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archived-kin · 4 years ago

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local cashless god nearly loses you your job (but you’re okay with it)

note from kin: *throws this at you* please take it i’ ve been stuck on the blasted thing for hours (peepaw i promise i’ll write you something where you’re better characterised another day)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, zhongli, xingqiu

pairing(s): zhongli/reader

warning(s): none! (though i do want to give a heads up for some out of character stuff since i started this when i still wasn’t too familiar with the liyue characters)

genre: fluff

“How many copies of Encyclopaedia of Liyue does one man need?”

You shush Xingqiu as the man just across the shop continues to browse at his leisure, golden eyes furrowed in concentration as he trails his gloved fingers across the books’ spines. “Maybe he’s here to buy something else this time! You never know.”

“He’s bought the exact same book seven times in a row now,” Your little brother insists, pulling his nose out of his novel for once to regard the tall figure drifting listlessly from one end of the shop to the other. “I doubt he’s going to break the cycle now.”

“He could be a collector,” You suggest, dropping your voice slightly when the man’s eyes flicker over to you briefly. “This shop’s older than us - maybe it has a bunch of different editions that he wants to get.”

“Well, wouldn’t it make sense for him to find all the different editions and then buy them all at once?” Xingqiu whispers in reply, tapping restlessly at the countertop with one hand. “Then he wouldn’t have to stop by every day and charm you into paying for him.”

You don’t have a reasonable argument for that, so you don’t reply. Xingqiu really is too smart for his own good sometimes.

The man - who you can see is now flicking curiously through a copy of The Founder of Diabolism - isn’t someone you know particularly well, but he’s visited the bookshop where you work enough times that you do know the essential facts: his name is Zhongli, he likes drinking tea, and he’s broke. In every sense of the word.

That last point is quite the source of exasperation on your part. No matter how many times you remind him as he leaves, he never fails to turn up with a completely empty Mora pouch the next time you see him. At first it hadn’t been so much of a problem - he’d just come in, browse the books, start a little small talk with you, then leave. But then he’d actually started wanting to buy the books, and buying usually involves money - something that Zhongli seems to forget exists.

If it had been any other ridiculously handsome guy, you might have sent them packing, but there’s something about the lost look on Zhongli’s face when you ask him for his payment and he realises that he has no way of giving you one that never fails to make you get out your own Mora pouch and suggest that you foot the bill for him instead. Zhongli always tries to refuse your offer, but, in kind, you always insist. You have no idea why he has such an affinity for that particular book, but the way he smiles at you as you as you drop your own coins into the payment pouch is more than enough to make up for the money you lose. It’s not like you actually need the funds, anyway, considering who your father is.

Today, however, Zhongli has neglected the shelf of encyclopaedias in favour of drifting over to the Xianxia section. You’re not sure what’s spurred this change in interest, but maybe it’s the little toy dragon you’ve set on top of the shelf? Zhongli seems rather enamoured by it - he keeps glancing up at it while he reads.

Speaking of the book that he’s skimmming through, it’s a rather odd choice on his behalf. You haven’t gotten the opportunity to read it yourself, busy as you usually are between your work shifts, adventurer’s guild commissions, and making sure your little brother doesn’t get himself into trouble by wandering directly into a gang of hilichurls in the middle of reading a book again. You’re pretty sure Xingqiu has read it at some point, though - to be honest, you wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already read every book in this shop several times over. (Part of you wonders if the only reason he’s so supportive of you venturing into the world and taking this job is because he gets to sit with you and read all the books he likes during your shifts.)

You don’t remember all the details he’d spewed off to you over the week or so he spent reading it, but you vaguely remember him crying into your sleeve about something to do with trees and lanterns and hugs. You’re also pretty sure that it got kind of… what’s the word? Risqué? Adult? Well, whatever word you use to describe it, it doesn’t really seem like the sort of thing that someone like Zhongli would read. Then again, you wouldn’t have ever expected your innocent gentleman of a little brother to read something like that, either.

“At least he seems to have good taste in fiction,” Xingqiu sighs as Zhongli continues to skim over the first few pages, looking rather intrigued. “I suppose that’s about as much as I can ask for…”

“He seems pretty invested,” You observe. “Reckon he’s going to buy it?”

Xingqiu shakes his head. “No. He’s going to come up here and realise he’s forgotten all his Mora again, and then you’re going to end up buying it for him again because you have a giant crush—”

You shove him in the shoulder so hard that he falls off his stool. “Oh, shut up.”

Xingqiu quickly catches himself on the side of the table and shoots you a glare, fumbling to retrieve the book that he’s accidentally dropped in the process. “Hey! This book doesn’t belong to us, you know.”

“It’s one book, A-Qiu,” You sigh as he turns away from you, clutching the book to his chest like it’s some precious child that you’re threatening to kidnap. “Mr Yao isn’t going to condemn you if it gets a little dusty.”

“Books should be treated with respect,” Xingqiu sniffs, turning up his nose at you like some nobleman - which he technically could be considered, now that you think about it. “You of all people should know that.”

“Just because I work at a bookshop doesn’t mean I think they’re Morax’s gift to man like you do,” You snort, noting in the corner of your eye that Zhongli’s eyes had flickered over to you briefly as you spoke. “Sure, books are neat, but they’re not holy.”

“‘Books are neat?’” Xingqiu repeats disbelievingly. “Of all the words to—”

“Excuse me.”

Both you and Xingqiu jump in startled surprise - neither of you had noticed Zhongli approach the front desk. You gather yourself quickly and smile at him as he quietly sets the book on top of the counter and pushes it towards you with a small nod.

“Will that be all?” You ask, reaching for one of the complimentary bamboo bookmarks that you’re obligated to give out with every purchase. You’re pretty sure that Zhongli has more than enough at this point, but you don’t want to risk getting into hot water with Mr Yao for not doing it.

Zhongli takes the bamboo bookmark with a small smile. “Yes, thank you.”

You nod and flick the book open to check the price label on the inside of the cover. “Alright, that’ll be… 5000 Mora, please.”

Xingqiu mutters something resignedly under his breath as Zhongli reaches into his pocket and fumbles about for a moment, clearly not particularly hopeful that the man has actually brought his money with him today. Your little brother, as usual, is perfectly correct in his intuition; after a second of slightly embarrassed silence, Zhongli pulls his hand out of his pocket with nothing in it.

“My apologies,” He sighs, bowing his head in shame. “I’ve forgotten my money pouch again.”

“I knew it,” Xingqiu whispers.

“A-Qiu, shut up,” You hiss back, then turn back to Zhongli, your smile back in place. “No worries, I’ll buy it for you.”

His brows pinch together slightly in the smallest of frowns. “No, no, you shouldn’t. You’ve already spent so much money on me…”

“It’s no big deal!” You assure him brightly, already reaching into your lapels to find your coin pouch. “You seemed to be really into it earlier, so it’d be a shame if you couldn’t keep it, right?”

Zhongli’s frown deepens. “Even so...”

“You could always pay back with something else,” Xingqiu chimes in, the exasperated look on his face replaced with a shit-eating grin that you know all too well. Before you can step in and shove him into the cabinet or something to shut him up, though, he continues, turning to you in a parody of innocence, “What do you say? Mr Zhongli clearly has some time on his hands…”

You narrow your eyes at him, not liking what he’s implying with that grin. “I’m still on shift, A-Qiu, I can’t just up and leave. Mr Yao would probably kill me.”

“You’ve been working shifts for two weeks straight,” He counters, crossing his arms stubbornly. “I can mind the shop for a long enough for you to take a walk. He won’t notice a thing.”

“You won’t ‘mind the shop’, you’ll just sit there and read,” You shake your head and tussle his hair with a flippant hand. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you eyeing up those antiques at the back.”

He looks affronted. “Are you accusing me of stealing intent?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” You explain patiently. “I’m just saying that your moral compass is very easily diverted when it comes to books.”

“If I may,” Zhongli begins, cutting off Xingqiu’s indignant spluttering. “I do not mind the idea.”

You turn to look at him in shock, only to see that his golden eyes are already fixed intently on you. He has the sort of gaze that makes you feel as if he’s seeing right through you, as if all of your faults and flaws and wishes and dreams are laid out bare for him to examine at his leisure - but Zhongli doesn’t look at you with any judgement. In fact, if you hope hard enough, you think that there might be some affection in his eyes.

“W-well, I—” You glance quickly back at Xingqiu, who pointedly refuses to help you, evidently offended by the moral compass comment. “I- I’d love to, honestly, but I need to finish my shift…”

“This young gentleman has already volunteered to take care of that for you,” Zhongli counters. There’s a strange intensity to the way he’s looking at you now - hope? Determination? “I know of a quiet spot just outside the harbour. If you would…?”

You glance at Xingqiu, who, despite still looking a little miffed, gives you a begrudging nod. After another moment of thought, you turn back to Zhongli, who gazes expectantly back at you.

“I’d love to go for a walk,” You say, standing up. “Lead the way.”

He smiles then, holding the door-curtain open for you to exit first. You pause briefly to wave a goodbye to Xingqiu, who pointedly sticks his nose in his book and pretends not to see it.

The two of you walk in silence for ten minutes or so, with him in the lead and you occasionally glancing behind you to make sure Xingqiu hasn’t already set the bookshop on fire or something. Zhongli walks rather more quickly than you’re used to, mostly because you usually walk with Xingqiu, who has refused to grow more than half an inch in the last three years and still has legs substantially shorter than yours. Zhongli seems to notice you lagging behind a little after a minute or so, slowing down his pace slightly so that the two of you can walk side by side properly.

“The breeze is pleasant this time of year,” Zhongli comments as the two of you cross the bridge to the mainland and begin to leave the harbour. “Particularly as the sun is going down.”

“I’ll have to get out to see the sunset more often, then,” You sigh. The amount of people milling about around you thins out the further the two of you walk from the harbour and along a grass-lined path, until the two of you are alone.

“I’d be happy to escort you,” He says, glancing quickly back at you, then snapping his head forward again. “...that is, if you’d like me to.”

You’re glad he isn’t looking at you, because you’re pretty sure that the look on your face is smitten to an absolutely ridiculous degree. It takes everything in you not to reach forward and grab Zhongli’s hand right then and there, but you restrain yourself just in time, knowing full well that initiating sudden physical contact with someone that you still don’t know all too well is incredibly rude.

“Of course I would,” You answer. “Just name a time and a place.”

He looks at you again, a gentle smile curving at his lips. “I’ll be sure to.”

The walk takes the two of you through a grove of trees dappled by the rich afternoon light. Zhongli speaks at length about the various different species that you pass; part of you is listening attentively, but the other part of you is far too distracted by the elegance of his quiet footsteps and the way the sunlight glows softly at the edges of his hair to register the information.

Leaves and branches crunch underfoot as Zhongli finally leads you out of the trees and out onto a quiet spot on the mountainside overlooking the harbour. He sits down on the ledge, legs dangling precariously over the edge, and you follow suit, quietly settling down beside him, leaving about two inches’ space between the two of you. Zhongli doesn’t say anything for a minute or so; he’s absorbed in watching the city below him, golden eyes darting back and forth as he watches the tiny figures of the people bustle about the streets.

You notice that he’s still holding the book you bought him earlier, keeping it set carefully in his lap with both hands placed firmly on top of it, as if he thinks it might slip out of his grasp and off the mountain if he isn’t careful.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” You begin, catching his attention. He turns to look at you, and the sudden sight of his content expression, framed by the sprawling fields and trees in the distance behind him and the light casting his features into sharp relief, knocks all the air from your lungs for a moment. You very nearly choke on your words, but manage to gather yourself in time to ask, “Why the sudden change in interest?”

He cocks his head ever so lightly to the side in confusion, then realises what you’re referring. “Ah - the book? I just wanted a change of pace, really.”

You nod in understanding. “I see. A-Qiu’s read that one. He says it’s one of his favourites.”

“Is A-Qiu the young gentleman accompanying you in the bookshop?”

“Yup.” You sigh, leaning back and kicking your legs slightly, noticing with some fascination that you can faintly see yourself reflected on the water far beneath you. “Xingqiu. He’s my little brother.”

If you squint hard enough, you can see Zhongli’s reflection in the water as well. He’s shifting slightly - is he moving closer to you? You can’t quite tell from the reflection alone, and you’re not about to risk looking at him. Zhongli is a little like the sun in that respect: warming you indirectly with his presence, but damn near blinding (and incredibly flustering) to look directly at or make eye contact with. He’s almost ethereal-looking - as if he isn’t quite of this world.

“He seems a well-intentioned boy,” Zhongli comments quietly.

You respond with a light-hearted scoff. “I’m not too sure about that. He’s good at hiding it behind a book and all those airs and graces, but he’s always annoying me.”

“Is that not what younger siblings are for?” He counters, eyes twinkling slightly as you laugh in reply.

“I guess they are, huh?” You shake your head, a grin continuing to play on your lips as you finally turn to look back at him. Somehow the blinding beauty of before feels as if it’s mellowed out, become softer around the edges - like a surging river calming to a trickling stream.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence for a while. The late afternoon breeze picks up a little, and Zhongli’s hair dances about on the air, twisting and curling in swirls as if the very wind is playing with it. You’re so occupied by (subtly) staring at him that the small movement of him lifting a hand to adjust his tie makes you jolt slightly on the spot.

You can tell that he’s noticed as well, so you hurry to start a conversation before he can bring it up. “So… what’s the fascination with Yi Xichen?”

“...ah.” You might be imagining it, but you think you can see a faint flush forming over his cheeks. “The encyclopaedias?”

“What else?” You swing your legs back and forth restlessly, leaning forward and resting your cheek in your hand. “You must have at least fifteen copies by now. Are you collecting them or something?”

“Well, no...” He glances away from you, intertwining his fingers. “I suppose I’m not particularly good at ‘acting natural’, am I?”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

Zhongli fiddles slightly with the seam of his glove, looking uncharacteristically bashful. “I have no need for encyclopaedias, but after the first few days, I found that I had fallen into the routine of selecting one every time I visited.”

“Why did you visit, then?” You ask.

He glances quickly at you, then back down at the water. He doesn’t answer at first, as if mulling over what to say, until finally, he replies, “...I suppose I just wanted to see you.”

It takes you a good moment to fully process what he’s just said to you. Once you do, though, your entire body implode. Well, it feels it does, anyway.

“I— you— me— huh?” is all you manage to get out at first, hands dancing around in front of you like two birds trying to escape from a net, as if they’re trying to physically pluck some words to say from the air. It’s a bad habit you’ve always had, throwing your hands about when you’re stressed; it drives you mad sometimes, but you can’t stop yourself.

Zhongli closes his eyes and bows his head, and there’s no mistaking it - his cheeks are definitely pinker than usual. “Is that alright?”

You nearly choke on air, but you force yourself to take a deep breath instead, fanning yourself briefly with one hand. Getting flustered heats you up surprisingly quickly. “Y-yeah! Of course it’s okay.”

“I’m glad.” He smiles a little bashfully, leaning forward and tilting his head slightly to look at you. “I don’t want to overwhelm you, but, if it’s alright… could I see you more often after today as well?

The sheer adrenaline rushing through you is so intense that you’re surprised that you haven’t busted a blood vessel yet. Actually, as far as you know, you might as well have - you’re far too focused on the man in front of you and his… confession? Is this a confession? You’ve read romance novels, sure, but is that how it works in real life as well? What are you supposed to do?

Your head is so filled with pure chaos that you just know that, if you speak, you’re going to say something completely inane and stupid. So, instead, you reach forward, and take his hand in your slightly shaky one.

He looks down at your intertwined fingers with mild surprise for a moment, then raises his gaze to you once more, eyes lighting up slightly. “...I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

You nod quietly, hesitantly shuffling closer to him. He squeezes your hand almost experimentally, then glances quickly back up at you as if trying to gauge your reaction. You offer him a smile; he returns it wholeheartedly.

You’re sure that you’ll have missed the rest of your shift by now, but you can’t seem to bring yourself to care. Zhongli doesn’t let go of your hand, and you in turn do not move away from him - if anything, you move closer, leaning slightly into his side. He doesn’t seem to notice, and if he does, he doesn’t object.

The sun is slowly beginning its descent, staining the sky a pale orange that reflects from the waters below you. It seems that the two of you will be seeing that sunset together a lot sooner than you had anticipated.

#unedited #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin zhongli #genshin xingqiu #zhongli x reader #fluff #this whole scheduling thing seems to be working out pretty nicely

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highsviolets · 3 years ago

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INTERVIEW NO. 1: RACHEL @djarinsbeskar

hello hello! i am so happy to announce that rachel — aka the immense talent that is @djarinsbeskar — has agreed to be my first interviewee for this new series! thank you to rach and to each one of you for all of your support. to read more about the project, click here, and to submit an author, click here.

| why rachel? |

Rachel captured my imagination from the first time we interacted as mutuals-in-law. She’s bursting with energy and vivaciousness, with a current of kindness just underneath everything she does. Her work is no exception. Oftentimes gritty, raw, and exposing (in … ahem…more ways than one), Rachel challenges her readers to dig deeper into both the story and themselves. Her smut brings a particular fire as it’s laced with need, desire, and mutual trust that leads us deeper into the characters’ identities and how physical affection can mimic other forms of intimacy. She’s a tour de force in this fandom and an absolute joy.

| known for |

Engaging with and encouraging other authors, cultivating inspo posts, attention to world building & character development

| my favorites |

Stitches

Boxer!Din

Full Masterlist • Ko-Fi

| q & a |

When did you start writing? What was that project, and what was it like? Has that feeling or process ever changed over time? Why?

I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing. I was an avid reader, as I think most writers are—and I remember, after picking up Lord of the Rings—that I could live so many lives, experience so many things, all from the pages of a book. I could make sense of the world through words and ink and paper. And it offered me a level of peace and clarity I wanted to share with others. So, I started writing.

My first project I remember to this day, was a short story about a dog. I had been so heartbroken when I learned that dogs were colourblind. I must have been about seven or eight at the time, and I was fixated on this idea that dogs couldn’t see the vibrant hues that made the world beautiful. It was something I wanted to change—and with all the righteous anger of a child not getting their own way, I sulked over the fact that I couldn’t. Until I wrote it down.

“How do dogs see colour?”

And much like my writing today, I answered myself.

“Dogs don’t need to see colour. Dogs smell colour.”

And so, I wrote a story, about a puppy being brought on different walks by its owner. And with every new street it walked down—colour bloomed with scent. Colours more beautiful and vibrant than we could ever hope to see with our eyes. And it gave me solace and helped me work through an emotion that – granted was immature and inconsequential – had affected me. To this day, I still smile seeing dogs sniffing at everything they pass on their walks. Smelling colour. It gave me the key to my favourite thing in life. I don’t think my process has changed much since then. Much of what I write is based on a skeleton plan, but I leave room for characters to speak and feel as they need to. I like to know the starting point and destination of a chapter—but how they get there, that still falls to instinct. I think I’ve found a happy medium of strict planning and winging it that suits me now—and hopefully it will continue to improve over time!

When did you start posting your writing, and on what platform? What gave you the push to do that?

I mean, fanfiction has always been part of my life. I think anyone who was growing up in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s found their way to fanfiction.net at some time or other. The wild west compared to what we have now! My first post was for the Lord of the Rings fandom on fanfiction.net. It was an anthology of the story told through the eyes of the steeds. Bill the Pony, Shadowfax—it was all very innocent. That was probably in 2010 when I was fifteen. I had been wanting to share writing for a long time but was worried about how it would be received. I didn’t really have a gauge on my level or my creativity and – one of the many flaws of someone with crippling perfectionism – I only ever wanted to provide perfection. That was a major inhibitor when I was younger. By wanting it to be perfect, I never posted anything. Until that stupidly cute LOTR fic. It was freeing to write something that no one but me had any interest in, because if I was writing for myself then there was no one to disappoint, right? And that was all it took. I had some pauses over the years between college and life and such, but I’ve never lost that mindset when it comes to posting.

What your favorite work of yours that you have ever written? Why is it your favorite? What is more important to you when considering your own stories for your own enjoyment — characters? fandom? spice? emotional development? the work you’ve put into it? Is that different than what you enjoy reading most in other people’s fics?

I don’t think it’ll come as much of a surprise when I say Stitches. While not original, I mean—it follows the plot of the Mandalorian quite diligently, it is the piece of work I really hold very close to my heart. Din Djarin as a character is what got me back into writing after what must have been five years? He inspired something. His manner, his personality—he resonated with me as a person in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. And gave me back a creative outlet I had been missing.

It’s funny to say out loud—but I wanted to give him something? I spent so long thinking about his character that half my brain felt like it belonged to him—how he reacted and responded to things etc. and of course, like every dreamy Pisces—I wanted to give him love and happiness. So, Stitches came along. Personally, when writing—it’s a combination of characters, emotional development and spice (I can’t help myself) and when we can follow that development. With Stitches, it’s definitely the spice that is the conduit for development—but I adore showing how the physical can help people who struggle to communicate emotions too complex for words.

I don’t usually read for Din, as most people know—but I do enjoy reading the type of work that Stitches is. Human, damaged—but still with an undercurrent of hope that makes me think of children’s books.

You said, “much like writing today, I answered myself.” Could you talk about that in relation to Stitches?

So, I’m endlessly curious, it has to be said. Especially about why people are the way they are. Why people do A instead of B. Why X person’s immediate thought went to this place instead of that place. And I’m rarely satisfied with superficial explanations. One of the most exciting parts of writing and fanfiction especially, is making sense of that why. There can be countless explanations, some that are content with what is seen on the surface and some that go deep and some that go even deeper still.

Stitches is almost a – very long winded and much too long – answer to the questions I was so intrigued by about Din Djarin, about the Mandalorian and about the Star Wars universe as a whole. I often wondered what happened to people after the Rebellion, the normal people who fought—the people in the background. What did they do next? Did some of them suffer from PTSD? What was the galaxy like right after the Empire fell? That first season of the Mandalorian answered some of those questions, but I wanted to know more. So, I created a reader insert who was a combat medic—and through her, I let myself answer the questions of what happened next.

Regarding Din as a character, I wanted to know what a bounty hunter with a code of honour would do in certain situations—what made him tick, what made hm vulnerable. I wanted to explore the discovery of his identity. Din Djarin didn’t exist after he was taken from Aq Vetina. He became a cog in a very efficient machine of Mandalorians—and it was safe there. I wanted to see what – or who – might encourage him to step into his own. Grogu was that person in a familial sense, but what about romantically? What about individually? There’s so much to explore with this man! So many facets of personality and nuances of character that make him so gorgeous to write and think about.

Talk to me about the Din Djarin Athletic Universe. How does Din as all of these forms of athlete play off who you see him as in canon?

The Athletic Universe! How I adore my athletes. Despite being in a modern setting, I have kept the core of Din’s character in each of them (at least I hope I have!). I like to divide Din’s character into three phases when it comes to canon because he’s not as immovable as people seem to think he is. We discussed this before, how I see Din as a water element—adaptable, but strong enough that he can be as steadfast as rock. But I digress, the first phase is the character we see in the first episode. Basically, before Grogu. There’s an aggressive brutality to Din when we see him bounty hunting. He works on autopilot and isn’t swayed by sob stories or promises. He has the covert but is ultimately separate. Those soft feelings he comes to recognise when he has Grogu are dormant – not non-existent – but they haven’t been nurtured or encouraged. This is the point I extracted Boxer!Din’s personality and story from.

