certainly does not view her favorably - she blames her for Jon's treason, for Varys and she does not like her relationship with Tyrion, she knows Sansa wants the North to secede from the rest of the Kingdoms and she knows how much the North respects her. All of this points to Dany targeting Sansa next had she had the opportunity. This was a running theory throughout the entire season and even the potential snapping point for Jon, were he to choose between his family and Dany. None of it happens but the eventuality of it is adressed in the episode. Daenerys mentions Winterfell in her opening speech and tell me that your minds did not automatically switch to Sansa. Not Bran, not Arya. Sansa. Because Sansa is now representative of Winterfell and the North more than any other person still alive at this point. Even absent from the entirety of Episode 5 and the aftermath in King's Landing, Sansa's specter looms over Jon - and Jon in particular. He definitely thinks of her when he hears the name of Winterfell. The show established their relationship such as she's now closely associated with him in a way neither she and Arya or Jon and Arya are. That's not to diminish Arya's bond with her brother and sister but Seasons 7 and 8 have established that she is a changed woman, whose relationship with her sister and brother may be still loving but there's a melancholy to Arya that pushes her towards other horizons, to seek her purpose beyond mere revenge.

‘Try telling Sansa’, Arya says. To which Jon says nothing because he knows Sansa will never bow. Not after something like this. He himself knows as well but he is trapped. He's hopeless for himself but the main focus is Sansa. Not even Bran or Arya who's standing there in front of him and who's certainly not about to bow either but no, once again Sansa is the focal point. Sansa really permeates the first part of the episode while being absent. Too bad the recently released script [good thing this thing waited in my drafts for so long] does not make it explicit but it is not hard to connect the dots. Next, Tyrion resorts to mentioning Jon's family as a last attempt to sway him. Both 'sisters' are mentioned first before Tyrion zeroes in on Sansa - perhaps because he knows her best - but still it works. This time Jon plays the obedient subservient version of himself and says she doesn't get to choose. The switching between seemingly Political!Jon and Dumb!Jon makes it hard to keep tabs. Then finally the big moment between Dany and Jon. And again, Sansa is present without ever being physically there. Jon adopts a similar pattern to Tyrion in his attempt to appease Dany. First the question of the rightness of the massacre in King's Landing, the forgiveness to prove that she is not only fire and blood and finally, family. Jon does not explicitly mention his siblings but really, the 'everyone else who think they know what's good' is for Sansa mainly. It also works for Arya, for Bran, for Sam, all potential opponents to Dany, but really it's all about Sansa, who is the last ruler in Westeros competent and loved enough to hold the power necessary to pretend to know what's good. Dany implicitly targets Winterfell - and Sansa. Arya mentions Sansa. Then Tyrion. Finally Jon implicitly asks Dany ‘And what of my sister ? What about Sansa ?’ Her response ? She doesn't get to choose. No matter how competent she is, no matter how loved and respected she is, no matter that she's the Lady of Winterfell, commandant of the largest Kingdom in Westeros, allied to many Great Houses, no matter the fact that she is Jon's own family. If she dares oppose, she doesn't get to choose. She'll bow or she'll die. And that's finally the turning point for Jon. He kills Dany to protect those who also think they know good. On this, the script at least acknowledges the people whom Jon ‘loves the most’; perhaps - and most likely - an unintentional contrast but a contrast nonetheless between Dany, the woman he loves and Sansa, Arya and Bran, the people he loves the most.

The rest of the episode sets Sansa as indeed the last competent ruler of Westeros and I thought for a moment that she would get the Seven Kingdoms. But she settles for the North, the only Kingdom she cares about. Sansa makes it clear that she still stands by Jon; the implications of her short statement about the thousand of Northmen ready to fight if Jon were to be hurt are huge. Upon hearing her brother’s imprisonment, Sansa commandeered the remaining armies of the North (still amounting to thousands of men) and marched south, ready to start another war to save her brother. The girl who’d suffered so much in that city returned to a place full of traumatic memories for her brother, the girl who’d prayed for someone to do exactly that, when places were switched and who didn’t get her wish, decided to do the work herself. Of course, these implications are really just that and are glossed over by the final script but they are legitimate, interesting deductions we can make on the character. This again plays into the subtlety and underlines how strong Jon and Sansa’s relationship is. The guy has threatened and killed for the woman, waged war at her behest; and the woman has worked every way to protect the man, and she’s ready to start yet another war if it means saving him. Her sister is fully on board with the plan by the way.

