#this will be my first time with a full size convention table instead of a half table so. fingers crossed that that ends up being worth it
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i'll be at 🔥 flamecon 🔥 this weekend! come say hi! get some neat ghosty items!
#kaylee.txt#flamecon#super excited i have a lot of new stuff this year!! new zines! handmade buttons! handsewn ghost pins!#AND MY HORROR BARBIE PRINTS ARRIVED EARLY so i'll have those too!!!!#this will be my first time with a full size convention table instead of a half table so. fingers crossed that that ends up being worth it
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So. Basingstoke Comic Con.
This is going to be a rant. I'm German, so I have a PhD in a) complaining and b) being blunt. Perfect combination for this post. It's going to be long, so buckle up.
I give explicit permission to repost, reblog, screenshot and post to other websites, comment, tag, and add to this in any way you see fit. Feel free to write your own experiences and criticism.
It's a modified version of the feedback email I sent them. Since then, they have put out a statement which directly contradicts some of the stuff other people have told us (and have evidence for) and which blames everyone from attendees to guests to staff to the weather.
First of all, despite all the mess with the actual con, I had a ton of fun. I hadn't seen some of these people in 20 years. I hadn't met some of y'all before, and I talked to so many people this weekend. I don't regret a single meeting, hug, smile, or laugh. I do wish however for the organizers to step on legos for the rest of their lives.
Frankly, they had a huge business opportunity and they blew it. They could have established themselves as THE Stargate convention in Europe. People were taking 15-hour flights to be there. We were willing to spend hundreds, in some cases thousands of pounds. With that lineup, they blew every other current convention out of the water. If they had done this right, this would have been a huge success and an absolute no-brainer for years to come. They could have been one of those cons that sell out in minutes.
Instead, they let greed and poor organization guide them. They severely underestimated the size of the Stargate fandom. They didn't bother to learn about what the fans wanted and who the guests actually were.
A few things stood out for me:
Health and safety at the venue. No a/c, running heaters (!!) in some rooms, not enough opportunities to get water, way too many people for this size hotel. We are lucky there wasn't a panic or more severe injuries. Crowd control was non existent.
An impossible, ever-changing schedule. You can't put talks back to back, or meet&greets, or photo ops. Everybody knows you will run overtime and then the whole thing collapses. Changes were not communicated. Nobody knew what was going on.
Poorly trained staff. No staff meetings beforehand. Staff had no way to communicate with each other. Seriously, give them radios! Some of them didn't now the names of the guests or in which autograph group they were.
People could not get the things they paid for. Out of all the autographs included in my pass, I only got one, and only because a friend got it for me. [Marion, you're a fucking rockstar] I don't even want to know how many people will be attempting chargebacks on their credit cards in the coming days.
And the most important thing, the one that makes everyone I talked to the angriest: The way they treated the guests was appalling. They are such generous, hard-working people, and BCC shamelessly took advantage of that. Richard Dean Anderson was signing until after 1 am. A 74-year-old man who just wants to make his fans happy.
[BCC are now saying they were told he was a „slow signer“, aka someone who actually takes their time by talking to fans when signing autographs. Oh really? Then why did you continue to sell autographs well into Sunday when it was clear that there was no way he could get through them all in a reasonable time??]
David Blue was setting up his own autograph table. Several Atlantis actors went and got more of their headshots (by taking pictures in the photo room and printing them) because they ran out. Joe Flanigan tried to bring some order to the chaos more than once. He went full John Sheppard in the photo op room and took charge. We are lucky they're such sweet souls and didn't raise hell then and there. Nobody would have blamed them.
Staff were amazing and tried to make the best with what little support they were given. Kathleen, Finn and Nick (with the Stick!) especially, and so many others whose names I sadly didn't get. They worked so hard, never lost their humor, and tried to help as much as they could.
This disaster is entirely on management. It's a failure of leadership and an example of what not to do when you're running an event.
If you want to put on a convention, you need to go to people who have experience and listen to them. You need to attend several cons before even thinking about doing one yourself. And before, during and after, you need to take care of your people. You need to take care of your staff, of your guests, of the fans. You need to adjust the size of the event to the size of the venue, or vice versa. You need to actually be interested in this event beyond the money it will earn you. You need to know when you bit off more than you can chew.
I'm not hoping for a better one next year, because all of us said we won't be back. What I do hope is that hey sincerely apologize to the guests and at least double what money was raised for charity.
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My Top Stories for 2023!
In case you missed ’em: these were my most popular works of fiction and non-fiction of the year!
It’s very nearly 2024, and it’s been a big year for me!
I’ve published so many short stories and new essays, I had a great time at EasterCon and BristolCon, and have published pieces with several new (for me!) publications on top of moving into my new apartment. I’m now based in Yorkshire instead of Ireland, and that means I’ll be attending a bunch more conventions and other events across Wales, Scotland, and England as well as still going back to Ireland from time to time.
Firstly, as a big thank you to all my supporters and to ring in the new year, I’m currently doing an end-of-2023 giveaway! Sign up here!
On 01/01/2024, I’ll be drawing a winner of the giveaway, and they’ll receive by post / mail signed copies of my paperbacks, Heart of Stone and Gerald Poole and the Pirates, vouchers for my eBooks, some badges, and some other goodies that will be contained in the parcel.
Secondly, I wanted to remind people who’ve had a little bonus or gifted money and want to treat themselves that as well as being able to subscribe for access to all reader-locked works on Medium, by any authors, for $5 USD, I have a Patreon where I publish almost all my works (barring those that might be against Patreon guidelines, of which there currently aren’t many), there is an option to pay annually on Patreon!
You can subscribe to me monthly on Patreon for access to my works at £3 / £6 / £10.50 / £17 per month — there’s no difference in the benefits of these tiers, just that you can choose to support me with a subscription for what you can afford.
If you subscribe annually on Patreon, you get a 16% discount on what you would ordinarily pay monthly, and you get full access to everything for the duration of the year’s subscription!
With that intro done, let’s get to my top 24!
My Top 12 Fiction Pieces of 2023
January 2023 — Erotic Short: Running the Table
A trans man is the favourite pocket on the pool table.
Rated E. Cis M/trans M/cis M. 4k. Featuring consent play with a prenegotiated rape roleplay, object insertion (not sanitary, not safe, just sexy), double penetration, begging, tears, size difference, age difference, lots of anal play, belly bulging.
Jock and Phineas first appeared in Centre Pocket, where Jock initially makes the threat of the pool balls.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Ao3
February 2023 — Erotic Short: Fresh Bounty
A bounty hunter takes a young wizard to the king’s court.
1.7k, rated E, cis M/trans M! Power play with a lack of negotiation, but fully consensual enthusiasm for it, cockwarming, threatened overstimulation, D/s, implications of public use, and sex on horseback!
CW for a mention of it in dirty talk, but no animals are actually abused, harmed, or looked on sexually.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
March 2023 — Erotic Short: Purpose-Built Toy
A stretchy supervillain goes up against five huge superheroes.
3.2k, rated E. Trans M/5 alien Ms with alien cocks. There is absolutely no redeeming plot features in this, it’s just horrible unrealistic porn with lots of come inflation, objectification, humiliation, and belly kink.
There are several consent issues in this fic, where the trans guy is basically being turned into a fucktoy for these aliens without anyone asking how he feels about it — with that said, he’s really into the whole thing, and absolutely does not want to opt out.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Ao3
April 2023 — Erotic Short: Slime Breeder
An elf is used as a distraction as his party fight a gigantic slime.
3.5k. A trans masc elf getting fucked from all ends by a giant slime creature, used as a seedbed by it, then played with by his variously gendered friends in the aftermath.
Mildly to very dubious consent here, but Sam is absolutely enjoying himself by the end of it — featuring a giant slime monster, aphrodisiacs, tentacle sex, encasement, choking, oviposition and egg-laying, cumflation, overstimulation, anal, oral, and vaginal penetration, objectification, lactation, milking. All that fun and beastly stuff!
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Ao3
May 2023 — Erotic Short: The Mermaid and the Fisherman
A wanderer meets a mermaid, and the two of them work to understand each other.
This short is also available for purchase on Smashwords as an eBook, and is originally from September 2020.
7.3k, rated E, M/M. A young man fleeing home has taken up residence in an old fishing cabin on the west coast of Scotland. He is observed, very closely, by a mermaid from beyond the maerl beds nearby.
Featuring cultural differences, humour, oviposition, cervix penetration, mild chem sex from the mermaid’s aphrodisiac, some rough sex, some mildly dubious consent, stuffing, belly bulge.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
June 2023 — Erotic Short: Agony and Ecstasy
An abbot takes a stranded sailor on for… personal duties.
6k, M/M, rated E! Age difference, virginity kink, some naivety, some oral and anal, first time enthusiasm.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
July 2023 — Erotic Short: The Stasis Box
A prisoner is frozen in time with his holes still accessible for the crew of a mining vessel to use.
5k, rated E, trans M/cis M but hundreds of other people. A trans twink agrees to be involved in an experiment in lieu of his year-long prison sentence — he’s placed in a stasis box, frozen in time, with his holes still accessible for the crew of a mining vessel to make use of.
This is honestly one of the most fucked-up things I’ve ever written, it goes big on the sci-fi body horror fucky horniness.
Full consent is given throughout, the twink knows what he’s in for. Featuring medical kink, fingering, anal and vaginal fingering and sex, sensitivity, time stop, big overstimulation, mind-break and ahegao, objectification, huge come inflation, gaping, come vomiting, general degradation.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
August 2023 — Erotic Short: The Interview
A workplace roleplay with age difference and some hearty degradation.
Rated E, 4k, cis M/trans M. Younger boss/older prospective employee, pre-negotiated roleplay, degradation and humiliation, daddy kink, nipple play, PIV, riding, sex in the office, casual sex, bareback. The older man is fat, but none of the degrading language is about his body or his size except for commenting on the size of his chest — the degradation primarily is about his age and assumed loneliness.
Words used for the trans man’s body are tits and chest, one comparison to a cow’s udder; cock, cunt, hole.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
September 2023 — Erotic Short: Training Toy
A cheerleader loans out his favourite toy to the football players.
3k, rated E, trans M/many cis M. Continuing on from Stuck.
A cheerleader trains up another student to be a good fucktoy, and shares him out to local football players — featuring D/s, multiple orgasms, mild bimboification vibes, training, multiple penetration, degradation, objectification, anal, vaginal, and oral, big penetrations.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Ao3
October 2023 — Erotic Short: A Gift For the Wolfmen
A young man in a brothel is invited to join a quartet of hulking wolf-like warriors.
6.4k, rated E. Two trans men, both being gangbanged by four cis wolfmen with huge cocks.
Fantasy universe with adventurers and so forth. Featuring stuck-through-wall and grope boxes, body writing, vaginal, oral, and anal play, huge come inflation, size difference, knotting, power dynamics, virginity kink, objectification and dehumanisation, degradation, humiliation, breeding kink, body modification, mentions of lactation and pregnancy, and enthusiastic consent throughout.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
November 2023 — Erotic Short: Confession and Penance
A priest takes a hands-on approach to addressing a worshiper’s poor working habits.
11k, cis M/M, rated E! Tiernan, a manipulative workaholic who only ever relaxes during Mass services, is taken aside by Father Mullen when it all gets to be a bit too much. D/s, BDSM-approach to enforcing self-care, spanking, painplay, bit of a priest kink but it doesn’t go into that aspect too much, faith. Also some anal.
Note that by definition consent’s an issue here because this is the very definition of religious abuse, especially because Tiernan is a CSA survivor and references past CSA by another priest. Content warnings for the religious abuse and references to the CSA throughout, as well as dubious consent in other sexual situations. For all that, though, the tone is generally light-hearted and is more dark humour than dark drama.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
December 2023 — Erotic Short: Knight Tactics
An elf serves as a distraction and an exhaustion tactic for a bandit camp. By letting them fuck him.
3k, trans M/loads of cocks, assumed as cis M. Amaethon gets himself stuck in a wall so that the bandits will work out their stamina fucking him rather than fighting off the king’s guard.
Stuck in wall, free use, fully (and gleefully) consensual whilst pretending he isn’t, mild belly bulging and come inflation, gaping, exhaustion, messy and come-spattered, etc. All the fun stuff.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Ao3
My Top 12 Non-Fiction Pieces of 2023
January 2023 — Fast “Who am I?”: A Fun Game to Play with Friends
A silly fun game to play rapidly with your friends and loved ones in 2023.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
February 2023 — Our Flag Means Death S01 E01: Close Textual Analysis
Examining OFMD E1: Pilot in close detail and liveblogging/analysing the text.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon / / Read on Ao3
March 2023 — Ringing The Devil’s Doorbell: A Light-Hearted, Practical Guide
Let’s talk sex! Vulvar and vaginal stimulation for fun, pleasure, and profit.
Contents:
Preface
The Anatomy of the Vulva and Vagina: the actual anatomy of the vulva, it and the vagina’s attendant parts, and how everything fits together
On Testosterone: the effects of testosterone as a HRT treatment on the vulva and vagina in the context of sexual pleasure
(I don’t have any specific advice in regards to different intersex configurations or further genital and hormonal diversity, but that section might nonetheless be semi-relevant; there’s also some notes on vaginal atrophy that might be relevant if you’re menopausal or similar)
Stimulating the Vulva and Vagina: ringing the Devil’s doorbell, dancing about in his vestibule, and then running into (then out of) (then into) (then out o — ) his house
Additional Reading: more resources and links
Read on Medium
April 2023 — The Precarity of Subscription-Based Income
We’re basically busking online. No wonder we have anxiety about it.
Read on Medium
May 2023 — The Straight Male Gaze on Pretty Male Gays
How does it feel when straight men want to fuck us?
A quick little intro — I went ham on this one. I watched A Nightmare on Elm Street 2: Freddy’s Revenge and it just gave me a lot of feelings.
Warnings throughout this piece for discussion of the film’s gore and violence, the homophobia both in- and out- of universe, sexual violence, homophobia in general. I use a lot of slurs in this one because I self-identify with a lot of them, and a lot of this piece is about the ways in which queer identity is weaponised and not weaponised against us.
Bon appetit.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
June 2023 — Passing Privilege: Through My Eyes, as a Trans Man Who Passes
Second puberty and the waves we send through the spaces around us.
On Medium / / On Patreon / / On Tumblr.
July 2023 — Yentl: A Trans Man Studying Talmud is Distracted by Gay Thoughts
Yentl (1983, dir. Barbra Streisand) and Yentl the Yeshiva Boy by Isaac Bashevis Singer.
On Medium / / On Patreon.
August 2023 — Barbie Isn’t Anti-Men — It’s Anti-Toxicity
Patriarchy does damage to us all, and Barbie (2023, dir. Greta Gerwig) clearly depicts that.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
September 2023 — Close Reading: A Deep Dive into the Process
An in-depth guide into applying analysis to a piece of text and extrapolating meaning.
A close reading is what we call an in-depth analysis of a piece of text, which might be in the case of fiction a short story, or for novels and novellas might be a portion or an extract from the text.
On Medium / / On Patreon.
October 2023 — Looking For 🍑🍆💦: A Beginner’s Guide to Grindr for Trans Men
Approaching Grindr (and cruising culture) as a trans man.
Read on Medium
November 2023 — As a Trans Man, Why Do Doctors Always Want to Get Me Pregnant?
I’m so tired of fielding questions about my “lost” fertility.
Read on Medium / / Read on Patreon
December 2023 — Uncling Duties
A selection of conversations with my friends’ cats, Kira and Bercow.