Cyclist!Din on the other hand—is already a father, a biological father to Grogu. And his personality, I took from that moment in the finale of Season two where I believe Din’s transformative arc of character solidified. He was always a father to Grogu, but I do believe that moment where he removes his helmet is the moment, he accepts that role fully in his heart and mind. And that is why I don’t believe for a second, that removing his helmet was him breaking his Creed. In fact, I believe it was the purest act he could do in devotion to his Creed—to his foundling, to his son. The Cyclist!AU is very much the character I see canon Din having should Grogu have stayed with him. This single dad who isn’t quite sure how he got to where he is now—but does anything and everything for his child without thought. It’s a natural instinct for him, and I like exploring those possibilities with Cyclist!Din.

You also said, “he has the covert but is ultimately separate.” What does it take for him — and you — to get to that point of being ‘not separate?’

I mentioned this above, but one of the biggest interests I have in Din as a character is his identity. He’s a Mandalorian, he’s a bounty hunter, he’s the child’s guardian but those are all what he is, not who. I think Din is separate while being part of the covert because he doesn’t know. I don’t think anyone can really be part of something if they don’t know who they are or, they struggle with their identity. It’s curious to me—how you can deceive even yourself to mimic the standard set for the many. In the boxer verse, he identifies himself in relation to his boxing—and every part of his outward personality exhibits those qualities. But when he’s given a softer touch—an outlet of affection, and comfort—we see the softer side of him surface. It’s very much the same with Stitches Din. Identity is like anything, emotions—relationships, bodies. It needs nurturing to thrive, an open door—a safe space. At least, that’s what goes through my mind when I think of him.

Who is your favorite character to read?

Frankie because there are so many ways his character can be interpreted and there are some stellar versions of him that I think of at least once a day. Javi because he reminds me of kintsugi-- golden recovery, broken pottery where the cracks are highlighted with gold. I also adore reading for Boba Fett, Paz Viszla and the clones!

Is there anything else you want your readers to know about you, your writing, or your creative process?

Hmm... only that I am quite literally a gremlin clown who is always here to chat Din, Star Wars, literature, book recs and anything else under the sun! I like to hear people's stories, their opinions etc. it helps me see things from alternative points of view and can truly help the writing process! Other than that, I think I can only thank readers for putting up with my ridiculously long chapters and rambling introspection. Thank you for indulging me always! ❤️

#pedro pascal #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #djarinsbeskar #chat with cris #author interview series #tuserdaniela #userastrid #usernobie #userhai #pedrostories

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

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nobody's keeping score

Ship: HideKane

Summary: In a world where ink stains the white papers of constitutions, damning the lives of ghouls, their existence is no secret or rumor, but a topic of heated debate, protests, and anonymous organ donations in shady alleys. No matter how bright the CCG appears in their white coats, their light cannot reach the dark tunnels where ghouls and sympathizers alike are plotting. And when Hide, after hours of sitting at his best friend’s hospital bed, sees him wake with one eye black and red, the difficult question is not how to get him help, but how to avoid him becoming the figurehead of a conflict threatening to turn into a bloody revolution.

AN: Notes: You ever just take a 4-year break from a fandom and return with spite fic because you remembered how much you hated canon? Yeah. This fanfic is my attempt at corralling the TG worldbuilding into something coherent that makes sense. I will keep some elements of canon, others I will throw out of the window straight away. This is utterly self-indulgent.

“And with the developments in synthetic meat production—”

Hide wanted to groan. They’d been discussing the same question for the last three hours of class and he was, frankly speaking, done with it. People were running out of arguments and circling back to topics that didn’t contribute anything to the conversation they were supposed to be having. From the way their lecturer was glaring at the latest speaker, Hide would say that she was also very done.

“Yoshimura, as stated before, we are not discussing possibilities for ghoul integration, but the mere premise of whether they even deserve the rights needed to legalize their status as citizens. The right of existence of an individual should not be dependent on what modifications would have to be made to accommodate them, but whether they deserve to live regardless.”

Hide had zoned out about an hour ago. His opinion on ghouls had always felt rather clinical, mathematically detached, despite Hide’s history. Maybe too much time had passed since he’d looked at the bloody remains of his father to really hammer home the fear-motivated rejection so many people fell to. Perhaps the CCG investigators, who had dragged him away from his father’s corpse, should have allowed him to get a little more traumatized before the kindness of his new parents had become enough to dull those painful memories.

Some ghouls were no different than brutal serial killers, and they had to be taken down, but the rest seemed to be getting by just fine. If a new legislation would make it even easier for them to go about their everyday lives, perhaps the number of violent ghoul attacks would go down as well. Hide was well aware that this was the view of a privileged person. Growing up in the 20th ward meant that you needn’t be scared of leaving your house when it was already dark. Kamii University prided itself on the fact that it could safely offer evening classes such as the one Hide was attending now. The same certainly couldn’t be said for the other wards. Any citizen between the 9th and 13th wards would probably advocate vocally for the extermination of ghouls. The 11th especially resembled a warzone even during the daylight. Ghoul sightings were nothing unusual there, and investigators’ mutilated bodies were displayed as trophies and warnings alike. Meanwhile, nobody had died in the 20th war for something like ten odd years. Sometimes it felt like waiting for the other shoe to drop, but most of the time, Hide didn’t even think about ghouls.

By the time class was finally over, Hide had taken only one or two more bullet points. They hadn’t really said anything of interest and it reflected in his writing. Usually, Hide would be sending rapid-fire texts to Kaneki now, but his friend was still on his date and Hide didn’t want to bother him. It had taken more than just a bit of teasing and probing to get Kaneki to ask that girl out and he wouldn’t self-sabotage his hard work.

It was good that Kaneki was connecting to people that weren’t just Hide.

And it would be awesome if Hide could do the same.

Codependence needed two people to work and Kaneki was definitely not the only one struggling with independence. Hide had yet to figure out how to let go of Kaneki when his relationship to the other boy had been the only stable thing in his world for the longest time. Nothing said mental health like latching onto an abused child to escape the stifling air of his brand-new foster fathers’ home.

The next time he visited his parents, he’d bring them some flowers to make up for how troublesome he’d been as a child.

Glancing at his phone again, Hide realized he had to hurry if he wanted to take the early bus home. He was just about to plug in his headphones when an unknown number flashed up on the display. Who would call him at this time? Hide was definitely someone who preferred texting. Even his parents knew better than to call unless it was serious. The only person he ever actually called was Kaneki, and that was only because his friend sometimes got so lost in a book, he forgot to text back or didn’t even hear the phone buzz. Hide contemplated picking up for another ring, then gave in and accepted. “Nagachika Hideyoshi speaking, who’s calling?”

“Hello, I am Tanaka Akako, a nurse of the Kanou General Hospital. You are Nagachika Hideyoshi, Kaneki Ken’s emergency contact?”

The blood in Hide’s veins froze.

“Yes, I am. Has— has anything happened? Is Kaneki alright!?”

The nurse’s voice was so calm, steady, and pleasant as if this was a chat between friends. Somewhere Hide knew that it probably helped most people, but it just put him on edge. “Nagachika-san, your friend and another young woman were involved in an accident. Dr. Kanou is preparing him for surgery, but as his emergency contact, we have to discuss the possible options before we can proceed.”

Hide didn’t want to discuss any options. There shouldn’t be any besides Kaneki’s survival. Hide wanted to rush into the operation hall and hold Kaneki’s hand, wishing he could turn back time, tell his friend to remain at his side and consider that girl out of his league so he’d spent the evening with him and not getting sent to ER. This couldn’t be real; he was sick to his stomach.

“What are the options?” Hide asked, panic threatening to strangle him as he rushed to the street, trying to find a taxi to take him to Kanou General straightaway.

“Kaneki-san sustained serious injuries. Dr. Kanou is willing to transplant the deceased Kamishiro-san’s organs into your friend to save his life even if her family hasn’t consented yet. The only consent we can ask for in Kaneki-san’s case is yours and—”

“Do it,” Hide replied immediately. He didn’t know Kaneki’s date, and as much as Hide loved people, argued for a baseline acceptance every day in class, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the wishes of a family whose daughter was already dead. The only thing they were still good for once their hearts stopped beating was serving the living with their remains.

Kaneki might survive because of her; what else could matter? “Do it, whatever you need to save him— you have my full permission.”

Finally, a taxi approached and stopped right when Hide waved for it. He quickly climbed inside and, paying no attention to the driver, told him to get to the hospital as quickly as possible.

“And in case he doesn’t survive, may his organs—”

“He will survive,” Hide pressed because he didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he were to lose Kaneki. He’d built a life around his best friend and how much they meant to one another. Hide couldn’t give up on that, couldn’t let it slip past his fingers. “He’ll survive. I know it.”

Organ transplants took place every day without any complications—

Hide’s eyes widened. “Kaneki has recessive ROS!” he all but shouted at the nurse, startling the taxi driver.

Kaneki’s father had died because of it. If Kaneki got the wrong blood transfusions or anything, his RC cells were suddenly pushed to start acting up, the dormant sickness could turn on and what if Hide had just damned him to a life of wasting away—

No.

Stay positive. Don’t freak out even more. They hadn’t done anything yet, merely asked for Hide’s permission to help Kaneki at all. He was saving his friend’s life; he wasn’t cursing him.

“Thank you for telling me, Nagachika-san. I will pass that on to Dr. Kanou. You have just contributed immensely to the safety of the procedure.”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes,” Hide said. “Just— he has to hold on. Tell Kaneki he has to hold on until I’m there.”

“We will, Nagachika-san, don’t worry. Dr. Kanou will do his best.”

His best.

The words echoed in Hide’s mind. How was he ever supposed to know if Kanou’s best would be enough for his friend? Hide excelled at being optimistic, could see the positive side of most things in life, had learned how to be hopeful at the funerals of people he’d loathed. He just couldn’t allow himself to drown in any negative possibilities.

The rest of the drive passed in the blur, either because the driver had known to speed up after listening in on the phone call, or because Hide was so out of it that he didn’t really register the streetlamps flickering by until the taxi had reached its destination. Hide passed the driver a couple bills, probably more than the transport had actually cost, but he didn’t care. What were one or two skipped meals compared to being there before it was too late? Hide rushed inside the sterile white hospital, eyes immediately set on the front desk.

“My friend,” Hide stuttered as he clung to the counter, holding it as if it were his lifeline. “He was brought in— an accident. He was on a date and there was an accident. Dr. Kanou is operating him?”

The receptionist seemed confused, needing a moment to make something coherent out of Hide’s rambles. “I need your identification before I can tell you anything about our patients.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Hide fumbled for his student ID card and put it on the counter with shaky hands. “Nagachika Hideyoshi, I’m Kaneki Ken’s emergency contact.”

“Of course, your friend is still in the operating room. You can wait here.”

Hide didn’t want to wait, but what else was there he could do? He hated feeling useless like this, unable to contribute anything productive. The receptionist sent him a kind look and, defeated, Hide crossed the entrance hall to the waiting room where he remained together with other worried family members and patients, clutching his phone so he wouldn’t start screaming. He couldn’t stop moving his legs, stress keeping him wide awake even as the hospital emptied and less and less people sat around him. How long did such an operation take? An hour? Two? Hide had absolutely no idea. He didn’t study anything like this. His major was English literature, which was about as helpful as hot air at this moment.

He could quote enough books concerned with some medical drama and family members in the hospital, but none of them brought him any comfort.

“Nagachika-san?”

Hide looked up into the kind face of an elderly man wearing a pristine white coat.

“Y- yes?” Hide replied and quickly stood up, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. “Are you Dr. Kanou? Is my friend alright? Can I see him?”

“I am sorry to have caused you such worries. The operation went well. Your friend is resting in intensive care right now. He is still asleep, but you may visit him. The presence of loved ones is often very beneficial to the healing process.”

Healing.

A sob shook Hide’s shoulders. Kaneki was alive. He hadn’t died.

“Thank you,” he managed to say in between his sobs. “Thank you, thank you for saving his life.”

The doctor only kept on smiling and kindly put his hand on Hide’s shoulder, squeezing it lightly in what was meant to be comforting. “It is my job, young man. You don’t have to thank me. Nothing is more important to me than saving innocent lives. If you follow one of the nurses, you can see your friend immediately.”

Hide thanked the doctor once more, relief slowly filling the pits anxiety had hollowed out. He followed the nurse through the labyrinth of death, decay, healing, and salvation up to the intensive care station. Quietly, he was led to a room. The door opened, revealing one lone figure on a bed.

From a distance, hooked up with so many tubes and wires, Kaneki was nothing like the person who took up half of Hide’s life. He seemed so much smaller and looked like just one push could snap his connection to life.

“Please remain quiet,” the nurse told him. “And don’t move him.” Glancing at his still trembling fingers, she added, “but you may hold his hand.”

Hide nodded, then quickly crossed the room to Kaneki’s bed and sat down on the chair next to it. Kaneki didn’t move at all; not even a single muscle twitched. Hide would assume they had led him to view his friend’s corpse if not for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Pushing up the sleeves of his jacket, Hide took Kaneki’s hand in his own.

“Hey, Ken,” he muttered, pressing his eye close so no tears would escape them. “You scared me there. Don’t ever do that again.”

Predictably, Kaneki didn’t reply. Nevertheless, Hide imagined that just for a moment, he squeezed Hide’s hand back. Slowly, the tension bled from Hides’s shoulders and he made himself comfortable in the hard plastic chair. This was bound to be a long night and he was starting to feel his exhaustion catch up to him. He tried to keep his eyes trained on his friend for as long as possible, remaining alert for a change to his condition, but it was getting more and more difficult to keep them open.

Eventually, the darkness caught him as he fell. Hide knew he stirred a couple more times during the night, likely when the nurses came to check on Kaneki. Nobody asked him to move and leave, something he was immensely thankful for. He wouldn’t have been able to let go. By the time the sun began to chase away the shadows again, Hide wasn’t sure how much he had slept, only that it had definitely not been enough. But that was alright, he could catch up on sleep sometime later. It was far more important that Kaneki was going to be alright.

Hide turned to look at Kaneki’s face and found his friend awake, staring back at him.

One eye gray like a stormy cloud before the morning rainfall.

The other was blood-red against the night sky.

#tokyo ghoul #hideyoshi nagachika #kaneki ken #tg #hidekane #fanfic #what UP i'm back with spite fic #also on ao3 #but i will add the link later bc tumblr likes to mess up

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aros001 · 3 years ago

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First time read through light novel vol. 18. Random thoughts.

I somewhat suspect the author was hungry while writing this volume.

Also, wow, I knew Kizuna was short but the prior artworks never gave me the full idea of how short. She

is only chest-high compared to Naofumi and Glass (I suppose that could make Glass happy, though; ease of access for Kizuna and whatnot).

Given that, outside of the natural gluttons like Filo, S’yne, and the killer whale sisters, the only person on Naofumi's side with the "Eat food for EXP" matter is Itsuki, I think this is him falling dangerously close to thinking only in terms of game mechanics instead of reality, much like the other three heroes had been early on. Theoretically, yes, if you can gain levels and strength just by eating, why wouldn't you do a lot of it? But he's almost outright ignoring the physical discomfort and pain it's causing his allies and seeing only the numbers. Not to mention that he himself doesn't appear to be eating nearly as much, as he's focus on the cooking.

That said, it is cute that this is the first time in her life Filo is starting to feel full.

Chapter One: Sloth

OH SHI-! Oh, wait. Wrong franchise. We're good. I did not want to have to imagine Kizuna biting her fingers off (Kizuna: "My brain trembles!!!).

If Kizuna is indeed suffering under the curse of Sloth, I'm curious what triggered that specific sin for her. We only have the four heroes of Raphtalia's world to go off of but each sin applied to that specific hero for a reason. Naofumi: Wrath because of his hatred of what Witch and Trash put him through. Ren: Greed because he wanted more EXP, levels, and loot; a toxic extreme of his solo-adventuring. Itsuki: Pride because he believed only in his view of justice. And Motoyasu: lust and envy because of his obsession with Filo and being kept away from her. Kizuna's obsession with fishing, even when there's other important matters that need to be dealt with, I suppose could be considered lazy and thus lead to sloth as its extreme, but it feels a little bit like a stretch.

As he did so, the books from a nearby shelf whirled up into the air, forming . . . a dinosaur . . . perhaps. No, a dragon. The monster’s name was “Magical Tome Dragon.” Now things were really getting a bit crazy. A dragon created from books! Was this some kind of joke?

I want a Yu-Gi-Oh card of that.

“Don’t tell me, Glass is like the Raphtalia of this world? Could we really get that lucky?”

I mean, that's what the fandom likes to joke when it comes to her and Kizuna.

Breaking the sloth curse through Kizuna's love of fishing was about what I expected. Not complaining, of course. Again though, I'm just wonder what about her coincides with Sloth. She prefers talking it out and making allies as opposed to fighting but I wouldn't exactly call that lazy or slothful either.

Kizuna had a lot of folks like this among her allies—people who had started out as enemies but then became allies. If I fought someone as an enemy, there was generally no coming back—there were exceptions, like Sadeena and Shildina, so it was probably better not to generalize.

Glass and L'Arc are literally standing right next to Naofumi as he thinks this and Motoyasu, Ren, and Itsuki all tried to murder him at one point or another. S'yne was part of the gladiator fights too, now that I think about it, and while they never fought he and Trash were definitely enemies for a while. This dude turns more enemies into friends than freakin' Naruto. Being kind of oblivious is part of Naofumi's character but I suppose this could be seen as an interesting look as to how exactly he considers someone an enemy. If they fought him for reasons he eventually came to understand and sympathize with, then he perhaps doesn't consider them as ever having been a "true" enemy.

Aww, Glass is jealous of Tsugumi being close to Kizuna. And unlike Raphtalia with Naofumi, Kizuna doesn't have any kind of tragedy that keeps her opposed to relationship and would require Glass to be patient. I suppose Glass could simply be afraid of hurting their friendship by proposing romance or even that Kizuna doesn't swing that way. And this is from Naofumi's perspective, so Glass being gay could be completely off the mark. Still, it'd be nice to get a solid landing one way or another. Even Eclair unknowingly rejecting Ren at least give solid confirmation that he's into her and why they're not together.

“What! I’m the Hunting Hero! I don’t handle the cooking part!” Kizuna complained.

“And I’m the Shield Hero!” I retorted. Not the Stewpot Hero! If anyone called me that, I would kill them with cookery!

And technically, you're not even that right now. Not with that mirror on your arm. The mirror is cool and all but I am looking forward to Naofumi eventually getting his shield back. He just feels incomplete without it.

“Almost feeding time!” one of them said. Others proceeded to chime in.

“Yes . . . the time we’ve all been waiting for.”

“The moment we live for, basically!”

“Even if I only get to eat one mouthful . . . that is the fuel that will keep me alive!”

“I’ll never eat anything but his cooking ever again!”

“I think the schweiz is the best! It has to be!”

“No! The stietz!”

“Hey! No fighting! We’ve been warned about fighting!”

Did they stumble across a food cult?

“It isn’t bad,” Filo said. “It just isn’t as nice as yours, Master.”

“Well, okay . . .” I replied.

“All of the heroes have cooked in the village, Mr. Naofumi, but Filo and everyone else all feel the same way,” Raphtalia told me.

Filo also grew up with Naofumi's cooking since birth, so while he's already a good cook you get the added taste of home for her. I've said it before but out of everyone I consider Filo to be the most like Naofumi's daughter.

“Then you wish to settle the bill,” she replied. I thought it was free. As my suspicions intensified, the girl spread both of her hands and continued. “How was the food at Seya’s restaurant? It was so delicious, wasn’t it? If you wish to become a member, please leave all of your assets or hand over anything that can be turned into money. If you leave some personal items as collateral, you can have some time to go and fetch some offerings.”

Yep, that's a cult alright.

“Master’s food!” Filo said.

“They’ll get a surprise when they taste what you’re cooking, kiddo,” L’Arc said.

“Indeed. Your victory is assured, if that’s the best they can do,” Glass agreed. I was still concerned about how aggressive they were being. Were they hopped up on endorphins or something? They weren’t acting in character at all.

My first thought was that the OOC behavior was some side effect Naofumi didn't realize came with the Mirror weapon's power-up method, but then why wouldn't Raphtalia or Kizuna be effected when they have been eating the food too? Then I thought maybe they were more used to eating Naofumi's food in general and would have a tolerance to any addictive effects, but then why is Filo still effected?

“That’s the best dish Seya’s restaurant has to offer! Seya’s curry bag! And it’s Fifth Floor too!” one of the MCs shouted. I barely stopped myself from tipping over onto the ground. He really was just reheating a premade curry in a bag! So he was allowed to heat and serve already finished dishes? I mean, that might give me some ideas myself . . .

“The flavors that are normally lost in reheating have been sealed in the bag using proprietary technology! Now you get the maximized flavor from the moment you open the bag! This truly is the ultimate culinary technique! Everyone, watch this kitchen miracle closely as it unfolds before your astounded eyes!” The MCs continued their diatribe, but it just made it harder for me to keep a straight face. It was all a matter of perspective. Capturing the flavor in a bag was certainly a worse approach than making it on the spot.

“Naofumi . . . am I imagining things? It looks to me like he’s just adding or warming up instant ingredients using hot water,” Kizuna said.

So, like most other antagonists in this series lately, Seya is just an arrogant, entitled fraud high on his own stolen power. Why am I not surprised? Though he is giving me a bit of a Kazuma from Konosuba vibe with how he managed to figure out how to recreate items the old heroes would have talked about from Japan. It's odd to say he doesn't have nearly the same level of charisma as Kazuma give...well...it's Kazuma and he's deliberately written to be a massive scumbag.

I do like with his magic powers and awesome cape, Naofumi is basically the little muddy boy meeting a superhero, one who will save the day through cooking.

As for Kizuna . . . I handed her some of the fish we had brought in and had her cut it up. She’d finished with the poisonous fish already. Her life as a fishing fool was paying off now. She knew her way around a fish. The blood had been skillfully drained, and overall, she was a step ahead when it came to gutting and cleaning.

...You think the Hunting Tool can turn into something like the Wunder Boner

I explained pointedly, looking at Seya, Trash III, and the other MC. Trash III responded by flipping me off. I could taunt with the best of them, and I mouthed some swear words back.

I mean, one of my favorite scenes in Isekai Quartet was Naofumi and Shalltear sassing each other, so I can agree with that.

“Pollution?” Kizuna asked, looking puzzled.

“You didn’t notice that?” I replied. “Well, just watch.” She wasn’t the brightest bulb, that was for sure.

“Hmmm, I think I need to go wash up,” the rotund noble said. “I’ll be right back.” The judges proceeded to take turns visiting the washroom. Once they had all returned, it was time to eat Seya’s food.

“Huh?” Kizuna, L’Arc, and Therese were looking puzzled. The other diners around us too. I guess there was cause for a little suspicion.

...Did Naofumi give them laxatives?

“Ah!” Kizuna finally cottoned on. “So that’s why you used so many medicinal herbs in your dishes!”

