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semiweirdshipper · 1 month

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Slashers as fathers with a (teenage) reader.

Notes: 100% NON-ROMANTIC. Platonic love only. Non-binary reader. The reader is a young teenager (you decide the age). Freddy is alive and NOT a pedophile.

Summary: The slasher fathers feeling guilty after hurting their child's feelings. PART TWO. Hurt/comfort addition.

Folks who wanted to be tagged. @hope4rain19, @minaxcarter, @brooke-stinson, @urminebutidontwantyou, @gaipplrhot, @gyarukitti, @raphydude, @thelxapeia, @ant1d3pre55ant5add1ct, @decentsoupperson, @kawaistrawberry21.

Freddy Krueger

Freddy sighed as he stomped to your room in search of his laptop. You had been in such a rush this morning to get to school that you had accidentally left it in there. And while he always respected your wishes for him to never enter your room, he really needed his laptop. Sacrifices need be made some times.

However, as Freddy wandered into your room, he was met with a sight that literally stole his breath. Your bed was completely littered with folders and painted canvas boards. There was a large portfolio bag laying on the ground with its contents scattered everywhere. Painting and drawing utensils alike sat scattered over a table with a still wet painting taped atop.

Eyes ridiculously wide, Freddy looked around and deeply observed the area. He didn't know you owned any of this stuff. Paintings, oil canvases, drawings and sketches, and all of them were yours. And each piece looked really, really good. Freddy couldn't believe what was happening right now.

He thought you gave up on art.

Delicately picking up multiple art pieces, a happiness and sense of pride rushed through Freddy's heart, and he found himself grinning big in a mixture of relief and utter joy. You still loved art, and you were so good at it. He hadn't destroyed your passion after all. That being said though... Why would you hide this from him?

Later that day when you came home, Freddy asked you to go to the kitchen. When you went inside, you froze right on the spot. There, scattered all across the kitchen table, were multiple art projects of yours.

"Dad..." You choked, your heart racing in fear, your words stolen from you, "I..."

"I needed my laptop and uh... Accidentally found these," Freddy explained, a happy smile covering his face as he went to grab your shoulders, "Sweetie, why would you hide this from-"

"I told you not to go in there." You almost shouted, tears blurring your eyes as you pulled away from him.

"Sweetie," Freddy took a step back, hurt by your defensive attitude.

You went to the table and quickly began to gather up your art work. Freddy chased after you to try and get you to stop, "No, stop it. Don't do that- just-just wait a sec, I-"

"I get it, dad, you hate it. You've always hated my art. You-just... J-just leave me alone. Don't touch it, ok," You avoided eye contact while scurrying to protect your work, "I'll put it away."

"No, that's not what I want. (y/n). (y/n), will you please look at me. Hey," Freddy placed a hand on your shoulder and kept you from stomping off, "(y/n), look at me."

With a tense body and watery eyes, you looked at him, art work clutched to your chest and a glare covering your face.

Freddy sighed and said in earnest, "That's not what I want. Your art, I love it. I think it's beautiful an-and amazing! I-I mean, all this time? Really? I thought you gave up on it, I... I thought that I..."

Relaxing, you lowered your arms and looked him straight in the eyes. It felt like your heart had just done a summersault in your chest. "You... You mean it? You... You really like my art?"

"I love it!" Freddy exclaimed almost too quickly, "I love it so much, you have no idea. You have no idea how happy this makes me, (y/n). I thought that I ruined art for you. I... I never stopped feeling guilty about what I did. And I always hoped that one day you would start again, but..."

"Dad," You bit your lip hard in an attempt not to cry. He cared. He actually cared, and he loved your art. He was happy for you.

"Here," Freddy went to grab an old folder off the table.

Suspicious, you set down your art and went to take the folder. When you opened it, you saw dozens of old, un-crumpled papers with very distinct, familiar drawings on them. It took a minute, but you soon realized that these were the very drawings you had thrown away when you were little.

"You... Kept them?" You gaped at your dad, your heart aching in a happy/sad way.

"Of course I did," Freddy's smile wobbled a bit, "I love you and I love everything you do, and I'm so, so sorry for making you feel bad, f-for making you feel like you had to hide this from me."

Lowering the folder, you felt your lips wobble as your heart clenched in great happiness and relief. All this time you believed your dad hated your passion. He had hurt you so badly, but he regretted it. He had always regretted it, and he loved your work.

In a desperate attempt to hide your tears, you rush up to your dad and give him a big hug. Freddy held you as tightly as he could, his arms fierce and protective as he said, "Don't ever give up on your art, (y/n). No matter what, please. I love you so much."

Michael Myers

Michael had wandered out of the garage a few minutes after your friend's dad dropped you off. "Me and (friend's name) are gonna grab a snack real quick, k dad?" You had hollered while rushing into the house.

Rolling his eyes a bit, Michael approached the other man who casually got out of the car. He was grinning big at you and his own kid, seemingly proud and full of joy. "My god, man," He said mindlessly, smiling at Michael, "I tell ya, that was one hell of a game today. Whoo, and (y/n)? My god, they were great."

Puzzled and confused, Michael could only tilt his head in wonder. Game? What game?

The man shook his head and gave Michael an even more puzzled look than he himself sported, "Hey, how come I never see you at any of their games? Rough job or something?"

Michael's silence and confused expression urged the man to explain more.

"You know, the (sport) game? Just had one today- what a show I tell ya. But, I just- I never see you there, you know?"

At that, Michael's eyes went unspeakably wide. (sport)? You were playing (sport)? What? For how long? Why didn't he know about this? He thought you quit playing that when you were little. What was going on?

A week later and Michael was sitting amongst the crowd that was watching your (sport) game. You didn't know he was there. You didn't even know that he knew all your secrets like the fact that you had been playing (sport) for years, how you had won two trophies, the fact that this is where you spent most of your time at, and so on and so forth.

While watching the game, Michael couldn't help but to feel a deep sense of pride, relief and great joy at seeing how passionately you played and how much fun you were having. And you were so talented at it. The other team didn't stand a chance. You had grown so much since you were little. To this day his own actions still haunted him.

He hurt you. He 'scarred' you. And, although you continued doing what you loved, you had still felt the need to hide it from him, for years. He did that. He had made you feel so anxious and insecure that you felt the need to hide your greatest passion from him.

What kind of father does that to their child?

Unsurprisingly, your team won the game, and Michael couldn't be more proud or excited. Once the crowd and commotion calmed down, he patiently waited on you to exit the changing rooms. The way you hid yourself...

Michael gazed around at all the happy families congratulating and/or comforting their kids. It crushed his heart thinking about the sheer loneliness you expressed after the game ended and you had no one to celebrate with aside from your team mates.

When you came out of the changing room, Michael straightened his posture and faced you. It took you a minute, but eventually you looked up, saw him, and froze. A gasp escaped your mouth while your backpack fell from your shoulder to your shaken hand.

Michael's chest ached at the sight of your frightened, horrified face as you frantically looked around as if for an escape. Quickly he approached you and said in sign language, "That was a good game."

"Dad," You stepped away from him, panicked, "I-it's not what you think-I... I-I was just-I'm..."

You were scared, Michael realized, guilt beating on him like a hundred hammers. He waved his hand at you to get your attention, "Why didn't you tell me you were playing (sport)?"

"I..." You stare at him in great panic that melted into sadness and fear. You dropped your backpack and covered your face, saying brokenly, "I'm sorry, dad. I... I didn't mean to. Don't be mad, please, I-I... I'll stop playing it."

What? Micheal rushed to you and went to gently pull your hands away from your flushed face. What had he done? "No, I'm not mad. Please stop panicking. I'm not mad. Not at all."

Confused, you look at him through tear colored vision.

"I just found out you were playing (sport). You even have trophies. (y/n), why did you keep this from me?"

"Because," You winced, "You said I wasn't good at it. You... You hate me for it. I... I just wanted to be happy. I... I didn't mean to..."

He couldn't believe how upset you were, and all because he found out that you were doing what you loved. Marching up to you, Michael pulled you into a big hug that lasted for several minutes. When he noticed you calm down, he moved back a bit and explained.

"I was an idiot back then. I never should have said those things to you, (y/n). I've always felt bad for how I made you feel. You're not bad at (sport) and I never wanted you to stop playing. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I made you feel this way."

You were shocked speechless, so Michael pulled you into another hug. You hugged back, relieved. He wasn't mad at you. He apologized. Everything was going to be alright.

Bo Sinclair

Bo lived in a very, very small town. Everyone knew each other and every piece of information that existed on the surface. Rumors spread and gossip filled the air like pollen. So it didn't take very long for Bo to learn that you had been practicing engineering with the car shop just down the road.

At first Bo had been ecstatic. You were still interested in engineering? He thought you didn't want to do that anymore; you said so yourself. Ever since the incident when you were little, you hadn't helped him with anything physically constructive- not even stuff as simple as hanging a picture on the wall.

Pretty much everyone praised you and said that you were doing a tremendous job. Your skill towards fixing vehicles was a natural, golden talent. You were an impressive, fast learner and everyone loved and appreciated you.

But when Bo tried to approach you about this exciting news, he was confused to hear you deny all of it. You shut his exclamations off and said that the towns people were lying. You claimed to have nothing to do with engineering. Yes, you hung around the car shop, but nothing was going on, you were just bored.

Bo didn't understand it. Why would you lie to him about this? He knew that the towns people weren't making this up- just ask the guy who took a picture of you and your buddies covered in grease while working on a truck engine. You looked so happy. Why was that something to lie about?

For the life of him, Bo could not figure out what was going on with you. Obviously you were lying to him, but he couldn't get you to explain why. It was as if you were completely and utterly avoiding him now, and it was driving him crazy.

So Bo reached out for help.

"Well," Your engineering teacher said in a tense tone, "I talked to em an' they said it's 'cause they don't wanna make ya mad."

"Huh?" Bo shook his head in exaggeration. What did that even mean?