On Medium / / On Patreon.
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Macbook pro brightness slider not working
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working upgrade
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working plus
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working free
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working mac
Like the M1 MacBook Air, this laptop can only connect to one external display (with up to a 6K resolution) at a time. Having both USB-C ports available doesn’t, however, mean you can hook up two external displays.
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working free
While things like HDMI and SD card slots are reserved for the MacBook Pro, it’s nice to at least have the additional charging port to free up the USB-C ports for other uses. I do wish they’d split the USB-C ports so there’s one on each side for more convenient charging. On the right side, there’s a headphone jack. This is the same slimmed-down MagSafe port as was found in the MacBook Pro. On the left, you’ll find two USB-C ports and a MagSafe 3 charging port.
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working upgrade
The M2 MacBook Air has received an upgrade in port selection over the previous model.
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working plus
Even as similar haptic touchpads have begun to roll out in Windows laptops like the Dell XPS 13 Plus or Surface Laptop Studio, MacBooks remain the best in the business. It’s extremely precise, never struggling with accidental clicks or palm rejection. The haptic feedback trackpad is the same oversized Force Touch one that’s featured in the M1 MacBook Air. The Touch ID fingerprint reader is still found in the top right of the layout, on top of the power button. As a whole, it’s a net positive to have these larger function keys. I think I’d prefer keyboard backlighting to have a dedicated key instead of sleep or spotlight, but hey, that’s just me. The function keys are now full-sized rather than half-sized, which is just awesome. Most Windows laptops give just a few levels of brightness control, but MacOS gives you an entire slider of adjustments. The keycaps don’t wiggle and are backlit by bright white LEDs with tons of brightness control. The traditional scissor mechanism used here is lovely and familiar to type on. The new MacBook Air doesn’t make any major changes to the trackpad or keyboard than what’s been in recent MacBooks. Conventional Intel and AMD-based systems have a long way to go. Never has a laptop this small been matched with this amount of performance, and the switch to Apple Silicon is what makes it all possible. There’s a reason you’ll be hard-pressed to find another laptop this thin - at least, not one without some significant deficiencies. That’s the feeling of a MacBook Air redesigned around the extreme efficiency afforded by the M-series chips. The hinge opens with one finger as MacBooks always do. I love how comfortable it is to use on a desk, and even with how thin it is, there’s never even a hint of flex. The thinness of this laptop, in particular, is incredible. It’s a minimal 0.44 inches of metal between your hands when you set it on the table and 2.7 pounds of weight when you toss it in your bag. What makes this special is what it feels like. It even gets the larger row of function keys that I enjoyed on the MacBook Pro.īut this is a MacBook, and it certainly still looks like one. The flatter rubber feet on the bottom have been carried over from the MacBook Pro, as have the rounded corners of the screen itself. Those are the obvious changes, but there are some even subtler design changes that you might not notice at first glance. The thinness of this laptop is showstopping. That means the corners are more rounded, the lid cover is flat, and, of course, there’s a notch in the display. In general, the chassis now carries the same general shape as the 14-inch and 16-inch MacBook Pro. I was a little disappointed at first, but putting my desire for an exciting change aside, the safer design was probably a good move for Apple, especially considering all the outrage around the controversial M1 iMac.īesides, all these more low-key tweaks to the MacBook Air are benefits over the previous model. No white bezels or fanciful color options. The M2 MacBook Air isn’t as big of a departure from the formula as it was originally rumored to be. And for the right person, it’s downright sublime. It’s not a laptop without some self-created controversies, but the M2 MacBook Air nails the experience Apple has always wanted to create with its smaller laptops.
#Macbook pro brightness slider not working mac
What more could Mac fans want from the latest MacBook Air? It’s completely fanless and with no discernible compromises. It’s the laptop Apple has wanted to make for many, many years - but couldn’t, due to the limitations of the hardware.īut with the M2 intact, Apple’s created the thinnest usable laptop ever made. The M2 MacBook Air is more than just another MacBook. Digital Trends may earn a commission when you buy through links on our site.
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Just A Friend
Hope you are all having a good weekend. I’m the only one awake, the sun is shining and I’m enjoying my coffee in peace and quiet. Bliss!
Thank you for the continuing support for this story. it’s lovely reading (and re-reading) all the comments.
Hope you enjoy this next chapter.
Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta.
AO3
Previous Chapter
Chapter 3: From Relationship To Release
You know, I’m a great believer in relationships. Relationships come in all shapes and sizes — take my relationship with Geillis, for example.
I met Geillis on my first day of postgraduate training at Glasgow Royal Infirmary. I was spending three months in orthopaedic surgery and she was just finishing her training as a theatre nurse. We somehow kept bumping into each other at social gatherings and found we had many things in common — a childish sense of humour, an intolerance of pomposity and snobbishness, and a love of cheesy rom-com movies.
From there, our friendship snowballed, and for many years now, I’ve called her my best friend. Even the arrival of a fiancé and her forthcoming nuptials haven’t lessened our relationship in any way. Our careers have developed in parallel too. So when a vacancy came up for a senior theatre sister at the Children’s hospital, I didn’t hesitate to recommend her for the post. We work well together. For all her joking around and flippant comments she is damn good at her job. And I love her.
I don’t think I love many people. I’m very fond of a lot of people, mainly my friends. But love? No. And certainly not the romantic, live-our-life-together type of love.
I see how it can work. I look at Robbie’s parents, for example. The way they are there for each other, supporting through all the worries with their son, their comforting touches and reassuring glances.They are a solid unit and I admire that.
I also see the way that Geillis’ face lights up when she talks about her fiancé, Dougal, and the way he watches her when we are all together in the pub. And I think it’s great, I really do.
But it’s not something that I’m seeking out for myself. I don’t think I’m cut out for that type of relationship. I don’t think there is someone out there, my soulmate, to spend the rest of my life with. And I definitely don’t think that I need someone else to complete me, make me whole.
That doesn’t mean that I’m a hermit. Far from it, in fact. I do date and enjoy it, but try to steer clear of any where-is-this-relationship-going type discussions.
It may well be to do with my childhood. I’ll admit, I’ve not had the most normal upbringing and that could have coloured my view of happily-ever-after love.
I’ve never been part of a conventional family unit. Well, I mean, I was for the first four years of my life —until my parents died in a car accident. And, at that age, how much can you remember? I do have some vague memories — rough tweed fabric against my cheek as my father’s strong arms lift me up, the smell of ‘Miss Dior’ perfume as my mother’s soft hands caress my cheek, the sound of laughter as we dance around the living room to Michael Jackson. But these are only fleeting recollections, ephemeral, gone in an instant.
All my real childhood memories are centred around one man — my uncle, Lambert Beauchamp. He, unhesitatingly, took me in when my parents died and became my guardian, my parent, my rock. He and I were a team, and I miss him every single day.
He was a confirmed bachelor, and I don’t mean that in a euphemistic way. He lived his life by his own rules and if he had been gay, he would have seen no reason to hide it. No, he had no need for romantic entanglements, no complicated relationships, no messy sexual encounters. He had two loves in his life — me and his work. He was a professor at the University, teaching archaeology and could, quite happily, get lost for hours in the bowels of the archives, studying ancient Somarian drinking vessels.
Growing up he was my role model, my yardstick against which to measure boys.
And over time, I've come to realise that I've always found myself attracted to the type of men which have certain ‘Lambert-esque’ qualities. Which leads me, I suppose, to Frank.
Just like my uncle, he’s a professor at the university. In history — more recent than Lamb’s studies only three hundred years ago, not three thousand. He’s single minded about his research, like my uncle, and he cares deeply about me, which makes me feel bad because I don’t feel the same way. Of course, I care about him, just not enough for a serious relationship that’s going somewhere.
All of this is a long winded way of saying what I’ve actually known for a while now... I need to break up with Frank.
*************
I’m just contemplating whether to brave the canteen or grab a sandwich from the hospital shop, when there’s a knock at my office door and a hand appears brandishing a couple of distinctive Gregg’s paper bags. This hand is closely followed by the rest of Geillis, who plonks herself down on one of my visitor chairs. A wonderful aroma of freshly baked goods wafts across the desk. My stomach rumbles in anticipation.
“Steak bake or sausage roll?” she asks as she places both bags on my desk, although she knows my preference.
“Ooh, how did you know I was just thinking about lunch?” I pick up one of the bags, the oozing gravy on its surface being a clear giveaway.
“We’ve been friends fer long enough,” Geillis smiles. “I ken what ye’re thinking. In fact, ye’ve something on yer mind right now. No’ a work thing. C’mon, spill.”
I swear, it’s uncanny. In the Middle Ages Geillis would undoubtedly have been tried as a witch. Her powers of deduction are that good.
I say nothing for a moment and focus on my lunch, blowing ineffectually on the hot meat filling.
“Weel? I’m waiting and ye ken I’m no’ a patient woman, Claire. This is tae do wi’ Frank, is it no’? Are ye planning on dumping him?”
See what I mean? Witchcraft.
“You make it sound so harsh. But I can’t carry on with Frank, he’s investing more into this… this—“
“Ye can say the word, Claire. Relationship… R… E…—“
“I know, I know. But I have to do something. I know Frank wants more than I want to give in this ‘relationship’.” I enunciate clearly just to make the point to Geillis. I’m not afraid of the word… I can say it.
“Anyway,” I add casually as I dab at the pastry crumbs with my finger. “I thought you’d be pleased. I know you’ve never liked him.”
Geillis tuts. “‘Tis no’ a matter of like. We jes’ havena got anything in common. He’s awfa serious and ye dampen yer personality down when ye’re with him. I’ve seen ye, ye canna deny it.”
I try to interject, but Geillis ignores my sounds of protest and carries on talking. “But it’s no’ jes’ Frank. Ye do this all the time, Claire. Whenever anyone tries tae get serious, ye run. What is wrong wi’ wanting a relationship anyway?”
“I have my work, I have my friends. I date, I go out with men, I have a good, if sporadic, sex life… and a trusty dual speed vibrator. What’s wrong with me wanting my life the way I want it?”
Geillis crams the end of her sausage roll into her mouth and chews vigorously for a minute. I pass her a paper serviette for her greasy hands. She gathers up the flaky pastry crumbs that have settled on her chest, wraps them in the serviette and pops it neatly in the bin.
“Ok, I get it. I’ll back off. But all I’m saying is dinna close yerself off tae the possibility of a real relationship, aye?”
Knowing she's gone as far as she can with this topic, she gets up and heads for the door. “Nae rest fer the wicked. Oh, and Claire, jes’ one thing…”
She pauses dramatically. “Dinna forget… ye’ve gravy on yer chin.”
And with that she disappears, leaving me with a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach caused by more than the calorie ridden pasty.
I am just settling down to dictate some patient letters when Frank texts to suggest dinner at my favourite Italian restaurant. This isn’t good. It’s a lovely restaurant, the kind of restaurant where special occasions are celebrated— birthdays, anniversaries, declarations…
So I have to lie… no, not lie, fib. I text back pleading a heavy day in theatre — aching feet, headache and so on.
His concerned response makes me feel bad. No need for fibbing, I do feel pretty shitty now. However, it also makes me more resolved to do what I have to do. I can’t drag this out, causing him more and more hurt. So, I invite him to my flat this evening instead.
*******
I have a final glance in the mirror in my bedroom. I do actually look a bit worn out. I haven’t really put any makeup on, just a touch of mascara and a slick of lipstick, which I have already managed to chew off.
My hair is, as per usual, a bit wild and untamed. I have a bathroom shelf full of products promising smooth and manageable curls, but have yet to find one that actually delivers on their promises. I tuck my hair behind my ears, pinch my cheeks to try to look a little less pale and head to the front door.
Frank is as punctual as ever. Unlike other things in my life, he’s always delivering on his promises. Which makes me feel even worse. I have nothing to accuse him of, no unacceptable behaviour— apart from wanting more than I’m prepared to give. That old cliché, “it’s not you, it’s me”, really is appropriate here. I’m going to try not to actually say those words though. He deserves more than that.
And so I take a deep breath and open the door. He stands there expectantly with two bottles of wine, one red and one white, in his hands.
“I wasn’t sure what we would be eating, so I got both just in case,” he volunteers as he walks in and leans close to me for a kiss.
I give him my cheek and make a fuss of taking the bottles from him to deflect my lack of affection.
He follows me into the lounge. I’m sure he notices that I make no offer to pour the wine. I set the wine on the coffee table and perch on the end of the settee.
Frank takes my hands. “Claire, darling, are you ok? Has it been a rough day?”
I shake my head. “It’s not been the best. Frank… I…”
I can’t even look at him now. I take a deep breath and plunge in. “Frank, I… the thing is… I don’t know how… I think we should stop seeing each other.” The words tumble out of my mouth like a deluge.
I finally look up as Frank releases my hands and walks over to the window. He stands still, his back to me, as if just taking in the view. Then he turns to face me, staring intently at me, scrutinising my face as if looking for a glimmer of hope. The silence is unbearable.
“Frank, it’s not you—“ I try to fill the void, by resorting to stale old clichés after all.
“Spare me that platitude.” He snaps at me. “We’re not fifteen. This was… is… serious to me, Claire.”
Frank now moves to sit next to me. His hand rests on my thigh, his fingers lightly drawing circles on my jeans. I watch for a moment. Am I supposed to move it? Should I remind him he no longer can touch me like this?
His voice softens. “I lo—“
“No, please, Frank. Don’t say it. Please don’t. You are such a nice man. You don’t deserve this.” Gently, I lift his hand and place it on his leg.
“Then don’t do it. Tell me, Claire, what do I have to do? What changes do I have to make for us to move forward? I’ll do it, tell me. We can make this work, I know.”
What do I say now? Anything I say will only hurt him more. All I can do is apologise and try to explain.
“I am sorry, really. It’s just, well, you want more than I can give. You think about a future—“
“And what’s wrong with that? That’s what most people want, Claire. Planning for a future together— a home, a family… our family.” Frank’s getting angry now, raising his voice.
“Please, I’m trying to explain. You want a future life together and I can’t give you that. I’m sorry that I’m hurting you.”
“Is there someone else? Is that what this is all about?”
I’ve been trying to remain composed, to give Frank the explanation he deserves. But this question annoys me beyond belief, as if I have to be one half of a couple.
“I can’t believe you asked that. No, it’s not about another man. I can’t be what you want me to be and that’s it.”
He stands up now, right in front of me. His hands are down by his sides, so tightly clenched into fists that his knuckles are white against the slight tan of his skin. For a fleeting nanosecond, I wonder if he is going to hit me. But, of course not, he’s just trying to gain control of himself.
“That’s it, then.” The words are spat out with venom.
“You know I’m sorry.”
He shrugs dismissively. “Of course. Well, goodbye.”
He makes for the door.
“What about the wine?” I indicate the two bottles, still on the table. It’s a pointless trivial comment, I know, but for some reason I don’t want him to think I expect to keep them.
Frank doesn’t even look over his shoulder. “Consider them a parting gift.”
And with that, he's gone.
I remain sitting motionless, processing what I’ve just done. It’s not easy hearing those words, but neither is it easy to have to say them. So many emotions are coursing through my body — sorrow, guilt, regret, self-reproach, worry. And in the midst of this maelstrom, there is one thing I can clearly recognise — a glimmering spark of relief.