“Exactly. The reason they all wanted to go to the washroom after eating was to expel the toxins. I also used other herbs to bolster the lethargic feeling that would bring on,” I explained.

He gave the judges f**king laxatives! That's hilarious! I get the actual explanation he gives is more complicated than that, relating to purifying and digestion and getting them to finally take notice of the toxins in Seya's food now that they're free from its hold, but it's funny to think that's basically what he did. He won a cooking competition through dishes that encouraged the judges to take a sh*t (or a p*ss, I suppose).

“Hey . . . you’ve been reading too many cooking manga. It’s an illusion that delicious and good things will be evaluated highly. What you need is popularity and demand,” I said. Of course, it had to taste good, but putting the emphasis on that as a bare requirement was also a problem. If you were planning on selling food in a restaurant, of course it had to taste good. Customers came because of other elements, because of popularity. If Seya’s restaurant collapsed here, it would cause trouble for all the judges. That was why I’d created an escape for them. In order to realize the future that boy wanted.

While we don't see Naofumi selling his wares so much anymore because he has far less of a need to, it is nice we do still get that cynical and merchant side of him. All that time didn't just go to waste and it's still a key part of his character.

“What, then? What do you want?” Seya asked.

“There’s someone behind all of this, correct? Someone pulling the strings. If you tell us all about that, we’ll let you go. Hey, I have an idea. Write it down on this piece of paper here. I want a record of this.” I said and passed a piece of paper to him. Seya’s expression immediately brightened.

“That’s all you want? Fine, I can—” But the rest of that sentence vanished into an awful grunt. The moment Seya tried to write a single word, his head simply crumpled in on itself. He managed a brief scream, and then his entire melon exploded. I didn’t want to traumatize my allies, so I quickly threw up a cage and blocked out the grisly scene. Then I gave a sigh.

Well...that was kind of f**ked up for Naofumi to do. Don't get me wrong, after what they had to do to get Takt to be willing to confess, this is much less horrific. But Naofumi did basically just give Seya false hope and then trick him into executing himself. I get why he did it and how dangerous the vanguards are, but it is interesting to think that while ROTSH isn't the darkest of the light novel series I've been reading, Naofumi, save for Ainz Ooal Gown, is definitely the most morally grey of the protagonists compared to Kazuma, Subaru, and Goblin Slayer.

“No matter how delicious the food is, if you eat the same thing every time, you’ll start to get sick of it. Once you get sick of it, you won’t overeat simply because you won’t want to. I’ve been applying that concept to my food,”

That is better than what I was thinking with Naofumi getting too into the game mechanics. And boy do I feel for his friends. It's the same thing that killed me off of soda for a few years. Obviously it's worse to starve than be overstuffed but it's still not a pleasant experience.

We were talking about the primary reason why Kizuna was summoned here in the first place. To put it simply, the idea was to revive the Demon Dragon.

YYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

And they Tanya'd him too; reborn as an infant of the opposite gender. So does that make Kizuna or Naofumi Being X?

“Seriously . . . it brings dragon tears to my dragon eyes to see you, the great Shield Hero who defeated me, now reduced to this.” The Demon Dragon placed her front paws against her head and muttered sadly to herself.

“I hope you aren’t looking for sympathy,” I said harshly.

“Just think about it for a moment. The same bunch who shouted about defeating me and saving the world are now back, having screwed everything up, relying on me—their sworn enemy—to save them! Take a look around. Does this world look like it’s at peace to you? Well?” the dragon said, really coming for me now. What was worse, I didn’t really have a reply. This world was still plagued by humans fighting each other and had been ravaged by the vanguards of the waves. Everything the dragon had said so far had been so on the money that Kizuna and Glass probably didn’t have any response either. “Can you see how this might feel like something from your own past? Having been chased as a criminal, and then having to clean up after those very weaklings who were chasing you after they had been beaten down by the waves and people from another world?” That punch really landed hard. I wanted to call it a low blow, but she was basically providing a stunningly succinct summary of my life in these other worlds.

Seriously though, after Kyo, Takt, and the various other vanguards, it is so refreshing to have a villain who speaks with some dignity and can actually make a decent point or two, rather than "I'm strong so I can do whatever I want! Losers!" In my vol. 16 random thoughts I compared Takt to All For One from My Hero Academia and I still feel the same way. The two are not that much different goal-wise. They wanted the world and had the power to make it theirs, thus their actions. It is an immature goal when you think about it but AFO did not act anywhere near as immature as Takt and it made him feel so much more intimating. He would sometimes mock his enemy but when he did they were deep cuts that he knew would get under the skin of someone he truly hated, like All Might, rather than just throwing out insults and acting like a brat. And the Demon Dragon is the same (the High Priest too, now that I remember him, even if I don't talk about him as much). I liked Glass as an antagonist because she was intimidating, spoke only as much as she needed to, and was very powerful compared to the protagonists at that time, getting Naofumi to fear facing her again and giving her weight to the story and for the audience. Finding out later her motivations gave her some depth and added grey to the situation. The Demon Dragon is not nearly as sympathetic, but he still works for a lot of the reasons she did. There's presence to him, er, her. It's not a brat who needs to be knocked off their high horse but a genuine threat.

And being able to work with the heroes weirdly makes that even better. The Demon Dragon calls a 100 year truce, not because she's on the side of good, but because she wants there to still be a world around for her to take over. She's completely open about her goal, which ironically makes it easier to trust her.

“That should do for now,” the dragon said. “Hmmm, and this is a female body. Excellent. Shield Hero, under the condition that you will ultimately mate with me, I shall provide even greater cooperation.” So that was how long it took for things to take a crazy turn.

Still a little weird that she wants to f**k Naofumi though. And when the anime gets to this part there is almost definitely going to be a fanfic or doujin. Actually, now that I think about it, there are going to be creators getting some mileage out of when the Demon Dragon tried to take Naofumi over earlier in the series.

“Can’t you make do with Kizuna? She’s one of the four holies from this world. You’ll just have to overcome the gender barrier,” I said.

“Why me?!” Kizuna exclaimed.

“What are you planning on doing to Kizuna?” Now Glass turned a hostile gaze on me too.

Ahh, Naofumi's such a d*ck, I love it. Also, now that's two rivals in one book for Glass. She's almost caught up with Raphtalia.

It would have suited us better if the enemy was a bunch of morons. It was annoying that life never worked out quite so easily. We had no idea how bad it was going to get with the waves, so we had to plan our moves carefully and move to prevent this “fusion of the worlds,” whatever that meant.

Wouldn't that be a heck of a comeback to my bitching about the villains? The ones behind the vanguards have been sending out their idiots first, the ones arrogant and drunk off their power, to soften up the heroes first and cause a bunch of damage but that they know will ultimately just get killed. Takt and the others getting offered up as sacrificial lambs basically because those like S'yne's sister don't like them either.

“I’m starting to feel sorry for Naofumi,” Kizuna agreed.

“He probably thinks you two are in the ‘harem,’” I told them.

“I really don’t like that,” Glass responded. “No, I don’t. I don’t like that at all.” I wasn’t sure why she said it three times, but I didn’t like it either. Just for the record.

“Naofumi is a friend and a comrade, but we’re not like that!” Kizuna retorted. I wondered if she really understood the situation. She was the type who needed things to be said directly to her face.

“A shame we don’t have Fohl here. Even L’Arc would have worked,” I said. Just a few guys mixed in might have broken the group up a bit and prevented it from looking like a harem.

“Naofumi . . . even if we did have some guys, it would probably just give them some different ideas. Like . . . boys love?” Kizuna said. It sounded like, whatever the composition of the party, they would presume a lewd relationship with me at the center.

You know, you never hear about this kind of thing with Ren and Itsuki. Motoyasu went out of his way to have a harem and he still doesn't get it thrown at him as much as Naofumi does. Maybe it's one of those "He protest too much" kind of mindsets, where the more Naofumi denies it the more people think it's true.

“You got lucky. If a wave had occurred with the world of our illustrious leader, we were planning on shattering you. That’s the problem with this system; that’s the only way to get the reward for destroying a world,” the sister explained. I’d heard this talk about rewards for destroying worlds before, I vaguely recalled. I had no idea where that reward came from.

So there's a third world mixed up in all this. Obviously there already was the implication of multiple universes with S'yne and such but now there's a big spotlight on somewhere besides Raphtalia and Kizuna's worlds, where the big bad supposedly lives.

“That’s pretty much what I was expecting. Shield Hero, let me tell you something interesting,” the Demon Dragon began. Then she looked at the Artificial Behemoth’s chest again. “That part there houses a corrupted holy weapon from this world, which has artificially turned the monster into one of the four holy heroes and has allowed it all the power-up methods. It’s basically the monster version of a holy hero.”

I'm somewhat suspecting it's the Blunt Force Holy Weapon, given how easily that beast is smashing through barriers.

The soul that Raphtalia had pulled from the vanguard of the waves was not much like the body it had come from. Instead, it was a gloomy, Japanese-looking guy who was probably in his thirties.

...

“The vanguards of the waves are people who have been reborn or transferred over here after being selected by the one who assumes the name of God. They are given all sorts of abilities, such as the power to steal holy weapons or seven star weapons. They come into these worlds and start causing chaos,” I explained.

“Reborn? You mean like having spare bodies, like Kyo?” Raphtalia asked.

“No, something else. Just their souls were led to this world from Japan, and then they were reborn here as someone from this world. With their memories of the past,” I said. For example, they are people who died in unfortunate accidents—people like Ren, Itsuki, and Motoyasu. This “god” would whisper to them that they had died an untimely death and offer to reincarnate them in any world they liked. They were already dead and so had no reason to reject such an offer. If they did, the “god” probably claimed to be taken with their resolve and promised to give them additional cheat powers, basically forcing them to accept. In some cases, maybe they were just forced to be reborn, no matter what they felt. I’d read books like that, loads of them. Now that they knew being summoned to another world was actually a thing, why not getting reborn or transferred over?

So I was right about Takt being some OC f**kboy! They're all OCs! They're people from Japan who died and now are getting to live out their sh*tty power fantasy fanfiction as their equally sh*tty original character! As a source of useful but disposable minions, that's actually kind of brilliant. We saw how bad Motoyasu, Ren, and Itsuki had been at the beginning (with Naofumi himself potentially on that path as well before he was betrayed) and they were chosen by weapons that actually have the world's best interest at heart. Take those same people and have a malevolent entity constantly feeding their egos and pushing them to do terrible things because "it's their right to do so" and "they're the real heroes" and you've got an near endless source of wrenches to throw into the works of those trying to stop you.

Of course, now I just have this image in my head that the World Eater is Aqua from Konosuba. Which would actually be kind of amazing, not gonna lie. A godly being reincarnating otakus from Japan into a new fantasy-based world for a singular purpose and giving them special powers and tools in exchange.

“What if . . . and just hear me out . . . what if this one who assumes the name of a god is somehow responsible for my game knowledge?” Itsuki quietly suggested. That sounded possible to me now. Even if being summoned was the correct process, having some prior knowledge would change your actions once you arrived.

Before, when the Shield Spirit had explained to Naofumi that he was a first pick choice and the other three heroes were their weapons' third picks, I'd theorized as to why and how the final selection ended up. Assuming the weapons were telling the truth about being able to grant any wish once the waves were over, it could be assumed they have some power over reality even in the four's home universe. So I'd theorized the weapons set up a window to snag their picks, with the shield getting Naofumi and the other weapons, by sheer unfortunance, had their picks keep missing the window and thus they became more desperate, thus why their third picks had to die in order to reincarnate because the weapons couldn't leave things to chance anymore.

Now, with the new speculation and info, we can assume the World Eater has some influence over other universes too, including the heroes' original ones. So two new theories come to mind.

The first, and one I find most likely, is that the World Eater is causing video games that are similar to the worlds impacted by the waves to appear in the original worlds of the heroes. In theory, the butterfly effect could cause a chain of events that'd lead to such games existing, so it's not like the World Eater is just dropping them into each reality. It would just need to nudge things in the right direction. If video game knowledge is actually detrimental to the heroes, then that leaves less choices for the Holy Weapons (at least in regards to what their ideal candidates would be) and opens up more choices for the World Eater, since it wants arrogant and know-it-alls like that for vanguards.

The second, which could still work with the first, is that the World Eater is aware of humans the Holy Weapons have their eyes on and is actively sabotaging them. A weapon has a first choice, so the World Eater throws the game or other things in their path to turn them into a less desirable option, possibly even vanguard material.

After all my comments about the recent antagonists, S'yne's sister is starting to grow on me. She's filling a similar role as Witch; manipulating and using people before ultimately tossing them aside. But like the Demon Dragon and High Priest, there is more of an air of dignity about her than with Witch. With the exception of her sister, she's not really talking down and belittling anyone to try and promote her own strength. Like Glass she feels like someone who is genuinely powerful and doesn't need to prove it. How she's using the enemies of the week is curious and perhaps even a little scary because it does feel like she's testing and experimenting and these losses are not really a loss for her. And there's the added mystery Sadeena threw in over what she really wants. Whether bad guy with a bigger agenda or a secret good guy, she's more enjoyable to read about, as opposed to the vanguards where the biggest enjoyment they offer is watching them get taken down, and even that's not much with all the whining and tantrums they have after they're beaten. She's different from Witch and Kyo. She's not completely high off her own power and doesn't refuse to recognize her enemies' strength. Her casually teleporting away for a bit when she realized the battle was turning in the heroes' favor gave a ton to her character.

I'm just looking forward to when she gets a name other than S'yne's sister or Moron Woman. I appreciate Naofumi's completely lack of caring for learning the names of people who don't deserve it, but if she's going to be a serious antagonist or secret ally, a name would help.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/kdwai7/first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_18_random/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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fallen-gravity · 4 years ago

Text

the calm after the storm

When Ford lost everything to Bill’s betrayal; his sleep, his only friend, his sense of security, his sanity, he thought for sure that at least, at the very least, he could still find comfort in the rumble of thunder and the spark of lightning, the same way he had as a child, because they were the one thing Bill couldn’t bend and twist to his liking.

What a naïve fool he had been.

Notes: Here's my entry for Week 1 of @forduary! This year's prompts are based on fanfic and art tropes, which I think is a real cool way to handle a fandom-wide event like this! The prompt was "Hurt/Comfort", so I went with the good ol' American classic of Nightmares. I hope you enjoy!

AO3 Link

When Ford was a kid, he loved thunderstorms more than anything else.

Thunder and lightning were his siren songs. When most people would reasonably be tucked away at home with a book or spent the day in bed, Ford would hear thunder and it would be his cue to kick off his bed covers, put his shoes on, and drag Stan out of the house with him to go exploring.

Thunderstorms were one of the only guarantees that the beach would be abandoned on a summer’s afternoon. If Ford wanted to go exploring for buried treasure in the sand, a dark and stormy afternoon was always going to be his best bet. Best of all, the storm brought things from the ocean onto the shore with its ravenous winds, and lightning strikes brought sea glass, which he and Stan would sneak home in their pockets.

In his college years, when he was too busy studying for any hands-on exploration outdoors, thunder and lightning no longer excited him as much as it did when he was a child. Rather, it filled him with a sense of comfort and nostalgia. If he were working at his desk in his dorm room when it began to rain, he would gather everything together and continue to work on his bed so he could look out his window at the rain as he worked.

It would not be until his early years in Gravity Falls that the excitement from his childhood would return to him. Thunder and lightning would bring frightened anomalies to his back porch seeking refuge from the pounding rain, and all he had to do if he wanted to take notes was take a peek out his back window.

When he lost everything to Bill’s betrayal; his sleep, his only friend, his sense of security, his sanity, he thought for sure that at least, at the very least, he could still find comfort in the rumble of thunder and the spark of lightning, because they were the one thing Bill couldn’t bend and twist to his liking.

What a naïve fool Ford had been back then.

He’s hanging in shackles in the Fearamid. The stench of his own smoking skin fills his nose and waters his eyes, and if not for the chain clenched tightly around his neck he’d surely be vomiting at the sensation.

“You ready to talk now?” Bill’s shrill voice pierces through Ford’s skull.

“Never!” Ford shouts, his chains jingling as he speaks. “I’ll die before you get a single word out of me!” He spits at Bill’s feet.

Bill squints, and for a moment Ford thinks he’s about to start shocking him again. He braces for impact, but the shock never comes.

Instead, Bill groans like he’s bored.

“You’re no fun anymore, Sixer” Bill crosses his arm. “It’s always no, I won’t reactivate the portal, and no, I won’t join you in the nightmare realm, and no, I won’t hand over the rift. I’m sick of it!”

Bill raises his hand to snap his fingers, and the color drains from Ford’s face. He does everything he can to avoid the impact of whatever Bill’s about to do to him, attempting to squirm backwards and yank his wrists loose, but he doesn’t budge so much as an inch.

Bill snaps his fingers, and Ford squeezes his eyes shut, and…

He’s being lowered to the ground. Ford pops an eye open, just to make sure Bill’s not playing tricks on him, or that he’s shrinking, but…no, his feet really are being lowered to the ground.

Ford’s shackles disappear, and he rubs at his tender wrists. “I…” he tries to bite, but he’s too baffled to finish his sentence. “I don’t understand”

“You want to play games with me so badly, then let’s play a game” Bill’s voice becomes distorted as his feet slam to the ground so hard it cracks. Ford takes a few cautious steps backwards. Bill snaps his fingers again, and the entire interior of the Fearamid transforms into a labyrinth. “If you can find your way out of here before I catch up to you, I let you go.”

Ford swallows hard. “What’s the catch?”

“That’s just it!” Bill responds giddily. “If I catch you before you escape, you have to tell me the equation. I’m not asking anymore.”

“What…What about the kids?”

“Won’t touch a hair on their puny heads! I promise.” Bill tips his hat towards him. Ford…seriously doubts that, but if there’s any chance he can get out of here and bring Dipper and Mabel with him to safety, he’s taking it.

“Fine!”

Bill clasps his hands together. “Perfect,” he replies, his voice dark and low. A large timer suddenly appears on the ceiling. “And since I’m such a gracious host, I’m giving you a two minute head start.”

He snaps his fingers once more, and he sprouts four more limbs and grows about eight feet taller. “You’re gonna need it.”

Without waiting for another word, Ford blindly sprints off in a random direction. He’s read extensive papers discussing minotaurs and their labyrinths, and the common traps one could find in them, so he should be out of here in no time. Just as he’s about to round a corner, a sudden streak of lightning strikes the wall, and a large pile of debris blocks his path.

From somewhere behind him Bill lets out a sickeningly shrill laugh as Ford backtracks to go a different route. He tries running back in the direction he came in, but another lightning strike blocks that path, too.

“Time’s up!” Bill shouts, and Ford stumbles off down a random clear path. It’s not a very long one, because tween one blink and the next he’s smacking head first into Bill’s outstretched hand. The color drains from Ford’s face as he’s lifted from the ground to meet Bill’s….many, many eyes. He doesn’t say anything else, simply morphs his hand into a giant taser.

“No!” Ford attempts to squirm as Bill brings the taser closer to his neck. “No! You promised!”

“I promised you I wouldn’t touch the kids! I never said anything about you.”

“No!” Ford shouts, and just as the taser is about to come in contact with his skin, there’s a pressure on his arm, like someone’s gently pushing him.

Ford’s eyes fly open, and he nearly smashes his forehead against Mabel’s. His heart feels like it’s pounding hundreds of miles per hour, but it begins to slow when he realizes that he’s in his own room.

“Mabel?” he grips at his chest as he sits up. “What are you doing up?” He’d hate to have been the reason she woke up in the middle of the night.

She snorts as she takes a seat beside him on his couch. “It’s nine-thirty in the morning, Grunkle Ford, I’m always up this early!”

Ford’s about to ask how that could be when it’s still so dark in his room, but a roll of thunder outside his window answers that question for him. He flinches at the sound of it, and beside him Mabel places her tiny hand on top of his.

When he turns to meet her eyes there’s a deep sadness in them that could tear his heart in two. “Are you okay, Grunkle Ford?”

There isn’t nearly enough time in the universe to answer that question truthfully. He turns his hand to interlock his fingers with hers, and he squeezes gently. “I’m fine, sweetie, don’t worry about me”

She pouts, and returns the gesture of squeezing his hand. “I heard you talking in your sleep when I walked by. I wasn’t gonna bother you, but…” she turns her gaze towards the floor. “I…heard you say Bill’s name”

As if the universe itself were listening to her speak, a streak of lightning flashes across the sky at his name. Ford winces, and his grip on Mabel’s hand briefly tightens. She frowns, and scooches closer to rest her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, voice muffled by his turtleneck.

He knows that she still blames herself for Weirdmageddon. She had come into the lab in the basement not too long ago and told him everything; from the argument she got into with Dipper to handing the rift over to Bill’s awaiting hands. It nearly broke his heart in two to see her so heartbroken and afraid. He’d told her that it wasn’t her fault, and that it was nearly inevitable it was going to happen eventually. She seemed to accept that, and hadn’t said anything about it to him since.

Still, he knows better than most that the guilt never truly leaves you be, and that it tends to sneak up from behind and eat you alive when you least expect it to.

“No need to be sorry, my dear” Ford replies, winding an arm around Mabel to hold her closer. “I’ve been having these sorts of nightmares since far before Weirdmageddon ever happened.”

“Then…why last night?” Mabel looks up at him, her soft brown eyes pooling with worry.

“Well, if I had to hazard a guess…” Ford taps at his chin. Before he can give it much more thought, another streak of lightning crackles outside, which makes him flinch. Mabel’s gaze switches back and forth between Ford and the window behind them, and she jumps up to her feet.

“That’s it!” she shouts, spinning towards him with a…very out of place grin plastered to her face. She takes his hands in her own. “Grunkle Ford, are you afraid of thunderstorms?”

Ford blushes so hard that his ears burn. “It…hasn’t been a fear I’ve had since childhood, but it seems like in turn of recent events…” He tugs awkwardly at the collar of his turtleneck.

“Aww, you don’t have to be so modest, Grunkle Ford! I’m not gonna judge you.” She offers a hand out to him, smiling sweetly. “As a matter of fact, I know a cure for just the thing, if you’d follow me”

A soft chuckle escapes Ford as he takes her up on her offer. He places his hand in hers, and she helps tug him to his feet. She guides him by the hand out of his room and towards the living room. Stan must still be asleep, because his recliner is unoccupied.

“Here we are!” She pats at the armrest with her free hand. “There’s a few things I need to put together, but you can sit right here while I go grab them.” She gently pats at his forearm. “You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about the rest”

…Interesting choice of words, but Ford doesn’t question them. He takes a seat in Stan’s recliner, and as soon as he kicks his feet up Mabel beams and skips off in another direction. He doesn’t have long to wonder what she could be planning, because only about a minute or two passes before a giant pile of blankets comes walking back into the room.

Mabel drops the pile in front of the recliner with a grunt. “There we go!” She grins, clasping her hands together. “This should be plenty enough for our pillow fort”

“Our…pillow fort?”

“Yeah!” she beams. “Pillow forts are like, the number one cure for everything, right behind hugs and glitter.” She nods matter-of-factly. “It’s science! You should know, Grunkle Ford” She says, and heads towards the kitchen to grab a few chairs.