Then the constrictions of the story call for Jon to go back to the Wall, never mind that the Wall is in the North, now an independant Kingdom under the rule of a Stark, his own kin, or that the Wall is under the jurisdiction of the Starks. Never mind thus that Sansa could legally do whatever she wants with Jon. The coronation scene was beautiful however and it really felt satisfying to watch Sansa be crowned and reflect on her harrowing journey. Sometimes, it is hard to believe when you see the writing and what they put the poor girl through that she is one of D.B. Weiss and David Benioff’s favorites; but I believe that whatever fault there was, it was either demanded by the story, or it wasn’t done with the full intention of hurting just for the sake of hurting. It was merely the result of biased views and opinions. But every one is entitled to that. In the end, Sansa comes up on top, crowned Queen in the North, [a big middle finger to the haters], the sole master of her own agency, and she has earned the respect of everyone, no longer a pawn, no longer a simple player, but a full-on force to be reckoned with on the board. Her hair and costume notably are the final steps to becoming her own person while also not losing this habit she has of incorporating the influence of those around her into her clothes. As such, for the first time, she lets down her hair completely, free from any braid and thus free from trying to emulate Cersei, her mother, her aunt, Margaery... She is Sansa Stark, First of her Name, Queen in the North. By contrast, her coronation gown pays homage to those who loved her and shaped her - Jon, Arya, her parents and deceased brothers, Bran... - and you can especially notice that finally, Sansa reverts to the blue-ish colors of the North and ditches the black dresses. How disappointing then that for a House that liked to hammer on us that the pack survives, they are all separated and no one we know is by Sansa’s side when she is crowned. But while I was personally upset about it at first, I’ve come to view it as a logical evolution of the story. ‘The pack survives’ was Ned’s motto and he imparted it to his children, who have tried to follow it as best as was possible. But this is not Ned’s story anymore, it’s his children’s and now, they are ready to properly live. Now that they have defeated their enemies, now that their world is ready for peace, they can let go of these words if they wish to do so. Each of them has gone on their own formative journey that has enabled them to be able to stand on their own. They don’t need one another to survive. Because the time is not for surviving anymore. Now is the time to live.

But where the open ending works in our favour is that nothing prevents us to imagine Jon and Sansa seeing each other in the future and indeed, it’s hard to imagine they won’t. While Arya is sure to come back at some point, once again, she and Bran are the farthest away and we are back to a similar situation to Seasons 5 and 6 with Sansa in Winterfell and Jon at/not far from the Wall. They are geographically the closest and Sansa being Queen, can indeed do as it pleases her regarding Jon. Jon seems content to peace out and settle down with boyfriend Tormund - another ginger - and it makes narrative sense that he would go North, the ‘real North’ that he has in his blood in Tormund’s words, and that he would go with the Wildlings, the only people who accepted him exactly for who he was and won’t even bother about his parentage, or about what atrocities he did in the South. For them, he will always stay the crow who saved them, the Lord Commander who opened the Wall for them, the only man who ever united the Wildlings and the Northmen to stand and fight together. He can be himself with them. But should he sometime want to come back to Winterfell, you can bet your money that Sansa is not going to forbid it. Keep also in mind that when the series ends, these characters are just beginning their life; they are in their bare twenties. They have their whole life ahead of them. Sansa, who was so focused on love and motherhood when she was younger, has her life before her now to think about it with all the freedom she wants. Jon can rest, enjoy life, fall in love again if he wishes (Tormund, hem...)

[Yes that is a very disturbing thought when you think about it. Westeros was torn over while the big boys and big girls played - the Eddards, Roberts, Tywins, Cerseis of the world - and then they were gone and it was up to the surviving children to face off the end of the world. Arya killed the Night King and she is only 18. Bran is King of the Six Kingdoms at 17. Sansa and Jon, the eldest, are 20 and 23 and have waged war and endured much trauma. One of them was raped, the other killed and resurrected. Daenerys conquered the world and saw her short life end in her 23rd year.]

And finally, we get to the last goodbye. Here again, there is lot to observe, especially in light of the released script which differs from the final screen version. First off, Jon stops and inhales a sharp breath when he sees his family. Interesting. Personally, when Sansa apologized, I also thought it was for spilling Jon’s secret. Thus the script “confirms” this and Kit Harington seems to play by it as he seemingly looks conflicted and still a bit resentful. A callback to their first reunion with a repeat of the ‘there’s nothing to forgive’ would have been lovely - I immediately thought of it when I first saw the scene - but I understand Jon’s point of view. Daenerys’ unraveling stemmed in part from the repercussions of Jon’s parentage spreading out. Again, the finale tries to appeal to everyone. Jon/Dany lovers can read into this as Jon being angry he had to kill the woman he loved. Another interpretation is Sansa apologizing for Jon’s exile to the Wall. It also works because the scene comes shortly after Tyrion explaining how Arya and Sansa tried and failed to fight the final decision.