#outlander fanfiction#outlander fan fic#Just a Friend#Jamie Fraser#Claire Beauchamp#bit more Geillis#Chapter 3
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Ok look, whenever i think that i finished reading all of ur ficlets, an old one will come up, and im left to wonder if i actually read everything. I think ive scrolled for about a week now and still not sure if ive read everything. In all seriousness tho, i love ur writings so much. I hope u kee writing bcs damn
Sometimes I think back to this ask and wonder whether you have managed to read everything or if there’s still some surprises in stock for you. I really hope that, no matter where you got to, you’ve continued enjoying the stories you find.
Today, I have something a little less usual to offer. It’s Gersakier but Geralt isn’t interested in sex, however he loves indulging Jaskier and also watching. So...have some Jaskier/Cahir with voyeur Geralt.
Mead, Weed and a Place to Breed
Novigrad was one of the last places on the continent where anyone could have a drink and not be harassed for merely existing. It was why Geralt liked it, Jaskier loved it for the simple fact that there was no judgement about practically anything. Sure, murder was frowned upon but that was only to be expected. However, he could sit on Geralt’s lap and eye fellow patrons up.
“Someone caught your eye, Buttercup?” Geralt asked, a hand rubbing over Jaskier’s thigh. He was into his third tankard of mead while Jaskier was still nursing his first goblet of wine.
“Mhm,” Jaskier sipped his drink, eyes fixed to a corner of the room. “In that dark corner, not brooding as pretty as you but comes a close second. Maybe third if Eskel would actually brood.”
Following his gaze, Geralt nodded appreciatively, Jaskier always did manage to find people who danced the line between pretty and rugged. This man was no different, Nilfgaardian armour, high cheekbones and the hints of a frowning pout. Absolutely the kind of person Jaskier favoured.
“Will you approach him?”
In reply, Jaskier hopped up and sashayed across the room, easily perching on on the startled man’s lap. Geralt knew exactly when Jaskier laid out his offer because the man’s eyes darted up to him, darkening with lust. It seemed that Jaskier had done it again.
Sure enough, not three minutes later they were emptying their drinks and Geralt took it as a cue to do the same. As he put his tankard down, he watched Jaskier lead the man by the hand towards him.
“Geralt, this is Cahir.” He introduced. “Cahir, Geralt, he’s my witcher and he likes to watch.”
“I have no problem with an audience.” It was exactly what Geralt liked to hear. “You got a room, Dandelion?”
The nickname didn’t even elicit a jealous frown from Geralt. He called Jaskier his Buttercup, most people called him Jaskier, and a few, rare partners were allowed Dandelion. It must have meant Cahir said or did the right thing to earn the right. This just made Geralt’s interest pique more.
They walked to the back of the tavern, to the rooms that could be bought for a night or two. Jaskier had managed to get one that wasn’t an absolute shit hole, it had a decent sized bed and a table with two chairs. There was just enough room to put the chair against the wall and watch what happened on the bed from a comfortable distance.
That was the thing. Geralt had absolutely zero desire to be the one on the bed. Sex didn’t appeal to him, he physically could enjoy it but mentally it was more of a chore than anything else. It was a sharp contrast to Jaskier who was happiest when his legs were spread or his mouth was full. After a few lacklustre rolls in a bed or by a campfire, they had agreed that it just wasn’t working. Well, not physically anyway. Because they still adored each other, Geralt loved being able to cuddle and touch without Jaskier flinching away. Meanwhile, Jaskier absolutely doted on Geralt, fussed over his every whim and need. They made each other happy even if they weren’t a conventional couple. Especially when it came to matters of the bedroom. Geralt had seen how Jaskier held back, tried to curb his physical needs because he was devoted to Geralt. It had led to a few conversations and the agreement that Jaskier could have anyone he wanted as long as Geralt could watch. Because Geralt loved watching Jaskier mindless with pleasure, it was so much better to see him rather than miss half his reactions because he was too busy trying to coax them from him.
In the room, no time was wasted being coy. Jaskier all but raced Cahir to get naked and on the bed first. It made Geralt smile fondly at his antics, always knowing exactly what he wanted and how. Jaskier was not shy in bed.
Sitting back, Geralt watched as the two knelt on the bed, facing each other. The kisses were heated, Jaskier seemingly yielding but only in that he encouraged Cahir to lick between his parted lips, coaxing him into something deeper and filthier.
Sometimes a bed partner might keep glancing to Geralt, wondering whether he was joining in, almost fearful of it. Thankfully, Cahir seemed to have no such worries about having a witcher watch him get it on with his boyfriend. Instead, he actually appeared to relish the audience, hands roaming and feeling Jaskier’s muscles, resting to frame them before moving on. Such a show was most definitely appreciated by Geralt.
Not that Jaskier was lying back and letting Cahir do all the work. He was mouthing against any skin he found, hand teasing along Cahir’s shaft, humming in pleasure at what he found.
“I want you to fuck me. Show me what they teach you in Nilfgaard.” His eyes were fixed on Cahir as he spoke. “Fuck the air from my lungs and fill me with your come.”
Some slick was pressed into Cahir’s hands and he didn’t hesitate in working Jaskier open. There was something especially pleasing about watching Jaskier’s mouth fall open, especially when Cahir took his cock between his lips. The way Jaskier’s muscles flexed as he rocked down on the fingers opening him up before pushing up into Cahir’s mouth. Geralt watched with contentment, knowing that Jaskier was getting everything he wanted.
“If you don’t get your dick in me, I will come down your throat and leave you hanging,” Jaskier growled, wriggling impatiently.
Thankfully, Cahir seemed to take it in good spirit and pulled away laughing, patting Jaskier on the thigh for good measure. “Whatever your lordship demands.”
“Damn right. Did I tell you I’m a viscount?”
Still grinning, Cahir rearranged them a little, Jaskier on his back, near the edge of the bed, his legs thrown over Cahir’s shoulders. It was a testament to how flexible Jaskier was, something that had Geralt surprised at times too.
As soon as Cahir pushed into him, Jaskier was making demands again, “Put those muscles to use, go harder.”
Incredibly, rather object, Cahir obeyed which had Jaskier crooning. “I could feel you twitch. You like it when I boss you around. Tell you to go faster-” he broke off with a groan as Cahir pressed forward, almost bending him in half, “-oh fuck, that’s it. Knew you would be good.”
Tipping his head back, it dangled off the edge of the bed so Jaskier could wink at Geralt before his lips formed an ‘oh’ of surprise.
“That right there. Do it again!”
As asked, Cahir repeated the motion but slower, rolling his hips deep and Jaskier arched. “Fucking faster! Don’t you dare slow down now.”
Huffing in entertainment, Cahir did as told. “As the little lordling wishes.”
Geralt could see the flush spreading down Jaskier’s neck and chest. Sweat made him glisten and Cahir was not much different either. They made for a very pretty picture, Jaskier bossy and demanding Cahir fuck him properly. The sound of skin on skin, the smell of it all, it wasn’t as offensive to Geralt when he wasn’t in the midst of it all. Plus, he got to watch as Cahir’s muscles started to shake from the exertion, Jaskier’s voice broke as he barked for more.
Sitting back, Geralt smiled as Jaskier’s hand wound into Cahir’s hair and pulled, their kiss more of a messy exchange of panted breaths than anything else. Something about the whole scene had Geralt slouching in his chair, legs falling open. It was quite the view, watching Cahir fuck his boyfriend quite so thoroughly.
“Right there. Fuck!” Jaskier was teetering on the edge and Geralt could happily appreciate how Cahir had been holding back until he was certain Jaskier was right there with him. As Jaskier came, he tipped his head back to lazily grin at Geralt, making sure he was still okay with things.
Most surprisingly, Cahir wasn’t pulling out and rushing out as soon as he was done. Instead, he kissed playfully along Jaskier’s jaw, nosing along his cheek with a smile.
“You okay there?”
It was the kind of care Geralt so rarely witnessed from Jaskier’s lovers, who were too eager the leave the presence of a witcher once they’d had their fun. Yet there was no jealousy as Jaskier turned his attention back to Cahir with a wide, lopsided smile and tugged at the hair that fell forward.
“More than.”
A few more kisses were exchanged before Cahir moved, helping Jaskier ease his legs down and giving them a quick rub.
“Guess this is where I bid you both a good night,” he said, wiping himself down with a cloth from the washbowl.
“You know,” Jaskier drawled, shamelessly sprawled on the bed still, “if we’re ever in Nilfgaard, I would love to look you up again.”
Cahir shook his head. “You’ll never find me there. Try Vicovaro. I’m heading back home.”
He was mostly dressed and Geralt didn’t miss the pout on Jaskier’s face. It was obvious that he had found a playmate he wasn’t done with yet. Maybe Geralt could see about taking a few contracts as far as Vicovaro.
“And if we were there, how would we find you?” Geralt asked, giving his permission for there to be more between his boyfriend and Cahir. “I doubt if I asked around, I could find you on a first name only.”
Cahir’s hand was on the latch to the door, ready to leave. He turned with a cheeky grin. “Just ask for the count.” Stepping out of the door, he turned with one final nod. “Witcher. Viscount.”
And like that, he was gone. Jaskier dropped his head back to the bed with a groan.
“I can’t believe he outranked me.”
Geralt snorted and settled on the bed, opening up an arm for Jaskier to snuggle in. He still smelled of another man and sex but that was okay.
“I think he outranked you in more than just title,” he teased and got a halfhearted smack to the arm for it. They both knew he was right and Jaskier was going to be demanding more. Nothing for it, Geralt was just going to have to find a contract he couldn’t refuse in Vicovaro. Maybe he could even find a contract to escort a count home, it was a dangerous road to travel after all.
#geraskier#jaskier/cahir#geralt of rivia#jaskier#cahir#voyerurism#tldr: geralt watches as cahir bends jaskier in half
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Agent Mothman (Dib x Male Reader)
Like most of my other fics, characters are aged up to high school. Plus, a friendly reminder that my request box is open!!
The silence was overwhelming. The pressure of everyone's collective held breath was almost palpable, your chest reactively tightening for no good reason. As you looked around you, eyes were wide, jaws were set and clenched in preparation to cringe. The only two who stuck out from the crowd were Zim and Dib, when did they not? Zim looked lost in thought, mind seemingly several thousand galaxies away, hands folded together neatly in front of his face, his chin resting on them. Dib, on the other hand, appeared to be over the whole ordeal. His posture was slouched as he stared ahead at the board through half-lidded eyes. As the quiet persisted, an anxious energy settled over your classmates (besides the two previously mentioned, of course). Eyes twitched, fingernails scraped the tables, feet began to tap restlessly on the floor.
"Y/n." The teacher finally spoke, bringing the whole class to sigh in relief, the building pressure suddenly released all at once. Many students leaned back in their chairs, high fiving each other. "Y/n, you will be partnered with Dib." You shrugged your shoulders as many looked to you in pity, some even whispering their sympathies. You had never aligned yourself with any group in particular throughout your school year. Granted, you were only a few months in, but you had switched schools so much you had learned to play the field. You avoided Dib considering his stigma, enabling you to be tolerated by the majority, however you were never mean to him. In fact, you rather liked him. You only chose to silently observe him rather than act upon your curiosity.
"But wait, who's going to be paired with Zim?" You heard a student groan, everyone's breath being held once more. You let your gaze drift over to your partner. He seemed relieved, a slight smile settling on his lips. This was probably the best case scenario for everyone. No one else had to work with Dib, and you were the only one who never picked on him for being just a bit different.
Once your teacher had finished reading names, you were all asked to sit with your partners. Without an ounce of reluctance, you sauntered over to Dib's otherwise empty table, taking one of the many available seats surrounding him. You needed to figure out a plan quickly, considering you only had one night to do the project. The project wasn't super taxing, in fact it seemed almost like busy work that would promote socialization at the same time, but it wasn't like your time frame was ideal.
"Dib, right?" You held up your hand in a slight wave. "I don't think I've officially introduced myself. I'm Y/n."
"I know. The new kid who has no real friends yet is somehow still deemed acceptable by the popular kids? An anomaly for sure." Red painted his face, his eyes widening as he realized how his words may have came off as. "Shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sound rude. Or creepy. You know what? I'll just stop talking." An awkward chuckle escaped your lips as his eyes fell to his sneakers. After a slight pause, Dib spoke again, his tone much more reserved than before. "I can just do the whole project and you can put your name on it if you want. It's not that hard." He was giving you an out, not wanting to piss you off. Reaching an arm out, you slugged his shoulder lightly.
"Nah, come on. I don't roll that way. Besides, I want to hang out with you a little."
"You...want to hang out...with me?" Dib pointed a finger to himself, eyes wide behind his large glasses. An incredulous expression was etched into every single feature of his face, as if he couldn't believe those words left your mouth.
"Yeah." After that syllable, the bell rang, dismissing you from school. You stood up, gathering your things. "Anyway, I'll be at your place after dinner. Just text me your address or whatever." You quickly scribbled your digits down on a scrap piece of paper that was laying around, passing it to him. "See ya!" You dashed away, sneaking one last glance back to see Dib still sitting in his chair, as still as a statue, not believing that this was even happening.
Your stomach felt as if it was full of butterflies, and you couldn't shake the grin that had spread across your face as you began your walk home.
God...he was even cuter than I thought... You were embarrassed by your own thoughts, pinching yourself on the arm. Truth was, you may or may not have been stalking him a little. He lived in your neighborhood, and you just couldn't help it. You had always been a hopeless romantic of sorts, and all it took was one look at him in class giving a presentation on the gremlin in his backyard and you were in love. You didn't even need his address, you knew where he lived, but you didn't want to make him feel uncomfortable, so you asked for it anyway. Plus, it was a way to sneak him your number. And it wasn't as if you were actively trying to find out where he lived. It was pretty much impossible to ignore him and Zim screaming at each other as they ran back and forth between their houses all day.
"This is going to be a long night." You sighed out, foot striking out to kick a rock, the satisfying skittering sounds it made calming your nerves a small amount.
-
You drew in a deep breath as you brought your fist to the door, rapping on it a few times. Rocking back on your heels, you clutched your notebook and other supplies tightly to your chest, internally cringing at yourself. Everyone at school thought you were incredibly cool, but on the inside, you were just a lovesick gay who was overflowing with big dumb energy. The door swung open, bringing you to jump and be pulled from your motivational speech that was being given inside your head.
"Come on in. I'm surprised you showed up." Dib stepped aside to let you in, gesturing past the living room to the kitchen where a purple-haired girl sat at a table, picking at the remaining food on her plate. A floating monitor hovered near the table as well. "We're just finishing dinner, but you can follow me if you want." Nodding, you padded behind the social outcast wordlessly, taking a seat next to him at the table. "Gaz, this is Y/n, my partner for my project. Y/n, this is my sister Gaz."
"Hey." You waved to the girl. Her expression remained squinty as she continued to pick at her food, eyes dancing between her plate and a Game Slave which was charging on the counter.
"Whatever." She grumbled, never even directly acknowledging your existence once. You began to wonder if Dib was actually the most normal out of his entire family, which was saying something. Dib awkwardly cleared his throat as he pointed to the floating monitor, which displayed a man in a lab coat and goggles furiously working on something.