Ford can’t help but smile warmly as he stands to help her. They gather all of the chairs from the kitchen and place them in a large circle around the recliner, spaced out just enough that there’s plenty of crawlspace between them and just close enough together to prevent the blankets from falling off. Once Mabel is satisfied with their placement, she begins placing the blankets on top of the chairs, letting the larger blankets come all the way to the floor to act as entrances to the fort. It’s a touchup of the blankets here and a small adjustment of the chair placements here, and Mabel steps back to admire their work.

“And...That should do it! I’m gonna go grab some more blankets and pillows for the inside, but you can feel free to head in without me” She beams, and she’s already off again before he can respond. Ford rolls his eyes at her fondly, and gets down onto his hands and knees to crawl inside the fort.

The change of scenery is instantaneous, in every meaning of the word. The inside of the fort is dark, save for the beams of light from the room outside seeping through the gaps of the blankets. It’s warm, from the heat trapped within each of the blankets. It’s quiet, so much so that the pounding of the rain on the windows sounds like nothing more than a muffled drizzle. It’s comfortable, despite the only available seat being the floor itself.

It’s a sensory deprivation tank without the claustrophobia; a safe space Ford could see himself losing time to.

“Hey!” Mabel’s cheery voice cuts smoothly through the silence. She crawls through the blanket flap with an armful of blankets and a bowl full of fresh popcorn. “Sorry that took so long, I figured if we were gonna spend the whole afternoon in here that you were gonna want a snack” She places the bowl of popcorn on the ground between them, and hands Ford a pillow.

Ford gently squeezes the pillow to his chest. “Mabel?”

“Yeah?”

Ford can feel the heat rising to his cheeks. “How did…how did you know?”

She cocks her head. “How’d I know what?”

“How did you know that…all of this would work?”

“Oh!” Mabel grins. “Pssh, that’s easy. Don’t tell Dipper I told you this, but he was absolutely terrified of rain when we were younger. It didn’t even have to be storming out, just as long there was rain falling from the sky. And all it took for him to calm down was tearing apart our beds and building a fort, so I figured that since you two are like, the same exact person that it would work for you too!” She gently taps at her forehead. “You two aren’t the only smart twins around here”

Ford laughs, winding an arm around her to bring her close to him. “Thank you, sweetheart. It’s working wonders”

The grin that spreads across her face could burn out the sun. She reciprocates his gesture, winding a tiny arm around him and resting her head on his chest.

Growing up, he’d been taught that there was no place for fear. Fear made you weak, and the only way to deal with it was to harshly beat it down until it was no more. You were to show fear that you were strong, and tough, and succumbing to it could only lead to your demise.

Worst of all, Ford believed it wholeheartedly. Shutting himself out from the world, sacrificing sleep, and comfort, and love, Ford truly believed he was winning his battles. There was nothing to fear if he had nothing at all.

But now, sitting in this tiny little fort made of love, listening to the rain with his great-niece by his side, he realizes that this is what he’s needed all along. You don’t defeat your fears by beating them into the ground, you defeat them with love, the love of those who care enough about you to fight by your side. And even though thunder is not tangible, something he can reach out and mold to his liking, he knows that in time, he will be back out there, learning to love the rain again with his long-lost childhood wonder.

And as he finds himself dozing off in the warmth of his niece’s arms, Ford knows that this storm will only be the first of many of its kind.

He looks forward to each of them.

#my writing #gravity falls #forduary #sweater twins #ford and mabel bonding

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anonniemousefics · 4 years ago

Text

All Kinds Of New Friends

Fandom: Six of Crows | Kaz + Inej (ft. all the other Crows)

Word Count: 4,700

Rating: Teen and Up

TW: contains mentions of sexual assault

Cross-posted to AO3

Synopsis: The gang has a run in with a couple of unscrupulous characters from Inej's past, and Kaz says a few things in the middle of a rage he wasn't supposed to say yet.

Author’s Note: This fic is dedicated to AO3 user puppy cat, who was such a supportive, lovely fan from the very first chapter of "My Dearest Inej" all the way to the end. They requested a fic based around a particular idea involving the gang at a restaurant and someone harassing Inej and Kaz losing his shit in a very specific way (being intentionally vague here to avoid too many spoilers lol). If you like this au, there's more of it in my recent fic "Samples". :)

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Nothing brought Kaz Brekker life quite like being paid to argue. And he was good at it, which was why he could charge these student athletes afraid of losing their scholarships two hundred bucks an essay without even flinching. If a more delightful way to make money existed, he had not found it yet.

He was spending his Saturday the way he usually spent Saturdays: rounding out a conclusion to a paper arguing for the death penalty, for a pre-law class he’d never take and a trust-fund upperclassman he’d hopefully never meet. In a few hours, he could drop the doc in a secure server and wait for the Venmo alert that he’d been paid. Nothing was sweeter.

Well. One thing was sweeter.

Inej was in the beat-up old recliner beside him in his and Jesper’s little living room of their third-floor off-campus apartment. This was the best way to spend a Saturday. She was sitting cross-legged and practically drowning in oversized sweats, her raven-black hair piled on top of her head while she hunched over her MacBook. And she was wearing those thick-rimmed, blue-blocker glasses Matthias Helvar had convinced her she needed (which, of course, had nothing to do with the fact that he was being paid to promote them on his stupid Instagram, that douchebag). Kaz had cringed both internally and externally when she’d told him she’d bought a pair, but now he was seeing the merit, because, dear God, was she adorable in glasses. They were awakening strange and powerful urges every time he glanced over at her. If she held them in between her teeth while undoing her hair, he was going to have to leave the room.

Because the terrible reality was that Inej had had a rough go of it her freshman year at Ketterdam University. And even though they were sort of together now (Kaz was pretty sure they were?), the last thing Inej needed right now was to be over-sexualized – for anything. Including those really fucking cute glasses.

“I’m starving,” Jesper declared from his prone position on the floor. He had been propped up on a bunch of faded pillows between them, engrossed in shooting undead things on their Xbox. His boyfriend Wylan had spent most of the afternoon napping against his shoulder, but was now blinking awake like a blue-eyed baby owl at Jesper’s sudden announcement.

“I could eat,” Wylan yawned with a lazy stretch.

“Inej? You?” Jesper reached up to tug on Inej’s sock.

“Hm?” Inej looked up from her laptop like she was emerging from a cave while she gnawed on one of the strings of her sweatshirt. It had been like this since The Incident – Jesper and Nina often took turns making sure she would eat. (Kaz had it covered, but that was all right. The back-up couldn’t hurt.)

“Food? Are you hungry?” Jesper repeated, the unspoken question floating in the air: Have you eaten today?

Inej blinked a few times as she thought, her dark eyes flitting back and forth between Jesper and her laptop screen. Kaz knew this internal war well – the age-old taking care of one’s needs versus the siren-song of wreaking endless revenge.

Inej had come to Ketterdam University on a gymnastics scholarship, but that had fallen by the wayside – ever since The Incident. The night everything changed.

Kaz didn’t know Inej Ghafa all that well before it happened – had taken a few classes with her, studied for an exam with her once. She’d been eternally sunshiney, the kind of girl he knew wouldn’t waste her time on dark things like him.

But then she’d started missing classes.

And then showing up to class visibly drowning beneath the weight of sleeplessness and oversized clothes.

And he didn’t really know her but it had bothered him all the same. It was like watching a star collapsing in on itself.

And that’s when the story of The Incident hit the news cycle. From the moment he read the first headline, Kaz couldn’t stop scrolling, growing sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach.

She’d gone to a party at a frat house with a new friend. (Kaz had even been there before, maybe even the night it happened. Frat parties were veritable breeding grounds for potential clients – full of rich, connected kids too drunk or stoned to be bothered by classwork and crooked enough to pay someone else to do it.) It was suspected that someone had slipped something in her drink, and it was known that the friend who’d brought her there had been entirely useless. Inej had woken up the next morning, half-naked on the lawn, crude drawings in Sharpie all over her, and no knowledge of what had transpired that had left her there.

It should have ended there – that was bad enough. But then the frat boys had started posting the videos of what had happened that night. How she had been used. How she had been touched.

If Inej’s parents were going to have their way, someone was going to jail. If Kaz was going to have his way, someone was going to suffer all the way there.

After he’d learned the news, he’d found her the next day before class started, where she was at the back of the room, hunched over her desk with her hood up. She’d shot daggers at him with her eyes when he approached. He’d liked that.

“I’d like to help you ruin them,” he’d told her. Inej’s glare didn’t relent as she sized up him – his black attire, the leather gloves that clenched his gleaming cane. He usually made a point of looking like the sort of person who ruined things. Nobody bullied a boy with a cane if it looked like that same boy could take your head off with said cane.

Inej seemed to agree that he looked like he could fit the bill. And they began to plot – how to expose her abusers, how to alert every girl they ever came into contact with, how to ruin every single party they would ever throw.

And somewhere along the way, it had turned into…something. Kaz wasn’t sure what to call it. But he couldn’t call it nothing – not when Inej regularly stayed the night in their apartment and did soft things like run her hand over his chest if she liked the jacket he was wearing or blush and smile if she caught him looking at her. He’d even really gone out on a limb one night and told her he liked her, and she’d said it back. He wasn’t sure where that left them at this point. Somewhere, he guessed, with something.

“I’ll eat,” Inej was agreeing, albeit with a bit of reluctance to leave her laptop. She was elbows-deep in a catfishing scheme Kaz had concocted for their latest victim.

“Nina wants us to meet up with her and Matthias at The Sweet Shop,” Wylan said, who was catching up on the texts he’d missed while napping on Jesper.

“I swear, Nina could lure a polar bear into the jungle,” Jesper sighed next to him, because it was a little miraculous to think Matthias Helvar, fitspo Instagram model and purveyor of all things organic and natural, had somehow been corralled into a bakery cafe. Kaz was surprised that Matthias even looked at carbs, let alone consumed them.

And, even though he was pressed for time on the illicit essay he was writing, Kaz needed food, too. He and Inej both could use the time away from their questionable dealings online.

The Sweet Shop was within walking distance, but it had begun to rain, cold and foggy, over Ketterdam. So, the four of them piled into Kaz’s beat up black Chevy and rolled into town behind the rhythmic beating of the windshield wipers.

“Over here!” Nina waved to them, beaded bracelets rattling in a stack on her wrist, from the far corner as the bakery’s front door swung closed behind them, tripping a jingling brass bell pinned to the doorframe.

The Sweet Shop was a popular spot for the more bookish crowds to crash on the weekends, load up on starchy foods and coffee while rattling out papers on their laptops or flirting under the guise of study groups. Kaz wouldn’t go so far as to call them his type of people, but he was certainly more at home here than the drunken soirees where he spent his evenings fleecing the debauched children of alumni. Here, there were people crowded over old tables with their books, and well-worn leather sofas and faded overstuffed chairs in the corner lined with secondhand books and used board games that were almost always missing pieces. The air smelled like espresso and cupcakes and old pages, and if Matthias Helvar was going to sulk about the lack of kale on the menu, Kaz might have to punch him in the face.

Matthias was already nursing a colorful smoothie while Nina sat next to him on the old leather sofa, her long, shapely legs draped over his and a stack of sugared waffles on the coffee table in front of her.

“Took you long enough!” Nina was scolding as the four of them weaved through tables to the corner of sofas and chairs. “Do none of you check your phones on weekends?”

“A technology fast is very cleansing for our auras,” Matthias countered, with a sage look – Matthias, the self-proclaimed Instagram influencer. Kaz rolled his eyes.

“That almost sounded like real words, Matthias – good job,” Jesper smirked, as he perched on the arm of the chair where Wylan had flopped down. Matthias opened his mouth to retort something, but --

“I was just distracted, sorry,” Inej intervened with an apology to Nina and a sheepish look. (She thankfully was no longer wearing her blue-blockers or it might have been too sweet even for a place called The Sweet Shop.)

“And I was just ignoring you,” Kaz said with a shrug. Inej gave him an exasperated whack in the arm as he sat next to her on an old loveseat, resting his cane against one side, and Nina let out a put-out huff.

“Wylan’s the only considerate one among you,” she complained.

“Yes, that is true,” Jesper agreed, and Wylan grinned widely with his chin propped up on his fist.

“We wanted you here because,” And Nina drew out the because like she had something grand to follow it, “Matthias landed a sweet sponsorship yesterday, and he wants to buy us all lunch!”

Kaz and Jesper groaned in unison, loud enough it couldn’t quite be drowned out by Inej and Wylan’s congratulations. Matthias got particularly insufferable after new sponsorships – there would be strings attached to this.

“That’s very nice of you, Matthias,” Inej said, pointedly, glaring at Kaz.

“It is very nice of you, Matthias, to offer to buy us all strawberry ice cream smoothies like yours,” Kaz said, with an evil glint in his eye as he nodded to the large pink cup in Matthias’ hand.

Matthias gave an uneasy laugh.

“There’s no ice cream in this,” he said, then paused when he noticed Nina’s tight-lipped, icy stare boring into Kaz’s skull. Then his brow cinched up and looked down at his cup. “There isn’t ice cream in this, right, babe?”

“It’s not going to kill you,” Nina replied with an eye roll.

“Babe! You know I can’t do dairy right now! Tomorrow’s Six-Pack Sunday!”

There was no point in trying to stop it: a laugh in the form of a long snort rolled out of Kaz while Jesper and Wylan dissolved into a fit of giggles. Now Kaz remembered -- this is why they kept Matthias around.

“You don’t understand,” Matthias was trying to say. “It can take a whole week to detox and lose the bloat.”

“I’ll finish it for you, you big baby,” said Nina, and snatched the smoothie away from a panicked Matthias.

“I should start running laps now,” he was fretting.

“Make some food runs for us – that’s a start,” Jesper supplied, looking helpful.

“Good call,” Matthias nodded, and hopped to his feet, nearly dumping Nina onto the floor in the process. “Orders? Orders?” He looked to each of them, ready to leap into action and start fighting off the bloat.

He’d gathered up their orders and made a beeline for the counter when Nina turned to Inej.

“You had me worried, you know.” Nina leaned out a little over her knees toward her roommate. “You were just distracted?”

Kaz glanced in Inej’s direction in time to see how she swallowed hard. She’d stuffed her hands deep in her hoodie pockets. Kaz knew the reaction all too well -- what it was like to withdraw and fight to make yourself untouchable, even to those who loved you.

“Just a lot of work lately,” Inej said. And Nina slid a suspicious glance toward Kaz, as if waiting for him to explain himself and what he was getting the two of them into now.

But it had always been Inej’s decision, how she wanted to handle her own revenge. Kaz was only providing tools. He hadn’t answered for her yet, and he wasn’t about to start now.

Nina sighed.

“I just don’t want to see anyone hurt anymore,” she said. The brass bell over the front door jingled again.

“That’s not--”

But Inej stopped short when she glanced toward the sound of the bell. She barely moved, but Kaz could sense her growing rigid next to him. And something about it made the hair on the back of his neck prickle.

He followed her gaze to two boys who were now slouching toward the front counter. Kaz had seen them both before; he was pretty sure he’d written a biology research paper for the one with the pug-nose. They were both tall and conventionally good-looking – the sort you probably didn’t think twice about. Well-muscled, expensive haircuts, brand name sneakers.

Beside him, Inej had started breathing weird.

“Fuck.” Nina had noticed her staring, too, and suddenly all pairs of eyes in the corner were watching the newcomers at the front of The Sweet Shop with murder in their hearts.

Because these two bastards had been there the night of The Incident.

Kaz found himself wondering which one he could make cry first. Probably the bulkier one -- he looked soft and dumb around the edges. His mom probably still did his laundry on the weekends and called his professors when he didn’t get good grades. Kaz wanted to see him cry until snot dribbled down his sweaty face and –

“We should go,” Inej said, abruptly. She was looking pale and shaky, and her eyes darted around as if she needed to gather belongings, even though she’d brought none. Kaz had started to grip the head of his cane, tighter, tighter, tighter.

“Fuck no.” Nina was adamant and fiery, bless her. “We got here first – they can leave.” And then a little louder. “They should be in jail, frankly!”

“Nina!” Inej hissed, and her hand flew to curl against the side of her face when the boys looked their direction. Her eyes were wide and terrified when she looked over to Kaz.

“I want to go,” she told him, and that was all she needed to say. He pushed his weight onto his cane, hoisting himself to his feet.

“Don’t worry, girl – we got you,” Jesper was confirming, and, without even needing to consult each other, he and Wylan and Nina had Inej surrounded from sight on their walk to the door, Kaz at the front.

And it almost worked, too.

“Brekker!” Until one of the boys recognized him and gave him with a jovial grin. Shit. “Hey, it’s Brekker!” The stupid kid with the pug nose gave Kaz a hearty slap on his shoulder, and it took every ounce of restraint in him to not break the dude’s wrist.

“This kid got me an B+ on my bio term paper,” the kid was telling his bulky friend, and then with a shady-ass side smirk, he added: “Wasn’t totally the A I’d paid for, but that was still awesome, bro.”

“With your GPA, an A would have been too suspicious.” Why was Kaz even defending himself to this turd? He made to shove past, to head for the door.

But that kid was still gripping his shoulder. Like he wanted Kaz to remove it from its socket. Like maybe he was just asking for it. Kaz ground his teeth, trying to maintain his resolve. He wasn’t going to do this in front of Inej. He was going to be better than this for her.

“Bro,” the human pile of excrement still touching him was saying, “I’ve been meaning to text you. I have this world religions class this semester that is just killer, and I--”

“Your next words had better be how you’re doing your own damn work from now on.”

A simple “No” would have sufficed, Kaz realized, but his girl was in some kind of state because of this waste of carbon and his patience had never been plentiful to begin with.

Besides, the kid didn’t strike him as the type who understood simple “No”s. He was going to have to make it really fucking clear for this idiot.

Sure enough, the kid blinked hard, like he’d been slapped.

“I paid you, bro,” he said, dumbly.

“Oh, he did not just--” Nina started from the back of their bunch.

“Call me ‘bro’ one more time,” Kaz dared him, his eyes narrowing.

“What the hell, man?” said the thoroughly confused bulky friend.

“Kaz, just leave it,” Inej said, softly, and she slipped her fingers into the crook of Kaz’s elbow. “Let’s just go.”

A wave of recognition spread over the pug-nosed douchebag’s face at the sight of her. It was sickening, the surprised rise of his eyebrows, the smug, amused smirk on his lips. Kaz wanted to rip them right off his face.

“Oh, I see how it is,” the dick was saying. “You’re with this bitch--”

That’s when Kaz felt something snap. Oh, he was dead now.

“Kaz!” Inej shouted a warning, but it was already too late. With the cane between his two gloved hands, Kaz rammed his weight into this dead man walking. He threw the kid against the front door, the brass bell jingling as the shades on the window rattled in the scuffle.

“That’s my girlfriend, dipshit,” Kaz snarled.

Kaz was vaguely aware that there was a rising commotion around him, a crescendo of clashing panic and rage. His hand had found its way to the dude’s collar, throttling him; Nina was shouting something at Matthias somewhere behind him; chairs were scuffling about against the floor. But Kaz’s sole focus now was on making this heinous little fucker wet his pants.

“Kaz. The door.” Jesper’s clear-headed voice cut through the blinding wrath, and Kaz was somehow thinking clearly enough to gather his meaning and wrenched the kid away from the front door just long enough for Jesper to shove an arm through and open it.

And Kaz threw the pug-nose brat out into the rain ahead of them. The kid hit the pavement, hard, and scrambled back.

“Dude, you’ve got it all wrong if you think she’s the victim here,” the useless piece of flesh was sniveling. His nose was bleeding – pathetic, Kaz had barely hit him.

“I really think I don’t,” Kaz disagreed, thoughtfully.

“We could have you arrested!” the bulky child was screeching. Kaz turned just in time to see Matthias literally chuck the kid out after them, red-face and snarling. And Kaz had to hand it to him – even with his dairy intolerance, Matthias Helvar could toss frat kids with the best of them.

“Oh, please file a police report about this,” Kaz sneered at them. The wind and the rain were beating back his dark hair and flapping the collar of his black jacket, but he didn’t care. “I would absolutely love to know how you plan on explaining why you called my girlfriend a bitch.”

“Man, it is not my fault your girl can’t handle her liquor.”

CRACK. Kaz barely had time to blink, and Matthias had straight up decked the kid right in his jaw. Nina was rolling up her sleeves, ready to destroy the other one in the pelting rain.

“Hey!” The teenager in a green apron who’d been running the cash register was running out after them, holding a phone over her head. “I’m gonna call the cops if you don’t clear out!”

And when Kaz looked back at Inej, there were tears welling in her eyes even though her jaw was set firm. From the looks on the faces of the rest of his friends, they’d all noticed, too.

So, it fizzled out before it even really began.

The frat boys had slunk off in the rain, and the six of them regrouped and sauntered back to Kaz’s car in silence. Jesper, Nina, and Matthias piled into the back seat, while Inej and Wylan squeezed into the front. And then an uncomfortable stillness descended.

Inej had pulled her hood up again when Kaz turned the key in the ignition, her arms tight in her sleeves. Every once and awhile, she’d sniffle as quietly as she could as the car ride seemed to drag on – but Kaz knew. Everyone knew. That had been awful. And it still felt awful. Kaz’s head was starting to swirl, his wracked nerves still buzzing. He shouldn’t have done it. He hadn’t wanted to do it, not really. And she’d told him she wanted to leave – she’d said it clear as day. And he’d said…oh God, what had he said? What had he done?

Kaz’s stomach was starting to lurch. He’d said a lot of things. Way too many fucking things. Things they hadn’t discussed yet. Things he’d clearly just assumed. What had he done?

“We really should cleanse this negative energy.” Goddamn Matthias was the first one to break the pervasive silence, and he was choosing to break it with this nonsense. Kaz’s glare drifted to the rear view mirror. “I have some sound healing bowls back at my place that are--”

“I swear to God, Helvar,” Kaz snapped, “if you break out even one sound healing bowl, I will make you wear it like a helmet and then drop kick you into the sun.”

In the rear view mirror, Kaz could see Matthias’ nostrils flaring.

“You are such an unbalanced piece of shit sometimes, you know that--?” But Matthias stopped short because Inej had let out a surprising chuckle. Kaz slowly let himself glance her direction – so did everyone else.

She was smirking up at Kaz.

“I just think it’s thoughtful of you to make sure his head is protected before you launch him into space,” she shrugged. Wylan barked out a laugh.

“I just think they should kiss already,” Nina added, waggling an eyebrow at a brooding Matthias, and then Jesper started to laugh, too, which really was the most infectious of laughs. Even Kaz was smiling after a moment – just a little.

Though that faded entirely when they pulled up to Kaz and Jesper’s apartment and Inej asked to speak with him alone in the car first.

Shit, he thought. Shit. Here it is. He’d royally fucked it up now.

They waited in silence with the rain pouring over the car while the rest of their friends darted into the old Victorian home where Kaz and Jesper lived on the third floor. With each passing second, his stomach sunk lower into his guts. He wasn’t even sure he could form words in his brain, let alone with his mouth. He had no rational explanation for what had come over him back at The Sweet Shop, other than Here it is, Inej, I’m kind of a fucking disaster.