Your teacher gave him a wearisome look, "I think they're afraid you're gonna blow a gasket on em if they do somethin' wrong. I take it that... you got a short temp?"

At that question, Bo was immediately rushed with memories of the past, and he found himself feeling overwhelmed with guilt and dread. That time he got mad at you when you were little, you didn't just give up on engineering. You gave up on everything that had to do with him. Was this why? Because you were afraid that he would get mad at you if you messed up or made a mistake?

You were afraid of his temper.

Coming to realization, Bo spent quite a while trying to figure out how he should approach you. He wasn't the best at emotions or having deep conversations. If he tried to explain himself he feared he would just say something stupid and cause you to be more upset with him.

So he waited for the perfect moment.

A couple weeks later, Bo dragged you to his shop to show you something that caused your mouth to fall open in awe. "Ram 3500, 2018. An' look at'er license plate."

Gasping the name of the state the enormous truck was from, you faced your dad with absolute excitement and disbelief, "Why's it here?"

"Ah, a little transmission trouble on the road," Bo smiled and slung an arm around your shoulder, "Nice huh? She's a beauty. Needs lotta' work, fast, an' I want 'you' to help me."

"What?" Your behavior changed drastically, "Dad-"

"Look, I've already heard all the gossip. I've seen ya work at the shop. I know you know what you're doin', (y/n)," Bo went to stand in front of you. "But what I don't understand is why ya don't wanna work with me."

"It's not... I just..." You sighed and looked at the ground, lost on what to say. A pain filled your chest as you admitted quietly, "I ain't perfect, dad, I... I make mistakes."

"And?" Bo pushed for a better answer.

His impatience and lack of understanding made you snap, "An' you can't handle that. Every time I mess up even the tiniest bit, you get mad at me. What do you expect me to do, huh? I'm only (age)."

Going silent, Bo relaxed upon learning what exactly your insecurity was. You were avoiding him because you were afraid of him getting mad at you for making mistakes. He did this. He put this fear in you, made you this way. And because of that, you were both teetering on the edge of complete life separation.

"(y/n)," Bo reached out and put a hand on your shoulder, "I'm sorry."

Your entire body froze.

"I... never meant to make ya feel this way. I know ya ain't perfect. You're still learnin' an' you've got a long ways to go, but... I wanna be there for you, (y/n). I wanna help you. I wanna watch ya grow, an' I can't do that if ya ain't around... I'm better than I used to be. So if you mess up, I ain't gettin' mad. I'm helping you, because that's what fathers do."

Shot by your dad's moving words, you find yourself staring at him for a long moment before a large smile bloomed across your face. "Right dad," You say, "Let's take a look at her."

With his heart skipping over the moon, Bo grinned and thanked the very stars themselves for this moment, and he lead you to your first shared project since you were a mere, little kid.

Hannibal Lecter

One night Hannibal got bored and lonely and decided to go to Will's house which was where you liked to spend lots of time at. He didn't mind you staying with Will, but some times he himself felt a little bit left out.

When he arrived at Will's house, he quietly made way up the stairs of the porch and temporarily paused just outside of the window. Casually peeking in, Hannibal spotted Will sitting at the dining table reading a newspaper while you stood in front of the stove in the kitchen. Your sleeves were clumsily rolled up and you had a apron on.

The motions of your arms and the state of the kitchen did not lie. You were cooking. You were quite literally cooking food right in front of him. Hannibal couldn't help but to release a small shudder of mixed emotions. It had been years since he last saw you cook- years since he demolished your feelings and forced you away from the passion you both once shared.

To see you cooking now? It made Hannibal erupt with questions and emotions. How long had this been going on? What were you cooking? Why were you cooking? How come he didn't know? Were you happy? Was this why you always spent so much time with Will?

Speaking oh whom, Hannibal watched as you handed out a spoon to which Will stood up to receive. Taking a taste of the spoon, Will made a bright face and reached out for a container of spice. You smiled, laughed and nodded, happily going to add some of the recommended spice to your dish.

Grinning, Hannibal couldn't help but to feel great pride. So, you could handle personal opinions and constructive criticism? What an astounding chef you turned out to be, and you looked so happy too.

Regaining his composure, Hannibal straightened his hair and went to knock on the door.

It took over five minutes for Will to answer.

By that time, things had grown to be rather chaotic. Now only did Will claim that you had gone to bed, but that he also was the one responsible for the late night meal.

Hannibal knew better though.

Whilst you pretended to sleep in the guest bedroom, Will and Hannibal stood in the kitchen gazing around at all your hard work.

"They told me what happened when they were little," Will said, a disappointed look on his face, "How could you say that to them, doc?"

Hannibal stared down at your unfinished dish, his heart clenching in memory of the past. "I spoke out of impulse. I didn't mean to cause them this much insecurity." To think you would go out of your way to lie to him. "How long has this affair been going on?"

"I don't know. Few years?" Will shrugged, "I was cooking macaroni one day, they asked to help and... The ship set sail, I guess."

"You reignited their flame," Hannibal huffed and smiled, "I'm grateful."

"Ever thought about apologizing?" Will asked.

"I have," Hannibal said softly, "However, they refuse to have anything to do with cooking."

"You told them that they were a horrible cook and a waste of time in the kitchen. What did you expect would happen?"

Hannibal bowed his head in shame. He hurt you, more than he had ever imagined. After all these years he believed that you had moved on and found different passions, but instead you clung to cooking and desperately sought hiding it from him because of fear. What kind of father was he to do that to you?

The next morning after the drive home, Hannibal kept you in the car to say, "(y/n). I know it was you who cooked at Wills the other night. I saw."

Having been dreading this exact conversation, you flushed darkly and turned your head away in great shame, sadness and fear. "I'm sorry."

"Please do not apologize," Hannibal cursed at himself for how anxious he made you feel, "I am more grateful than you could ever know."

That stirred a confused reaction from you.

"(y/n), you do not have to accept my apology, but I want you to promise me that you will continue to do what you enjoy, especially if it is cooking." Hannibal looked to you hopefully. "Seeing how happy you were... You have no idea how much joy it brought me. I thought I had destroyed your passion, but..."

Now completely facing your dad, your mouth was agape and your heart pounding furiously with emotions.

"I've always regretted what I said to you that day. It was rude and improper, and most certainly untrue. You are an astounding cook and I'm proud of you. I'm sorry that I hurt you, but, even if you do not wish to forgive me, I hope that you will always continue to do what you love."

Looking at your dad with watery eyes, you blinked and fought for the right words to respond with. All these years you had been terrified of your dad's wrath and disapproval when it came to cooking. He was right, he did hurt you, and the pain was still lingering inside you.

Even though what he said now brought you some form of relief and comfort, you couldn't help but to still feel a little bit of lingering hurt. "I... I need time." You reply quietly.

Hannibal nodded in understanding, "And time you shall have. I will always be here to support you."

If I made a part three, it could be about the reader still suffering some anxiety while doing their passion around their dad. And the slasher dads' will be nothing but happy, supportive and proud. You know, just casual comfort and fluff.

#slashers #dead by daylight #fanfiction #reader insert #father and child relationship #Teenage reader #platonic love only #slashers as dads #freddy krueger x reader #michael myers x reader #bo sinclair x reader #reader x hannibal lecter #lester sinclair #vincent sinclair #father figure

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pandorasprongs · 11 months

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JAMIE TARTT | if it weren't for second chances, we'd all be alone.

PAIRING: jamie tartt x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.5k

SUMMARY: in order to advance her career, reader has to write a profile about her usual subject of interest: jamie tartt. if he'll let her.

WARNINGS: language

A/N: hello! this is one of my shorter one shots and not much to say about this one, but i hope you all enjoy and the title is from 'second chances' by gregory alan isakov!

"There is no fucking way I'm working with her!" You hear Jamie Tartt say from a distance, as Keeley looks past his shoulder with an apologetic look. You give her a small smile, but let out a long sigh.

You knew doing this wouldn't be easy, but you didn't exactly have a choice. You left your job at the Sun after finally coming to your senses when Trent Crimm left the Independent. If the execs were willing to let go of arguably one of their best sports journalists, what would that say about your own career?

It's been half a year since then and so far, you weren't having much luck. You were doing freelance work in the meantime — to be able to afford your rent at this point, — but you couldn't just let yourself wallow in pity.

You decided to contact a popular sports journal, asking if they had any openings for writers. Your work experience helped boost your appeal, but they said they needed a solid portfolio to consider you. Since the Sun never really let you write actual sports-related articles and few of your tabloid articles were of substance, you asked if there were any articles you could join as a freelance journalist to prove your skills.

The only one they had was one titled, "Rocky Road: Careers of the Premier League's Up and Coming" and they had a particular player you wanted to write your section on.

Contacting Keeley Jones was the easy part. You've had enough interactions with her that your name was recognizable, so you were able to organize a meeting. Your first move was apologizing for every article you've ever mentioned her in, and then quickly explaining your predicament. The KJPR owner — having been in your place of being looked down for things out of your control, — was very willing to help you get your article done.

The missing piece was just the subject of your article: Jamie Tartt. Your relationship with him was similar to the one you had with Keeley, but you doubt he'd be as forgiving.

Your suspicions were confirmed by his reaction to Keeley organizing all of this for you. You had hoped that maybe he'd forgotten all the stories you'd written about his one-night stands, scandalous statements, and failed football plays, but obviously not.

You continued to sit quietly in Keeley's office, pretending not to hear her trying to calm the football player down. After a few minutes, the pair returns and Jamie begrudgingly agrees.

For a moment there, you're ecstatic and you start organizing your schedule of events. You’ve already written a short introduction, but the rest of the article is meant to come from the player and close sources. You're also supposed to shadow him for a week to get a feel of his current state as a player in the league.

You try and explain this to Jamie, but look up to find him taking selfies on his phone. Keeley grabs his attention, but a few moments later, he's back at it, hiding his phone under the table this time.