"Oh, and this is my dad. He's at work right now, like usual. When he can't be with us for dinner, he either videocalls us from his lab or plays a pre-recorded video reminding us of chores and dinner instructions." Despite how sad the things he had just said sounded, not an ounce of bitterness was up for display on his face. Instead, his eyes shone with pride, happy to have a dad who was making a difference in the world, even if he could never really be a conventional father. "Anyway, just let me clean up and then we can get to work." Dib stood up, bringing his own plate over to the sink and running it under water, placing it in in its respective place in the dishwasher afterwards. Waving for you to follow him, he led you down the hall to a room that was clearly his. The door was covered in posters and stickers of aliens and other supernatural creatures, a good sized "Keep Out" sign the centerpiece. You wondered what would be inside, becoming excited. You figured you were the first person besides his own family to be seeing his room. He twisted the knob, casually pushing the door open, allowing you to step inside.
"Wow..." You trailed off as you glanced around. There was so much to look at. Your eyes darted from one thing to the next, barely able to take it all in. There were several computer monitors surrounding a desk that was littered in papers and catalogues for supernatural hunting items, a few prototypes of possibly his dad's inventions scattered there as well. His room was lined with posters of aliens and other entities, an important looking briefcase thrown haphazardly onto his bed. The one thing that held your gaze the longest was a ginormous cork board. Several photos, drawings, diagrams, and hurried scribbles of notes were tacked up there, filling it to the max. Each paper was connected with color coded strings, things circled in colored pen seemingly at random, although you knew better. It was the definition of organized chaos. In large, bold, red letters, one word was scrawled on a paper at the top of the board: ZIM.
"I'm sorry, I tried to clean it as best I could. It's still kind of a mess." Dib hurriedly stacked papers together on his desk, trying to make it look presentable.
"It's fine, don't worry about it. You should see my room. Half of my shit isn't even out of boxes yet, and we moved in months ago." You laughed, sitting down on his floor. "So, alien invasion, huh? Isn't Zim that kid with the skin condition?" You asked, gesturing to his cork board. His shoulders tensed as he unplugged his computer and brought it down to the ground, taking a seat beside you.
"Could we just get to work? Please?" He seemed to want to sweep that subject under the rug, and you decided that you would let him.
"Okay...so anyway, this research poster. You got a topic in mind?" Your prompt drew him out of his unsociable shell, albeit hesitantly.
"Personally, I was thinking Area 51, but if you wanted to do something else..." He genuinely appeared to not want to upset you, despite usually not caring about how he came off to others.
"That sounds great, Dib. Interesting too. You think they're really hiding aliens there?" Laying down on your stomach, you rested your face in the palms of your hands, gearing up for a long talk. A smile crept onto your face as immediately his eyes lit up.
"I'm glad you asked."
-
"I think we have the essentials. Now we just need to get them onto the poster, which is probably the most time consuming part." Dib stretched his arms towards the ceiling while you yawned and cracked your back. You didn't know how long you had been sitting on the floor for, but a glance to the clock by his bed told you it was 8:01 pm. The two of you had spent the last couple of hours researching, organizing notes, and mainly just talking about yourselves. You had no idea why everyone constantly was ragging on him. You found him to be incredibly interesting and entertaining, hanging onto every single word he spoke. You weren't really sure if you believed in all of these supernatural creatures, but you also didn't think that they couldn't exist.
"I think so too. You ready to start on the poster now?" Reaching out, you gathered the posterboard and construction paper Dib had brought in from his garage together.
"Yeah, in a minute. I have to use the bathroom and then see what Gaz is up to, I'll be back in a few." You hummed a response, Dib standing up and exiting, closing the door softly behind him. Deciding to take a closer look at the Zim conspiracy board, you pushed yourself to your feet, leaning close to try and decipher the grainy images. One in particular caught your eye. It wasn't in color, and everything seemed fairly blurry. Zim, or what was supposedly Zim, was hunched over something that looked to be a robot. Except, as you looked even closer, Zim seemed to have these buggish eyes and long, skinny antennae in place of his hair. Rubbing your eyes, you flopped down onto Dib's bed.
"God, I must be seeing things." You had managed to convince yourself that you had been staring at computer screens and papers for far too long, and that your eyes were playing tricks on you, showing you what Dib wanted you to see. Closing your eyes for a minute, the rise and fall of your chest turned slow and steady, and you could feel your grip on reality loosening.
A ringtone of sorts snapped you back from your almost-doze, and at first you thought it was your phone, but after waking up a bit more, you realized it was coming from one of Dib's monitors. It appeared he was getting a call. The monitor showed nothing besides a logo of some sort of eye, as well as an option to accept the call or decline. Filled with curiosity, your feet took you to his desk where his monitor sat. You barely felt in control of your body as your finger swiped at the screen in the direction to accept the call.
"Agent Mothman-" The voice coming through the monitor was distorted, but you got the impression that it was on purpose. The image displayed was a dark silhouette of what seemed to be a man. "You're not Mothman."
"You mean that cryptid from West Virginia? No. I'm not." You took a seat in Dib's desk chair, which was very comfy. You assumed he spent a lot of time in it when he wasn't hanging out with Zim.
"Who are you and what do you know?" The voice was menacing, and you vaguely wondered if Dib was involved in something more serious than you thought. Quirking an eyebrow, you tried to not let any miniscule amount of fear you were feeling show.
"I'm, we'll just say Agent, uh...Nessie." Feeling uncreative, your mind drifted to the Loch Ness Monster.
"You're not Nessie either."
"You got one of those too? Ugh, fine. What about Agent Chupacabra?"
"Well, no, but...you're not any agent we know of."
"But I could be! Agent Chupacabra reporting for duty!" You brought your hand up to your head stiffly in a mock salute.
"But you're not a member of the Swollen Eyeball! What are you doing on Mothman's computer?"
"The Swollen what now?" You were smiling stupidly, only because you couldn't really grasp what the current situation was.
"Hey, sorry, Gaz decided to hound me over drinking the last soda, so I took a little longer than I thought-" Dib opened the door to reveal you sitting in his desk chair, trying to look all spooky for the guy in the monitor. You thought he'd laugh at your stupidity, but he was not in the least bit amused. "OH MY GOD AGENT DARK BOOTY!" Slamming his room door, he darted over to where you were sitting, almost tripping and falling on his face. He made a strangled noise as he noticed the disappointed expression that rested on the silhouette's face.
"Who is your little friend, Agent Mothman?" The distorted voice was cold, and you could feel Dib almost shrink next to you.
"Listen, I can explain-"
"I thought we stressed secrecy, and the fact that you are not allowed to have outsiders sit in on our important meetings."
"Meeting?" All of a sudden, several of the other monitors sparked to life, various other silhouettes coming into view. Just in one glance, you could see that Dib wanted nothing more than to fade away into a cloud of space dust in that moment. You stayed silent, knowing that Dib was in some serious trouble because of you.
"We had a meeting at 8:30 pm sharp, Mothman. You knew this. And you had a friend over?" Dib's face, already pale, turned even more so. Any lighter, and you thought for sure he'd become a ghost on the spot.
"I am so sorry, I had a school project, and he's my partner, I lost track of time." He looked absolutely helpless, and without a word, you stood up and gathered the poster supplies. Snapping back to his senses, he turned to you and began shoving you out of his room and herding you to the front door.
"Dib, I-"
"You really need to go!" There were no other words said between the two of you as he quite literally slammed the door in your face. A sigh slipped past your lips as you clutched your project items in your arms, dragging your feet across the pavement on your walk home. You lazily stumbled through your front door, mumbling a greeting to your parent(s) as you headed to your room, gearing yourself up to finish the project before morning.
-
"Thank you to Y/n and Dib for their, erm, informative...presentation on Area 51. That was your last one, so enjoy your last five or so minutes of class." Your teacher went back to their desk as you and Dib retreated to your own table. You hadn't talked much since the incident last night, and quite frankly, you were tired from spending hours of your night creating the visual portion of your project. Dib's lips were tightly pressed together in a thin line, and you guessed there was something he wanted to get off his chest.
"Look, Dib. If there's something you want to say to me, just do it. I'm sorry for answering your call, that was not a good move on my part, and I also apologize for getting you in trouble with your, uh...society." Running a hand through his dark hair, Dib shook his head.
"No, that was my bad. I forgot I had a meeting. I'm also really sorry for kicking you out and then forcing you to finish the project on your own." Your expression softened, unable to resist forgiving him.
"Yeah, that was kind of a dick move." You elbowed him jokingly, hoping he would loosen up now that bygones were bygones.
"No, seriously. How can I make it up to you?" He looked as if he wouldn't be taking no for an answer. He had gotten a taste of what having someone who genuinely enjoyed being around him was like, and he wasn't willing to let that go. A sly grin tugged at your lips, and almost immediately an idea came to mind.
"Consider yourself forgiven if you take me ghost hunting, or whatever it is you do." His shoulders tensed, but relaxed when he realized you weren't making fun of him.
"Well, you're in luck. I just received a case file investigation last night on a bigfoot lead. I'll pick you up at eight, if that works?" His words were cautious, almost as if he still believed you were phishing.
"It's a date!" You cheered happily, already excited about getting to spend more time with him. A faint blush dusted his cheeks at your wordage.
"Of-Of course." He stammered out, grateful for the bell that rang not even a second after.
"See you tonight, Dib!" You waved as you made your way home, wanting eight to come as fast as possible.
"He knows the project is over, right?" Torque Smacky raised an eyebrow, questioning Dib and wondering why someone as cool as you would be hanging around with a guy like Dib by choice.
-
The doorbell rang, and you sprang up from where you sat on the couch, overjoyed to head out. Practically throwing open the door revealed Dib in all of his trench coat glory, albeit a bit nervous looking and sweaty.
"Alright Mr. Mothman, where are we going?" You grabbed onto his arm, eventually linking it with your own. He cringed at the nickname, but resisted nothing else.
"To the park. Apparently, some woman saw bigfoot there the other night. Also, fun fact, I saw bigfoot in my garage one time. He was using the belt sander." Your eyes widened, and you immediately realized why everyone called him crazy. You took it upon yourself to believe him. He obviously believed in himself, so why shouldn't you?
"Interesting. You see any other spooks in your time here?" He shrugged as you walked.
"I mean, I think a few ghosts and, well, aliens of course, but we've been over that. Also, I have vague memories of being abducted by aliens as a kid. I think they were trying to experiment on me to create some sort of genius super baby or something." You couldn't help the laughter that tumbled from your mouth. It wasn't necessarily laughing at him, more so that you weren't sure how else to respond. You didn't want to put him down, but at the same time, his story was very out there. And although you weren't 100% on board with the whole supernatural thing, you believed in him and his words. If that was his truth, you would stand by it. "You ever see anything supernatural?" You pointed a finger to yourself, as if to ask, 'me?'.
"Well, I mean...I did live in West Virginia for a while when I was younger...a lot younger. And then we moved around a lot." Your eyes instinctively narrowed as you tried to recall those times with you and your neighborhood friends. "And, you know, Mothman was like the local legend. He's basically a celebrity down there."
"No way! Did you actually, like, see him?" If you didn't already have it, you sure had his full attention now.
"No. I believed in him for a while, but we never saw him, and as I got older and distanced myself from there, I just kind of figured it was bullshit. My friends and I, we would go out at night trying to hunt for him with flashlights and stuff. Sometimes we'd bring lamps onto the porch and plug them in, building little 'Welcome, Mothman' forts to sleep in." You chuckled, remembering how much you had believed in all the spookies and specters as a child.
"That's adorable." Dib's lips were parted in a smile as he continued to lead you deeper into the park. You weren't sure when you had actually gotten there, but you weren't really paying much attention.
"Well, maybe we could do that together some time. I know Mothman isn't really big in this part of the country, but who knows. Maybe he'll come." Softly bumping Dib in the side, you were pleased to see his smile only grow.
"I'd like that." The nice moment was interrupted by rustling of the trees, and Dib turned on his flashlight, pointing it to the treetops. "There!"
"I thought bigfoot was more on the ground!" You called as you raced after him. You both came to a grinding halt, your feet skidding in the grass to try and avoid ramming straight into Dib's back. The boy you were with aggressively pointed his flashlight into the tree, resulting in a loud hiss from whatever was up there. "Maybe it's just a cat, Dib!" You tried to pull him away, not really liking how riled up he was at the moment.
"Zim! What are you doing here?! What evil things are you planning?"
"Zim?" You looked upwards, following the beam of the flashlight. Sure enough, there was a green body hunched in a tree branch, a robot of some sort next to him.
"None of your business, Dib-stink!" Zim spat, turning to face your friend. It was then you got a good look at his face. It wasn't the slightly abnormal one you were used to seeing every day. His eyes were red and buglike, sleek, black antennae sprouting from his head.
"Holy shit, Dib. You're not crazy." You flicked your flashlight on as well, aiming it at who you thought was your classmate. "He really is an alien!" A strangled cry came from the alien sitting atop the tree branch.
"GIR! Do something!"
"Yes, master!" The once cheerful-looking robot suddenly turned much more serious, dropping down from the branch to where the two of you were standing. You yelped, unsure of what this thing was capable of.
"Relax, his robot is pretty much usele-" Dib began, but his sentence came to an abrupt end when several missals and other weapons emerged from his head.
"How do you like GIR's new adjustments, Dib? I finally got his behavioral chip fixed to where he's responsive, but not too serious." Zim smirked, and with the point of one of his clawed fingers, his robot was on the two of you.
Simultaneously, both of you let out a scream, reaching desperately for each other's hands as you ran for your lives back to Dib's place. Your feet pounded the pavement, lungs feeling as if someone was raking knives down your throat and organs, yet despite all that, you both refused to look back. Only when you were on his porch did you feel comfortable sneaking a glace behind you, only to find an empty street lit up by streetlights. Breathing heavily, the two of you leaned on each other for support. Dib looked very worse for wear. He didn't seem to be too athletically inclined.
"I think...we lost him..." You spoke between gasps for air, grinning all the while. He nodded vigorously, still wheezing. After the two of you had regained your breath, you both managed to catch each other's gaze. You felt every portion of your brain that was in charge of thinking shut down as you leaned in closer to him. You were barely even aware of what you were doing as you pressed your lips to his. His eyes looked as if they were about to burst from his skull, but after a moment, they eased shut as he relaxed into the kiss. You pulled away, feeling heat rush to your cheeks, almost as if your face was on fire. Your stomach was tied in too many knots to even look at Dib, but if you had, you would have seen that he wasn't fairing much better. In fact, he was probably in worse condition. "Thanks for the night of fun, Agent Mothman."
"Uh-huh." He mumbled out, and his brain looked miles away. You decided just to go home before you did or said anything else that could be classified as stupid. As you power-walked away, Dib's hand found its way to his lips, where the feeling and warmth of your own still lingered.
#invader zim#fanfic#fanfiction#dib membrane#dib x reader#invader zim x reader#invader zim fic#invader zim fanfiction#oneshot#one shot#invader zim oneshot#invader zim one shot
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Mission Accomplished
Chapter: 1 of 3 (Find Chapter 2 here)
Characters: Loki x SHIELD Agent Reader
Rating: Explicit
Summary: On one of your many missions with Loki for SHIELD, you are forced to stay in a hotel room with the frustrating God of Mischief. And it just so happens that there's only one bed.
Warnings: Eventual smut.
Permanent taglist: @just-the-hiddles @yespolkadotkitty @nonsensicalobsessions @vodka-and-some-sass @he-is-chaotic-she-is-psychotic @myoxisbroken
A/N: If you would like to be added to the permanent taglist or be tagged for the rest of this series, let me know! :)
“No, that’s not right. There should be two rooms under the name Smith.”
The young night desk attendant for the hotel Tony had booked you into seemed unbothered by the death glare you were sending her.“I’m sorry, ma’am, but the reservation was only for one room with a king size bed. For two nights.”