“So, that was…” Inej started, slowly. She was staring out the front window. Kaz felt like crumpling, and he hated it, hated how weak he felt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know, I know…” he muttered. He didn’t really, but he just wanted this to be over. If she never wanted to see him again, he needed her to rip the bandaid off quick.

“So, I’m your girlfriend now?”

Kaz couldn’t decipher her tone, and he couldn’t even look at her. He was just going to stare at the steering wheel until this was over.

But then Inej said: “I just would like to have known before the guys my parents are having investigated, that’s all.”

Kaz looked to her then, lifting his dark eyebrows slightly. She’d let her hair down from its knot before they’d left for the café – she’d braided it loose over her shoulder like he liked. She was twirling the ends now, a tired smile on her pink lips.

“If you want,” he said with a soft shrug. It wasn’t at all like the heroic way he thought she deserved to be swept off her feet. But she was still smiling all the same. It made him feel braver.

Funny – how throwing his weight around against perverts was as easy as breathing, but looking at her like this tore him apart.

“If you’ll have me,” he offered, even softer now.

And Inej reached across the distance between them. Laced her fingers over his, atop his knee.

“I will have you, Kaz Brekker,” she said, tenderly. It took him aback a bit. Made his breath catch. Made his throat sting.

“If I shouldn’t have--” he started to say of the row back at The Sweet Shop. But Inej cut him off instantly, shaking her head. Squeezing his fingers.

“You absolutely should have,” she said, firmly. “And you should show me how, too.”

Kaz really raised his eyebrows at that. Inej smiled a little wider. His heart was lifting, lifting up and out of the certain doom he was sure it was about to face.

“Come on.” Inej tugged at his hand. “We’d better head up before Matthias starts culture appropriating all over your apartment.”

“You have to admit – he threw one hell of a punch, though,” Kaz pointed out, as he opened his door, and then wanted to punch himself for it. What the hell – was he defending Matthias Helvar now? This whole day was upside down.

Thankfully, there was a different kind of embarrassing going down in apartment number three when they finally made their way up. Kaz could hear it before he even made it to the top of the stairs – the loud, thumping bass, the voices shouting at the tops of their lungs.

Oh, their neighbors were going to love this. They were just making all kinds of new friends today.

When Inej opened the door, all four of their friends were dancing to Cardi B’s I Like It, blasting through Jesper’s bluetooth speaker. It took everything in Kaz to not physically recoil at the assault on his senses.

“Emergency dance party!” Jesper explained, yelling from behind Wylan.

“We’re clearing out the negative energy!” Nina shouted over the noise, her hands in the air. Matthias was jumping around behind her like an absolute madman. “But like in an acceptable way!”

“I think it’s working!” Wylan shouted at her in agreement, with Jesper’s hands on his hips.

They were all smiling.

And beside him, Inej burst out laughing – a wild, fluttery sound he’d heard only a few times before. It caught him right in the heart each time he had, and he knew he’d do anything to hear it as often as he could. He looked down at her and wondered, not for the first time, how she did it. How she managed to wring joy out of even the most dismal of circumstances.

It was something he needed more of – as long as she’d allow him to have it.

“Come on!” she was shouting to him as she took him by the hand. “You heard the man! Emergency dance party!”

And Kaz followed her in, shutting the door behind him.

---------------------------

Tagging: @annejulianneh111, @loveyatopluto, @ireallyshouldsleeprn, @whosanxiety, @raging-bisexual-alert,

#kanej #kanej fanfic #kanej fluff #six of crows #modern au #crooked kingdom #grishaverse #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #wylan van eck #jesper fahey #matthias helvar #nina zenik #college au #reader requested

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skruffie · 4 years ago

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Regarding underpayment of creative work

(This is okay to reblog. It’s also long so I tried to break it up into a few specific points, and I will link a video in the comments as well. Under the cut.)

I am a digital illustrator who has done personal commissions, a tiny bit of freelance work, and has also purchased commissions from other artists. I’m hoping with this post that this can be a tip guide for other artists, especially maybe those who have little or no experience with professional work, to help in the future when projects open up that they are interested in being involved in.

There’s some talk in the Thomas Sanders fandom right now regarding the severe underpayment of the animators that worked on the latest Storytime Madlibs video and from what I see a lot of the animators were really excited to be involved because it was an opportunity to work with someone that they really admire and also as a means of exposure for the work that they do. These are great things to want. It’s been explained now that the animators were paid roughly $1.20 per second of animation when the industry standard can range from, what--starting at $30+ per second? (I’m not an animator so I’m probably a bit off on that number). That’s gruesome.

For the content creators:

I’ve seen explanations that it’s because they hired on a lot of animators. If you are a content creator for a production company and want to bring on new talent, you have to have it in your budget to pay them the industry standard, their personal rates, their hourly rate, however it is organized. If it’s not in your budget, then you cannot afford to do it. It’s as simple as that. It is a skill you are hiring someone for that you don’t have, and it is work. It goes beyond a simple fan project, and there are many other ways to get fans more involved in the community: contests, raffles, themed art challenge events, holidays, and openly asking for volunteers.

If you are the artist, keep reading.

You have to get upfront about money. Even when art is your passion in life, as soon as money gets involved then it becomes a business transaction and the language of finance is a bit weird. One of the freelance works that I did last year was a cover for a resource guide that was going to print and in the call for artists they specified it was going to be a paid gig. Somewhere soon after that, probably when they chose me for one of the covers, they told me upfront what the payment was going to be. For this example, it was a flat $350 payment for a full color illustration, with payment given within 30 days of the invoice.

1. Make an invoice and set the payment parameters: some request payment up front, or you can set a window of time the client has to pay you, usually 30 or 45 days? Whatever you’re comfortable with.

2. If they want to know what your rates are: there is a really helpful video I saw (I’ll link in the comments) that advises that you set your price based off of the client. It is not on the time it takes you, but what the client can pay. The example given in the video is that anyone can come up with the Nike logo but how the logo is used is what changes the price dramatically. There would be a flat rate for the logo itself, and the rest to take into account would be the strategy for using the logo, what kinds of materials it’ll be printed on, etc etc. In a different example for one of the commissions I’ve done, I did an illustration for a friend that was later used as a book cover for her e-novel. She emailed me back saying “I think this means I pay you a licensing fee” and after a bit of research we came up with a fair price and a contract for what that would entail. I don’t honestly remember what the original price of the commission was, but the licensing fee brought it up another $125. Factors to consider how to figure out pricing: the quality of the work they expect, the turnaround, your other pending commissions or projects, schedule conflicts, your own bills and financial obligations, it goes on.

3. Taking on projects: If the client you’re working with is making you uncomfortable or trying to push for something way lower than what you’re expecting, consider if you can drop from the project altogether. I’m hesitant to say “don’t do it ever” because financial circumstances are going to vary from person to person, and comfort level with what you will or won’t work on will also vary. If you are in a place where you would be able to get by without the payment for that project and the client is being awful, do not work with them. Refund any payment they may have already made. If it’s really that important to them, they can find someone else to work with. Clients may want a time frame for when their request will be finished and try to be upfront about when you might be able to complete it. Get everything in writing. I cannot stress this enough. Log everything, keep conversations and invoices, emails, literally have a paper trail so nobody can come back and screw you over.

4. Contracts: read them. They’re often dense and confusing, but they will outline a lot of important information about the project and how the client will intend to use your work. Sometimes they’ll have points like “you retain the rights to your work but we retain the right to modify, copy, use etc” which sounds scary but is actually the license to be able to even display it on websites or in videos. If you have questions about anything outlined in the contract, ask them or see if you can google for what it means. See if they’re open to negotiating certain points before you sign.

5. The project may or may not be your entryway into professionalism: This is a hard one that even at my age I’m bummed about. What the project can give you is a lot of valuable experience and an entry way into the business side of art careers but it might not be the project that gets your name out into the world. Art is an incredibly competitive field and right now all of us also are constantly fighting battles against algorithms and ever-restrictive terms of service on websites just to be seen. Keep drawing. Keep writing. Keep animating. Art is a lifelong project. You gotta keep going and exploring and expanding your skills. Remember what you love about art the most. Bad clients come and go but your love for the art can help sustain you. It’s okay if you need to take a break from the hustle and recharge.

I’m probably missing a few things but that’s kind of a good start.

The heart of why I’m writing this post is that a lot of people have been hurt emotionally and financially by what’s happened with the Storytime Madlibs video. I’m not involved with the project or with the TS team or anything--I’m just a certified grown adult with a bit of experience in the business side of art, and I hope that what I’ve learned so far are bits of knowledge that other people can use too. It hurts to see that other people have been hurt by all of this, because knowledge on art business really isn’t talked about much at all and it is damn difficult to learn on your own.

#thomas sanders #sanders sides #storytime madlibs #madlibs animators

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hazza-bear-care · 4 years ago

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Stay Safe (3/3)

A/N: LAST PART BABES!!! Thank you so much for all the love this series has gotten, but the time has come for it to end. Let me know what else you guys want to see and I’ll keep posting from every fandom!!! Also, I know the Washington Football Team is no longer affiliated with the name ‘Washington Redskins’ but their old logo is pretty recognizable, so shut up. #HTTR for all my D.C peeps out there ;P

Summary: After MONTHS of teasing, Spencer and Nova finally seal the deal.

Warnings: SMUT, oral (female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (Kinda? Nova’s on the pill, but wrap it before you tap it), daddy kink

~~~~~

The weekend had come sooner than Nova had expected, the tiring cases making the week fell shorter than 7 days. Much to the chagrin of her roommate, Nova spent the better part of an hour in the shower shaving everything but her head in an effort to look perfect. Earlier in the week she had managed to sneak away to a boutique, desperate for a new lingerie set. As she stared at the plethora of colors, Spencer’s voice echoed in her head, describing that males were more attracted to their mates in red which prompted her to purchase a maroon set. She thought about being ridiculous and cheesy by embroidering her own Redskins logo onto the hip, but decided against it seeing as neither she nor Spencer were big football fans.

After blow drying her hair, she decided on straightening her locks as to prevent frizzing as much as she could throughout the evening. Her makeup came next, opting for a slightly more natural look for the night, noticing that Spencer seemed to like the bare faced version of Nova.

Already wearing her new lingerie, Nova chose to wear a navy blue polka dotted dress, the extremely low cut neck flashing a decent amount of cleavage without giving away the surprise of her lingerie. The dress fell to the middle of her thighs and she paired the dress with a pair of black pumps and silver accessories, a black cardigan draped over her shoulders. Now she was all ready for a date she didn’t know if she wanted to go on. Her mind kept reeling for days about her stunt in the elevator. Although it was enjoyable for both parties, she still didn’t know if it was smart to pursue a relationship with a coworker, especially with how soon everything had happened.

Wrapping her cardigan around her thumbs, Nova paced in her room, first date jitters causing her to gnaw at her crimson lips. Her worries were soon interrupted by a knock on the door, indicating that the man of the hour was just outside her apartment. With one final deep breath to settle her nerves, Nova grabbed her purse and opened the door, a very handsome Spencer waiting on the other side. She greeted him with a tight smile as she stepped into the hallway of her apartment building, locking the door behind her.

“You look.... wow! Nova, you look great! Are you ready to go?” Nova nodded, untucking her thumbs from the cardigan. Spencer led her out of her apartment building and to his car and opening the passenger side door for her. Nova knew this date was important to Spencer due to his hatred of driving, especially through DC rush hour. She, however, still couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” Spencer asked, tapping Nova on her thigh.

“Um, nothing important, Spencer. I guess I’m just excited,” Nova finalized her thoughts, the unsettled feeling in her stomach still making her nauseous.

~~~~

Halfway through dinner, Nova and Spencer decided to sit in silence after having many a conversation fall short. Nova’s nerves had made her lose her appetite, so the burger, fries, and side salad sat relatively untouched. With a clatter of his fork against his plate, Spencer cleared his throat and attempted to make eye contact with the girl across from him.

“Nova, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just not very hungry tonight, I guess.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Nova! Now tell me what’s wrong,” Spencer whisper-yelled, the irritation very prominent in his voice and eyes.

“I just don’t think what we’ve been doing lately is... smart. I just started working with you guys and our first case, you fingered me on the jet!”

“I didn’t hear you complaining!”

“Excuse me, Spencer, I’m still talking! My mom always told me to never get involved with people I worked with, and after many failed attempts of aforementioned romance, I finally took her advice and swore to stay away from my coworkers. So this sudden attraction between the two of us threw me off. My anxiety levels have been off the charts thinking about what’s going to happen when and if we break up. I’ll have to quit my job and move to a different part of the country, Spencer.” Nova stopped talking before she choked, the tears in her eyes very prominent when she tried to meet Spencer’s gaze.

Everything that she said suddenly made sense to Spencer: she was scared.

“Nova, you have nothing to be afraid of, I promise. I’ll make you a deal: we go out for an undisclosed amount of time. If we break up, I give you full permission to find a taser and use it on me as many times as you want. Deal?” Nova chuckled and sniffed, nodding in agreement to Spencer’s deal. The pair continued to eat, Nova completely ravenous now that the nerves had settled.

Spencer paid the bill like a gentleman once dinner was over, Nova’s leftover’s tucked safely under her arm as she was escorted back to the car.

“So, do you want to go back home?” Spencer asked, fully prepared to let the night end right then and there.

“No. My roommate has midterms to study for so I told her I’d stay out of her way as much as possible.” Nova admitted, not wanting the night to end just yet.

“Then we’ll go back to my place. Is your roommate going for her Master’s too?”

“Doctorate in Philosophy. Poor girl won’t have a job after she graduates.” Spencer chuckled loudly before defending that philosophy was an acceptable major. The ride to Spencer’s place was fast due to a surprising lack of traffic for 9:30 at night. His apartment was on the third floor, which he explained had more to do with availability rather than the inevitability of hearing his neighbors stomp around above him. Spencer took Nova’s food out of her hands and left to his kitchen giving Nova the opportunity to snoop at his belongings.

The whole room smelled like books, the multiple shelves almost overflowing with books covering every subject.

“See anything interesting?” Spencer asked, wrapping his arms around Nova’s waist.

“You’ve read all of these?” Nova asked, amazed at the impressive selection.

“Yes, ma’am I have. But you didn’t answer my question: do you see anything you like?” Nova turned her attention back to the bookshelf, a very nice leather bound book catching her eye.

“This one,” Nova replied, pulling the book off the shelf.

“Proust? Good choice, sweets.” Spencer kissed the top of Nova’s head as he snatched the book from her hands and led her to the couch, allowing her to to get comfortable before he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and opened the book. Spencer began reading one of the most complicated books in the world with such ease as if he’d read it a million times. The words flew out of his mouth with a soothing rhythm that it almost made Nova drowsy. As happy as she was, Nova still couldn’t shake the one question on her mind.

“Spencer? What are we doing?” Nova asked, interrupting the 20 page sentence her date was reading.

“We’re on a date, Nova.” Spencer finalized, closing the book on his thumb to remember his place. He glanced over at the girl in his arm and noticed her gnawing at her bottom lip.

“You know that’s not what I mean. I’ve been on the team for three weeks now, Spencer, and we’ve done more in those three weeks than I’ve done in a three month relationship.... I’m just scared it’s going all too quickly and neither of us are going to be able to enjoy it.”

“Come on.” Spencer stood from his place on the couch and helped Nova stand herself. He knew she was nervous, granted he knew this wasn’t her first time.

“What? Spencer I....”

“I know, Nova. But you don’t have to be afraid, okay? I’ve got you.” He brought his lips to hers, the kiss a minor attempt to calm her down. Nova sunk into the kiss, her knees weak and head spinning. Spencer broke off the kiss and lead her to his room, Nova’s nerves twisted her stomach as she followed. Spencer kissed her once more as the door to his bedroom was pushed open and Nova was wrenched inside. Spencer was careful, gentle, as if his actions would cause Nova to shatter completely, He could feel her heart beating faster as he gently pushed her against the wall, his hands coming up to cup her face.

“Spencer..” Nova whined as his lips moved to her neck, wet kisses making her weak in the knees. He started unbuttoning the top of her dress, the sides of it opening to reveal the maroon lace underneath. Spencer stifled a groan at the sight of what Nova had managed to hide during the entire date, blood rushing to his erection.

“For someone who was nervous three hours ago, you sure did come prepared.” Attempting to lighten the mood, Spencer joked as he lead Nova to the bed, pushing her to lay down on the pillows behind her.

“Spencer-”

“Shh. Let me take care of you, Nova. I’ve got you.” After repeating himself, Spencer made his way down to Nova’s core, flipping the dress of her skirt up and growling at the sight of her matching panties. Kissing her knees, Spencer spread her legs open and settled between them. Nova tensed as Spencer peppered kisses on her thighs, making his way to her core. She choked on her breath as he placed a warm kiss to her panties, the warmth of his face making her want him more.

Spencer pushed Nova’s underwear to the side and buried his face in her heat, the gasp she released sounding delicious to him. His tongue danced around her clit as his fingers itched to get inside her heat once again, the memory of her walls clenching around them hazy. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he admired how sweet she tasted, the sounds falling from her lips making her sound like an angel. Deciding she was ready enough, Spencer tested the waters by inserting one finger into her tight pussy, walls already clenching from the intrusion.

“Fuck you’re so eager, aren’t you baby girl?” Nova whined and nodded, bucking her hips in a futile attempt to get more friction from Spencer. The man in question chuckled at how needy Nova was before coming up from his place and kissing her lips, taking the opportunity to slip another finger inside her. He slid his tongue into her mouth as she gasped, the feeling of Spencer’s fingers and mouth making her head spin. Spencer sped up his movements, his mouth muffling the noises Nova spilled into his mouth.

“Spencer, please!” Nova whined. Spencer pecked her lips once again before he returned to his previous place, his lips immediately wrapping around her clit yet again. Nova moaned loudly, jumping at the feeling of pleasure. Her hands found a place in Spencer’s hair and tugged rather harshly which evoked a moan from Spencer, the vibrations against her clit causing her to buck her hips yet again. She was close and Spencer could feel it. He curved his fingers, easily accessing the spongy spot that caused Nova to practically scream. Her thighs shook and her toes curled, the grip on Spencer’s locks tightening. When her orgasm finally washed over her body, she froze, eyes rolling back into her head and jaw dropping into the perfect ‘O’ shape. Spencer didn’t ease up until she started pushing him away, her breath stuttering as she tried to catch it.

Once she had calmed down enough, Spencer sat her up and removed her clothes, dress, shoes, and underwear scattered around the room haphazardly. As Spencer left the bed to get undressed himself, Nova attempted to follow him, determined to return the favor.

“No. You get back up there, baby girl, this night is about you.” Spencer towered over her, his shirtless physique not comparing to the beauty of Nova’s naked form still on the bed.

“But-”

“I said no, Nova. Now get back up there.”

“How about you make me, Daddy?” Spencer growled and practically jumped out of his pants, a hand immediately wrapping around Nova’s throat. He pushed her back into the pillows, lips smashing against hers. The once romantic evening had turned into a night of intense passion, the pair not caring about the shift in emotions. Nova’s hand somehow wrapped around Spencer’s dick, the man above her hissing into her mouth. His grip on her neck tightened as he pulled away and kissed down her body.

This was the first time he had seen Nova fully nude and he couldn’t get enough of the view: her naked body complimenting his bed perfectly, as if she was what his adult apartment was missing. Spencer didn’t realize that he was staring until Nova wrapped her arms around her breasts and stomach, the insecurities settling in her bones.

“You’re beautiful, Nova. Please don’t hide from me, okay?” Spencer adjusted his stance, moving Nova’s hands from her body. Still feeling a little insecure, Nova reached up and kissed Spencer softly, the atmosphere once again shifting back to the romantic ease that it had started with. Spencer returned the kiss passionately, his hands trailing up her sides and settling on her breasts. She whined again, Spencer’s warm hands comforting her.

“Are you ready?” Spencer asked as they both got situated. Nova’s legs spread by her own volition as she tried very hard to look anywhere than between Spencer’s legs.

“Yeah, Spence. Please do something before I change my mind.” Spencer laughed at her eagerness. He swiped his hand through her folds, gathering some of her slick on his fingers, which caused her to moan, and pumped himself a couple times before lining himself up at her entrance. Watching her expressions, he slowly thrust himself forward, pausing a little when he heard Nova gasp. She met his line of sight and nodded, telling him to move. Spencer thrust again, sheathing himself inside her heat fully, the two of them moaning at the feeling.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight.” Spencer groaned, moving his hips slightly. Nova moaned at the feeling of Spencer’s dick slipping in and out of her.

“Spencer, please go faster.” Spencer obliged and picked up his pace, the fast movements eliciting loud moans to fall from Nova’s mouth. Spencer gazed affectionately at the girl below him, the view of his dick splitting her open turning him on even more than he already was.

“You like that, baby? You like the feeling of Daddy’s cock deep inside you?” Spencer asked, wrapping his hand around her neck yet again. Nova’s eyes rolled into the back of her head in pleasure, a very loud moan spilling from her. He wrapped his lips around one of her nipples, biting lightly at the nub.

“Yes, Daddy, please, more.” The hand that was on her hip traveled to her clit, his thumb rubbing as fast as his hips were going. The rest of his hand was spread across her stomach, the appendage moving slightly as he thrusted in and out of Nova’s glistening pussy. Her head was thrown back in pleasure, the sounds flowing freely making him go crazy. He left her nipples and pressed his lips to Nova’s, tongues dancing frantically. The pair separated but kept their foreheads together, the passion very obvious in both pairs of eyes.

“Fuck, Nova, I’m close.” Spencer grunted, speeding up his ministrations yet again.

“Me- fuck, yes! Right there, right there, right there! Fuck, Spencer!” Nova didn’t need to confirm that she was close as well, but Spencer took the note and kept hitting the right spot, going impossibly fast. He rubbed her clit, holding back as much as he could before he came.

With a shout, Nova came, her powerful orgasm making her numb. She clenched her eyes shut, the fireworks exploding repeatedly as her body shook. She barely heard Spencer’s groan as he spilled his seed in her, hissing at how much her walls were clenching around him. He fell forward, resting his full weight on top of Nova’s body as they both came down from their most intense orgasms ever.

“Holy...” Nova started, once again running her hands through his hair. Spencer chuckled and nuzzled further into Nova’s chest, never wanting to move.

“Will you answer my question now, Spencer?” With a sigh, he shifted and held himself up with his forearms. His brown eyes, bore into hers as he tried to find the right words.

“Nova, I don’t want this to be a one time thing. You don’t deserve to be used like that. You’ve held my attention since your first day at the BAU, so I figured I’d make a move before someone else did. I know everything we’ve done has been... unorthodox, but it’s just because I liked you so much. I promise from now on we will do the dating thing correctly; no sex until you say so. Nova, I know you’re scared, but I promise you’ll have nothing to fear while we’re together, okay?” Spencer’s eyes were wide as he pleaded for a second chance, a better chance.

“Okay. I swear to God you make me regret this, I’ll do more than just use a taser on you.” Spencer and Nova chuckled, smiling into yet another kiss before settling into a more comfortable position, both of them hissing when Spencer pulled himself out of her heat. He stood from the bed in all his naked glory and left the bedroom, which of course confused Nova. When he returned, he had a glass of water and the abandoned Proust. He handed the glass to Nova, who gulped down a majority of it before settling back into Spencer’s arms as he picked up from where he left off. Soon, Nova fell asleep feeling safer than she’d ever had before and she wasn’t complaining about who held her close.