You finally have enough. "Look Jamie, if you don't want to do this,—"

"You're right, I don't." He finally looks straight at you and you hold yourself back from smacking his smug face. You don't care how many articles say he's gotten better; you still think he's the same prick you wrote all those tabloids about.

"Jamie, we talked about this," Keeley interjects. "It'll be good for your career and Richmond's standing for next season, if you do this profile."

"Yeah, but you couldn't get any other writer?" Jamie turns to face her instead.

"Look, she really needs this article," The KJPR owner pleads with the footballer, but that only gets him more riled up.

His gaze lands on you once again, with a smug look on his face. "So her career is in my hands?" He lets out a laugh, before standing up from his seat. "Message me if you find a journalist who’s more than a mediocre tabloid writer." Jamie leaves the room without another word and you slump into your chair.

Keeley tries to get up and chase after him, but you grab her arm before she does. "It's alright, Keeley. I didn't expect him to say yes," you admit.

"Well, I can try and ask the other players if they're willing to do it. I don't suppose you've written anything for the tabloids about them, right?" She asks jokingly, but you shake your head. The journal was very specific about which player they wanted. It's Tartt or nothing.

You get up to leave, but not without thanking Keeley for trying. She says she'll send Jamie the introduction you wrote, and you appreciate the act but aren't hopeful. As you leave the office, you decide not to go back to your flat just yet and let your feet decide where you're going.

Of course, you end up at Crown & Anchor. It's nearing 6 pm by then and you decide to just have dinner there. You send a message to your roommate about it, before ordering two beers and fish & chips from Mae. You really shouldn't be eating out given how you're already scrounging for jobs, but after the second beer, it didn't seem like such a bad idea.

It's 9 pm the next time you check the clock and finally decide it's time to go home. You see Mae walking over to your booth, so you pull your wallet out of your bag. "I don't have it in me to look at the bill, just grab whatever from here and let's call it a day, yeah?"

"Someone's already paid for your meal." She responds, dropping the receipt in your palm instead. You scrunch your eyebrows before she points at someone walking towards the table. You look up and focus your eyes to find Jamie Tartt standing there. He slides into the other side and takes the receipt from you.

Before you can say anything, Jamie pulls out his phone and reads off his screen. "After aiding in AFC Richmond's promotion back to the Premier League, it's clear as day that Tartt — like his hair with the blonde highlights — is changing for the better."

You perk up when you realize what he's reciting. The football player continues, "Keeley sent the first few paragraphs you wrote. I'm not much of a reader, but this is alright."

You give him a small smile, still trying to sober yourself up for this conversation. "Thank you," is all you manage to say. “How’d you find me?”

“I didn’t. Just ended up at this pub and saw you.” You shrug at that explanation before Jamie continues, "I'll consider doing the profile," Your eyes widen, but he adds, "Only if you explain why the fuck you were so obsessed with me at the Sun?"

That's enough to shake you awake. "I was not obsessed with you!" You protest, a little louder than you intended, with Mae sending a glare in your direction.

You take a drink of water and take a deep breath before finally putting it out in the open.

"I have a degree in Journalism from Leeds," you start, prompting a confused look on the football player's face.

"The fuck does that have to do with all this?" He asks and you hold your hand up to stop him. He rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything, so you take the chance to continue.

"I have a proper degree from a good school. I have watched and played football all my life. My dad helped me join a league as a kid because of how much we loved the sport." You lean into the table, emphasizing the last part of your statement. If Jamie had arrived five beers earlier, you doubt you'd be admitting this to him.

"I played the game up until secondary school when I started getting serious about my writing. I decided to focus on that more, but I only knew how to write about football." You look up to make sure Jamie is still paying attention and find him looking at you intently.

You take a breath and continue, "I started writing for my school's paper about our team's games and when I went to university, I did the same thing. I've practically been a sports journalist for a decade, so I can proudly say that I'm a fucking qualified writer. I initially applied to be a journalist for the Independent,"

"What, like the Trent Crimm types?" Jamie interjects and you nod.

"But they decided to refer me to the Sun instead. The only things they'd let me write about were tabloids. As in, if I wrote anything about football or sports, it'll get rejected like that," You smack the table, startling Jamie a little, and sigh.

"The closest I could get was writing about rumors about the players, but even then, I'd only really get a small part at the back of the paper. The first time I got a section on the front page though, was when I wrote that article about you. The one about you getting caught with two girls in a karaoke room?" You remind him and he flinches at the reminder but doesn't say anything.

"Well yeah, that one. Anyway, I realized that if I wanted a chance to become an actual sports journalist, I had to get my stupid articles on the front page first and my most popular ones were always about you." You try and gauge Jamie's reaction to that, but he's doing a good job at keeping a straight face now. Or maybe you're just too drunk to properly determine his features.

"So I kept writing about you, whatever bullshit rumor or story I could get my hands on. I'd usually add some things at the end about your football performance thinking that an editor would see it and say 'Oh, she knows what she's talking about,'" You drop your voice an octave to try and mimic one of the executives you knew back then.

"But after a while, you started cleaning up your image and I started to realize that no matter what I did, no one fucking cared. I'd never get a chance to write what I actually wanted there, so I left." You lean back into your seat and let out a huff. "And now you're all caught up."

It takes a minute before Jamie finally speaks up. "I'll do it." A part of you still doubted that he'd agree, but with verbal confirmation, you allow yourself to internally celebrate. "But you better make me look good, yeah?"

"Yes, I promise," you reply, nodding your head furiously. "Oh, and thanks for paying for my dinner."

"Sure. I'll ask Keeley about our schedule next week." Jamie moves to get up but pauses for a second before jerking his head towards you. "Also, my hair is walnut mist, not blonde. You better change that in the article."

You wonder why this is what Jamie chooses to raise his voice about, but you agree nonetheless. He leaves you be and you sit there for a moment, still in shock. But once one of the servers comes to clean up your table, you finally get the sense to call your roommate to pick you up and share the news.

—

After a rough hangover the morning after, you check your phone to find a message from Keeley telling you Jamie changed his mind about it. You guess he decided not to tell her about what you said last night, much to your relief. You find another message from an unknown number.

I'm usually at the clubhouse by 10, so best to be there by then.

You were still too groggy to properly comprehend the message when another one pops up.

It's Jamie.

You save the contact on your phone before getting up and starting your outline. You already had a few questions lined up when you were planning the article, mainly topics that only he could comment on. One of those things is his career in the recent year.

After losing Lust Conquers All and being kicked out of Man City — arguably your biggest article, — there were fewer and fewer stories for you to write about the footballer, so your last few months at the Sun were pretty lackluster. You didn't have any reason to keep following Jamie's career, so you still had to fill that gap through your interview. But you decided to keep that till after you shadowed Jamie for the week since you also wanted to get the input of his teammates and coaches.

Over the week, you'd received mostly the same stories about the player. Massive prick, got sent back to Man City, came back and redeemed himself, and is now both a better player and teammate. It's nothing you hadn't heard before from second-hand sources, but at least you had direct quotes from his teammates for the article.

Watching training was the more exciting part of being at the clubhouse, especially getting to watch the improvements of the Richmond team as a whole. They seemed to be more united than before, probably because of the promotion high.

Your main focus was Jamie and you could tell that his teammates were right. Gone were the days of hogging the ball and only allowing himself to score a goal. He still had slight vibes of his old prick self, but you learned from the coaches that it was more of a tactic than anything. You even learned about their "signal," which they once did in a match a few months ago, you remember.

For the most part, you had avoided Jamie, still sensing a sort of resentment towards you. You couldn't blame him; he was already doing you a massive favor and it would be rude to get mad at him for justifiably being pissed off at you. It was only ever slight nods and greetings in the halls, and occasionally glances during practice.

Only at the end of the week did you finally have a conversation with him again to plan your one-on-one interview. Well, more of you enumerating your ideas and him only responding in nods.

"Is Sunday okay? Keeley said we can use one of the meeting rooms in KJPR for it." You're double-checking the message from the CEO as Jamie fixes himself up in front of his locker.

"Nah, too stuffy," is the first thing the football player says during the whole conversation. "How long's it gonna take?"

You had already lessened the number of questions for him based on the information you gathered from the team so that only left a select few. You didn't want to underestimate it though, so you tell him around 1-2 hours, depending on his answers.

"Then can't you find a restaurant or something for it? So I'm not starving the whole time." He asks, and you bite back from commenting on his tone. This is for the greater good. This is for the greater good.

"Sure, I'll find a quiet cafe for it, so no one will disturb us." You already had a few in mind that you used to go to when you needed a space to write.

"Okay, sounds good," Jamie responds and there are a few quiet moments before the footballer says his goodbyes. "Have a nice night."

"You too," You move to the side and the football player leaves without another word.

You exhale deeply and wait for a beat before heading into the hallway yourself. You start walking out of the building when you hear someone call out to you.

"Hi! I didn't know you'd be here today," You greet Keeley, who's rushing down the stairs.

"Oh, I'm just visiting Rebecca." She explains, pointing upstairs. "How's the article going?"

"It's going fine." You answer.

"Just fine? If Jamie's being an arse, you can tell me." You laugh but shake your head. Keeley seems to believe you and instead tells you, "Also, I've already contacted a photographer for Jamie's shoot. I'll send you his email, so you can plan it out with him. And, if you need any additional information, I'm sure I can help fill the gaps."

"Yes, thank you," You smile at her when a question pops into your head. "Do you know if Jamie's dating anyone right now?" Your first thought is to ask his possible partner for an interview, but you instantly realize your fault. "Wait, never mind, I shouldn't ask. That's way too invasive. Old habits die hard, sorry."

"It's alright," Keeley's quick reply relaxes you. "But no, I don't think he's seen anyone in a while."

That was more or less the end of the conversation with Keeley as Rebecca finally appeared and the two ladies went back to the latter's office.