You pulled out your wallet and dug out your credit card, thrusting it towards her almost desperately. You were not sharing a room with the god standing impassively next to you, his face schooled in practiced boredom. And you certainly weren’t going to share a bed with him. “Here, I’ll book it under my own card. Whatever room you have left, please.”
Her eyes flicked to the card you held out to her before coming back to rest on your face as she handed over two plastic keys to the room. “I’m sorry, but we’re all booked up for the convention in town. Your room is 1045.”
Loki opened his mouth as you handed him his key, and you anticipated his snarky remark and cut him off with a finger poked into his chest. “Not. One. Word.”
His chuckle as you stalked over to the elevator was dark and full of promises that sent a wave of betraying heat straight to your core.
You had hoped the room maybe had some sort of couch or loveseat that you could force Loki to crash on - even a recliner would do - but the only vaguely soft surface other than the bed was a straight-backed chair tucked into a small table meant to be used as a desk. There was no way any sleep would be had on that thing.
Loki stretched out on the bed after hanging up your garment bags in the closet, his long limbs spreading across almost the entire width of it. He shot a salacious grin your way, his eyes glittering with mischief and the beginnings of desire. “Now, where will you sleep? The bed seems to be taken…”
Choosing not to dignify that with a response excluding the roll of your eyes, you lugged your bag into the bathroom. “I call the first shower.”
You shut the door before he could say something else that made you want to punch him in the face.
As you went about your nightly routine, grateful that you had packed a comfortable baggy t-shirt and mid-thigh length shorts to sleep in, you rationalized the situation. This was a mission, and although Loki was a trickster, he also seemed to take his new role assisting the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. seriously. This wasn’t the first time you had been paired together, your penchant for espionage and his cunning proved to make you a competent and complementary pair. Your assignment wasn’t until tomorrow evening, so he surely wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize that by messing with you more than usual beforehand. He was an ass, but he wasn’t that much of an ass.
And speaking of, you stepped out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam to the sight of Loki standing beside the bed, wearing only his black silk boxers that did nothing to lessen the shape of his backside. Was anything he owned not designer?
Your eyes drank in the sight of his long torso greedily - you couldn’t help it - lingering on the dimples of his back above the waistband of his underwear and the flex of his muscles as he looked at you over his shoulder. You knew that you had been caught ogling him when his lips pulled into a smirk that could make even the strongest go weak at the knees.
“See anything you like?” he drawled, his richly accented voice dripping with heat.
Hiding the blush of your cheeks by bending down to set your bag on the floor, rearranging your dirty clothing inside of it and pulling out your phone charger, you shook your head. “Did you really just say that? What is this, some cheesy porn flick?”
“It could be,” he replied smoothly, just barely brushing your upturned bottom with his leg as he passed by you to slip into the bathroom himself.
Taking advantage of the few moments alone, you quickly plugged in your phone, setting it on the end table at the side of the bed Loki seemed to have picked for you, judging by his own phone charging on the opposite side. You dove into the cold sheets, curling up with your back to the middle of the bed, trying to make as small of an imprint on the mattress as you possibly could.
Your eyes were tightly shut when you heard the bathroom door close, followed seconds later by the tilting of the bed as Loki settled in beside you. His radiant heat quickly spread beneath the blankets, soothing the slight chill of your skin from your shower and urging you to relax. No part of him touched you, and for that you were grateful.
Why you were grateful was too complicated and layered and you were not going to think about that.
“Goodnight, Agent,” he intoned softly as the light shining through your lids flicked off.
And although you had thought it impossible, scrunched up into a ball with the God of Mischief’s light rhythmic breaths the only sound in the room, you drifted off to sleep.
~~~
You were so pleasantly warm when you slowly came to from your dreamless sleep, your body rested and restored as you woke for the first time in a long time to your own internal alarm clock instead of your blaring ringtone.
Breathing in deeply, the scent of leather, spice, and clean male musk washed over you. It was comforting, enticing, and you buried your nose into the source to relish it for a moment longer.
The steady rise and fall of the bed - no, chest - beneath you was what pulled you fully from your sleepy haze.
Your eyes shot open and you froze, realizing that you were so toasty beneath the covers because you were using Loki as your own personal body pillow, your chest half-draped across his, your nose buried into the space where shoulder met chest, and your thigh thrown over his waist. You became aware of several things in rapid succession.
Loki’s arms were wound around you, one hand having slipped beneath your t-shirt to splay across your skin and sear into your lower back, the other cupping your upper arm. Also, his subconscious was very happy about the current sleeping arrangements, if the stiffness nudging the loose muscle of your inner thigh was anything to go by. And finally, he was thankfully still asleep.
You resisted the urge to snuggle deeper into him - it had been so long since you’d been held this way and your touch-starved body was practically buzzing with pleasure at the closeness. But that wasn’t proper, not among colleagues, and he would never let you live it down if he knew that you were enjoying this small moment of stolen intimacy.
But how did you get out of this situation? Part of you - the stupid part driven by desire and the smallest bit of affection - wanted to just lie in his embrace for a few moments longer. If only for his sake, as he needed the rest. The dark purple circles that had stained the thin skin below his eyes the night before had not gone unnoticed to your ever-observant gaze. But remaining like this was dangerous, as your body woke more and more to respond to him, sending signals to the butterflies having a rave in your lower belly that did not need to exist.
Just as your muscles tensed to roll off of him, his fingers tightened their hold on you, pressing you into him more firmly. A pleased hum rumbled through his chest and into you, vibrating against your rabbiting heartbeat.
“Good morning,” he murmured. The normal silk that weaved through his tone had roughened with his slumber, and it was almost endearing, especially combined with the softness lingering at the edges of his gaze as he looked up at you. He was unguarded, the mask of boredom or contempt he normally wore stripped away to reveal quite a striking, almost kind face beneath it all.
And the flutter it gave your heart was far too dangerous.
Pulling yourself from the comfort of his arms, you scrambled to sit up in bed next to him, running your hands through your messy mane of hair self-consciously. “We should order room service and go over the details at least once more, before we have to focus on getting ready.”
“Not before I take my own shower. Would you mind ordering a coffee for me as well?” He pitched the question to you as he left the bed, swiping a pair of underwear from his bag and dropping the others to the floor as he sauntered toward the shower.
You were too shocked by the admittedly glorious sight of his bare bottom to bite back a retort.
#loki smut#loki x reader#loki fanfic#there was only one bed#only one bed#loki#loki odinson#loki friggason#loki laufeyson#marvel fanfic#fanfic#fanfiction#marvel fanfiction#mission accomplished#eventual smut
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OK, I'LL TELL YOU YOU ABOUT FEATURE
They seemed to have lost their virginity at an average of about 14 and by college had tried more drugs than I'd even heard of. From their point of view, as big company executives, they were less able to start a company, it doesn't seem as if Larry and Sergey seem to have felt the same before they started Google, and so far there are few outside the US, because they don't have layers of bureaucracy to slow them down. It meant that a the only way to get rich.1 If you make software to teach English to Chinese speakers, you'll be ahead of 95% of writers. We arrive at adulthood with heads full of lies.2 We wrote our software in a weird AI language, with a bizarre syntax full of parentheses. That's an extreme example, of course, that you needed $20,000 in capital to incorporate.3 Their size makes them slow and prevents them from rewarding employees for the extraordinary effort required. Doing what you love in your spare time.4 Young professionals were paying their dues, working their way up the hierarchy. By giving him something he wants in return.
Once they saw that new BMW 325i, they wanted one too.5 If you simply manage to write in spoken language. Languages less powerful than Blub are obviously less powerful, because they're missing some feature he's used to. The kind of people you find in Cambridge are not there by accident.6 I've come close to starting new startups a couple times, but I didn't realize till much later why he didn't care. We'd interview people from MIT or Harvard or Stanford must be smart. Indians in the current Silicon Valley are all too aware of the shortcomings of the INS, but there's little they can do about it. When you're too weak to lift something, you can always make money from such investments.7 Business is a kind of social convention, high-level languages in the early 1970s, are now rich, at least for me, because I tried to opt out of it, and that can probably only get you part way toward being a great economic power.8 It must have seemed a safe move at the time. At the end of the summer.9
It's not merely that you need a scalable idea to grow.10 How much stock should you give him? Users love a site that's constantly improving. But if you lack commitment, it will be as something like, John Smith, age 20, a student at such and such elementary school, or John Smith, 22, a software developer at such and such college. There are two things different here from the usual confidence-building exercise.11 But it means if you made a serious effort. Bill Gates out of the third world.12 What's going on? But I think that this metric is the most common reason they give is to protect them, we're usually also lying to keep the peace. The kind of people you find in Cambridge are not there by accident.13
Frankly, it surprises me how small a role patents play in the software business, startups beat established companies by transcending them. The problem is that the cycle is slow. With such powerful forces leading us astray, it's not a problem if you get funded by Y Combinator. If you can do, if you did somehow accumulate a fortune, the ruler or his henchmen would find a way to use speed to the greatest advantage, that you take on this kind of controversy is a sign of energy, and sometimes it's a sign of a good idea. Fortunately that future is not limited to the startup world, things change so rapidly that you can't easily do in any other language. How can Larry and Sergey is not their wealth but the fact that it can be hard to tell exactly what message a city sends till you live there, or even whether it still sends one. They build Writely.14 I'm not sure that will happen, but it's the truth. Stanford students are more entrepreneurial than Yale students, but not because of some difference in their characters; the Yale students just have fewer examples.
And whatever you think of a startup. In the US things are more haphazard. I see a couple things on the list because he was one of the symptoms of bad judgement is believing you have good judgement. There are a couple catches. Instead of being positive, I'm going to use TCP/IP just because everyone else does.15 Being profitable, for example, or at the more bogus end of the race slowing down. An example of a job someone had to do.16 But actually being good. There are a lot of people were there during conventional office hours.17
I'll tell you about one of the most surprising things we've learned is how little it matters where people went to college.18 In Lisp, these programs are called macros. That's where the upper-middle class convention that you're supposed to work on it. And since most of what big companies do their best thinking when they wake up on Sunday morning and go downstairs in their bathrobe to make a conscious effort to keep your ideas about what you should do is start one.19 The most powerful wind is users. We're just finally able to measure it. And not only did everyone get the same yield. VCs need to invest in startups, at least by legal standards. Ten years ago, writing applications meant writing applications in C. If you have to operate on ridiculously incomplete information.
Notes
Foster, Richard Florida told me about several valuable sources. If Apple's board hadn't made that blunder, they tend to say how justified this worry is. The founders want the valuation at the time 1992 the entire West Coast that still requires jackets: The First Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1965. Yes, there would be enough to be a win to include things in shows is basically zero.
Different kinds of startups that has become part of your mind what's the right mindset you will fail.
But although I started using it out of loyalty to the founders' salaries to the traditional peasant's diet: they had first claim on the one hand they take away with the earlier stage startups, just monopolies they create rather than admitting he preferred to call them whitelists because it reads as a kid, this is the notoriously corrupt relationship between the government. As the name Homer, to mean starting a business, A. The Department of English Studies. Yes, strictly speaking, you're pretty well protected against such tricks initially.
There are also the 11% most susceptible to charisma. Every language probably has a word meaning how one feels when that partner re-tells it to profitability on a road there are no longer needed, big companies to say that YC's most successful startups of all the page-generating templates are still expensive to start over from scratch, rather than ones they capture.
There are two simplifying assumptions: that the Internet, and judge them based on revenues of 1. If the company goes public. This is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. When that happens.
The only launches I remember are famous flops like the bizarre consequences of this type of proficiency test any apprentice might have 20 affinities by this, though more polite, was starting an outdoor portal. The Duty of Genius, Penguin, 1991, p. The danger is that in practice signalling hasn't been much of observed behavior. When I say in principle is that intelligence doesn't matter in startups tend to be when I was genuinely worried that Airbnb, for example, the startup after you buy it despite having no evidence it's for sale.
Another thing I learned from this experiment: set aside an option pool. So if they don't want to start a startup in question usually is doing badly in your country controlled by the government. But in a company grew at 1% a week for 4 years.
We added two more investors. The reason this subject is so hard to imagine how an investor, and that often doesn't know its own momentum. We think. I'm talking here about everyday tagging.
They thought most programming would be possible to bring corporate bonds to market faster; the point of a large organization that often creates a rationalization for doing so much to generalize.
Many people feel good. So instead of being interrupted deters hackers from starting hard projects. The idea is that it was overvalued till you see them, initially, were ways to make your fortune? In fact the decade preceding the war.
One father told me about a form that would appeal to investors.
Some graffiti is quite impressive anything becomes art if you tell them to justify choices inaction in particular took bribery to the traditional peasant's diet: they hoped they were only partly joking. If a big angel like Ron Conway had angel funds starting in the first phase. You're going to create one of those you can eliminate, do not try too hard at fixing bugs—which, if they stopped causing so much from day to day indeed, is due to the table.
The hardest kind of gestures you use the wrong ISP. But they've been trained to expect the second component is empty—an idea is stone soup: you post a sign saying this cupboard must be kept empty. The two guys were Dan Bricklin and Bob Frankston. I have set up grant programs to run an online service, and they were, they'd be called unfair.
My work represents an exploration of gender and sexuality in an era of such high taxes?
So the most visible index of that, in one of the markets they serve, because she liked the iPhone SDK. For example, because a it's too hard to pick the former, because it is.
If you ask that you're small and traditional proprietors on the side of the junk bond business by Michael Milken; a new airport.
The biggest exits are the only audience for your side project. You're not one of their portfolio companies. He did eventually graduate at about 26.
A lot of time on schleps, but he doesn't remember which.
When I talk about startups. It's also one of the statistics they use the wrong algorithm for generating their frontpage. The reason Y Combinator only got 38 cents on the other: the source of food.
#automatically generated text#Markov chains#Paul Graham#Python#Patrick Mooney#college#sign#things#Duty#henchmen#A#language#cents#peasant#resource#company#startup#diet#Bill#characters#idea#behavior#lot#problem#type#role#First#whitelists#Languages#li
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Plus Ultra! Go Beyond the Screen!
celebrity AU drabble series, 3K~, quirkless actor Midoriya Izuku gets interviewed
[Read on AO3.]
GO BEYOND!
A conversation with Japan’s rising star Midoriya Izuku on standing up on set and off as the next symbol for peace. A GQ Japan exclusive.
By Taneo Tokuda | Correspondent
[Image of Midoriya Izuku, leaning next to a window, his body arched off the wall. His head is tilted up and over towards the camera, the left side of his body illuminated from the light coming in, the right side fading into the shadows. He’s wearing a sheepish grin, tugging at the tie around his neck with a single hooked finger, jacket sliding off his shoulders. He’s wearing Best Jeanist’s exclusive non-denim line, and the monocolor layering of velvets in the lighting make his green hair, red shoes, and tie pop in rich color even more.]
I’d been warned that Midoriya Izuku has no regard for outdated formality. He’s far from callous or jaded — sweet and optimistic are two words often used to describe him — but propriety is something he has never been concerned with.
I’d been warned, but I didn’t understand.
Any journalist who’s worked the entertainment beat for a while knows there’s a cadence every interview follows. The details may change, but there are conventional practices that help an interview go smoothly for both the interviewer and subject, to make the most of a complicated relationship between celebrities and the media.
This interview starts behind the scenes, as most do, with the e-mail I send out to Midoriya’s manager, laying out a request to speak with his charge. The enthusiastic response comes just an hour later and references details from a number of stories I’d written across the entire span of my career.