But what’s really interesting is the final goodbye. Jon doesn’t respond to the apology but Harington makes a slight - perhaps involontary - movement of the head which can be read as a nod. A comforting thought for those who wish Jon and Sansa to part on good terms. But then Harington graces us with just that and more. He instead tries to change the subject and finally, openly validates her as the best leader the North can hope for. Sansa spins this back to him and makes it clear she still considers Jon as the King in the North. The script does not dwell long on Sansa and Jon’s goodbyes, instead focusing on Arya, Jon’s favorite sibling. While explicitly stating that Jon knows Sansa loves him, it then just reads ‘Jon and Sansa embrace’. The final screen version gave us much more as we see Sansa embrace Jon, and Jon’s initial resistance to the hug crumble as he gives in and fiercely hugs her back, burying his head in her shoulder in the process. It’s very interesting that in every hug they share we get to see both Jon and Sansa's faces. It really allows us to see the full range of emotions on Sophie Turner and Harington’s faces. This particular part was not scripted and is either the choice of Harington or the choice of the directors, David Benioff and D.B. Weiss themselves. In any case, they kept it. Another interesting thing to note : the cue Winterfell that starts roughly as Jon and Sansa hug also played during their most emotional scene in the sixth season finale The Winds of Winter.

The writers of Game of Thrones have been the target of much scrutiny following the backlash of the final season and I’m not going to argue that the writing was sometimes sloppy. However, I will give credit where credit is due and for all its faults, the episode was not that bad. Benioff and Weiss were thrust in an impossible situation where they became the scapegoats of every single default singled out in this final season; but it could have been much worse and we need to remember that screenwriters and authors do not have to answer to fans. They write the story they want to tell, we’re just here for the ride. Whether we’re satisfied or not is ultimately not their main concern. Back to Jon and Sansa, Benioff and Weiss have in my opinion written the pair beautifully and kept them consistent to the end. If indeed they were subtly trying to create an item out of the two or to point them as a potential couple, they did it properly during the sixth and seventh seasons; come Season 8, it was about following G.R.R. Martin’s guidelines. Maybe in the end, it was really the tragedy of Jon and Dany. But still, Benioff and Weiss wrote Jon and Sansa well, exploiting the chemistry between Harington and Turner to give us all too rare but important scenes full of subtext. I’ve written about the season premiere Winterfell about how much could be read into Jon and Sansa’s interactions. I personally think that The Iron Throne is perhaps the second most-charged episode this season in terms of analysis regarding to Jon and Sansa. The subtlety of the relationship is kept until the end and we’re still left satisfied and unsatisfied at the same time. Jon and Sansa love each other as siblings ? Of course. This scene establishes it. Jon and Sansa maybe love each other as more than siblings ? Well... not explicit but the scene does nothing to deny it or the possibility of it in the future. Especially when Kit and Benioff and Weiss include yet another unscripted tidbit. After Jon has finished his goodbyes, the script just states that he steps on the boat as his family watches him go. In the final episode, we see a shoulder-shot of Jon looking back one last time, distraught. Who is he looking at ? Well of course, you guessed it. He’s looking at Sansa, whose right shoulder was framed into that shot. Then he looks in the direction of Arya and Bran and then, one last time, back to Sansa. And as if to confirm it, as we move on to the next shot of the Starks watching him go, who appears first ? Well of course, you guessed it. Sansa, who’s also looking very distraught.

And of course, the lingering look Jon glances even as Sansa is framed in the shot is a well-known storytelling device. The trope of people looking back to their loved ones, whether with an established love or one still in the making, is a very common trope that has been used several times in the show, and even once already for Jon and Sansa. So yes, I will still support Benioff and Weiss at least on this; they might have ruined Jon’s character in surface; they might have written the story better; perhaps they could have done even better by Sansa. But they have done her right and they did write Jon and Sansa well. I would not also exclude Martin still hiding some final aspects in the books or asking them not to explicitly show everything to keep some kind of secrecy on the last books despite the show being completed. He has said that the show would end like the books. That doesn’t necessarily mean that all will be shown; that is pretty much a given when you see all the substories and deviations from books to show. How much of a stretch is it then to suppose that Martin told Benioff and Weiss to subtly prepare Jon and Sansa - thus explaining and validating all the foreshadowing in the books and why they have said that their relationship was ‘crucial to watch’, all the ‘they skirt around the true tension between them’, ‘all is subtext’ and why the relationship was explored over three seasons - but in the end, told them to just commit to subtlety instead of a full-on reveal, so as to keep that secret amongst others for the books as part of the full story?

Whatever the truth here, Benioff and Weiss allowed those unscripted additions that help shape Jon and Sansa more than they were in the original script. What exactly prompted these changes, why and whether it was on Harington or the directors, we may never know. But Harington has already acknowledged the chemistry between Turner and himself and stated he’d like to partner with her on screen again. Add this to the list of unexplained acting choices he made during the past seasons. Puppy eyes, big sighs, long forehead kiss... Let’s take a trip back down memory lane. Oh and of course, they both failed geography.

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