—

The afternoon you're supposed to meet Jamie started rough. First, you realize you didn't charge your laptop the night before and now, it was completely dead. Next, your roommate had used up all the hot water, so you had to power through the freezing temperatures. Now, you're running late to the interview and sprinting through the street.

You finally get to the cafe and as you expected, there was only one other person there aside from the barista. You wave at the person at the counter, already familiar with them before approaching Jamie.

"12 minutes late," is all he has to say, as Jamie glances at his watch.

"Sorry, I just," you stop yourself from going on a whole monologue about how shit your day has been. "I got delayed, okay?"

Maybe he could sense you weren't in the mood to deal with his attitude, — when were you ever? — so Jamie instead informs you, "I ordered some food and the guy said he knew you, so he made whatever you usually get."

You try not to show your surprise at him paying for your lunch, but it wouldn't be the first time. "Thanks," The football player only nods, before crossing his arms.

You open your notebook and the voice recorder on your phone, "Okay, let's start."

You didn't expect this interview with Jamie to be so... fun?

You decided to start with the more surface-level questions like his expectations for the season, so it could break the ice a little. But after a sip of your tea ended up in the wrong pipe and launched you into a coughing fit, the tension was immediately broken.

Jamie started giving you more substantial answers and was more open about talking about his return to Richmond. How it really changed him, specifically Ted Lasso's effect on him and the club as a whole. You notice how soft his features had become talking about his coach and the team and you react with a smile.

After that and finishing your sandwiches, you shift the topic to his childhood and how it shaped him as a player now. You notice the sudden change in Jamie as if he's hesitant to start, so you reassure him, "If it's too much, we can change gears a bit. Talk about something else."

He shakes his head, "No, it's fine. There are just some things that I don't really want to share."

"That's fine. You don't have to. Just stick to the general stuff if you want." You pause the recording for a moment, trying to make Jamie more comfortable.

He pauses for a moment, before letting out a chuckle. "Do you think old you would be happy with letting me keep my secrets?" He changes his tone towards the end and you roll your eyes.

"Obviously not," you answer. "But I've been trying to bury that version of me."

"Why? You probably could've taken down the parliament with your skills." Jamie jokes and you finally break into a smile.

"Well, I never really used my skills for bigger and better things, did I? Just finding dirt on football players to make some money and build a mediocre reputation as a journalist." You answer honestly and the football player's expression changes.

"I didn't mean to be such a prick during the meeting." Jamie starts, but you shake your head.

"Nah, you had every right to. I wrote some pretty shitty things about you back then."

"Well yeah, but your life's kind of gone to shit since then, so now I feel bad." Your jaw drops and your eyes widen at his explanation and lightly punch him in the shoulder. Maybe the two of you weren't close enough for that kind of thing, but Jamie just laughed at your reaction.

"Fucking prick," you say in a joking manner. "Let's get back to the interview." You start the recording again, as Jamie recounts the first time his mum bought him a pair of boots.

He starts telling you about all the significant milestones over the years, and while you can tell he's holding back some things, — specifically about his dad, — you say nothing. It's the least you can do.

Maybe it's the fact that this has been the best part of your shitty day, but you started to see Jamie in a different light. Yes, everyone talked about how much he had changed, but this was the first time you saw it directly. You didn't even notice how late it's gotten till a brand new barista approached you about cleaning out the table.

"Shit, this is way past two hours now." You exclaim and check your notes to see that you've covered all the needed areas at this point. "But, I think we can end it now."

"Actually," you look back up at Jamie, who pauses to think. "Do you wanna get dinner? You pay this time,"

You don't have time to wonder about his reasoning for this and let your hunger take over. "Sure, but if I'm paying, I pick the place."

The two of you stand up and Jamie directs you to the door, "Lead the way," you playfully roll your eyes and start walking, with the footballer trailing behind you.

You head to a nearby Japanese restaurant, — one of the many perks of your flat's location — and settle down in a booth near the back. There were more people in this place and you weren't sure how comfortable Jamie would be being seen with you. You knew better than anyone how easily a scandal could be made from a simple picture.

The two of you pick out your meals and thank God it was an older lady taking your order who didn't recognize the footballer across you.

"Okay, why'd you want to eat dinner together?" You finally bring up.

The player just shrugs and leans on the table, "Thought I'd give you a chance to pay me back." You can't help but agree with that statement, so you let it go. Jamie continues, "Also, I'm interviewing you now."

"Oh God, don't tell me you're doing a profile on me." You joke and the player rolls his eyes.

He doesn't respond and goes back to his questions, "What got you into football?"

It was the first question you had asked him earlier. While he had given you a general answer initially, he added to it afterward, saying it was one of the few things he was sure he was good at as a kid. You decide to give him an honest answer.

"My brother and I don't have a lot in common. Didn't even feel like I had a sibling for the first part of my life. Till he realized I wasn't half bad at football. It was the only way to get a decent conversation out of the guy, and after a while, I ended up actually liking it." The moment you finish your answer, you realize you've never actually said it aloud to anyone.

For a brief moment, you think Jamie would say something serious, much to your dismay. You hated having to be emotional in front of other people. It was your job to pry at people's thoughts and feelings, not the other way around. But after building your writing career around the guy, you should've known he doesn't fare too well with feelings either.

"Think he's a fan of me?" He asks instead.

"Fuck no, not anymore," you're quick to reply and Jamie looks offended. You elaborate, "He's a Man City supporter. Fucking hates your guts now, honestly."

Jamie lets out a small laugh. "Runs in the family." The lady comes back with your food and that puts a hold on your conversation.

After a few minutes of eating, you finally break the silence. "You know I never actually hated you, right?"

Mid-slurp, Jamie looks up with a look of disbelief. "Really? You wrote all those articles and still don't hate me?"

"Yes!" You defend yourself. "I told you before. I did it for the job, nothing more. And objectively, you were a great player. You honestly have more of a reason to hate me than I do."

Jamie scoffs. "I don't hate you either. Annoyed? Yeah. Pissed off? Most of the time, but I never hated you."

You had already gotten pretty good at hiding your surprise about these revelations. "Well, I guess that settles it. We don't hate each other." You stick out your hand and Jamie looks at you in confusion for a section, before shaking it. The two of you laugh and continue your meal.

After paying, you end the night there and wave goodbye to Jamie outside the restaurant. If you from a year ago saw you hanging out with the footballer, she would've thought you'd lost your mind.

As you head back home, you have this weird feeling in your chest. Your whole job was finding ways to express things through words, but even then, you couldn't figure this one out. It's only when you get home and re-listen to your recording filled with jokes and exchanges that you realize.

You may or may not be developing a crush on the football player.

—

You hadn't physically seen Jamie since the photoshoot a few days after your interview and dinner with him.

You didn’t have a reason to anymore, since you had pretty much finished the whole article and already handed it to the editor for proofreading. They sent it back with minor notes, — just some grammar slip-ups and possible rephrasing, — which gave you hope that you might end up with a job when this is all over.

Getting the profile approved also gave you a chance to message Jamie after weeks of no contact, just to ask for his opinion on things. You didn't know if it was nerves or excitement making that pit in your stomach waiting for him to reply. All he had to say about the article was that he was glad you changed the "blonde" line in the introduction. Luckily though, it didn't end there. After that, he asked you what you thought of his new locker set-up.

That was the first of many times he would shift the conversation to random topics. You started spending your mornings and nights just messaging the football player. Sometimes he'd send pictures from training, saying it's extra material for the article and sometimes you'd send pictures from the cafe where you're writing, joking that you had new ideas for Jamie-related articles to send to the su!z

And when the rankings about the upcoming season came out and put AFC Richmond last, your first thought was to message him.

Fuck the pundits, honestly. You knew he didn't need any context, but you didn't expect Jamie to answer so quickly considering he was supposed to be at training.

I'm not worried. It's just poopy. You're not entirely sure what that meant, but at least it didn't seem to affect him so much.

I'm glad, then. You wait for a beat before sending another message. I know you'll do great this season. Why were you so nervous sending that? God, it felt like you were 15 again.

Thanks. Pretty sure 'tabloid writer you' is rolling in her grave.

You laugh to yourself as you reply. God, her head would be spinning knowing how I'm contributing to your already massive ego.

Jamie just sends a picture of him looking mad and you send one back sticking your tongue out.

A few days after, you send the published article to both Jamie and Keeley, along with a thank you for all the help. The latter answered sincerely, partnered with an invitation to the first game of the season, but of course, the footballer decided to answer jokingly.

Over time, you'd gotten over being so worried about interacting with Jamie. He was just another guy, even if he was an incredibly fit footballer for his day job. And now, you'd get to watch him play in the first match with Chelsea.

Despite your presence being welcomed by Keeley, Rebecca, the owner of Richmond, and Higgins, the Director of Football Operations, it didn't take a genius to realize how tense the three of them were at the match. Their club was the underdog of the season, so it was understandable to be nervous about the match, but you soon pick up on a different vibe involving an ex-husband and internationally famous football player.

"What do you think, then?" Keeley asks you when Rebecca leaves to try and convince Zava to join her team instead. "Do you think Zava's worth it?"

"Yes," you answer honestly, from the perspective of a sports journalist and a football fan in general. "Zava's objectively one of the best football players in the world, and his track record of wins outweigh his track record of diva moments."

"Well said," Higgins responds and you smile at him, before turning back your attention to the game.

When Rebecca comes back to your seats and explains the disastrous interaction, your reaction is the same as the rest of them: pure disappointment.

But as the game ends with a draw, you can't help but celebrate along with the rest of the Richmond fans. It may not be a win, but it was more than most people expected of the club, so that was something.

You join the other three briskly leaving your seats and avoiding the press conference of Zava until you hear him utter the name 'Richmond' in his speech.

"Holy fuck," you celebrate with Keeley and congratulate Rebecca since whatever she said to Zava seemed to work out in the end.

It was then that you felt a ping from your cell phone. You open it to find an email from the sports journal offering you a slot as a feature writer. You end up repeating, "Holy fuck," drawing the attention of the others.