It isn’t his manager’s response. It’s Midoriya’s.
That was my second warning to assume nothing, but I still stumble into Midoriya’s apartment expecting a clean, contemporary, moderately-sized apartment. It’s rare to host interviews in celebrity homes, and when it happens, it’s meant to be a statement — power, wealth, pride, affected sincerity.
Instead, Midoriya opens the door halfway and apologizes because he moved in recently and there’s still a stack of boxes blocking him from opening it any further. The door handle nearly catches between the buttons of my shirt as I squeeze through the crack. Once inside, I trip over his trademark red shoes and nearly take him down in the process.
He catches me in his arms and says with a wry grin, “Don’t worry, I am here!”
That, of course, is a classic reference to his latest role: All Might. All for One will be a Netflix reboot of the old '80s superhero film franchise that turned Toshinori Yagi into a household name. In a casting coup that stunned fans and industry insiders alike, Midoriya fell into the role shortly after making headlines for saving a life during a villain attack on the set of long-running soap opera The Quirked and the Quirkless. The villain had been looking for Toshinori, and in his absence, grabbed a crewmember hostage. Midoriya attacked the villain despite having no quirk.
Soon after, Toshinori reversed his longstanding refusal to produce an All Might reboot and gave the studio a green light — with a stipulation. Just as the franchise had brought him up from obscurity, so must the franchise fill its ranks with youths aiming to catch their big breaks. Enter: Midoriya Izuku.
Midoriya sets me back down gently — yes, he picked me up when I fell, even though I’m a full half meter taller than him — and I’m more inclined to see his suitability as Toshinori’s successor.
Physically, he still looks nothing like his mentor. Where Toshinori is buff, Midoriya is lean, tall to his short, loud to his soft. Toshinori held his strength in the brash, nigh-cocky attitude that got him into as much trouble as himself as it did in the show as All Might. Midoriya carries strength like woven spider silk; it’s graceful and dangerous, but all too easy to overlook for those unused to subtlety. But he carries the same bright aura of unwavering love and determination.
More to the point, I also felt his arms and abs in the fall, and he may not look like he has the muscles of All Might, but they are definitely there.
“You can take a seat anywhere in the living room if you’d like,” Midoriya says, ushering me down the hall with a light hand on my back. “Breakfast will be ready in just a few minutes, but I haven’t put together the kitchen table yet, so living room it is.”
“Breakfast? Did we decide on a working breakfast?” I replied.
“I couldn’t invite a guest into my home without offering snacks! Since this interview coincides with breakfast, I made breakfast.” He pushes me towards the sofa and wags a finger at me when I try to follow him to the kitchen anyway. “No guests allowed to hover or help in the kitchen. It’s too small!”
The rest of the apartment is half unpacked, and haphazardly at that. Boxes are open, dumped out into piles on the floor where they will likely be permanently placed. I perch on the arm of a ratty sofa by the only portion of the room that’s been set up. It’s a veritable shrine to pro heros, fictional and real alike. Two of the five shelves are devoted solely to All Might merchandise.
Midoriya appears behind me, as if by quirk. “Ah, do you collect hero memorabilia? I’ve been a big fan of All Might since I was little, and then I started following hero society in general when I got into middle school, so I’ve built up a lot over the years especially rare items like if you look at the back corner there’s a particularly cool figure of All Might from the emerald era which if you remember was received so poorly that most of the merch was shelved in one location and subsequently destroyed during a villain attack…” He goes on without end or pause, taking me through the history of each item on the third shelf. At minute six, he abruptly tenses mid-sentence. I can almost feel the heat from his red face as he starts stammering apologies for wasting my time and gingerly puts his collection away again.
“You've got a lot of stuff I haven’t seen. It’s interesting.” It makes me uncomfortable how much he clearly doesn’t believe me. “It’ll be good content, that you have such a long history being an All Might fan.” He shrugs my words aside, and gestures behind me to a giant spread he’d laid out on the coffee table before seeing my interest in his collection.
We sit. For a moment, the only sound in the apartment is the clatter of silverware, the muffled bustle of Tokyo’s streets at midmorning a soothing counterpoint. I’m considering how to break the lingering tension I caused. But then —
“I’m a quirkless soap opera actor who seemingly got the biggest role of the decade for doing something completely unrelated to acting. I’m optimistic, not an idiot.” There’s a taut line to his shoulders again, at odds with the quiet, delicate way he drinks his miso soup.
His eyes trail back to the curio shelf of hero merchandise. A heaviness builds between us in the seconds it takes him to think. “I grew up in a neighborhood hostile to me and my mother. I mumble my thoughts out loud and have an obsession for heroes that edges past societally acceptable as an adult. I have no quirk, she had no husband, we had no money. Any insult you could say about us, I’ve heard it.”
He looks me dead in the eyes and leans forward. I can’t help but mirror him. “It would be disrespectful to everyone who supported me to get here if I let the back talk get to me. I worked hard for this role, and I earn it with every new day of effort I put into it. All Might is the symbol for peace, and I intend to embody that legacy. No one will be able to doubt me when I’m done.”
Anyone who’s familiar with Midoriya’s reputation knows not to be surprised by his humility, but it’s a revelation to see this drive, his earnest focus pinning down my full attention. The last bit of the puzzle that was his casting choice is answered in one overwhelming look. If All for One does it right, his magnetism is going to Detroit Smash every heart in Japan.
“The waffles!” He springs up and mutters his way back to the kitchen, cutting past the moment. “I forgot the waffles, Kirishima gave me a waffle maker the shape of All Might’s crest as a housewarming gift, they’re so cute and surprisingly detailed…” In just a few seconds he plops the plate down amid the overfull table and settles back into his seat with a smile. “So? Should we get started?”
Interview has been edited for length and clarity. For the full article, visit us online. Catch the first season of All for One on Netflix, streaming xx xxx.
[Image of Midoriya Izuku sitting outdoors on some sidewalk steps in workout gear, leaning back on one arm, the other hand raised to cover his face from the sun. He’s wearing bright green short shorts and a very loose tank top, the arm holes cut out so deep that the angle lets the photographer capture the sheen of oil and sweat across his ribs and back as light filters through the shirt. One sock is pulled up taut, the other scrunched down, same classic red shoes still on his feet. His legs and arms and hands are haphazardly wrapped in carefully grimed bandages, as is his makeup, smudges of dirt across his cheeks along with make up to bruise his lips a deep, pouty red. Boxing gloves hang over his shoulders, and a bandana mimicking the famed mouth guard from All Might’s most iconic outfit hangs around his neck.]
TT: Congratulations on your first starring role! How does the move from semi-recurring character to protagonist feel?
MI: It’s a huge challenge, one I’m incredibly excited for! My character in Quirkless wasn’t supposed to be mine. I’d already been involved with the show as a quirkless consultant but one day on set, they’d had a huge scheduling conflict, and Director Ryuko remembered I’d originally auditioned for the show for a character that was ultimately cut. She brought me in as a literal last minute replacement, and soon enough a three-episode run expanded into a semi-regular spot next season. At least with All for One I’ve had tons of time to prepare.
TT: Take us through what it was like getting the role of All Might.
MI: I think the media explained the villain attack that brought me to the studio’s attention plenty. What's more important is when after I recovered, Toshinori-san contacted me and connected me to his talent agency, and my new manager was the one that successfully nabbed me an audition for the new show. They had us go through a few standard readings and chemistry checks, and then I got the part.
TT: You auditioned?
MI: I did! That’s what makes the rumors of favoritism even more frustrating. I promise I didn’t get the role because I stopped a villain attack on set! Well, I hope I didn’t.
[File photograph of Toshinori Yagi and Midoriya Izuku post-hostage situation. The stage is in disarray, black goop covering the furniture and floor of a fake hospital waiting room in a thick layer of sticky slime. They stand off-center in the foreground, Midoriya rubbing a fist over his eye, exhausted, possibly crying, as Toshinori pulls him into his side for a hug. Both have shock blankets draped across their shoulders. Emergency respondents case and clean the scene in the background.]
TT: How does it feel to take up the mantle of one of the most iconic comic book characters of all time?
MI: I’d be lying if I didn’t say nerve-wracking, but I’m more excited than anything. I’ve dreamed about this since I was 5, when the doctors first told me I’d never have a quirk and never be a licensed hero. All that love was redirected toward All Might. Some people might say being too big a fanboy will make playing him hard, but I’ve been preparing for this my entire life, and that’s what I’m trying to hold on to instead of anxiety. Toshinori-san has also been a spectacular mentor to me through this whole process.
TT: It's been said that Toshinori-san implemented a rigorous vetting process to work in any position on the crew. Recommendations, mentorship networks — because everyone is new to film.
MI: That’s only true to a certain extent. I wouldn’t say most of us are complete newcomers; we’ve all been around the industry for a fair number of years making our careers off it one way or another. We definitely wouldn’t have gotten hired to such prominent roles without Toshinori’s interference, yes. Because of his stipulation, the studio wanted to minimize as much of the havoc inexperience might cause such a beloved, big budget reboot by offering us close, mandatory support networks featuring industry professionals who’ve been working in their field for decades.
So far, the idea has really worked out well. We get to implement fun new ideas we don’t realize are impossible yet, and the mentors temper our more […] impractical ideas with logic and experience. The cast also has gotten a lot of support from the old cast of the '80s run!
TT: You’re known for being an advocate for quirkless rights in the entertainment industry. Has that impacted the way you approach your career and what opportunities you take?
MI: It isn’t just the entertainment industry I’m interested in for my advocacy work. Society’s rabid obsession with quirks is a problem across all of Japan, for both the quirkless and those with quirks. But as an actor, I happen to have personal insight with the roadblocks that prevent quirkless individuals from succeeding in film. We make up a fourth of the Japanese population, but less than 1% of the Japanese Film Union, in the mere century from when quirks first showed up across the globe. There’s no other explanation for such a miserly diversity rate than discrimination.
Studios have gotten so used to using quirks to sift through application stacks, looking for who can offer the most with just a quirk name and description. Toshinori-san has easily admitted that the electricity he emits when engaging his strength quirk was one of the reasons he won the role of All Might over better known actor Todoroki Enji. It was one less special effect the studio would have to spend money and time on. Viewing accommodation as a costly complication is historically dangerous to all types of minorities across the globe. How am I supposed to compete when people think I can’t offer anything unique compared to the host of wild quirks out there?
TT: Wow, that’s quite the speech.
MI: I’ve practiced a few times.
TT: Really?
MI: Quirk discrimination was my thesis topic at UA.
TT: You went to UA? That didn't show up in my research.
MI: Oh, I […] was in their support program for a while.
TT: Why did you decide to pursue acting instead? They don’t have a fine arts program, do they?
MI: As much as I love support work, it’s a stressful field. [Laughs] I started looking for an outlet that had nothing to do with hero work when an old friend dragged me onto a set. I’d completely forgotten how much I loved acting, and it wasn’t long before I decided to pursue that over support work, for however long it would have me.
TT: Would you ever consider returning to support work?
MI: Yes, but it gets harder the longer you’ve been away. I still keep up my qualifications, and keep up with my old classmates. Some consulting here and there. But for now, I’m happy using my background to help me act a better All Might.
[Photograph of Midoriya Izuku sitting in an office chair, facing three-quarters towards the camera even as he lays half across a desk. The decor is rich: old, dark wooden furniture, ornate work across the frame of the chair and desk, half-filled bookshelves in the background. His cheek rests against his arm stretched along the edge of the deck; one leg is tucked under the seat and the other is extended out. His outfit is artfully ripped name brand jeans and a tight shirt, color blocked in All Might’s classic red, white, and blue. Tiny figurines of All Might in his various costumes across all his comic book and screen appearances dot across his body as if they’ve climbed across his body, and Midoriya is an Atlas holding the weight of these ideals across his shoulders and arms and legs, a Gulliver tied down and overwhelmed. But his expression is vibrant, determined. Not quite a smile, but nowhere near defeated.]
TT: Does it bother you, having your quirklessness constantly be the focus of your career and identity?
MI: Of course! I’m a lot more than the superpower I don’t have. I’m a pretty private person, but I want to do great things. I want to inspire people, to make everyone feel safe and like they belong. If that means I have to feel some discomfort, it’s more than worth it. I’m a big kid with a therapist, so I’m prepared to balance my needs with those of my career.
TT: I’m not helping, am I?
MI: Like I said, I’ve deliberately opened myself up to that focus when I’ve put myself out there as someone willing to talk about these important issues publicly. You’re not asking anything I wouldn’t expect of any good interviewer.
TT: Speaking of privacy, your co-worker Todoroki Shouto is infamous for his taciturn personality and complete seclusion from the public eye, even during personal interviews. What is it like working with him on set?
MI: I have a bone to pick with you journalists about that! Remember what I was saying about how quirk reputations hurt those with strong quirks as much as those without? Todoroki Shouto is a wonderful person, and I’m so glad we get to work together. But boy, that reputation of his does him a disservice. He’s more than just Endeavor’s son and a powerful quirk. […] He’s his own man with a lot to say — it’s just no one’s asked him the right questions, yet. Once you do, you’ll find he shines brighter than any of the characters he’s played. It’s frustrating to see a good man overlooked again and again in favor of easier topics like a flashy quirk and flashy father.
TT: One last question. Isn’t it a hassle to squeeze past those boxes each day to use the front door?
MI: I don’t use the front door.
TT: Then…?
MI: Wouldn’t you like to know? ■
#bnha#my hero academia#bnha fanfic#midoriya izuku#taneo tokuda#quirkless midoriya izuku#celebrity AU#BUT THERE ARE STILL QUIRKS GIVE ME MORE CONTENT ABOUT QUICKS FUNCTIONING IN NORMAL SOCIETY AND THOSE IMPLICATIONS#lolo's fic writing tag
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Dr.Lecter and Leda and the Swan
The below is from an essay by the artist Anne Shingleton discussing Leda and the Swan, her artwork, and why she believes Hannibal Lecter likes it. The essay was originally provided by the now defunct Hannotations from the contributors BloodandIvory and NyxFixx. Minor content edits by me, but you can read the full essay here. You can also learn more about Anne Shingleton and her artwork at her official website.
[Lecter’s] absentee landlord apparently had a fixation on Leda and the Swan, The interspecies coupling was represented in no less than four brozes of varying quality, the best a reproduction by Donetello, and eight pantings. One painting delighted Dr.Lecter, an Anne Shingleton with its genius anatomical articulation and some real heat in the fucking. The others he draped. - Hannibal, Chapter 97, by Thomas Harris
Ever since the misty dawn of Greek mythology, Leda and her doting swan have lived and loved in countless poets' lays and, less ephemerally, in thousands upon thousands of embodiments in paint, line, stone and metal.
They appear in the arts of Rome and Hellas in a profusion of sizes and materials, from golden bracelet pendants and silver table ornaments to great sculptures cast in bronze and hewn from marble (such as the Great Relief in the British Museum), from delicate drawings on precious ceramics to colourful frescoes on the walls of atria and chambers. But after the decline of Rome they nodded off into the many long centuries of bleak post-Roman Europe, awaking briefly now and then and here there to invigorate some ornamental arts and crafts of the Middle Ages.