Spencer kept reading long after Nova had fallen asleep, but he promised to catch her up the next morning. For now, she’d sleep in his arms, in his bed, in his apartment. And he wasn’t complaining at all.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid smut #spencer x reader #derek morgan #Penelope Garcia #aaron hotchner #spencer reid #Jennifer Jareau #derek morgan smut

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crescent-quill-writings · 4 years ago

Text

The Best Way to Break Tradition

Fandom: Hamilton - Miranda

Words: 6784

Relationship: Thomas Jefferson/Hercules Mulligan

Additional tags: Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, Smut, Morning After, Modern AU

A/N: (belated) Merry Christmas, everyone! Have a happy holidays and a hopeful New Year ^-^

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Well, we’re here… When does your flight depart?”

“In just about an hour. I should probably go, get through security before I end up late.”

“Yeah, I guess you should…”

Every year Thomas would drive James down to the airport to catch his flight down south. Every year Thomas would try to convince his best friend to stay for the holidays, and every year James would leave to be with his family. Every year they had this conversation, and every year it ended the same way.

It was like a strange, sad Christmas tradition.

“But you still have a little bit of time, right? Do you wanna grab a farewell coffee?”

“Thomas, don’t do this,” James sighed with a shake of his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “My parents have invited me over for Christmas, everyone will be there. You know that family is complicated, I can’t just ditch them last minute.”

“And you know this isn’t easy for me,” Thomas refutes with a huff and a sharp glare that was met with crossed arms from James. “At least you’re wanted by them…”

James could only sigh again, his expression softening as he placed a hand on his friend’s arm. “They’ve always said they’d be more than happy to see you too. You don’t need to spend Christmas up here alone.”

“Family is complicated,” Thomas echoes, shaking his head as if it would physically rid him of the thought of his own family before beginning to get out of the car.

They went quiet again as James followed suit, waiting as Thomas retrieved his rolling suitcase and book bag from the trunk.

“Text me when you land?”

“Of course,” James affirmed with a nod as he took his bags. “I’ll be back just after New Years'.”

“Yeah, just like last year,” Thomas murmured with an awkward shift as he rubbed his arm. “Have a safe flight and a Merry Christmas and all that…”

James simply nodded in response as the two friends shared a final, awkward, and unsure parting glance. Thomas watched as James turned and began to walk away, not moving until the airport’s automatic doors had slid closed behind his friend.

He wasn’t sure why he always waited until James was out of sight. Perhaps he hoped that one of these years James would change his mind at the last minute, or maybe his flight would be cancelled and he’d have to stay another day.

Whatever Thomas wished for, it never came true. Just like the year before, he was always left alone as he slowly drove away.

*~*~*~*~*~*

A few days had passed since James had left for Virginia. Thomas never responded to any of the texts he sent, just staring at the well-wishes from down south and the photos of the Madison family’s celebrations.

With Christmas just around the corner, Thomas did his best to hide away from the holiday cheer. It was hard to be festive when you’d be spending the season alone.

“Junk, coupons, bill, junk…” He listed off his mail with a frown, flipping through the envelopes left at his door and tossing them onto his kitchen table. “… And this.”

Thomas paused as he turned the blue envelope over in his hands. He could recognize the handwriting on the back any day. It was an invitation from Lafayette to attend his annual Christmas party.

With a sigh, he moved to toss the letter in the trash. Another strange, sad Christmas tradition.

Even if Thomas knew, or at least assumed, what the invitation contained he decided to humour his foreign friend just this once. After all, what harm could some textbook holiday greetings and Christmas wishes do?

He slipped his finger under the edge of the envelope and ripped the blue paper open, tossing it in the trash. As he read, he wandered into the living room and found himself pacing in front of the fireplace.

Mon beaux ami,

I know that you will most likely never read this like all the other years… Still, should you ever change your mind I am hosting a party for family and friends on Christmas Eve. There will be a buffet dinner, open bar, and as always, people who will be very happy to see you. All I ask is that you give it a chance. Perhaps it’ll be easier to enjoy the holidays with a companion, non?

Either way, I hope to see you at my house at seven o’clock sharp. Don’t be late!

Your friend, Gilbert

Thomas stopped as he read over the last few lines, the paper crumpling around his fingers as his grip tightened. He’d never even considered that Lafayette took the time to personalize his invitation, nor that he would notice his absence when there were so many other people attending the party.

With a deep sigh, he rooted a hand in his curls, nodding slowly as he closed his eyes.

“Just this once… Just one little break in tradition.” He murmured to himself as he folded up the invitation and grabbed his keys.

Thomas had some Christmas shopping to do and there was only one place that’d be reliably open this late into the holiday season: the liquor store.

He knew he’d need to get something from the top shelf. It was the least he could do after all the years he’d missed. Lafayette liked sweet more than savoury, though he probably had enough wine from his home country to last a lifetime. Thomas figured a nice bourbon would do, or maybe something foreign and fancy-sounding like blue absinthe.

Thomas ended up buying both and picked up a box of Merci chocolates on his way home, just to be safe.

With a nice bag and a couple of bows, it would’ve looked like he planned this from the beginning. At least, that’s what Thomas hoped. He wasn’t sure if dessert and booze was the best way to make up for several missed Christmases, but it was the best shot he had.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Standing in front of Lafayette’s door with his last-minute present in one hand and the other raised to knock, Thomas still hesitated.

Luck would have it that the weather combined with a miscalculation of his GPS made him more than an hour late. Lafayette must have already assumed he wasn’t going to show up, meaning that Thomas couldn’t be sure how the Frenchman would react to him showing up. It was tempting just to turn around, forget he ever changed his mind and enjoy the booze and chocolates in the comfort of his own, lonely home.

“You’re a coward, Jefferson,” Thomas muttered as he closed his eyes, knocking on the door before he could second guess himself again.

While he waited for someone to answer he listened to the sounds of muffled conversation accompanied by occasional laughter. Whoever was inside seemed to be having a good enough time without him, and as the minutes passed with no answer he began to regret ever changing his mind about the holidays.

Just as Thomas began to turn away there was a click behind the door before it swung open. Standing there with surprise in his eyes was none other than Lafayette.

“Hi… Sorry I’m late--”

“Thomas!” The Frenchman cheered, pulling his friend into a hug that ended before it ever really began. “Do not apologize, I am just happy to see you. How long have you been standing here? Come inside, it is too cold to keep you waiting any longer.”

Thomas tried not to think too much about the hug, instead, he just smiled and let himself be happy about not having to stand out in the snow anymore. “I, uh, I got you something. It’s not much but it’s… something.”

Lafayette took the shin red bag the southerner was holding and tilted his head while he inspected its contents. “You just being here is more than enough. Let me take your coat, and please, make yourself at home.”

Thomas smiled a bit more as he shrugged off his coat, watching Lafayette walk off before he turned his gaze to the other guests.

He knew Lafayette had a big family and even larger social circles, but Thomas only recognize about a quarter of the people present. If he already felt like a third wheel, now he was no better than a stranger.

With a deep breath, Thomas slipped off his boots and tried to casually pass by the various congregations and conversations dotted around the room. He saw a drunken Alexander flirting relentlessly with a relatively sober Aaron Burr by the Christmas tree. He saw the Schuyler sisters chatting with Maria and a blonde that he assumed to be Adrienne, one of Lafayette’s childhood friends. He saw John Laurens ducking under Lafayette’s arm with a pair of champagne glasses while the Frenchman introduced him to a series of aunts, uncles, and cousins. It seemed that everyone had a friend, family member, or lover to spend their time with.

Everyone except Thomas.

With that spirit-lifting conclusion Thomas decided it best he made his way to the food and booze. He picked at some of the fondue options first, dipping a few strawberries and pineapple slices under the free-flowing chocolate before the sugar became too much. He went searching for something more savoury, only to find that either the other guests had eaten them all, or there were no savoury options to begin with.

“I knew Gil had a sweet tooth, but this is just excessive,” he muttered with a shake of his head as he turned his attention to the booze.

As he was looking through the alcoholic options, he found the bourbon and blue absinthe he’d brought with him to the party. He gave a dry laugh at the sight, shaking his head as he set down the blueberry wine he was considering and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He didn’t blame Lafayette for the decision he made, he couldn’t, and at least this way he wouldn’t feel guilty for drinking all of his friend’s booze.

It was stronger than wine anyways, and Thomas needed stronger.

He finished the first glass quickly and quietly, wanting to be drunk before he let himself try and enjoy the amber liquid. As he sipped at his second glass, he scanned the room again with a small frown. Even in a room full of happy faces and cheery conversation he was alone for the holidays.

At least he had good taste in bourbon.

As Thomas was wallowing in self-pity and jealousy a giant of a man began to approach. He browsed through his options with pursed lips, whistling when he noticed the bright bottle of blue absinthe.

The sound startled Thomas, his bourbon sloshing in his glass as he suddenly stood up straight and took in the stranger’s appearance.

Thomas had heard a lot of people described as being built like a tank but by god did this man live up to it. He was about a foot taller than Thomas, who stood at a clean 6’3” in his own right, with broad shoulders and muscular arms that could barely be contained by the classic ugly Christmas sweater he was wearing.

He realized he was staring when he made eye contact with the stranger, though the moment ended when he quickly tried to distract himself with his drink.

“Just when I thought this party could use a pick me up you show your stunning little face,” The stranger spoke as he grabbed himself a shot glass and uncapped the bottle of blue absinthe. Seeing Thomas’ confusion out of the corner of his eye he flashed the man a grin. “I was talking to the booze, not you. Unless you’d like me to call you stunning too.”

“Are you drunk?” Thomas blurts, a little put-off by how charismatically carefree the stranger was being.

“A little, but not as drunk as I will be,” He replied with a shrug before tossing back the shot and swallowing it without a quiver. “The name’s Hercules, by the way.”

“Thomas Jefferson.” The southerner introduced as he watched Hercules pour himself more of the blue absinthe to sip on. “Y’know, that stuff’s, like, eighty percent alcohol, right? It might be better to stick with the shot glasses.”

“Eh, I’m Irish, and this is a taste of home. I’ll be fine. Probably,” Hercules replied, flashing Thomas another one of his stunning grins. “Don’t know how Laf got his hands on it, though, haven’t seen any kind of absinthe since I moved over here.”

“I brought it, actually,” Thomas admitted with a small clear of his throat and a little smile, lowering his glass to meet Hercules’ gaze. “The liquor stores uptown keep some stock of fancy foreign-sounding things. Luck would have it I decided on that one.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks.” The Irishman replied, taking a sip of his drink before he moved to lean against the wall with Thomas.

They were quiet for a few minutes, both sipping at their respective drinks as they watched the party unfold in front of them. Alexander and Aaron had started slow dancing, much to the former’s chagrin. John was sitting on Lafayette’s lap teasing him by telling stories to a handful of the Frenchman’s siblings and their significant others. Adrienne and Maria had found a quiet corner to talk in while Eliza sat back as Peggy and Angelica flirted with Lafayette’s cousins.

“They seem to be having fun,” Hercules commented after a moment, bringing Thomas’ focus back to him.

“Yeah, seems they are…” The southerner replied with a small sigh, watching his bourbon as he twirled his glass before taking another sip. “You could join them, have fun too.”

“And miss out on the show? No thanks,” Hercules replied with a rumbling laugh, tilting his head back as he sighed before slowly shaking his head. “Really, though, they all got their own thing going on. I’d just get in the way.”

“Aren’t they your friends?” Thomas asked, lowering his glass again as he tried to decipher the far-away look in the Irishman’s eyes.

“Well, sure. I’m their rock, the ‘dad friend,’ the one they go to when they need advice, but…” Hercules trailed off for a moment, hesitating to continue before he took a drink of the blue absinthe. “That’s kinda it.”

From the way Thomas’ brow had furrowed in confusion Hercules could tell that he didn’t quite understand. With a sigh, he began to motion between his friends that made up the various couples in the room.

“Alex couldn’t tell if he was obsessed with Aaron because of love or hate before I stepped in. I told John that Gil already adored him when he was freaking out ‘cause he thought his feelings were one-sided. The Schuyler’s- Well, they don’t really need my help, but they still like to hear my advice. And just tonight I helped Maria work up the courage to introduce herself to Adr- Adrie- Blondie over there. My job is done.”

“You forgot to save someone for yourself, is that it?” Thomas concluded with a frown, watching as Hercules began to nod.

“Basically, yeah. It’s kinda sad, isn’t it?” The Irishman commented with a dry laugh before he took a swig of his drink, nearly finishing it in one gulp. “I get all these couples together and at the end of the day I’m still alone.”

“I get the feeling, sort of,” Thomas admitted as he cleared his throat, regretting trying to follow suit and finish his bourbon in one go. “Mainly the alone part… this is my first time at one of these parties, actually. Usually, I just spend the holidays holed up at home.”

“Guess this year we get to be alone together,” Hercules hummed, grinning as he knocked their glasses together before tossing back the rest of his booze. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Yeah…” Thomas murmured, only taking a small sip of his bourbon as he began to space out.

Instead of calming his nerves, the alcohol only made his anxieties worse. The southerner couldn’t reason why he’d just shared some of his biggest fears with a man he just met or why Hercules had told him most of his. It had to be sympathy, or empathy, or pity or something else like it. He was drunk, not a thesaurus! Whatever it was, Thomas had convinced himself that it would only end in him getting hurt.

“Excuse me,” Thomas spoke as he abruptly set his glass down, already beginning to walk away from Hercules before he continued. “I should- I gotta go.”

“Wait, what? Why? Was it something I said?” Hercules began to ask, but his questions fell on deaf ears.

Thomas was already lost in an ocean of his anxieties as he rushed to the front door, bumping into a few people on the way as he stumbled past congregations and couples.

He was almost at the front door when he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder and met with a pair of worried eyes.

“Thomas, is everything alright? You’ve gotten yourself in such a hurry…” the Frenchman commented with a sigh, reaching to cup Thomas’ cheek and focus his gaze before his hand was pushed away.

“Nothing I just- figured I should be getting home,” Thomas replied, hoping his words weren’t too slurred as he forced a smile. “The party was good- great. I’ll drop by again next year.”

“Mon beaux, wait. Please,” Lafayette begged, grabbing onto Thomas’ wrist before he could run any father. “I’m not going to let one of my friends try to drive home drunk in this kind of weather, it’s a death wish. Stay for the night, I insist. You can go home after breakfast.”

Before Thomas could come up with something in his defence Hercules was standing behind them, awkwardly opening and closing his mouth as he tried to find something to say. “Are you… Okay?”

“Everything is fine, mon nounours,” Lafayette filled in with a little smile, though there was a glint of something coy in his eyes. “I was just telling Thomas that he should rest before he ends up too hungover. Could you do me a favour and set him up in one of the guest bedrooms? The one right next to the master should be just fine.”

“Yeah, sure, I gotcha,” The Irishman replied with a clear of his throat and a nod, looking to Thomas with an apologetic smile before placing a hand on his shoulder and leading him away from the party.

As the sound of chatter and laughter slowly faded, Thomas wasn’t sure if he wanted to curse Lafayette or thank him. He was drunk and about to be alone with a very handsome man he somehow managed to personally connect with.

Things were about to go very, very wrong or very, very right.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Both Hercules and Thomas were quiet, awkward as they found their way up the stairs to the bedrooms. Neither were entirely sober and Lafayette’s house, which he inherited from some rich great uncle, was large enough to make it a task for them to find the guest bedroom the Frenchman had directed them to.

“I think this one’s it,” Hercules muttered as he scratched the back of his head. “Guess that means you’re all set for the night…”

“Yeah, guess I am,” Thomas murmured, voice breathy and barely above a whisper as he rubbed his arm.

He’d gotten scared earlier because Hercules had gotten close. Now that they had been pushed back together, the thought of coming so close to… something only to end up alone on Christmas Eve again was even more terrifying.

They both opened their mouth to speak at the same time, then they shut themselves up to let the other speak first. It made them laugh, the sound was nervous and awkward yet still genuine.

Thomas made a motion for Hercules to speak first, and the Irishman obliged.

“Listen, I don’t really know what happened downstair but I know I had to have done something, so,” He started, clearing his throat a little to give him time to figure out his next words. “I guess I’m trynna say sorry? You’re a good guy- a great guy and I made a shitty first impression and I really wish I had a do-over or something right now to make it up to you.”

Hercules was rambling, whether from the alcohol or because he was genuinely nervous Thomas couldn’t tell. Still, it made him smile as he placed a hand on the Irishman’s arm to calm him down. “You’re fine, you didn’t do anything I just… freaked. No real reason for it.”

It was a lie. A little white lie, but a lie nonetheless. If Hercules pried, he could probably blame it on too much booze. Thankfully the Irishman just sighed in relief before flashing Thomas one of those carefree, charismatic grins of his.

“Guess that settles it, then.”

Their resolution was mutual, but neither made a move to leave.

Thomas kept his hand on Hercules’ arm, trying to subtly feel the muscles beneath his sleeve as the Irishman grinned and took a step closer. Nothing was ever really subtle when you’re drunk, after all.

“Is this where we’re supposed to say goodnight? Go about our lives?” Thomas asked as he traced the colourful pattern of Hercules’ sweater, coaxing him into stepping closer.

“Supposed to and have to are two very different things,” Hercules replied with a low laugh, placing a hand on the southerner’s hip. “I mean, we’re adults, we can make our own decisions.”

“That’s true, so what do you want to do?” Thomas hummed, looking up to meet Hercules’ gaze, swallowing thickly as he watches his words ignite something in the Irishman’s eyes.

There was a moment of silence as Thomas licked his lips, tightening glancing down over Hercules’ broad chest as he pulled at his sleeve. The action made Hercules laugh, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.

In a moment Thomas was gasping as he was pushed back against the door and Hercules caught his lips in a hungry kiss. He gave into it. He gave more than he thought he could into a single kiss as he clung onto Hercules’ shoulders and lifted a leg to wrap around his waist. Hercules was more than happy to help, squeezing his ass as his hands hooked under the southerner’s thighs and lifted him up off the ground.

Before it would’ve scared Thomas how easily he preened under every touch and practically purred as Hercules tugged at his lower lip with his teeth. He was vulnerable, at the mercy of Hercules’ every little whim, and he was loving it.

Every moment they spent pressed together, tongues tangled as they tugged at each other’s clothes were just as intoxicating as the absinthe on the Irishman’s lips.

Thomas was left panting as Hercules broke the kiss to run his teeth over his ear and fumbled with the doorknob as the southerner tugged at his sweater. He gave his ass another squeeze as a tease before he dropped him on the bed.

Thomas couldn’t help but whine as he lost the contact he so desperately needed, only end up swallowing thickly as Hercules made quick work of his sweater.

“Like what you see?” The Irishman laughed as he flexed his arms above his head.

Thomas would be lying if he said anything other than a resounding yes. “Fuck. You could bench press me without even breaking a sweat!”

His comment made Hercules laugh again. It started as a low rumble in his chest before it turned into a hearty bellow that vibrated within Thomas’ core. “Y’know, of all the things I’ve heard, that’s a first.”

“Is that a bad thing?” Thomas asked, shifting onto his knees as the mattress bent under Hercules’ weight.

“Nah, it’s a good thing,” The Irishman reassured as he pulled Thomas into his lap and had him straddle his hips. “Means that you’re gonna make this fun.”

His comment made Thomas laugh this time, tucking his face into the crook of Hercules’ neck. The Irishman made an almost purr-like hum in response as he wrapped his arms tight around his waist and kept Thomas close even as he began to paint bitemarks and hickeys along his jaw and down from his pulse point. All the attention was wonderful, and by god did Thomas want more, but no matter how tempting it was to tilt his head back and let Hercules have at it he couldn’t bring himself to move.

A sob echoed in the room over the sound of lips and teeth against skin. Thomas wanted to ignore it, pressing closer to the Irishman to try and coax him into continuing.

He didn’t realize that the sob came from him until Hercules pulled back with worried-looking eyes.

“You doing alright?” He asked quietly as he began, hesitantly loosening his hold.

“Yeah, I’m just fine,” Thomas replied, forcing a smile as he pretended he didn’t have to swallow back another sob to keep his words from wavering. “We’re good, we’re great. Pretty as a peach.”

The southerner wasn’t entirely making sense and he knew it, but he needed Hercules to stay more than he needed to find the right words.

“Look, you don’t gotta lie just ‘cause you feel bad for leading me on,” The Irishman tried to explain, letting Thomas go and beginning to slide off the bed to give him the space he thought he needed. “I’ll go, let you get some sleep, forget this ever-“

“No!” Thomas cried, voice a little too loud as he scrambled to grab into something of Hercules’ to make him stay.

He ended up latching onto his wrist and, though his grip was tight, he knew he couldn’t stop the mountain of a man from leaving if he really wanted to. At the very least, it gave Thomas a chance to look Hercules in the eyes one more time as tears began to drip down his cheeks.

Hercules paused, watching Thomas’ expression for a moment before he sat down on the bed again. He reached out to wipe away a few of Thomas’ tears with his thumb, cupping his cheek in the process. He couldn’t expect the southerner’s reaction.

Thomas squeezed his eyes shut, his tears now falling from his lashes as he leaned into Hercules’ touch as much as he could. He held Hercules’ hand to his cheek, lacing their fingers together as he pressed little kisses to his palm and inner-wrist.

“Just- stay. Please… I don’t care what else we do, just stay.”

Hercules hummed lowly in response, nodding as he shifted closer to Thomas and took hold of his waist again. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head over a thing, I’m right here.”

Thomas gave a small nod in response, sniffling quietly as he tried to wipe away his tears staining his cheeks with his free hand. “I’m sorry… I killed the mood, didn’t I?”

Hercules shook his head, slowly laying Thomas back onto the mattress as he slipped his hands under the hem of his shirt. “I said not to worry, didn’t I? You’re just fine and still pretty when you cry too.”

His comment made Thomas laugh, the sound a little dry and mixed with a hitch in his breath, but a laugh nonetheless. Hercules took it as a sign he was good to go, pulling Thomas into another kiss as he began to unbutton his silk shirt.

He was being gentle this time, slower and sensual yet soft. For a moment, Thomas even felt cared for. It was a funny feeling, a foreign feeling, but Thomas allowed himself to relish in it as Hercules pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor.

Now with his chest exposed Hercules occupied his mouth with painting matching marks onto Thomas’ collarbone as his fingers hooked around the waistband of both his dress pants and his boxer-briefs. Thomas couldn’t help but whine, unsure whether he liked it more when Hercules’ lips were busy with his own or when they were sucking beautiful bruises into the skin just below his throat.

Either way, he wasn’t exactly pleased when Hercules suddenly stopped and realization flash across his expression.

“I was thinking we were gonna have to do this the old fashioned way, but…” he trailed off as he reached for the nightstand, feeling around in the drawers before his fingers wrapped around a small bottle of lube. “Horny bastards.”

Thomas couldn’t help but pout as Hercules began to laugh. As much as he loved the sound, he loved the attention and affection more.