Keeley glances at your screen and exclaims in happiness, "Oh my God. Congrats to you, too!" She goes in for a hug and despite still being in shock, you're quick to reciprocate it.

"Thank you, Keeley. Truly." Your face is just an expression of pure joy as you let go of her. As you continue to walk out of the stadium, you end up excusing yourself. Of course, you had to thank the main person for all this.

You find your way to the guest locker rooms and even from the hallway, you hear the cheering of the Richmond tram. They must've heard the news. You don't bother knocking and walk in to find what you expected: celebrating and rather sweaty football players. Well, there was one person who stood out.

"Jamie!" You call out to him from the door and the moment his somewhat solemn eyes landed on you, he made his way through the crowd to you.

"What're you doing here?"

"I just wanted to tell you that I got the job! I'm going to be a proper sports journalist." You inform him and his expression immediately changes to match yours. Catching you by surprise, Jamie envelopes you in a hug and you decidedly ignore his dirty kit as you reciprocate it.

"That's great," Jamie says, as he lets go of you.

You smile, before remembering the news earlier. "Oh and congrats, too! On the draw and getting Zava." The footballer's expression noticeably drops at the mention of the other player, and you finally get it. "You're not happy about getting him, are you?"

Jamie inhales sharply. "Rather not talk about that right now."

"Okay, sure," You back off. "But if it helps in any way, you'll still be my favorite player on the team."

Your heart skips a beat when Jamie gives you a cocky smirk, one that you used to despise. "Yeah? And you'll keep writing about me too at the new job, too?"

"It is my specialty. Plus, you're infinitely more interesting than Zava and his avocado farm." The two of you let out matching chuckles.

The cheering from the locker room seems to have died down and there were fewer and fewer people in the hallway. That's when Jamie takes a step forward closer to you.

When you don't pull away, he finally staets. "I was wondering, if you weren't busy,—"

"Yes," You interrupted him and hope you didn't do so prematurely. "If what you're about to ask is what's I'm thinking, then yes."

"Oh, you're fine giving me dirt on the other teams when you start your new job?"

You stop your expression from dropping and force a smile, "Yeah, sure."

But your disappointment doesn't last because Jamie starts chuckling, "I'm joking! I wanted to ask if you wanted to go out sometime."

You're not sure if you should be annoyed or ecstatic, so your reaction is a mix of both. "Oh fuck you, Jamie!"

The footballer's prick side is practically second nature. "If the night goes well."

You lightly shove his shoulders before answering, "Sure. As long as it's a private place. Those tabloid writers can be so annoying sometimes." You flash a playful smile at Jamie, which he's quick to mirror.

#jamie tartt #jamie tartt x reader #ted lasso #jamie tartt fanfiction #jamie tartt imagine #jamie tartt fic #jamie tartt fluff #ted lasso fanfic #jamie tartt fanfic #jamie tartt reader

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orfeoarte · 18 days

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Hi hi! My commissions are still open. Seeing as my previous post wasn't getting more traction, I'm making a new one.

I can't stress enough how dire the situation in my country is, but I will add links in the replies so you may see it for yourself. In short, I appreciate any and all commissions, and need work. These prices are for reference, and I'm flexible about payment times. Don't hesitate to DM me here, or at my discord @orfeoarte

Even if you can't commission, please reblog this so I can maybe reach a client. Thank you for your time!

TOS under cut.

•I will send updates as I have them. For more complex pieces, expect turnout times to be around a month.

•Payment is done 50% upfront and 50% after the sketch is approved.

•The piece, as purchased, is owned by you, but the licensing is mine. This means I do not allow commercial uses unless previously agreed upon, and I do not allow editing of my work to be posted unless previously agreed upon. You may post my work with proper credit after discussing it with me.

->Credit: linking to my social media and/or portfolio. You may never claim authory over my work.

•I reserve the right to reject a commission.

•Refunds: only 75% after the first sketch is done. I will retain 25% for the work put into the sketch. Is not refundable after the piece is at later stages (lines, colors, shading, scene).

•If the subject(s) of the commissions are found to be illegal or I find it to be morally reprehensible (directed hatred, bestiality, minor/adult, abuse, violence, etc), I will request payment in full and discontinue the work. For this to not happen, be honest and communicate about what you're looking for. I do not condone art with those themes and will reject the commission before even taking it up.

#art #commissions #digital art #artist for hire #art commissions #commissions open #fanart #i will draw your oc #boost #signal boost #argentina #argieblr #orfeoarte #please reblog

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justabrowncoatedwench · 8 months

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So I'm not done lol I wanna rant about how all the god shit in BG3 is connected! Spoilers under the cut...

To preface: all dates are listed in DR, or Dale Reckoning, which is the most commonly used dating of years in Forgotten Realms lore, established with 1 at the signing of the Dale's Compact, creating peace between the elves of Cormanthyr and the human+ civilizations of the Dalelands (notable to current discussions, as Elminster Aumar is equally well known as the Sage of Shadowdale, one such dale in the Dalelands).

So Shadowheart's arc highlights the tug of war between Shar and Selune, but Shar and Selune are ALSO the progenitors of a lot of the other deities INCLUDING the OG Mystryl, born when Selune tore a part of her essence & threw it at Shar during their initial war post-sun creation, wounding them both & casting Shar into the void for a while. Mystryl was that piece of magic torn from Selune and having grabbed up a piece of Shar's as well when she hit, a blending of light and dark.

Mystryl then much later gave her life to save the world during Karsus's Folly in -339 DR. That's how Karsus fucked up magic so bad and so permanently. He almost DESTROYED the Weave, because Mystryl - and in future, Mystra - IS the Weave! And she died - thus also killing him, as she was inside him at the time - to preserve the Weave when he tried to steal some measure of her power!

*And Gale knew this*, knew much of it anyway. How could he not, with his own research that led him to the Orb? And his relationship with Mystra? And friendship with Elminster?

Anywho, Mystryl took time to reincarnate herself using a young peasant girl as her vessel, she then chose to go by the name Mystra instead of Mystryl. Once in this vessel she regained control of the Weave, bringing magic back to Toril (the planet Faerun, a continent, is on), which had been chaotic & largely depowered. After Karsus, she became much more strict/ Lawful in her decrees around magic, banning mortals from using any magic above 9th level spells (Karsus's Folly involved at least one 10th or 11th 12th level spell iirc).

Later, during the period known as the Time of Troubles, which began when Bane & Myrkul (two of the Dead Three) tried to steal the Tablets of Fate from Ao (the Overgod that most mortals don't even know exists). Ao then locked the deities into the Material Plane, forcing them to walk among their followers on Toril. Mystra at one point defied Ao's order, attempting to return to the heavens, and was killed by Helm, who had been tasked by Ao with protecting the gates and ensuring none of the gods disobeyed him. (Good job, Mystra.)

Also during the Time of Troubles the Dead Three got their name in truth, as Myrkul, Bane, and Bhaal were killed (as were several other gods, some of whom Ao chose to resurrect as they perished while fulfilling the obligations of their portfolios, like Torm). The Time of Troubles is also when Bhaal was seeding his Bhaalspawn - including Sarevok Anchev - in the world (the results of which gave us Baldur's Gates 1 and 2).

Anyway, as previously established, Mystra IS the Weave, so killing her fucked magic up again, unleashing the Spellplague (hello 4e D&D and your reduced pantheon & reduced magic). Ao selected several mortals to either ascend into vacated portfolios or rewarded mortals for killing gods who needed killing; Cyric was a mortal who killed Bane, while helping to retrieve the Tablets of Fate for Ao, for example of one such occurrence, who fwiw was the adventuring companion of two other mortals chosen for godhood, Kelemvor and Midnight. Kelemvor took on a portfolio of the dead, and Midnight was who Ao picked to take on Mystra's role and she chose to take on Mystra's name as well. This happened in 1358 DR, and when the Tablets were returned to Ao, he ground them to powder so they'd never be at risk again. This however fucked up the natural laws of Realmspace, which began to unravel, beginning the Era of Upheaval. The Era of Upheavel lasted from its beginning in 1358 DR (BG1 takes place in 1368 & BG2 takes place shortly after) through the Second Sundering (though most mortals only know of it as the Sundering, since the First Sundering happened even before Karsus's Folly by millenia, in -17,600 DR, in the time of elves) which took from about 1482 through 1487 DR. (The Second Sundering and its associated tie in novel series - very good! - brings us from 4e into 5e D&D, in ttrpg terms.) Baldur's Gate 3 takes place in 1492 DR, starting in the equivalent earth month to August, late August specifically.

Considering that Midnight took on the mantle of Mystra in 1358, I'm pretty sure Gale has only dealt with *her*, while Elminster has served Mystra - including being her lover and raising 3 of her 7 daughters - for 1300 years by BG3, which would include both previous incarnations of Mystryl/Mystra.

So in summary, the gods are all Like That, even the ones who used to be mortals (and I'm pretty sure Gale doesn't know his Mystra used to be a mortal, or that any other gods were either, based on dialogue after you get the Tome of Karsus in Act 3).

All the delicious BG3 god machinations are connected and have been for centuries if not eons. The Dead Three like to cause problems on purpose, Shar and Selune are sisters & also kind of contentiously divorced parents who can't play nice & use the kids to fight. Even the Lathander stuff at the gith creche is kind of connected, since the kick off of the big war between Shar & Selune was the creation of the sun to give their first child, Chauntea, the og earth/nature deity, warmth. Lathander (& Amaunator, rip) is the deity of the dawn/sun, among other things, and Silvanus (hello deity of the Druids in Act 1 & Halsin) is the wild nature counterpart to Chauntea's now largely agricultural portfolio. Chauntea has been known to have romantic connections with Lathander, as well. Zariel too - hello Wyll & Karlach's storylines - is connected, because before her fall into Avernus where she became an Archdevil in service to Asmodeus, she USED to be a solar (most powerful type of angel/celestial) in the service of Lathander.