(The essay, as well as an image of Anne Shingleton’s version of Leda and the Swan is below the cut. It’s a little bit graphic, so fair warning)
Leda and the Swan by Anne Shingleton
It was the Italian Renaissance with its exuberant rediscovery of classical antiquity & say, from about 1400 or so onward that brought them once again into the limelight of profane (in the sense of non-ecclesiastical) imagery. Nearly all the great Renaissance artists drew, painted or sculpted their Ledas, conspicuous among these being an oil-on-canvas by Leonardo Da Vinci, known only through several copies by his followers, and Michaelangelo’s stunning marble, today in Florence's Bargello. From there they coupled their way through the next five centuries and far beyond Italy's shores and borders, into and out of the Baroque and Rococo, into the nineteenth century to brighten some sclerotic corners of Neo-Classicism, and eventually even into Art Nouveau, there briefly to beguile a languorous Belle Époque. After August 1914 they withered, along with the rest of Europe's humanistic culture.
Nevertheless, even today, in our own age of mostly meretricious rubbish art mass-produced to con newly-rich illiterates, they glow softly still among the now very distant and still receding constellations of our classical heritage.
Who, then, was Leda, and who the swan?
Antiquity sang several different versions of her tale. Most agree that she was the daughter of Thestius, king of Aetola, and the wife of Tyndraeus, king of Lacedaemon. Somehow she inflamed the passions of Zeus, Some said that he saw her bathing in a sparkling sun-drenched stream, others that Hephaistos had told him about her dissatisfaction with her husband's ways in bed, and others still that he was only out to spite his consort, Hera.
In any event, he was smitten and, having just lately visited Danae as a shower of gold, Europa as a bull, Io as a cloud, Ganymede as an eagle and others still in guises no less inventive, he decided to assume yet another one for his tryst with Leda: he would swoop down majestically on snowy pinions . . . as a swan.
Mythology fails to tell us whether these forms were mere travelling costumes, so to speak, and whether, as we may well suppose, upon arrival at the bedside he reassumed his customary and divine semblance of a robust, virile man in the prime of his maturity. I've heard that a swan's penis - to be precise: a cob's - is exactly like a circumcised human one in miniature, and that this gave rise to the amorous-swan legends . . . but I confess that I've never checked it out with a cygnologist, though I should've done so long ago. Perhaps some thoughtful cygnologist will let me know?
In any event, swan or man, he had his way with her, or she with him, or each with the other. Of it came an egg, or, in other versions, three eggs, and in others still seven, and you mustn't act surprised: when a fertile lady mates with a cob she'll lay eggs - faultless logic, that, and winsome science.
One tremendous event that soon followed was to become a bedrock and fountainhead of Western culture: for whilst out of two eggs hatched the twins Castor and Polydeuces.
I relinquish the podium to Homer.
My own versions…. differ a little from the conventional ones. For one thing, neither my painted nor my sculpted Zeus arrives in the form of a swan but rather dressed up as one . . . he's wearing a (rather skimpy) swan costume, under which he is very much the Chief Olympian: strong, handsome, supremely male, his ebullient libido refined by aeons (he being immortal) of experience and divine dedication to his beloved's (not always female) pleasure.
For another thing, most Leda depictions are intra-coital: it's happening, nobody can figure out just how but they're at it. My painting instead shows them as post-coital.
In the painting, the oil lamp on the rocks just right of the love nest is still burning but night is fleeing, crescent Selene is fading, colours are being reborn everywhere. First light is bathing the two dreamy, sated lovers. Birds chirp in chorus. An exquisite post-orgasmic Leda is savouring the last after-tremors of her lique-factions while scenting the dewy flowering of day. Zeus has retired to the top of the bower, his costume all awry, a smile of surfeit on his lips. Post coitum omne animal triste, said Aristotle: after mating all creatures are sad. I think there is truth in that, but it is more complex, less formulaic. The martyrs enter the arena hand in hand but the lions eat them one by one. Lovers in the act dispense with the meum-teum sense (Robert Graves), but after the shared orgasmic heats, the post-orgasmic chills overtake them one by one, and, slowly, deliciously if all went well, they drift apart, sometimes a little numbed, nearly always bewildered, on separate outbound tides. Even, or perhaps especially, if they're gods. My painted Leda and her god are poised over this hot-cold watershed. Until the next time…
Why does the doctor 'delight' in the Leda story? I don't know. Best ask Tom Harris. But I'll have a guess.
As he does in The Silence of the Lambs, as does so much literature both old and modern, Harris draws unconsciously or knowingly - I don't know which - on the world of myth and fable, that genome of the collective human subconscious. The leitmotif in both Silence and Hannibal, not deafening or intrusive but audible throughout from the dark beyond the firelight, is that of The Beauty and The Beast. Since I'm neither a poet nor a scholar I'll refrain from windy disquisitions, but to me the parallels between that fable and the interbraiding of the lives of Hannibal and Clarice Starling seem clear enough.
Clarice-Leda has taken vestal vows, has dedicated her body and soul to the FBI: not for her the traditional role of wife and woman as prescribed by patriarchal orthodoxy. Like the life of chaste and virginal Beauty, Clarice's life, so far as we've been told, is manless, and hence, conventional wisdom would have it, arid. The fable now demands that she be sexually fulfilled, 'sexually' having here a wide, deep, polyhedral meaning far beyond mere genital tiddlywinks.
Lecter-Swan is a beast, no doubt of that, and no need to dwell on definitions. The fable now demands that she make him human, meaning here humane.
And behold, in the book, though alas not in the film, both undergo the magical transformation: Beauty turns the Beast humane, the Beast wafts Beauty to, up and over the moany summit where she is, presumably, fulfilled. Both are reborn from scratch - from the egg, so to speak, through each other.
I think that could well be why the doctor delights in the one painting in the room that he leaves uncovered for Clarice to see.
Anne Shingleton
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My Captain
Pairing: Captain Sensible x Reader (Requested)
Author’s Note: Kept this one short and sweet! It was kinda odd referring to Cap by his real name but it felt necessary. Hope you enjoy!
You looked nervously at the man in front of you. This was it. Today was the day you and he were finally getting married. After being together for over three years, you were finally tying the knot.
“You look beautiful.” Ray whispered.
The two of you were stood at the front of a medium-sized reception hall. All your guests, your closest friends and family were sitting at tables, watching you. You and the Captain weren’t having a very traditional wedding. You weren’t dressed up in fancy clothes and neither were your guests. You were also combining the ceremony and the reception to save on time and money. It wasn’t super conventional, but neither were you and him.
“Thanks, I let Dave put a little makeup on me,” you confessed. “You look good too.”
He was wearing an outfit very typical of him. Tight jeans, white shirt, and a red jacket littered with buttons and pins.
Ray giggled lightly. “Well, Dave did a good job.”
You were about to respond with something witty, but the officiant of your wedding started speaking just then.
“Friends and family, thank you so much for joining us today for the union of (Y/N) (L/N) and Raymond Burns.”
You and Ray shared a smile at the use of your full names. It sounded unusual for Ray to be referred to by that instead of his stage name. Even you had taken to calling him Captain Sensible over the years.
The officiant continued on with the ceremony. As much as you were trying to listen to her speak, you found yourself getting lost staring at your soon-to-be-husband and not processing much of what she said. You figured it was probably just some boring official business she had to get through anyways.
You did focus in when it was time to recite yours and Ray’s vows, however. You had both agreed to write your own and you were excited and nervous to share yours with him.
The Captain would go first reading his. He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out some crumpled paper. You could see his messy handwriting smeared across the page.
“(Y/N), there are so many things I love about you. I love the sound of your laugh, the way your eyes light up when a song you like comes on the radio, the fact that you make everyone around you smile. I love that you can finish off a plate of French fries faster than anyone else I know. I love how excited you get when we go someplace new. Oh, and I really love your bum.”
The rest of the room laughed as you rolled your eyes.
“Anyways, what I’m trying to say here is that I love everything about you, and I promise to keep loving you forever. You really are my best friend and I’m always going to be there for you (Y/N), whether you like it or not.”
You chuckled as he finished his vows and stuffed the sheet of paper haphazardly back into his pocket.
“Wow,” you said. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to compete with that, but I’ll try.”
You produced your own paper with slightly shaking hands. Ray’s vows had left you feeling very emotional.
“Ray, my captain, words cannot describe how happy and proud I am to be marrying you. When you walked into my life, it was like everything changed for the better. I have never met someone as carefree, funny, optimistic, and genuine as you. I promise that I will love you until the day I die. I promise to always be there to pick you up when you fall or to carry you home when your drunk.”
He barked out a laugh and you grinned at him.
“I love you babe and I can’t wait to spend the rest of our lives together.”
Ray reached down and grabbed both of your hands in his. He was smiling widely, and you couldn’t help but do the same. He didn’t take his eyes off of you as the marriage officiant began speaking again.
The rest of the ceremony went by in a blur and before you knew it, you and he were sealing the deal with a kiss.
The wedding guests cheered and clapped as the two of you separated. Ray whooped loudly and swept you up into his arms in celebration. You laughed as he twirled you around and carried you away from the front of the room to greet everyone and spend the rest of the night in the company of friends and family.
#captain sensible x reader#captain sensible imagine#the damned imagine#the damned x reader#wanda writes
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Kyoru Week: Day 2 - Firsts
I’m gonna be honest, I wrote this in like 2hrs; it’s nearly 1am (so I missed the deadline for the 2nd day in a row), and so I haven’t really edited it. Sorry if there’s any typos. I’ll try to do a good polish/edit tomorrow when I’m awake again. :P
UPDATE: K. It should be all edited now. ^_^
UPDATE #2: I forgot to mention that you can also read this story on AO3, on FFN, or on DA
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Experience It All
Spoilers: Story is post high school graduation
Romance Level: Newly Dating
Word Count: 1493
Summary: It's the first apartment Kyo ever owned. The first one he and TOHRU ever owned. And he becomes surprised as to how many more "firsts" they have to go.
Kyo was buzzing with nervous energy. The keys to their new place clinked against each other as he spun the ring around his index finger, catching the keys and then spinning them in the opposite direction. Spin clockwise. Catch. Clink. Spin counter-clockwise. Catch. Clink. Spin clockwise again.
“Is this it?” Tohru clung to Kyo's left arm. She had been taking in the quaintness of the village he had moved her to, but upon hearing the jingle of the keys, she focused on the building before them.
“It's gonna be small,” Kyo warned, not moving as he took in the apartment complex. “It's not going to be like Shigure's place, or your grandfather's.”
“That's okay. Mom and I used to have a small place. Besides, I'm sure it will be way bigger than a tent.” She giggled, and hugged Kyo's arm close.
She had spent months in that tent, alone in woods she didn't realize had belonged to the affluent Sohma family.
Months. Alone.
Kyo had never been alone. Not really. He had been neglected, sure, and might as well have been alone. Still, he always had an adult near by. When he was real young it was his mother. Then, after she died and Kyo was all but disowned by his father, Kazuma Sohma took him in. He had loved Kyo, and the boy took that love for granted. Worse. He didn't accept that it was real, not before he met Tohru. Even when Kyo was lost within himself - after failing to save Tohru's mother – he wasn't alone. Kazume spirited him away to recover and revive. Then it was Shigure's turn to watch over Kyo.
For someone who felt isolated and unloved, he always had a guiding hand. He was the adult now; almost. He wasn't living in someone else's house anymore. This was his place. He held keys for his home. He was the master of this place. He wasn't sure he was ready for that sort of responsibility. Why couldn't he be a stupid kid again?
“Kyo-kun?” Tohru's soft voice brought Kyo back to the present. “Are we not in the right place?”
“No. No we are. Sorry. I was just-” He looked up at their apartment front door. He could do this, right? He could run a household. He could work full time as an apprentice at the local dojo. He could provide for Tohru. He could keep her happy and safe here. He could even save up enough for her to take the train back to Tokyo a few times each year to visit everyone. He was a man now. He could do it.
“Come on.” Tohru tugged a bit on his hand. “Show me our new place! I can't wait to see.”
Chuckling at her eagerness helped ease him. She could always do that. No matter his mood, she could always bring him to center. With a huge grin, he sprinted ahead, dragging her behind him as he took the stairs two at a time. She squealed with excitement as she ran with him.
“Ready for our new place?”
“Kyo-kun.” It was her turn to sound a bit nervous. “This is the first time it will be just the two of us in a home.”
“I know.” He pulled her into a hug, still marveling at the fact that he could hold her in his arms; feel her head nestled against his chest. “I'm sorry. It may be a bit lonely since you don't have others to keep you company while I'm out.”
She pushed away from him and shook her head. “We have all of these neighbors. I'm sure I'll find plenty of company here.”
“I know you well enough to know that it will be impossible for any of these people to not love you as soon as they meet you.” He gave her a quick kiss on the lips before resting his forehead against hers. “I'm sure in no time you'll have our place bustling just as much like a convention center as Shigure's house.”
Kyo unlocked the front door, and slowly sung it open. It was such a simple little abode. From the front door he could see the little galley kitchen to the left, the three-square-meter living room straight ahead, and the double glass doors to the porch just beyond that. There were three doors to the right: a bathroom, and two closet-sized bedrooms. Kyo wasn't even sure if the Western-style bed Shigure had bought Tohru a few years back would fit in her cubbyhole. As it were, his futon was probably going to carpet his room.
“Kyo-kun?” Tohru tried to scrunch down to look under Kyo's arm. Then she stretched on to her tiptoes to try to see past his shoulder. As she bobbed and weaved, Kyo realized he was still in the doorway, and was now broad enough to block most of it.
“Sorry.” He blushed slightly, and scratched the back of his head. “I- I know that now isn't traditionally when I'm supposed to do it, but-” He gulped and tucked the keys into his front pants pocket. “Would you mind if I, ya know, carried you in?”
Tohru's hopping ceased. Instead, a grin slowly stretched across her face, and her whole body appeared lighter; not as weighed down by gravity as it should. Holding her hands, folded, against her chest, she emphatically nodded.
Smiling back, Kyo knelt so he could scoop up her knees. Lifting her into a bridal carry, Kyo carefully stepped her over the threshold of their home. Their first home. Theirs. Instead of putting her down on the other side of the door, he continued to carry her to the teeny living room, and swung her around in a large circle. Hooting with excitement.
“Look at it, Tohru! This is ours! Just ours!” Kyo stopped in the center of the room, and lowered Tohru to her feet. While he was still leaning down, she kissed him.
“I love it.”
“Come on.” He took her hand and pulled her through the apartment. “This is obviously the kitchen. I hope it will be big enough for you to cook, but if not I'll figure something out for you. We could even put the rice cooker right here, just outside the galley. I could put a little table here or something.” He then ran to the bathroom. “It's not much, but it has a shower, and there's a hot spring nearby if you wanted to occasionally soak in a tub instead.” He pushed passed her, and escorted her to the first of the bedrooms. “This one looks a bit small. It can be mine if you'd like.”
“Yours?”
Kyo was too excited to register her question as he escorted her to the second bedroom. “Yeah. This one looks large enough for your bed. This can be your bedroom.”
“Mine?”
“And look! There's a large enough window for you to climb through, and the back porch runs the full width of our place. You could easily reach a line through here, and that way you don't need to leave the warmth of your room to hang up clothes even in winter.”
“Kyo-kun-”
He hopped through the window with ease and looked up. “I can even access the roof easily from here if I really wanted to!”
“Kyo-kun!” Tohru's voice was loud, but still meek.
“Hmm? Sorry. You wanted something, Tohru?” Kyo climbed back inside, and scooped her hands up into his.
“You said 'my room' and 'your room'.”
“Yeah.”
“I- well-” Her thumbs raced across his fingers; nervous energy shooting out of her. “I was- I mean, since we-” Her face bypassed pink and went straight to crimson. “I'm sorry, I'm being too forward. Nevermind.”