“I might not be a bastard but I am horny, and I’m right here,” he muttered, still pouting as he pawed at Hercules’ chest and kissed at the corner of his jaw. “So, can we fuck now? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Hercules was still laughing, now because of Thomas’ little plea instead of whatever he found in the nightstand. “Keep that pout up and I might make you beg for real.”

“I bet you’d like that,” Thomas murmured, pressing his forehead into Hercules’ chest as he openly trailed his open palms up his arms and down his back. “What’s so interesting anyways?”

“Just something that’ll let us get to the real fun,” Hercules replied, teasing his lips down Thomas’ torso and tugging at his waistband with his teeth. “Wanna do me a favour and help me get these off?”

Thomas was almost too eager as he quickly kicked off his dress pants before he reached for Hercules’ fly, only to stop as Hercules ran his teeth along the edge of his Adonis belt. It sent a shiver up Thomas’ spine as he was made very aware of just how hard he was. He whined, reaching for something of Hercules’ to hold to distract him from the heat rising to his cheeks.

“I’m right here baby,” Hercules murmured, voice surprisingly soft for his size as he laced his and Thomas’ fingers together. “But if you want my dick you need to let me prep ya first… I’d hate to hurt you, after all.”

Though Thomas pouted in response with another whine he reluctantly let go of Hercules’ hand and laid back. He shifted a bit as Hercules spread his legs apart, swallowing thickly as he heard Hercules pop the cap off the bottle of lube.

He was needy and nervous and on fire and shivering all at the same time. He trusted Hercules, he really did, but being left open and vulnerable he felt like a virgin.

Thomas was certainly acting like it, after all.

He went tense as Hercules pushed the first finger in, a quiet hiss slipping past his lips as he clenched around him. They’d barely begun and already Thomas’ was finding it hard to breathe.

“Relax, you’re fine. This won’t hurt,” Hercules murmured, kissing down Thomas’ calf from his knee in an attempt to calm his nerves. “It just won’t feel as good if you don’t.”

Thomas huffed quietly in response, whining quietly again. Still, he managed to force the tension out of his muscles as Hercules began to work him open.

Hercules’ fingers were this and his pace was steady as he diligently worked Thomas open. He was right, it felt much better when Hercules wasn’t fighting against artificial tension.

Even with only one finger, Thomas was panting as he tried to stay still for Hercules. With the second he was moaning, squirming as Hercules began to push deeper and press against his prostate. With the third he was gasping, both in surprise and pleasure from the stretch. Hercules’ fingers were thick to begin with, he couldn’t begin to imagine how thick his cock must be.

Luckily he wouldn’t have to try and imagine for long.

“See? that wasn’t so hard,” Hercules muttered as he pulled his fingers out with a wet pop, watching with a grin as Thomas began to whine from the loss of contact. “Your dick, on the other hand…”

He trailed off as he gave Thomas’ length an almost playful stroke, earning a sweet and needy whine as he reached for Hercules again. “Please… I want you, need you. Just-“

“Shh, I’m right here,” Hercules murmured as he pulled Thomas into a slow kiss, giving him the attention he needed while Hercules stripped himself of the last of his clothes.

The sight of Thomas beneath him and his all-too beautiful moans were enough to get him hard. All it took was a pair of quick strokes to spread lube over his cock before he was lining up with Thomas’ entrance.

“Wait,” Thomas murmured as he placed a hand on Hercules’ shoulder before he could go any farther. Nervousness beat neediness. “Hold me?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Hercules murmured with a small laugh as he took Thomas’ hand from his shoulder and laced their fingers together. “This better?”

Thomas gave a hum in response as he let out a small sigh, relaxing under Hercules’ weight as he bit his lip in anticipation for what was next.

Hercules flashed Thomas one of those charismatic, carefree grins that made his knees go weak as Hercules squeeze his hand and began to push in.

Thomas didn’t have a chance to get a good look at Hercules’ cock earlier. He didn’t think it’d matter. Now, Hercules had barely pushed two inches into him and he was already left gasping at the burning of pain and pleasure that came with the stretch.

He wanted more.

“Hercules, please- Don’t tease me now…” he whined, beginning to pout again only for Hercules to catch his lips in a kiss.

Thomas was eager to kiss back as Hercules gave his hand a sharp squeeze, making him gasp. In a moment their tongues were tied together as Hercules rocked his hips to ease Thomas into the stretch as he pushed deeper.

He didn’t stop until he was buried deep in Thomas’ ass, pressing against all the right places as Hercules groaned lowly at the tightness.

“You feel good, baby… Makes me wish I met you sooner.” Hercules muttered through the kiss before nipping at Thomas’ lower lip.

Thomas opened his mouth to respond, panting quietly as he tried to find his words. A moan lingered in the back of his throat as he clenched and unclenched around Hercules’ cock. He was starting to adjust to the burning stretch as his muscled learned to accommodate Hercules’ sheer size. Still, each rock of his hips helped reignite the spark and draw another moan from Thomas’ lips.

It was game over when Hercules began the real fun.

The first thrust made Thomas moan into the kiss. Hercules didn’t even need to try to find his prostate when his cock was so thick it pressed against everything at once. The pace he set was steady and strong, making Thomas gasp each time Hercules bottomed out just to bring back the burn of stretched-out pleasure he was desperate for.

As a hot tightness began to pull at his gut Thomas could only gasp. He squeezed Hercules’ hand as he tried to follow his movements, hips beginning to buck under the pressure and pleasure that built up with the push and pull of Hercules’ cock.

“Ha- Herc! Hercules, please~” He practically purred as a shivering moan ripped through his throat. Part of him was desperate for the pressure to give way to something even better while another part of him wanted the burn to last forever.

Hercules was getting sloppy, each thrust now accompanied with a grunt and a creak of the mattress as he pinned Thomas’ hand down next to his hand. “What’s that now? You want something?”

Thomas could only nod in response as his free hand shot up to wrap around Hercules’ neck, pulling him down into another kiss. His movements were feverish even as he gave up control and Hercules’ strong arm lifted his hips up off the bed.

“Please, I wanna- I gotta-!” Thomas couldn’t get his words out, he didn’t even know what he was trying to say anymore.

All he could think about was the perfect burn of Hercules’ cock and the building heat that made him want to burst.

Hercules seemed to contemplate Thomas’ words for a moment even as his own endurance began to wear thin. He was panting, grunting, and even a few moans of his own slipped through with the low sounds of pleasure.

“Don’t hold yourself back, baby.”

Thomas didn’t need to hear anymore. The pressure and heat unravelled like a spring wound up too tight, sending a shock of sharp pleasure through Thomas’ system as he tightened around Hercules’ cock and made a sticky, hot mess of his stomach.

It didn’t take much more before Hercules came tumbling over the edge after him, hips suddenly stilling with a sharp thrust as he came with a groan.

They laid there as a tangled, sweaty mess as they tried to catch their breath between kisses. Eventually, Hercules pulled out and fell next to Thomas on the mattress, pulling him into his chest despite the mess they’d made of each other. Thomas preened as Hercules pulled him in for one last kiss. Even after everything, there was still a faint taste of absinthe on his lips.

Thomas was still clinging onto Hercules as they separated once more. He wanted him close, he wanted to keep those strong arms around him for as long as he lived. He hadn’t felt this hopeful about someone in a long time and as he and Hercules slipped into sleep, it was all he could think about.

Hope as sweet as this would make for a good Christmas tradition.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Lafayette hummed quietly to himself, drumming a little rhythm against his granite countertops as his Nespresso machine finished his perfectly brewed morning coffee. It was Christmas morning and while most of his guests had gone home after the snowstorm blew over a few were resting in his various guest rooms.

As he took his festive mug from the machine and began to search his cupboards for the cinnamon sugar, he heard the sound of running water from somewhere upstairs. The Frenchman smiled to himself at the sound, knowing breakfast would be soon.

As he passed by his oven, he made sure to preheat the grill. Christmas morning crepes were one of his specialties, after all. Some of his guests stayed the night just to have a taste of the delectable breakfast treats the next morning.

While he waited Lafayette took a seat at the breakfast bar, taking a slow slip of his French vanilla latte and smiling the added hint of cinnamon. Perfect as always.

He heard two sets of footsteps start to come down the stairs together, a smirk pulling at the Frenchman’s lips at the sound. He stood, moving around to the other side of the counter and leaving his latte behind. Lafayette pretended not to have noticed the approaching pair as he busied himself with preparing the batter.

When he heard the stools shift as two more people took a seat at the breakfast bar he turned around with a sweet smile. “Bon matin, mes amis! Did you sleep well?”

Hercules gave a small grunt as Thomas mumbled some unintelligible response. They both looked tired despite having a full night's sleep, obviously hungover.

Thomas seemed to be a little more careful with himself as he sat down, shaking some water droplets from his curls. Hercules, well, he was shirtless and not-so-subtly smirking at how Thomas crossed one leg over the other as he tried to find a way to sit comfortably.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Lafayette replied, smiling more at the sight and humming under his breath to pretend he was simply happy because it was Christmas. “I am glad you two made friends. That is what you did, non?”

“You could call it that, yeah,” Hercules muttered with a low laugh as he stretched his arms above his head. Considering he was shirtless and still damp from the shower, it was quite the sight.

Thomas was trying not to stare, lowering his head into his hands as he rubbed his eyes. “Uhm… Breakfast, coffee! Are we gonna be able to have either of those?”

“Very soon, mon beaux,” Lafayette replied, a coy twinkle appearing in his eyes as he rested his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his folded hands. “But first, I think you two have some secrets to spill~”

#my writing #Thomcules #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #hurt/comfort #smut #morning after #Hamcember #Hamcember 2020 #Hamcember prompt 25 #Tradition #Hamilton #hamilton: an american musical #modern AU

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theoniprince · 4 years ago

Note

If you had to pick one name/alias/moniker to go by, fandom-wide, what would it be?

Where, besides Tumblr, can people find you doing fannish things? (Obviously only mention sites and usernames you actually want to be found at. Don’t expose your secret identities on my account.)

What other names have you gone by on these platforms, including Tumblr, if any?

When did you join the IT fandom? And what got you into fandom, to begin with?

What are your favorite ships, or characters, if any, and why? What do they mean to you?

In what ways do you participate in fandom? (ex. Posting memes, reblogging/commenting on content, writing fanfic, making fanart, creating fanmixes, etc.)

Do you have any in-fandom inspirations? Other members of the community that drive you? (And if you have the time/energy, in what ways do they inspire you?)

Name and link some of your favorite works, please!

Do you have any works of your own that you feel particularly proud of, or wish more people would’ve consumed? Please provide links if possible.

Have you ever participated in a fannish event (ie. IT Week, a fic Big Bang) or applied to be a part of a fanzine? If so, which ones, and can you please link them?

Without any form of bashing or lashing out, what is something you feel this fandom is missing?

First of all thank you so much for asking me!!! 8D It was a pleasure to answer all these questions. During this I got quite emotional (haha Stanpat, Eddie). It showed me again how much I love this 8DDD

( I apologize in advance for all misspellings and my sloppy English =_=)

If you had to pick one name/alias/moniker to go by, fandom-wide, what would it be?

Oh, what a start XD I'm not that into nicknames. Generally people using my first name to address me or my username which is mostly onyprince (in reference to a character from Hakuouki) ID Sometimes they say Oni or J(ay) (Nickname for my first name). Do as you wish (though I like ‘J’ the th most) 😉

Where, besides Tumblr, can people find you doing fannish things? (Obviously only mention sites and usernames you actually want to be found at. Don’t expose your secret identities on my account.)

Twitter. But everything I post there is also here. Feel free to follow my account, but you don’t have to. https://twitter.com/oniprince_

What other names have you gone by on these platforms, including Tumblr, if any?

Oniprince_ (Twitter) yeah… you see, I am pretty boring XDDD

When did you join the IT fandom? And what got you into fandom, to begin with?

Actually 23 years ago (haha I am old XD) When I was eleven I saw the miniseries with my cousins for the first time. The horror factor wasn't that important to me or maybe I didn't see it that way. It was more like an adventure story with an unfunny and nasty clown. A group of friends who had to endure an adventure. In any case, it entertained me well, even if I was not aware of some elements like that it’s a story about growing up, friendship, love and all these issues around becoming an adult XDD Then with 13 I read the book. It was a new experience, and I loved every single word. Over the years I talked with friends and Kingsianer (XD) about it and read it for a second and a third time. At this point I could start a list with things I don’t like about the movies, but I’d rather mention on thing I really appreciate about them: they are a good opportunity for a new generation to explore this universe. Every adaption like the book itself is a reflection of a specific decade and what is more yeah… immortal, universal and diverse than a story about growing up. It was a discussion with a dear friend about book to movie adaptions some weeks ago that probably brought me back to this fandom

Nevertheless there are things from the book I would have loved to see in the movies. Let’s be honest at this point if you want to adapt such a brick of a book you simply have to cut some elements. You can’t please everyone

What are your favorite ships, or characters, if any, and why? What do they mean to you?

Ships:

Stanpat - orz q__q they are such a sweet couple and it is so heartbreaking, they never ever had a real chance to become parents. They would have been excellent parents. Imagine them on a beautiful summer day. They have a picnic with their children and Stan would watch birds with them. He would tell them all about the birds and keeps a journal about their observations with his kids

Reddie - Despite the constant teasing their realtionship seems like a natural, casual und easy thing from the start. And Eddie likes the nicknames. These secret names are like another identity. He can be someone else. They take care of each other. Their relationship is a deeper friendship that runs mostly on an emotional level and is sometimes expressed through small, physical gestures. The chemistry between them is indescribable. It is cute when 90s Eddie immediately starts to giggle as soon as Richie makes a dumb joke at their reunion. And thing about the little moments when Richie pokes Eddie and calls him cute. I am won’t quoting this one passage in the book that leaves much room for speculations, but there is no doubt their special bond is official. In any case, the decision to make Richie gay in the movies gave the ship another push. I don’t complain. I love it. Though I still think Eddie would have been a better option. There are already some scenes in the book which are like an invitation to speculate about his sexualityTheir chemistry is very obvious and believe me, there is nothing I would more appreciate than a happy end for them Q__Q

Benverly „Your hair is winter fire

January embers

My heart burns there, too

This is one of sweetest things I have ever read in a book and that is all I need to explain why I love this ship.

Fav, Characters: Hmm when I read „IT“ for the first time I had a crush on Bill. He ist the born leader and in my childish, pre-teen way found his stuttering cute. There is something about him that cast a spell on you. It is perfectly understandable that he was a role model and an inspiration for his friends – especially for Eddie. In my personal opinion book!Bill ist the best Bill.

Richie - I love this chaotic megane dude. He is this silly type who use jokes, pranks to protect himself. His voices are like safe heaven (the same goes for Bill, whose stuttering almost disappears, when he pretends tob e someone else). He hides himself and his insecurities behind them. It is a shame that he doesn’t know what an impact he had on his friends. Richie seems to never ever shut up and sometimes his trashmouth is still talking, when he better should be quite. And I am famous to fall for funny characters. He can lights up the mood immediately ( and OMG…. I love Harry Anderson in the miniseries. A real entertainer, BUT BILL HADER…. Bill Hader…just to make it clear BILL HADER did such an amazing job. He rocked the movie and I still think, not just because I love this dude since over a decade, without him… the movie wouldn’t have been so entertaining)

Eddie - He is in these abusive relationships. First with his mother, who keeps him small and makes him believe that he is weak. At the end her own fears of beeing left behind prevented her son from becoming a self-confident adult. Eddie always thought he is weak and fragile. Although he knows that he doesn’t need all this medication, his childhood experience were the reason for his coping-behavior as an adult – he still uses his inhaler. He married a woman who is like his mother. Mike's call was something of a turning point. Until this call Eddie could not overcome his fears and had to face them again as an adult. I can remember. While reading the book there were several moments of silence and I stopped reading and thought: poor Eddie.

Ultimately, his story is about a hero who surpasses himself, overcomes his fears and by sacrifice himself he protects what is most important to him - his friends. It just touched me. Eddie gave his life for his friends and I think you can say he's my favorite character. His death may be a tragedy, but it was necessary for his character arc. My theory is that Eddie represents someone who has lost track in his life and prefer to stick on old but unhealthy patterns.It is almost like Eddie stands for missed opportunities, but at the same time it is never to late to change something. He is a hero. There are so many things I would like to talk about, therefore I should start an own thread XDDD

Oh and Bev - I could always identify with her (not bc of abuse or domestic violence. My childhood was amazing). She is the only girl around the losers and I was the only girl in my favourite clique too. We spent most of our time outside - it was great. Of course I had other friends (female) as well, but with my boys… it was always special).. As you know as an adult she falls back in old patterns. Her husband is tyrannical man like her father. Again Mike’s call is a turning point. Maybe the Benverly arc is the most satisfying. I was… I am very happy that Bev got her happy end.

Last but no least - I like Ben, Mike and Stan too. They have all there unique character treats and you sympathize with all of them. The Loser’s club is bunch of adorable idiots who just doing their best to become adults. I think it is normal that their friendship feels more intimate in the book – I highly recommand the book.

In what ways do you participate in fandom? (ex. Posting memes, reblogging/commenting on content, writing fanfic, making fanart, creating fanmixes, etc.)

Mostly fanarts, but recently I thought about posting my own theories and sharing my hcs and random stuff about the characters and the different relations.

Do you have any in-fandom inspirations? Other members of the community that drive you? (And if you have the time/energy, in what ways do they inspire you?)

The fandom is full of amazing artists and writersand actually it would be a, but i want to name those who inspired me the most (mainly artists – hopefully I copied the links correcty):

https://tonyofthetrees.tumblr.com

https://meowsteryyy.tumblr.com

https://slashpalooza.tumblr.com/ ( you have to check out ‚Loose Ends‘)

https://coldcigarettes.tumblr.com

https://vvanini.tumblr.com/

https://eggocrumbs.tumblr.com

https://twitter.com/10_sgan

https://twitter.com/kasphacked

https://twitter.com/tac_nor

(oh.. the list got longer than expected IDDD)

Do you know this?

https://ragnarozzys.tumblr.com/post/189890790551/those-early-hours-after-a-sleepover-when-you-wake

Have you ever seen something as cozy and cute before I///D? – me neither XD

Trust me they are all worth a visit and I am sure most of us already know them 8D

Do you have any works of your own that you feel particularly proud of, or wish more people would’ve consumed? Please provide links if possible.

My art I provide on tumblr can be found here:

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/tagged/myart

Honestly I like these the most:

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/post/649446311120273408/my-first-reddie-sketch-now-scanned-the-quality

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/post/649548606679007232/close-to-you-now-scanned-with-coloured

https://theoniprince.tumblr.com/post/650697175346593792/hammock-iconic-richie-is-reading-a-monthly

Have you ever participated in a fannish event (ie. IT Week, a fic Big Bang) or applied to be a part of a fanzine? If so, which ones, and can you please link them?

Oh… unfortunately I am not feelin‘ very confident about my own artworks. Sometims I have the feeling I am not creative enough and that my ideas are more or less boring. Nothing special ID Totally dumb – I know. As I mentioned before I came back lately to the fandom… I guess I missed many amazing IT weeks. I participated in some weeks/mainly shipweeks in other fandoms (Yakuza/Ryu ga Gotoku, FFXV) If I find an interesting annoucement I can imagine to participate in the future ; )

Without any form of bashing or lashing out, what is something you feel this fandom is missing?

In general… the fandom is really friendly – I hope so. Lately I have seen some salty comments on different stuff, topics… and well.. I have just an advice: life can be exhausting enough and time is always running. Don’t spend time on things you don’t like. Discussions can esclate quickly and worde can hurt too. So, just thing about before you jump in.

Thanks again! <3

(Special lil sketchy piece of art I did for this ask)

#ask me stuff #personal #it book #stephen kings it #be nice to me #this is my opinion and I like to talk about this stuff

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duhragonball · 4 years ago

Text

Dragon Ball Super: Super Hero

youtube

I guess I should provide my hottt takes on the new DBS movie. A few days ago, they did this video for Comic Con announcing the title of the movie and teasing some details about the story.

I gotta say, this is exactly why I’ve never had any interest in Comic Con. They put this on YouTube, I guess because of the pandemic, but any other year they would have gathered an enormous crowd and made them stand in line for hours to watch all of this in person. I live in the Midwest, and when I went to comic book conventions it was for the sole purpose of rummaging through back issue bins. SDCC was always promoted like the biggest and most important convention in the U.S., but all I ever heard about it were trailers for movies and TV shows. Or, like, you had to go to Comic Con because that was the only way to get an exclusive Orange Lantern Hal Jordan action figure or something. They would always hype up all of this useless stuff and I just never heard of anything so important that I was willing to fly out to San Diego and stand in line for three hours for it. So now SDCC peels back the curtain with this video, about something I’m fairly interested in, but it’s really not that big a deal. I found out most of the information on Twitter before I even knew to watch this video.

But I’m just not that hyped about trailers or sneak peaks or sneak peaks at trailers. Which is probably why I waited this long to talk about it.

I’ll just go through the video. The first four minutes are Hironobu Kageyama performing “Cha La HEAD Cha La” live on the stage. That’s a pretty epic way to open this, but I feel like it oversells the importance of this event. You finish watching him and you think you’re about to see the movie itself, instead of hearing from the people who made it.

Next we have Sascha, the host of this panel. He speaks better English than I do, but I’m not sure what the point was in having any of this in English since he has to talk to the guests in Japanese. Pretty much all of the important information in this video is in Japanese, and I think everyone understood that going in. I guess it does give an international feel. If I spoke another language as fluently as Sascha, I’d want to show it off too.

4:56 is where Masako Nozawa comes out, and she’s just a joy to watch. She looks like this sweet grandmotherly figure, all warm smiles and then she busts out “Ossu! Ora Goku!” and immediately sounds like a badass.

Guest #2 is Akio Iyoku, Toriyama’s editor. Not to be confused with the awesome editor who poo-pooed all the androids and Cell’s semiperfect form. That was Yu Kondo. Iyoku comes out dressed like Goku, but he can’t talk like him so he’s immediately second-tier.

Guest #3 is Norohiro Hayashida, Producer from Toei Anaimation. He is also rocking the Goku cosplay, which would be a faux pas in most fandoms, but he can just say that he’s cosplaying as Krillin or Yamcha, which gives him greater nerd credibility because those are more obscure references.

Around 8:30 we really start getting into this, and they show us a model sheet of Piccolo. Is Piccolo being in the new movie a big surprise? He had a dry spell in the mid-90s, but he’s been in every Dragon Ball movie made in this century so far. And it’s not like they changed his look, like when they put Goku and Vegeta in those adorable coats last time. I’m not complaining about any of this. It’s nice to see that a) Piccolo is confirmed for new movie and b) they didn’t tinker with his appearance.

All I’m saying is that they only brought up this model sheet to show off how they’re using his color scheme from the manga as opposed to the anime. Hence the red belt and the yellower arm sections. In the anime, the belt was always blue, and his biceps were hot pink instead of off-yellow. But it’s such a subtle thing that even Sascha didn’t pick up on it. It’s like they were hyping up the fact that it’s such a minor change. I like it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s a weird flex. Also, he looks like he still has his five-fingered anime hands, so I’m not that impressed. Give us four fingers, Toei!