If you've gotten this far, thank you for listening to my lore dump lol. I hope it enriches your experience of BG3 & the Forgotten Realms!

Post-Script: if you're left wondering how the unraveling of the laws of Realmspace got fixed, the Second Sundering began when Ao decided to recreate the Tablets of Fate to fix what he'd broken vis a vis the chaos of the Realmspace.

Additional fun fact: of the 3 of Mystra's 7 total daughters that Elminster raised, Storm Silverhand - renowned High Harper of the Dalelands - was one, and often also traveled with him as an adventuring companion as an adult through the centuries. Another is Laeral Silverhand, current Open Lord of Waterdeep, that big ol' city Gale is from that's right up the coast from Baldur's Gate.

#baldur's gate 3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate lore #faerun lore #forgotten Realms lore #faerun #forgotten Realms #Elminster Aumar #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #shadowheart

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warpyyy · 10 months

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im a disabled game dev looking for artists to help bring my game to life. help a guy out during disability pride month

yes you'd be getting paid via share of the revenue once the game is out. im on disability income and cant pay upfront so i understand if you wanna scroll past now tbh LMAO

really though ive been working on my visual novel, The Deception of Paradise since 2018 and now that the script is done, i need a sprite artist and a backgrounds artist since i cant draw properly aside short , simple one-time art pieces due to a serious lifelong head injury

if you'd like to help out consider going here to post your portfolio and reading more about the project (its a casting club call link)

if you have any questions about the story, the characters, the game, anything really feel free to shoot me an ask! my inbox is open. however dont message me pls i dont have access to messages since this blog is a shared blog with an older account of mine

please consider reblogging so this post can reach more people, this is a passion project of mine and im just one disabled guy trying to make it come to life

game desc/blurb under the cut!

“Peace City- a city near the coast that’s loaded with all kinds of people. Named appropriately, I suppose; everything here seems perfect. Almost too perfect.

Anyway, within Peace City is The Society; A company that employs humans and Arkadias alike- ah, what is an Arkadia you ask? An Arkadia is a type of spirit that possesses inanimate objects. They appear human, and they only reveal their true form if needed- or, if damaged.

I work here in Peace City, along with my partner Ari. He’s a bit of an idiot, but he’s a good person… er, Arkadia. But there’s something off about this city, I’ve only been here a year and I can already tell. The people seem restless, and the abundance of clouds to the north… I wonder what’s up?” - Rin

[Main characters Rin and Ari work for The Society. Their first job was to investigate murders at a library, but then Ari gets attacked by the murderer! The two fall into a rabbit hole of more crime and mysteries as they try to sort things out- both in town, and between the two of them.]

#gamedev #game dev #actually disabled #disability pride month #tdop #the deception of paradise #help me pls i want this game to be finished so bad its my pride and joy

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therealrainbowmadness · 1 year

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The downfall of media representation: a look at the massive cancelation tide of queer-woman-led shows of 2022

A little more than a year ago, I published a piece on what I called “the queer renaissance” where I reminisced on Lexa’s legacy (The 100) and showed optimism on the representation scenario given the variety of shows airing or to be aired with queer woman among their characters, and the grand amount of WLW couples in committed relationships that had on-screen marriages between 2020 and 2021. But even then, when things were still looking up representation-wise, I pointed that a cloud of worry was coming due to the end of many beloved shows that featured queer characters. There, I mentioned Black Lightning (Grace and Thunder), The Bold Type (Kat and Adena), Supergirl (Alex and Kelly), Brooklyn99 (Rosa), Atypical (Casey and Izzie), Genera+ion (Riley and Greta), Dickinson (Emily and Sue), Motherland Fort Salem (Raelle and Scylla) and Killing Eve (Eve and Villanelle). Little did I know that my optimism was foolish and that the worry brought by the end of the above-mentioned shows would only grow stronger after a very disturbing 2022.

The first cancelation tide came in April. When rumors started regarding the selling of The CW, queer fans immediately started worrying for their beloved shows, specifically for DC Legends of Tomorrow and Batwoman. Turns out they had a reason to worry because even before the network was sold by Paramount and Warner Bros. Discovery to Nextstar, The CW axed a long list of names from their portfolio. The shock was evident since The CW traditionally renewed their shows and allowed departing series to have a final “goodbye” season, as they did with Supergirl. But what called everyone’s attention was the fact that Legends of Tomorrow last-airing season (the seventh of their run) had done great regarding to critics and ratings. It also had more views than shows that would get renewed, like Riverdale. Media outlets later revealed that the apparent cause for cancelation was that the uncertain future of the network at that point led Warner Bros. to not want to commit to another long-term lease on the sound stages in Vancouver. The fact that they also did not renew their deal with Netflix for distributing content largely affected their revenues as well. Not to say that any of these issues did not play major parts on the future of our beloved shows, the fact remains that series that were in similar conditions, that is, also shot in Vancouver, also distributed by Netflix, and with similar or lower ratings and approval from critics, were renewed. In contrast, Legends of Tomorrow and Batwoman were not. The difference between then and the ones that got renewed: both were led by woman who loved other woman. And one of then was led by a black woman.

It was not easy moving on from such losses and being left without a proper ending to beloved characters and couples. But the cancelation wave did not slow down. Gentleman Jack was canceled in July by HBO. Despite BBC’s desire to move forward with the show, they still needed HBO as a co-producer and global distributor. It was hypothesized that the gap between the first and second seasons, caused by the pandemic, led to lower ratings and, thus, cancelation. But the untold reality was that HBO somewhat sabotaged the show by changing its time slot to air in the US and not pushing as much publicity for season 2. This kind of approach reminded me of the way Nickelodeon treated The Legend of Korra, constantly changing its time slot and ultimately moving it to streaming for the fourth and final season. Korra was a pioneer in queer representation for animated series.

The Wilds was canceled after a second season mostly focused on new male characters instead of the group of girls that led the first season, including the couple Shelby and Tony. Some shows had briefer runs, like Prime Video’s Paper Girls and Netflix’s First Kill. So short indeed that it makes me believe that genre TV for sapphics is the ultimate streaming queerbaiting. It is worth mentioning that many people, including LGBTQIAP+, stated that these shows were better off being canceled since they were poorly scripted and had terrible CGI. Addressing these issues, I have to say that poor visual effects never stopped series from getting renewed (just see Supernatural) and shows with really horrible scripts are constantly made and renewed by streaming platforms (Netflix’s Elite is a perfect example). However, I do not agree that they are badly scripted at all. Despite heavy criticism, First Kill had an expressive number of views and ranked well in Netflix’s Top 10 in many countries, also showing great numbers on socials which were at least comparable to Heartstopper (already renewed by Netflix).

But it was not enough for Netflix to cancel First Kill, and the news about the cancelation of Warrior Nun hit colder than ice. Warrior Nun was already a beloved show that grew its audience during the pandemic. Although some had reservations for the first season because of a possible queerbaiting, this possibility was erased by season 2 and the beautiful slow-burn romance between Ava and Beatrice. The momentum the show gained by the launch of its second season was impressive and it was impossible to go through the Twitter timeline without seeing some post or photo related to the show or Avatrice. The impact was so big that made people go back and watch the first season as well. Rotten Tomatos season 2 critic ratings were 100% and audience score was 99% with 7925 reviews. In fact, season 2 had the highest Netflix audience rating ever. The audience, already aware of Netflix MO, grew the engagement of the series on social media, despite Netflix showing zero effort for advertising the new season whatsoever. And again, despite the great ratings, views and engagement, the show got axed without much explanation, leaving a passionate audience with multiple unsolved cliffhangers.

Netflix, having one of the largest portfolios among networks and streaming platforms, is naturally the home of many shows with LGBTQIA+ characters. It does not feel like a coincidence that these shows, especially the ones featuring lesbian and bisexual woman, are the main targets for cancelation. The cycle continues: platforms pick up shows with a queer character for producing to fill the diversity box; they offer little to no support for the people involved on the actual making of the show, offering lower budgets compared to other equivalent series; besides the low production value, they also put little effort on advertising these series, making very hard for the show to do well outside the queer bubble; still, some audience, specially queer woman, sign to that platform to watch the series, grow attached to the characters, ship the couples, engage on social media, and do what they can for it to get to as many people as possible, since the network or streaming is doing virtually nothing in this regard; ultimately, the show either performs poorly as far as visualizations, mostly due to the sabotage of their own producing platform that offered a low production and advertising value, or performs well, but never well enough to them. In the latter case, it feels like woman-led shows are always held to a much higher standard than the male-led ones, having to do so much better to get same recognition. Misogyny and lesbophobia are the two words that come to mind describing this heartbreaking cycle.

At the end of the day, what we are left with? Series that give terrible endings to their sapphic characters, like Killing Eve. Series that are giving us kind of a bad type of representation, like The L Word Gen. Q season 3 (destroying character evolution and pushing outdated plots). Series with great representation which we are so afraid to get attached to just so we’d be disappointed again (like A League of Their Own and Sex Live of College Girls). And series that we will never even know the ending (choose any of the above-mentioned series). It is worth pointing out that all the fandoms are fiercely fighting for their shows to get pick up by other platforms and find new homes, as they should. A great example that the fight is worth fighting is Wynonna Earp. The show was canceled after its third season, leaving the audience with many cliffhangers. The fans fought hard and SyFy pick up the series for two more seasons. Ultimately, season 5 never happened, and its only owned to the creator Emily Andras, who did not want to make the same mistakes as season 3 and leave multiple loose ends, that we got a satisfying beautiful ending at season 4. But even with only one extra season, it was so worth it. And one final season could be all we needed to feel a sense of closure for all these falling series.

It is worth highlighting that LGBTQIAP+ representation is so important for so many people to recognize themselves in the characters and feeling less alone in this world, for helping people accept themselves, come out to their families, and just to normalize in general the existence of LGBTQIAP+ people in all sorts of environments and genres. We are currently seeing undoubtedly a major regression on how media approaches representation in general. We started back then being either sexualized or straight up killed, evolved into great characters with diverse well-thought-out plots, only to now have our shows canceled. And, although we are all exhausted, we cannot go down without a fight. A unified fight with all fandoms from canceled shows. As we did in 2016 after Lexa’s death, we need to make our points to major media outlets, go after the sponsors of the platforms, make a fuss in social media, look for alternatives. I still hope that, together, we have the power to make a difference if not for the series that were already canceled, to at least avoid that the shows that are still running or just starting to have a similar fate.

#lgbt #lgbt community #queer #representation #lexa #clexa #avatrice #warriornun #firstkill #calliete #gentlemenjack #batwoman #legends of tommorow #papergirls #wynonna earp #sex lives of college girls #a league of their own #the l world generation q #killing eve

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unhingedpolycule · 8 months

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Summoner AU Ghost x Soap x König (Part 2)

(Part: 2/?)

(Part 1)

There is this local summoning community, kind of a very loosely associated circle of people who are working with the occult. They are, for the most part, fiercely competitive and manipulative. Everyone tries to get information out of the other people, giving back as little as possible.

Valeria is known for ending up with peoples notes and research after they die under mysterious circumstances, presumably murdered by entities they had in their service for years and years without any problems. The circle suspects her and is wairy, but they can't really prove anything.

Shepherd is a nasty piece of work, always trying to set himself up as a coven leader, trying to establish an archive under his control with all of the knowledge they have. He is power hungry and uses demons to further his political and social sway. But he gets shit done and has been in the game for longer than most, so the other summoners do not downright disrespect him.

And Graves? Graves is sucking up to him, rubbing shoulders with any person who can benefit his motives. Shepherd has taken a shine to him as well, because he basically does as he is told, no questions asked. Soap keeps away from him as much as possible because crossing Phillip means messing with more powerful people than himself and he is basically just there to learn more.

But almost all summoners have one thing in common: no matter if they keep familiars, temporary servants or entities of any form, they treat them like shit. Trapping them in objects, using cattle prods to whip them into shape.

It is common knowledge that your demons will kill you, if you let the control slip, if you untighten the leash, so nobody does, there have been too many cautionary tales. People ripped apart, eaten, strung up on their own ceiling.they tell each other “It is like dealing with a rabid dog. If you need to keep it, you do not coddle it, you keep it locked up, its fangs away from your throat.

So naturally, resident sunshine Johnny MacTavish sticks out like a sore thumb. He is happy to share small tidbits, mostly stuff he is particularly passionate about. He usually doesn't brag unless someone prompts him or laughs about his accomplishments. He is notorious for having things blow up in his face, but he usually walks away from it with just a few bruises, head still firmly attached to his shoulders. Everybody knows he messes with forces who seem way too big for such a young and inexperienced summoner. It makes him a liability and a risk to be around. But sometimes, on the rare occasions he shows off his summoned entities, they are baffled. He shouldn't be able to keep such a diverse and strong portfolio of spirits.

He also rotates them at an alarming speed, never binding entities for very long. It is honestly a mystery what he is up to.

Everyone who's a practitioner is like "Soap is a fucking terrible demon handler, none of this is safe, he'll get himself killed! In fact, how hasn't he already gotten himself killed already?" And Soap's only secret is that he treats the entities with respect and kindness like a good fucking cookie and they wife him

He just rolls up with Ghost and König at some point, they are visible, following his every step, silent and menacingly. And PHILLIP out of all people is practically salivating over Soaps entities and asks how he „keeps them enslaved“

And Soap is like: „Uuuuhm? Enslaved? I do not keep them enslaved?“

Graves just rolls his eyes and is like: „You know exactly what I mean, it must be a hell of a workload to keep them docile like that, what do you use?!” Soap looks at him as if he is stupid (which he is, it’s Graves we are talking about) and tells him that usually, he just „asks them nicely“ and when they refuse he drops it. But they seldom do and if they do, he asks if they would like to tell him their reasoning. And usually they have thought of something he wasn’t aware of so it makes perfect sense why they refuse him. And even if they don’t, wouldn’t it ruin their friendly relationship if he made them do something? He is an adult, HE can handle being told no.

Graves is fucking livid because he thinks Soap is fucking with him and implies he is stupid.

Hid daddy will hear about this.

~Corr

@forestshadow-wolf this is for you because you have been so enthusiastic about this AU

#Summoners AU #call of duty #ghost cod #ghostsoap #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #soap cod #ghost soap #cod könig #ghost soap könig

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libraford · 1 month

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I'm sorry this may be dumb but... what art artist grants? Are they just like academic grants where you write a proposal and someone pays you to make art?

Most metropolitan areas have an arts council, whose purpose is to encourage artists to create, thrive, and connect. Some councils set up grant programs to provide funding to artists in the area. You can get some money to work on your art.

They require you to say exactly how much you need, and there is a limit to how much you can make from the grant. In the case of the one I'm applying to, the limit is $500 and I have to outline exactly what I would use $500 for. I have to submit an artist's resume, a proposal, a budget, and a portfolio.

The council then looks at your proposal, and decides whether you get the grant. If you get the grant, that money is yours so long as you are using it specifically for your art. I've never gotten one before, so I'm not sure if its a check or if there's an account opened with limited use or what.

So like... in the example I'm doing here- I'm applying for a grant for photography. The amount is not nearly enough for a new camera, so forget it. But $500 would mean that I can:

expand my memory for my camera and for my computer

buy editing software thats more efficient in decrease my turnaround time because my ambitious ass has been doing one photo at a time on freeware and a batch editor would slice that work time into absolute fractions.

Upgrade my website so that I can host video and host more albums for client download.

pay for admission to more festivals for me to cover, since I can't always guarantee that they'll let a press person in for free.

Social media management software, because tagging people to make sure they get to see their own photos is time consuming.

In my artist's statement/proposal, I have to make a case for why my photography is art instead of 'journalism,' because they are the Arts Council and they have to make the distinction. Sucks, but here we are. I know how I want to spin it, I know what I'm about.

An artist's resume outlines all the things you've done as an artist. So if you were an arts student, yes. Did you have an internship- put it in. Have you sold pieces? Is your art hanging somewhere? Have you been in any shows? Stuff like that.

Not every city has opportunities like this, but some bigger cities will extend their jurisdiction to adjacent towns and townships.

Anyways.

The general spirit of the thing is- if you want some money to make art with and you qualify, the worst thing that can happen is they say no.

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ironmanstan · 1 year

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#have just realized well. i have 3 pieces left to do until i have met the minimum requirements for portfolio and everything else is extra #like aside from the required drawing tests but ive been ignoring them so i could do them like closer to the deadline #bc i dont wanna grow in skill and have to redo them #but one is done already. one is just some obervation studies i can do in free time.#and the last is a still life that will require much from me for the composition but i know what i want to do #and w my 3 pieces. one is a study and one is entirely planned i just have to draw it #third piece is a free for all acrylic study i wanna do before attempting a full acrylic painting as extra #so yeah like. i know what i need to do and some of it is close to being done #thats crazy. i feel hollow and scared . soon it will be too late to do anything more and i will have to live with what ive done #ouuuhghhh boy. woooooo baby.#i havent been this endlessly nonstop stressed and working like ever. i wake up i draw i zone out i eat i go to sleep #on repeat for weeks #i feel like when i did all of my biology in one day just working nonstop and feeling nothing so i work faster. but on loop every day #inshaallah i look back at this and i am like damnnnn something was WRONGGGG WITH MEEEEE LMAOOOO #lord. it is almost scarier being almost done than it is being somewhere in the middle floating along #like i have about 54.. something like that. percent done. if all goes to plan #then by saturday i will beeee. 70 percent done #hhhhhhjjgjjjnnhnhbn #if i can complete my personal work next week on a free day and then knock out my drawing tests ill have a solid 2 weeks to fix anything #and make extra work #phhhhhhoujjjjgjjhnh wow. wowww wow my god huh #the gamer speaks uwu #sometime in between all this ill finish my zine work and my work work lmao

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come-on-shitty-boys · 2 months

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// Kuroo Tetsurou: Deforestation Enthusiast. inked 04. //

prev << 04 >> next

*The nature of this series may be not be appropriate for all readers. Content warnings include: vulgarity, heavy swearing, and implications of adult relations. Due to these themes, this series may not be suitable for readers under the age of 16. Reader discretion is advised.*

Afternoons were Kuroo’s favorite part of the work day. With the day’s routine settled into place, it gave him the perfect opportunity to zone out. Just him, the hum of the machine, and whatever the hell his client was droning on about now. One final wipe and-

“Alright. You’re all done,” Kuroo smiled, wheeling his stool away from his client. “Go check it out and let me-”

“Hey, Kuroo? I finished your list.”

Heads snapped towards the swinging door separating Kuroo’s space from the rest of the shop. Fuck… He had forgotten about you. You had walked in the shop that morning and Kuroo hadn’t even bothered to greet you. He had left a piece of paper, outlining all of the chores he needed you to do for the day on the front counter with Akaashi. ‘DO NOT BOTHER ME’ had been written across the bottom of the page, underlined three times just to get it through your head.

It obviously didn’t get through your head.

“Was there a question in there?” Kuroo drawled, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees in the pure picture of annoyance. You begin to open your mouth to retort but he puts his hand up to stop you. “What part of ‘Leave me alone’ did you not comprehend?” He shakes his head, black hair falling into his eyes as he turns back to his client, a smile back on his face.

“Sorry about that! My new apprentice still needs some house training. So, what do you think?”

“It’s as perfect as always, Kuroo. Thank you,” his client smiles, sitting back in the chair.