Sascha asks Masako Nozawa what she thinks about Piccolo and she just starts off with “He was Gohan’s teacher,” and talks about how strong and cool he looks. She speaks of him like he’s a family member, because she’s awesome.

Next up, we have Pan, and now we’re talking. The scuttlebutt is that this was the character Toriyama was referring to when he spoke of an “unexpected character”. And I guess Pan fits the bill, since I don’t think anyone expected her to be this old in the movie. I understand this is her kindergarten uniform, so she’d have to be about five or six years old. I love Masako Nozawa’s reaction here. Throughout this video, you can see that Goku and Gohan aren’t just roles to her.

I’ll put on my fanboy hat here and point out that Pan’s age may imply that this movie takes place after the final episode of Dragon Ball Z. She looks older here than she did when she fought Wild Tiger, at any rate. So far, the entire Dragon Ball Super franchise has been set during the ten-year gap between the Buu crisis and the finale of Z. So everyone has been wondering if DBS would move beyond End of Z, or whether Akira Toriyama even still recognizes the continuity of those final chapters. They were supposed to be ten years of peace, but all the battles in DBS say otherwise. Also, I’m pretty sure Pan and Bulla’s ages in the DBZ finale don’t line up well with their appearances in Super, but I’ve never studied it very closely.

So this might be set post End of Z, or this might be Toriyama retconning End of Z altogether. I’m interested to see which way this goes.

Here’s Krillin, still working for the police, although his uniform looks more like Bronze Age Lex Luthor than anything else. Like Piccolo, the “big” story here is that he’s been tweaked to resemble the coloring in the manga, so his sclera are now white instead of fleshtoned.

Never mind that, here’s Piccolo’s house. This is probably the breakout star of this video, because I think everybody is excited to see Piccolo’s house. Because it’s new lore! No one even knew if he had one or not. It was a running gag in DBZ Abridged that he was homeless. I mean, congratulations to Krillin for getting his eyes colored in right, but that doesn’t tell me anything new about the character. But Piccolo’s house is a big friggin’ deal. What’s inside of there? What’s on the second floor? Check out his mailbox. What kind of mail does he get? It’s exciting.

Nozawa even points out that she and her co-workers would talk about this sort of thing in the recording studio. That’s a big deal to me, that the voice actors think about the same kind of stuff that I do as a fan.

Around 15:30, they start talking about Toriyama’s commitment to the making of this movie, which seems like a weird thing to focus on, because he wrote the screenplay to the last two movies. Did anyone think he was stepping back? I get the impression that there’s still some hard feelings about the failure of Dragon Ball Evolution, in the sense that they want to reassure everyone that we’re still in good hands. I suppose one of these days, Toriyama won’t be as heavily involved in a project like this, so maybe it makes sense for Toei and Shueisha to make it clear that today is not that day.

On the other hand, Toriyama was just as involved with Broly as he was with Resurrection F, and Broly was a much better film. The Dragon Ball Super manga seems to have revived the old argument over who’s to blame when the story is a letdown, and I think that misses the point. Look, the Zamasu arc sucked, and I don’t care who wrote what parts, or whether Toriyama had a bad idea or whether he handed a good idea off that was badly executed. They can hash that out behind the scenes if they want to.

About 19 minutes in, they show us this model sheet, and refuse to explain who these guys are or what they’re doing in the movie. Are they villains? Who knows? I’d like to think they’re important characters to the story, but I have my doubts that Krillin will have a big part to play.

At 20 minutes, they announce the title of the movie, and I’m not very thrilled with “Dragon Ball Super: Super Hero.” They can talk it up as much as they want, and maybe the title is relevant to the plot, but it’s just too many uses of the word “super”. Especially when they’ve got another series called “Super Dragon Ball Heroes” on YouTube.

Then we get this teaser trailer, or whatever you want to call it, with a CG Goku hopping around and doing his classic fighting pose. Now, for some reason, lots of people concluded that this means the entire movie will be done in this CG style, which has led to a debate over whether or not that’s a good thing. If they can make the whole movie look this slick, then I’m fine with it. Hell, I’m not picky. They could animate the whole thing in Yukio Ebisawa style, and I’d be thrilled.

But I’m not understanding where people got the idea that it’s definitely going to be a 100% CGI movie. They never spell that out in this video, and they even go out of their way to admit that this shot of Goku isn’t actually from the movie. So is there some other source people are referring to, or did everyone just jump to conclusions?

And that’s pretty much it. I don’t mean to sound negative on this panel, but I don’t feel like they revealed very much, unless this is actually going to turn out to be Piccolo and Pan having an adventure by themselves. I think Toei could make a movie like that and it would be a success, but I have my doubts that they’d go in that direction. If this is going to turn out to be another big slugfest with Vegeta, then I’m down for that too, but don’t show me Piccolo’s house if the movie’s going to be about Vegeta punching a guy.

Bottom line: I’m still looking forward to this, but I don’t feel like I know much more about the movie than I did before. Well, except for the part about Piccolo’s house. I’m looking forward to seeing the inside of it.

#dragon ball #dragon ball super super heroes #piccolo #pan #krillin #goku

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buzzdixonwriter · 4 years ago

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I've Told You A Million Times To Avoid Cliches Like The Plague

Recently a year old re-print of a 1959 Writer’s Digest article by Donald Westlake started circulating on social media.

First off, if you don’t know who Donald Westlake is, go find out. You like rough edge crime stories, try his Parker books published under his Richard Stark pseudonym; you like funny crime, dig up the Dortmunder series under his own name; you like odd ball history, check out Under An English Heaven “being a true recital of the events leading up to and down from the British invasion of Anguilla on March 19th, 1969 in which no one was killed but many people were embarrassed.”

Second, Westlake was a serious writer in that he took the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed, no matter how light hearted and funny some of his books could be. He wrote a blistering letter (later turned into an essay) in the fanzine Xero (starts on page 97) where he excoriated the sci-fi field of the era as being neither artistically nor commercially viable.*

So who am I to challenge this master’s assertions?

Well, I take the craft of writing Very Seriously indeed myself, and to quote a late, lamented friend: “Fools rush in, and there we are…”

The Writer’s Digest article is a mixed bag, partially a quick off-the-cuff job for a few bucks, partially a valid observation on pitfalls in writing popular fiction in September of 1959.

Bear the date in mind, it’s crucial to this discussion.

This was an era when Americans read a lot. Millions of people subscribed to The Saturday Evening Post or dozens of other slick magazines (not to mention the digests, which are what the form the old genre pulps mutated into), and this meant each week dozens of new short stories or serialized novels were available to them (and that’s not counting non-fiction).

Westlake in 1959 was commenting on an over saturated market, one where too many writers and editors simply replayed old tropes over again and again because they knew a significant portion of their audience felt comfortable with them (this is particularly true in the slicks, more so than the digests).

Westlake divides his 36 plots into three groups: Mysteries, science fiction, and slicks.

My first quibble lays in what Westlake means when he says “plot”.

From the original article:

“A plot is a planned series of connected events, building through conflict to a crisis and ending in a satisfactory conclusion. A formula is a particular plot which has become stale through over-use.

“My own working definition of plot is what I call “5C.” First, a character. Anybody at all, from Hemingway’s old man to Salinger’s teenager. Second, conflict. Something for that character to get upset about, and for the reader to get upset about through the character. Third, complications. If the story runs too smoothly, without any trouble for the character, the reader isn’t going to get awfully interested in what’s going on. Fourth, climax. The opposing forces in conflict are brought together. Like the fissionable material in an H-bomb and there’s an explosion. Fifth, conclusion. The result of the explosion is known, the conflict is over, the character has either won or lost, and there are no questions left unanswered.

“5C: Character. Conflict. Complications. Climax. Conclusion.”

All well and good, but in his article Westlake provides almost no examples of same.

To me, a plot is a quick summary of a story that lays out beginning, middle, and end: G.I. Joe captures a Cobra secret weapon but doesn’t realize what it is. Cobra needs to get the weapon back without alerting the Joes to its potential, and the Joes must figure out what Cobra is after before they can get their hands on it.

(There’s a lot you can do with that plot. It can be a slam-bang action oriented story, a techno thriller, or a slapstick farce depending on your angle of attack.)

What Westlake presents are more along the lines of story springboards: ”What would happen if…”

A lot of the situations Westlake presents are rife with potential: “John Smith is sitting in the park, feeding the other squirrels, when a beautiful girl runs up, kisses him, and whispers, ‘Pretend you know me.’”

Okay, let’s list the possibilities, shall we?

She’s being stalked by a creepy guy and needs protection…

She’s been hired to set Smith up for some reason…

She’s mentally disturbed from trauma in her past…

She’s a flipping psycho intending to kill Smith…

She’s a secret agent slipping a secret code in Smith’s pocket…

She’s a silly college girl doing this on a dare, unaware Smith is a serial killer…

Six stories right off the top of my head, and each one could be played in several different ways, from deadly serious to over the top farce.

That’s a lot of potential in a single trope.

Here’s another: “John Smith, private eye, is sitting at his desk, when Marshall Bigelow, thimble tycoon, trundles in waving thousand-dollar bills and shouting, ‘My daughter has disappeared!’”

Well, d’uh, isn’t that what private eyes do? Find missing people? Or uncover who committed a crime when people don’t want the police involved? Or find out if a spouse is cheating?

Name a private eye story that doesn’t play off some variant of this. From Murder, My Sweet to Harper to Shaft, hiring a private eye to find a missing person is a perfect way to get a story started. “You find my Velma.”

Of the dozen story springboards he offers in his mystery section, none are unworkable, though two remain overly familiar to this day and probably are best avoided unless the writer can provide some incredible new spin.

The science fiction section is more problematic, and here’s where I suspect Westlake was slumming (there ought to be an article on the type of articles one shouldn’t write for Writer’s Digest that includes articles like the one Westlake wrote).

Seven of the eleven clearly reference classics of the genre, and if this wasn’t a deliberate dig at those authors on Westlake’s part, one can only argue that while they may be shopworn now due to retreads by the untalented, these ideas remain strong enough to support a good story.

The other four remain headscratchers. Two -- Adam & Eve and “atoms are tiny solar systems” -- are indeed hoary old ideas, burned off by EC comics earlier in the decade.

I can’t say there weren’t thirteen year old aspiring sci-fi writers who submitted these to publishers and editors back in the day, but they seem more likely to have been found on the pages of fanzines (i.e., what sci-fi geeks had before the Internet) than a professional slush pile.

We know Westlake was active to some degree in sci-fi fandom of that era; could those two tropes have come from seeing those stories in the pages of amateur magazines?

The remaining two ideas represent a ribald attitude I don’t recall seeing in sci-fi digests of that era.

Oh, sex was starting to rear its beautiful head in science fiction, and there were a few cutting edge stories, but these two seem more like set ups for smutty fanfic, not genuine submissions of the time.

Again, something I’d expect to see in a fanzine, not a professional market.

Like I said, I think this tips off that Westlake is having us on, that this whole article came off the top of his head in a matter of minutes instead of being carefully thought out.

On the other hand, his critique of slick magazine fiction seems pretty spot on and devastating.

While he covers several sub-genres, his primary focus seems to be on stories written for a female audience, the type found in McCall’s and Ladies Home Journal. He doesn’t come close to a dozen examples, however, as several (even those labeled as sub-examples) are just the same story springboard in different settings.

Two of his bad examples, however, stand out quite clearly as a dislike (whether personal / professional / aesthetic, I can’t tell) aimed at a specific series of stories found in The Saturday Evening Post, i.e., the Alexander Botts, tractor salesman stories of William Hazlett Upson.

One of Westlake’s verboten plots isn’t even a plot but a literary device: “Any story told in an exchange of letters”. The other one that ties into Upson’s oeuvre is “Joe Doakes, a traveling salesman for a paper clip company, gets involved in some pretty unbelievable adventures in a small town in the Midwest. The other participants are a local belle and a salesman for a rival paper clip company.”

The two combined describe Upson’s Botts stories to a T. The second one is richly ironic since Westlake eventually used the same basic premise for his Dortmunder series (the only change being Dortmunder is a thief, not a salesman; po-tay-to, po-tah-to).

Finally, Westlake left himself a huge out with “If you can take one of the 36 clichés listed above, and give it a brand new twist, so it doesn’t look like the same story any more, you may have a sale on your hands. If you search hard enough in the magazines on the stands today, you’ll find one or more of these variations currently in print.”

Look, I get it. I’ve faced deadline doom before myself, and more than once have fired off a short piece that contained all the depth of a dixie cup.

This isn’t the worst writing advice I’ve seen, but it’s far from the best, and Westlake coulda and shoulda done better.

* He wasn’t alone in his opinion, though ironically the 1960s proved to be one of the most fertile eras for the genre. Yet Westlake and other writers such as John D. MacDonald, Frederic Brown, and John Jakes left sci-fi for other genres because it couldn’t support them either as artists or professionals.

#Donald Westlake #writing #how this writer's mind works #William Hazlett Upson

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eirian-houpe · 5 years ago

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Cactus

Fandom: Once Upon a Time (TV)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Belle/Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold

Characters: Belle (Once Upon a Time), Rumplestiltskin | Mr. Gold, Prince Charming | David Nolan

Additional Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Courtship, a monthly Rumbelling July 2020, A Monthly Rumbelling (Once Upon a Time)

Series: Part 2 of The Language of Flowers

Summary: Belle and Gold continue their courtship with poetry and flowers and as their relationship grows, Rumple sends Belle a very important gift

Read on AO3

Cactus

Although they had officially been dating for three weeks, he didn’t stop the practice that had brought them together.

He already had some flowers, which he’d pressed prior to their daily arrangement of walking together at dusk, as well as taking afternoon tea on Sundays, just to break up the monotony of the weeks that never seemed to change in Storybrooke. However, he wanted something different now they knew each other a little better; something special.

He began to spend some of the free time he had between customers who came in to the pawn shop, for the repair of mechanical, clockwork trinkets and other assorted trivia, on the Internet. At first his Google searches frustrated him, as he always seemed to put in the wrong search parameters, and got back ridiculous answers such as how to wash a dog he didn’t have, with vinegar and baking soda. He wondered how on earth Google thought this was an appropriate answer when the words he’d typed in were, ‘Flower Lore.’ It was one of the reasons he hated the Internet with a passion reserved previously for such people as the mayor, the proprietor of the Rabbit Hole, and of course, Belle’s no good father. He persevered, however, - as he had done with the three aforementioned individuals - and soon the Internet yielded the results for which he had been hoping, a knowledgeable and consistent web and blog site that focused on flowers, their meanings in folklore, and uses in common-day herbalism and home remedies.

It was for these reason he got into the habit of driving to the nearest town to Storybrooke to visit a rather well stocked nursery and florist establishment. He was becoming a regular, and it suited him well enough that the proprietor knew that he was only looking for the best plants and blooms. Only the best for his Belle.

Belle French frowned, a very confused frown, as she stood in the library doorway, looking down at the plant as if it were the oddest thing in the world. She crouched down and very carefully fingered the edges of the soft tissue paper in which the plant was wrapped. Then she looked up and along the street to where she could see the familiar figure of Mister Gold limping along towards his shop.

She couldn’t count the number of stares they’d received from the many people who had seen them out walking together in the evenings, or who happened to be in Granny’s diner when they called in for their tea on Sundays. So many of them were the looks of astonishment at best, and mortification, at worst, and it hurt her heart to think that the people of Storybrooke still reviled Mister R Gold, while she, Belle French, was quickly coming to like him… a lot.

In fact, if pressed while she was working on another of the collages she made of Gold’s offerings, the ones she framed and put around the library apartment to, ‘brighten the place up’ as she would tell you at first, she might just let you in on the secret yearnings that were beginning to stir in both her heart and her body for Storybrooke’s most hated man, and then fix you with a deadly stare that dared you to comment on her taste in romantic partners.

So, she picked up the plant, and carefully carried it inside the library where she unwrapped the blue and white ceramic pot in which it was planted - her favorite kind of housing for living plants that she received, although seldom - and set the cactus, for such was her gift - on the circulation desk for all to see, and until she could decide how in the name of everything holy she was going to get a cutting and dry it to be used in one of her pictures.

It was a gift after all, and she wanted to use it, in spite of the thorns.

Through the long, cold day I long for the warmth of your protection against wintry nights.

This time she had slipped the beautifully handwritten note inside the upper left pocket of the vest he wore beneath the suit jacket. Even after their weeks of walking together she still wrote to him, finding hiding places on his person, or in unexpected places around his shop where no one but he would find them. Once, she even managed to slip one into his wallet - and he still hadn’t worked out how on earth she’d been able to achieve such a feat. Not that he wouldn’t have given his wallet to her if she’d ask.

He had found the note when he opened it up at the garage where he had the Cadillac serviced, and his oil changed. He pulled out the cash to pay Michael, the proprietor, and found the note nestled there between the bills. He stood for many long moments just staring at the piece of paper and the words she had written on it. Taking in nothing else for long enough that Michael called his name and asked if everything were okay.

It was. It was unexpected, but more than welcome.

With a smile, when he reached his shop, he walked into the back room where beautiful rainbow dahlia were carefully tucked into a large dome of soaked, green oasis to keep them fresh for the evening, when he could give them to Belle in a small basket he had picked out as perfect for the occasion. He thought the blooms reflected the elegance and dignity that she displayed as they walked around Storybrooke together with her on his arm.

How could she be so patient with others?

Having seen some of the looks she had endured, some of the stares over the last three weeks, it was a wonder to him that he had not simply broken from her gentle hold, taken his cane, and smashed them to within inches of their lives. How dare they look at her in such a way. Still, she would always seem to know when his temper was about to get the better of him, and would tighten her hand around his arm, and give him the kind of smile that made him forget everything around him, and focus only on her.

Belle carefully teased the cactus leaf apart and set it to press between two of the heaviest books in her apartment, which she had brought up from the library. That complete, she dipped her pen into the light green ink in the bottle on her desk. She had decided to order some different colored inks to add another dimension to the pictures she made from the flowers that Mister Gold still gave to her, perhaps even more frequently now that they were courting.

She paused, letting the end of the pen come to rest against her lip as she considered the words she had used in the latest of their pictures; a gift that she was preparing for Mister Gold for the approaching holiday. She had a bubbling excitement in her wait for it, for him to see it, and for him to be able to see that her feelings were true.

Hours spent by candle, before the firelight’s glow as the march of time carries us toward full night.

With a smile she set down her pen, and turned the paper to rest it carefully against the blotter, careful not to smudge the lettering while it was still wet, and making certain that - by the time she was ready - the faint aroma of the rose-scented oils she had sprayed upon the paper lingered, completing her poetic missive, and encouragement for more. Spying the time, she reached for her coat and put the note carefully into her pocket, ready to slip it, unobserved onto Gold’s person as they walked.

True, it was a game she played with him, another way of more openly flirting with him than simply with flowers and poetry, but it was still unknown to the rest of Storybrooke, who looked at her with such unkind, judgmental eyes. Expressions she would, with a steady gaze, return to assure them that she was not ashamed of her growing feelings for Mister Gold, nor would they make her so, with their impolite reception.

Closing the door behind her, she made the short walk back down to the library, from where, her heart full of happiness and a smile lighting her face, she would be collected for her evening walk.

After the third of her short, poetic notes that week, Gold finally reached for the courage, at least in his own company, to consider taking their relationship further, but in another crisis of confidence, which always seemed to trigger when he considered how he might progress nearer to his desire for he and Belle.

The Thursday morning saw him staring seriously into his coffee cup in a booth at the middle of the diner, further back from his usual place.

“Did something go wrong?” David asked, still a little too loudly in public, and not for the first time Gold winced and wondered what had made him choose David for his confidante. Still he pulled out the carefully folded, much cherished piece of vellum.

As quietly as all the other times, he slid the folded note across the table between the two of them seated at the table.

“Is this the problem?” David asked again, as Gold seemed reluctant to release the sheet of paper. “She told you something that upset you in a note?

“I’m not upset,” he said, shaking his head, “and again, please keep your voice down. This is a most private matter.” David raised an eyebrow and gave a soft apology, and Gold doubted that the other man would ever guess the content of the note. He leaned forward in his seat and quietly, confidentially, explained what he could of the growing affections between he and Belle.

David sat back in his seat, a smile on his face as Gold finished his tale. “Well, that’s good news,” he said. “Isn’t it? Why don’t you just ask her. Now… tonight, I mean, on your walk.”

“Please,” Gold said, “It’s most impropitious. Besides, why should I have reason to believe that she shares my growing feelings in any way?”

“Talking to her?” David questioned, and Gold finally lifted his hand from the latest of the notes he had received, this time in the front pocket of his jacket, found after last night’s walk. He watched as David pulled the note toward him and opened it, saw the way his eyebrows shot up as he read. Gold knew the words already, by heart, and even thinking them made it clench and send its always birdlike flutter down into his groin.

And in that night, with you beside me, shall I call your name as you know me.

“Wow,” David said, looking up from the note. “And you doubt she shares your feelings how exactly?”

“Because,” he began, surrendering to a moment of almost painful honesty, “Even after weeks of courting, and walking in public, longing to take things further - when it comes to it, I fear that what I have to offer her is far less then the gift that she can give… and not as much as she deserves.

David regarded him without words for the longest time, meeting his eyes and holding him in place with only his gaze until, uncomfortable, he began to fidget.

“I think you need to let Belle be the judge of that.”

Belle wiped off the last of the dust from the circulation desk and a soft sigh escaped her. She had hoped, as before, that Mister Gold might call in to suggest a different course than simply their evening walk, that he might have understood, and for a moment she felt such fierce disappointment that her eyes became hot with unshed tears.

Had her poetic notes been too unclear? Had the cactus been a symbol of his irritation with her in some way?

She looked at the clock on the wall. It was almost ten, and there were no patrons in the library, so as was her desire, she locked up, heade upstairs, and prepared to drown her disappointment in a bucket of tea, and as much foundation as would hide the evidence of her sorrow. It was not at all her usual way, but she just felt… cowed and lonely.

His soft voice began the moment she left the stacks to head back to the desk, rolling like a wave of warmth across the space between them as she came to a sudden halt, her heart beating so quickly it was like unto one continuous drum-roll.

“Safe and warm within my arms,” he purred, “bearing the rose of my kiss.”

He approached her slowly, and it was only then that she noticed that he had turned out all but one of the lights in the library’s lobby, and that he reached for her with an un-gloved hand, his fingertips barely brushing against her skin.

“So that I need not speak, only be the echo of my heart for thee”

She blushed as she leaned toward him, into the soft touch of his fingers on her cheek, and looked up at him with a moonlit ocean for eyes that met the caramel warmth of his.

“Rumple,” she greeted him softly, a little breathless.

“May I?” he asked quietly, passing the tender brush of his thumb against her lips.

Blushing more fiercely, she nodded once, and then stilled, even holding her breath as he leaned closer yet, brushing his mouth softly to hers.

“Belle,” she breathed as he withdrew his touch.

She watched as he retrieved his cane from where he always left it, and then tipped her head in query as he offered her his arm.

“Would you care to share a nightcap with me, at my home?” he asked.

She smiled, and slipped her hand onto his arm.

“I should like that very much,” she said.

#rumbelle #fluff #flirting #courtship #a-monthly-rumbelling #amr

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