“Perfect! I’m going to get a couple shots of it for my portfolio and then we can get you finished up, cool?” The client nods, settling back as Kuroo finishes up the final steps, repeating the care instructions that he’s prattled off so many times that it’s become as natural as brushing his teeth. “But you already know all of that shit, so just keep doing what you’ve always done. You have my number, so if it gives you any problems, just shoot me a text or come on in. I’m going to get cleaned up back here, so Akaashi can take your payment and you’re set.”

The thick silence was only interrupted by the quiet spritzing of the cleaning bottle as Kuroo wiped down the chair. He crumpled up the rag, tossing it in the trash as he stripped off his gloves, yellow eyes turning to meet yours. “What did I tell you, kid? If you’re going to work with me, you gotta learn to move those legs. Quit standing there and help me get this cleared out so I can set up for my next appointment.”

You’re barely at his side when he’s already handing you his ink cups. “Dump that ink out and sterilize them. They go back over in that cabinet when you’re done.”

“Are you ever going to teach me how to tattoo or am I just going to be your housekeeper until I’m done with your shit?”

“Are you ever going to clean those like I asked or are you just going to keep running your mouth until I kick you out of my shop?” Kuroo smiles up at you with a look that’s more sinister than kind, watching as you roll your eyes before traipsing off towards the sink in the corner to clean the ink. “You have a good eye for composition and you obviously understand color theory, but your technical drawing skills are shit.”

You pause in your task to look over at him. “You know, that was almost a compliment.”

Kuroo stands from his stool, long legs carrying him across his work area to where you stand. The little space by the sink is cramped, his body pressing up against yours as he mutters a quiet, “Excuse me,” replacing bottles of ink on the shelf. “It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. It was just a fact. I’m not teaching you how to tattoo until you can draw.”

“But I can draw. Isn’t that why you took me on?”

He barks a laugh at you. “If you think that being able to draw is all this job fucking takes, then you might as well leave now, kid. You can make sick art, but believe me when I tell you that you can’t draw. You’re covering sloppy linework and bad anatomy with good color saturation and dynamic poses. I’m not letting you anywhere near a tattoo machine until you fix that shit.”

And just like that, he’s pushing back past you, leaving you to trail after him like a lost puppy, breaking into a near jog just to catch up with him. “So that’s it? I’m just not going to get to tattoo?”

Those black boots halt and you can’t stop before you awkwardly bump into him. “What was rule number four, kid?” He watches your face as you wrack your brain, scoffing at your silence. “Listen, kid. I will teach you how to tattoo when you can show me that you have the fundamentals down. But until then, welcome to the reality of apprenticeship. It’s not all fun and getting to make art all the time. You can’t expect someone to let you permanently alter their body if your lines are shaky.”

“My lines aren’t-”

“Don’t argue with me, kid. You’re the one who came to me. You’re the one who came in here and annoyed me into taking you on. I don’t have to do this, you know. It doesn’t matter to me if you’re here or if you find some other artist to take you on. So if you don’t like how I’m doing things, by all means, get out of my shop,” Kuroo sneered, towering over you. He didn’t miss the way you instinctively ducked away from his looming form, looking up at him with something that might be read as timidness. “Akaashi just got some new jewelry in. Go help him with the display case.”

And without another word, he stalks away from you, saying nothing as he slides into the chair at his desk and opens his sketchbook to a new page.

“He’s always that much of an asshole,” Akaashi’s voice comes from behind you. “Come on. Up front.”

The desk clerk slides a stool over for you to sit on and you didn’t realize just how much your feet were killing you until you were able to sink down, doing your best not to immediately lay down against the display counter to relish in the much-needed break. This was nowhere near what you had anticipated your apprenticeship would be… Sure, you knew that it wasn’t going to be all rainbows and butterflies, but this kind of menial labor all day? You didn’t realize that becoming an apprentice meant also becoming the shop housemaid. Fuck, maybe you should’ve just listened when he told you to go. In the first week, you hadn’t even so much as touched a pen, let alone gotten an opportunity to show off your skillset. You had been stuck cleaning ink stains from the tile floor, polishing every damn piece of jewelry until it shined brighter than the fucking sun, sent on meaningless errands that did nothing to help you learn about tattooing.

And now look at you, sorting individually bagged pieces of jewelry to be ready to sell. At this rate, you were closer to becoming a piercer than a damn tattoo artist.

Akaashi clears his throat, securing a golden hoop to a fake ear to display the latest jewelry selections. “I’m sorry, you know. About him.”

You just shake your head, trying to focus on your task. “It’s fine. I was warned… I just thought- I don’t know what I thought. I mean, I had heard that he could be a little rough around the edges, but I didn’t expect him to be that much of an asshole. And don’t get me wrong, I can put up with a lot, but this isn’t the fun playful shit talk that I’m used to.”

“I know. This is all new to him too, not that that’s an excuse for how he’s treating you, but just give him some time. Kuroo has never been the warmest guy around. He’s just playing a part right now, trying to be the big bad mentor that he thinks he should be,” Akaashi says, turning his finished curation towards you. “What do you think?”

Stunning. That’s all there was to say about it. The soft whites of the opal stones that he had used to create a small constellation in the flat of the ear contrasted beautifully with that gold hoop he had placed through the conch. Triple lobe and an anti-tragus to bring the star motif back to the bottom with some added dangling elements to pull the eye to all of the points of his masterpiece.

“Are you a piercer?”

Akaashi huffed a quiet laugh at your question. “No. Needles aren’t really my thing.”

“Akaashi, I think you need to find a new place to work.”

He grinned at you, eyes crinkling ever so slightly beneath his glasses. “Believe me, I know. But, in all seriousness,” he starts, placing his curation into the display case alongside the others, “I spend a lot of time researching jewelry and what stones go with what metals, what’s ‘in’ when it comes to styles and what no one is buying anymore. They try to stay up with what’s popular so they can learn what they need to in order to best advise their clients. Being able to take care of this one small thing takes some of the weight off their shoulders. That’s all I’m really here for - just to help out where I can.”

You’re about to respond, to commend him, but the printer begins whirring, spitting out page after page after page. It’s not long after that the sound of Kuroo’s chair being rolled away from his desk and the steady beat of his footsteps enter your ears.

Akaashi scowls as the printer continues to spill out sheets of paper, burning through the ream of paper. “What? You printing out a damn manuscript or something? What is all this?” He asks.

Kuroo says nothing, just taking the already unnecessarily large stack of paper and sliding open a filing cabinet. He thumps a binder down in front of you followed only by that freshly printed stack of pages. “Hole punch… Where the hell did I put the hole punch,” he grumbles to himself, pushing his fingers through his hair, yanking open drawers, bending down to look under desks, standing on his toes as if he needed to be any taller to see on top of the shelves.

“You going to tell me why you just became the leading cause of deforestation or are you just going to keep looking around like a meerkat?” You retort, thumbing through the stack. “Jesus, what is this shit?!”

“You’re homework for the next few months,” he mutters, finally rifling through the right drawer to pull out the 3-hole punch that he’d been searching for. “I spent the past few nights coming up with a lesson plan that we’re going to follow to get your technique up to where it needs to be.”

“Lines? Basic shapes? Kuroo, this shit is insulting. I know how to make a fucking circle!”

Kuroo simply cocks his head at you before grabbing a pen and a sticky note, holding them out to you. “Okay, then show me. Show me that you can make a circle in a single pass.”

Wordlessly, you take them from him. You can feel your hand shaking. Stupid fucking-

“Breath.”

You look up at Kuroo, his yellow eyes unusually soft as he watches you. Fixing your grip on the pen, you quickly draw your circle.

“Fuck.”

It’s lopsided. More egg-shaped than circular. Kuroo takes the pen from you, flipping over the sticky note and you’re just left to watch as he slowly drags the pen across the yellow paper. His circle isn’t perfect either, but it’s damn near close. He tuts his tongue. “I locked my wrist on the upstroke,” he mutters to himself, examining his handiwork before crumpling it up and tossing it in the trash.

“I know that you can make all these perfect shapes digitally, but there’s no holding down the pen to create a perfect circle while you’re tattooing. Do that and you’re going to have one pissed off client. You have to nail these fundamentals now or you’re going to be paying the price for it later. So here’s how this is going to work,” Kuroo pauses, picking up part of the stack. “This week, you’re going to make 100 vertical lines, 100 horizontal lines, and 100 diagonal lines every day. Take it nice and slow and get used to the pulling motion. Try not to rotate the page, because you can’t rotate a client’s arm a thousand different directions to get the right angle. You need to switch the way you’re seeing something? You’re the one who has to move.”

“So I’m going to spend all week just making lines? You’re joking, right?”

“I wouldn’t have printed all these pages if I was fucking joking. Give me your lines by the end of the day so I can look over them. I need 90% of your lines to be damn near perfect before we can move on to the next lesson. If you fail, you’re doing this again next week.”

You stare at him, absolutely baffled. 300 lines a day? He has to have fucking lost his mind to think that you can’t even make a simple line without screwing up. “Did you have to do this as an apprentice?”

Kuroo laughed. “Dude, hell no. I was lucky to get through that apprenticeship without contracting some bloodborne illness. But, I had to pick up what my mentor didn’t teach me somewhere. Believe it or not, I’m trying to make you successful, kid” He props his elbows on the counter, pushing the three-hole punch towards you. “Now, you can either get all those pages in that binder, or you can just carry that stack around like an idiot, but I’ll be honest with you, I don’t accept crumpled assignments.”

“Kuroo, this is like 300 pages!”

He smirks at you, pushing himself away. “Closer to 500, but you get the idea. Have fun!” And he’s about to walk off, about to retreat back to his space to put his headphones on and not speak to another soul for the rest of the day.

The bell jingles as the door to the shop opens.

“Well, well, well. Looks like the rumors were true, huh, alley cat?”

{Taglist: @boosyboo9206 @universal-s1ut @zamorazz // never miss an update! send an ask or a dm to be added to the inked taglist!}

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #kuroo #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #haiku fanfiction #inked #x reader #tattoo artist kuroo #haikyuu au

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