Now it was Kyo's turn to match a beet.
“Tohru, were- were you- do you mean- Did you expect us to share a room?”
She squeaked and ripped her hands from his so she could hide behind them.
Kyo was going to live without a supervising adult for the first time in his life, and his girlfriend wanted to share a bedroom. Wasn't he a high school student just a couple of weeks ago? How did life go this fast?
He gently bopped the top of her head with his knuckles, startling her enough to drop her shield of fingers. Before her surprise subsided, he cupped her face. He again rested his forehead against hers before pecking a kiss on the tip of her nose.
“You do not have to ask me twice to share a room with you, Tohru. We can use the other one for something else. Storage, or a library, or a study-”
“Or a practice room for you?”
“We can do whatever you want with it.” He scooped her into another hug, his heart racing with excitement. After three years with this woman, he still had so many Firsts to go through. He couldn't wait to experience them all.
#Fruits Basket#Furuba#fanfiction#LycoRogue writing#Kyoru Week#KyoruWeek#kyoruweek2019#Kyoru#Kyohru#Kyo Sohma#Sohma Kyo#Tohru Honda#Honda Tohru#dating#Day 2: Firsts#Experience It All#my titles suck extra hard this week#living alone#post-manga#posted after midnight again#but before 1am#so there's that...#LycoRogue original#LycoRogue Fanfic#full story
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Cosplay Hunger
I've been working on making a casual-cosplay piece for the past few days, one of those pleated skirts. I've always wanted to wear one but most of the skirts sold in stores nowadays are pencil-skirts or whatever and totally not my jam. Cosplay items, whether you buy them or make them yourself, are pretty pricey. Considering I currently have a source of income, I decided it was time to fufill some of my childhood dreams. I always wanted to cosplay, go to conventions, etc. It's not con-season, but I decided to have a little fun and attempt to make the type of skirt I've always wanted. Whether or not it develops into a full-blown cosplay or I wanna tank money into going to a convention eventually is still up in the air.
I had extra material, so I made a mock-up of the skirt at first. Well...it wasn't originally supposed to be a mock-up. I thought I had the right measurements, following my jeans waist-line...but when I sewed up the first attempt it was a couple of inches short of going all the way around my waist. To be fair, I didn't start out with proper measuring tools and the material I had on-hand to make the skirt wasn't stretchy. Jeans aren't "stretchy", but there's still a little give to them. Well, I used the 1st attempt as a learning experience. I still had enough material to try again and this time I dug up some proper measuring methods (an actual measuring-tape instead of going by my jean-size).
When I measured my waist out a few days ago to start the 2nd attempt, I had just eaten dinner. I measured out my waist while standing, and then while sitting and decided to go with a measurement halfway between the two. I mean, I didn't want to bust out of the skirt once I sat down.
A few days later, I have the skirt finished. I had other stuff going on--work, events with friends, and also the fact that I was a little timid about sewing. This skirt was supposed to be the realization of a childhood dream. I didn't want to screw it up. I spent a couple of days measuring out and ironing the pleats over and over again, to ensure they'd stay. I also hand-stitched them in-place before taking them over to the machine for good measure.
I decided I wanted to complete the skirt and have it as an option to wear when I go to a friend's place tomorrow (not sure if I'll actually wear it tomorrow). I got off work in the afternoon and worked diligently on the cosplay from 3PM-onwards.
My diet/meal-times have been pretty lackluster as of late. My work schedule is unpredictable so some days "breakfast" is at 2PM or 6AM...if there's a "breakfast" at all before or after I work. Today was one of those "barely eat a thing" kind of days. I think I grabbed a muffin or something off of the counter before work and maybe made and ate a small, scrambled-egg sandwich after work. I can't really remember if the sandwich was yesterday or if it was today but the longer I think about it, the more I’m sure it was yesterday. It's nearing midnight and I've been working on the cosplay non-stop since about 3PM. When I say "non-stop", I mean it. I just got up to use the washroom and I almost didn't make it in time. Before you ask, I currently have no intentions of turning this into an omorashi blog, so please don't fill my inbox with such things.
Anyway, the skirt's finally complete and I'm super proud of it. I slipped into it, hoping that it'd be the fulfillment of a long-held dream. The skirt slipped waaaay too low. Odd, because I remember the measuring tape being pretty binding when I measured myself out a couple of days ago. While I was considering the option of sewing on belt-loops, my stomach suggested another option with a few quiet rumbles. I was hungry. Scratch that, I was starving.
It was almost funny the way my stomach sounded to remind me of the fact that I hadn't eaten. I was expecting loud growls, but since I had neither food nor water for hours, I guess there was nothing in there to amplify the noises. The meek, quiet growls were very much like the shy/timid kid that raises their hand to ask if they may go to the washroom after the teacher has just snapped at the whole class for misbehaving (nobody wants to be the one to talk to the teacher after that). Either I didn't hear it before, or my stomach realized the rest of me was super-invested in whatever project I was working on and it kept itself quiet until I was done.
I was tempted to leave my stomach empty and indulge in hunger-kink tonight, only giving it water, but I decided against that. Yeah, I'd love to indulge in kink, but I'm really embarrassed about my kink(s) IRL and nobody that knows me knows I’m into this sort of stuff. My friends usually don't bother with dinner or food or whatever whenever we get together. Like, the concept of ordering pizza or something slips everyone's minds. There's also the fact that a lot of us have an aversion to eating in front of other people, so anything more than crackers and candy is usually off-the-table for us. I don't want my stomach to growl and embarrass me while I'm out with them tomorrow, so I'm eating now. Might as well reward my stomach for waiting so long without disturbing me. I still remember when I was working on papers last semester and my stomach decided to make me double-over with hunger-pangs when I was on a roll. Also...maybe the skirt will stay up once I've eaten something.
Whenever I combined my fandoms with tummy kink, I never imagined myself as the one with the tummy ache...heck, I never really imagined reader-insert tummy-kink stuff before. It was always one character helping (or teasing) another. What’s this blog doing to me? I used to just imagine (fictional) characters going through this stuff and never inserted myself into the mix...especially not as the one going through the stomach stuff. Guess cosplay and tummy-kink is something I can add to the wish-fulfillment list...although that’s going to be much harder to fulfill than sewing up a casual cosplay.
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Target Sighted (Ch.1)
Emet selch x Mature/Machinist WOL
I have revised this chapter, new pov, some rewording at the end. Previous version will be deleted.Enjoy!
"Look it did cross my mind to simply side with Vauthry and kill you all. But that's no different than what Lahabrea did, and we all know how well that ended for him. And so while it is liable to be troublesome, I have settled upon a different approach.....cooperation." ~ Emet Selch
With the light warden of il Mheg slain and night returned to the Crystarium, the exceedingly happy and somewhat miraculous event brought with it something else: Emet-Selch. And that was something more a danger than any light warden nature could throw at the Hero. It wasn’t the first time a enemy just came right out and introduced himself but this one was a bit different. Instead of outright violence and another throw down between enemies, he offered something mutually beneficial. A sort of partnership that got more than a brow raise from her and her friends. But how on earth could they trust him. He was an enemy, after all, an Ascian loyal to Zodiark, the polar opposite of the Hero’s own goddess and benefactor Hydaelyn.
In a even more bizzarre turn of events, she accepted his offer of a suedo friendship, if that’s even what it could be called, with almost no hesitation. It was no question that at some point Emet Selch was going to turn the whole thing on its head, to his benefit exclusively. She knew more than likely she were going to end up being used, but she respected his odd turnabout approach and thus entertained his odd request. If anything it would keep him in her line of sight. She had already made short work of his other compatriots, so it’s not as if she couldn’t feasibly kill him should he betray her. Perhaps that was overconfidence on her part, but when one goes toe to toe with the Crown Prince of Garlemald and lives, Ascians seem like small business.
For now though, that was a problem for the future and she put it out of mind when she sat in her private quarters of the Pendants. In her oversized white nightshirt and hair slightly damp from the shower, she sat at her writing desk reading over a letter that was months old but always kept on her person.
The dim light of the gas lamp and the refreshing night breeze from the open window was a relaxing contrast to what was blinding daylight that plagued the land for nearly a century. She sighed happily as she read the letter and pondered how she should respond. Then the air in the room stirred and she felt a presence that was familiar, but not whom she would expect in the middle of the night. Honestly though, she shouldn’t have been surprised. The way Emet Selch looked at her upon their first meeting, was the way a thirsty man looked at a tall glass of water.
“Shouldn’t the hero of the hour be resting?” Emet Selch pointed out. She didn’t bother turning around but did a quick mental inventory of her gun locations, the one by her writing set being closest, the second closest squeezed between the mattress of her bed.
“Shouldn’t you knock before entering?” The hero said back in a disinterested tone. She took a clean sheet of paper from your writing desk and prepared your ink and quill. The small rimmed glasses on her face slid down and she pushed them back up without thinking.
“Afraid I might catch you doing something unmentionable?” He attempted to joke but it rolled off her. She didn’t care for his humour.
“Are love letters considered such?” She said back and dipped her quill in ink.
There was a small pause before he started again. “Ohhhhhhh? And who is the lucky recipient?" the tone of his voice way to curious for his own good.
The hero set the quill down with an exasperated sigh and spun her swivel chair around, giving him a good once over as if she were an executive sizing up a potential employee. The fact that he didn’t scare her nor impress her was plain on her face while he caught an eyeful of bare legs and shoulder, scarcely covered by her loose white shirt. She knew she looked sexy with the lamplight casting harsh shadows on her lythe body but she didn’t care, Emet Selch was not on her menu.
He stood across the room with his hands casually tucked behind his back and hunched over as he was wont to do. Oh how tempting it was to march up to him and straighten him out, slouching was her pet peeve and the reason she wore corsets and stiff leather bodices.
"Before I answer that, where are your manners Solus. Zos. Galvus.” She drawled out his full name. “You come into a ladies room in the middle of the night with nary an offering?”
He raised a brow and gave an innocent, as much as an Ascian was capable of, smile. “Ah, you know the imperial protocols. Forgive me.” and then he snapped his fingers. In his hands appeared a box of fine chocolates and bottle of wine. “Will these suffice?”
”Imperial or not its uncouth for a man to visit a lady without gifts.” She chided and took off her glasses.
He handed the items to her as she set the bottle on the desk and settled the chocolates in her lap, smiling when she saw the Garlean label. Eager fingers helped themselves to the first piece. With the smooth rich taste on her tongue she gestured for the man to sit down on the bed, the only other place that was comfortable at the moment. He gave a small bow as he did just so.
“The letter is for my daughter.” The Hero said simply, eating another piece.
He gave her an odd look. “Our hero is a mother?“ he asked carefully. His face showing obvious surprise.
She grabbed the wine bottle of the desk and walked over to your dining table where your glasses lay and popped the cork as she poured two flutes of wine. The Ascian’s eyes followed her carefully. "She is 8 years old and lives in Ishgard with her god parents.” and then she handed a flute to him and sampled your own. The crisp taste was a nice pairing with the chocolate. “I send letters to her often and don’t consider my being trapped in the 1st a good excuse for shirking that. When this is all over with, I will see her again and share with her all my adventures.”
”You hail from Ishgard then?” Emet Asked.
She had to laugh at that question and pointed to herself. “Please! Do I look like I hail from a place as stuck up as that?”
He gave a small apologetic wave.
”I hail from Gridania and so does my daughter.”
“Need I ask about the father?” Emet asked as he sipped his own glass.
The lady shrugged casually. “Nothing much to say there, he’s been out of the picture for a while.” And with that she flopped herself back down into the chair.
“A failed marriage?” He prodded.
“Are you just making conversation or are you seriously interested in that story?” She scrutinized with obvious disdain. It was rude to pry to deep into a women’s business.
“I thought I should take an opportunity to get to know our Hero, foster some sort of understanding and common ground if you will.” He smiled as he finished his glass and then stood up to refill it and then curteously walked over and refilled hers before sitting back down. She have a small nod at him for that and continued.
“Let me then ask you first.” She dared. “Considering that you were also married at one point in time, Did you love the Empress?”
He didn’t need to think on it. “She had her charm as well as her uses. She was a impeccable lady, passionate, demanding, devoted…..”
“That’s not answering the question.” she pointed out.
“I suppose I did, though it wouldn’t be what most people would call conventional or romantic. We enjoyed our time together and our shared passions but in the end it was rather political. I needed a strong women to lead the empire and mother my children and my decision on wives was rather on the pragmatic side.” He explained.
She gave a small off hand gesture. “Fair enough.”
“It’s your turn.” he pointed out as he reclined on the bed, stretching is long body out on your duvet and tucking his arms behind his head.
For a moment she wondered how honest she should be with him. It was really none of his business but she wanted him to have nothing to use as ammo against her later on. So she settled for complete and utter truth. “My Ex Husband was a good man, a hard worker, decent fellow…but he could never please me, despite all the promises he made. He was so caught up in always trying to make it big, strike it rich that he perpetually ignored me our entire 10 year marriage. After my daughter was born, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I was pulling the weight of three people in the family, his job, mine and taking care of my baby. And when I explained to him how I was feeling he kept feeding my one liners like: I promise tomorrow will be better. It was never better, he knew how he was treating me and figured if he fed me enough lies I’d just become complacent. It backfired on him. I took my child and the clothes on my back and left. He wasn’t a bad person but god was he a shite husband.”
That got a raised brow from the Ascian. “That was a exceptionally candid answer….”
“Satisfied enough to change the subject?” She asked with a hint of anger.
“If you wish.” He waved his hand in the air. “But I just gave you some rather sensitive information, can you not offer me something similar in return?”
“Sure but not in regards to my lackluster love life.” she laughed.
He rolled onto his side and rested his head on palm. “Something entirely different then. When we first met in the crystarium, Admittedly i tried to probe your aether and you effectively pushed back and cut me off. That is no small feat as most people would not recognize if someone were invading their aetherical aura.”
Oh yes, she remembered. When he first revealed himself in the crystarium he had mentally sized her up. His yellow eyes damn near staring holes through her very soul. She had felt it plain as day, like a pressure over your entire body. It was an annoying feeling so she shot it right back to him, all the while sending him the telepathic message: back the fuck off.
“My echo ability, aside from seeing memories of others is the retention of memories from my past forms.” You easily admitted. “One of which was a very powerful mage by the name of Lucyna. She was a soldier for a very prolific army and had several arcane abilities not limited to sensing the unseen. Though I choose not to use magic in my current life it wouldn’t be a far cry for me to do it again channeling her memories and abilities.”
“How deep do those memories go?” He asked with a straight face but just for a split second something changed ever so slightly. His thin eyebrows arching in surprise as something seemed to cross his mind but he quickly fixed his expression.
The hero gave him a coy look. “Oh please do you think i’d tell YOU that of all people?”
He gave a sly chuckle. “Can you blame me for trying?”
A half empty glass forced her to refill it. “Tell me something of equal value then.”
"You’ll have to be more specific dear.” He said.
“Oh I don’t know…” She sighed as she offered to refill his glass again, feeling her own drink now warming her body and loosening the tongue. “I could ask your favorite color but I think the answer is obvious judging by your current attire. Or I could ask you about your favorite food but I suppose those things don’t matter to a Ascian…..or your favorite hobbies other than spying and plotting….”
“You’re babbling hero.”
“I’m getting drunk sweety, don’t interrupt.” She scolded him as if he were a child.
“You truly have no fear do you?” He asked in a amused tone. A Hyur scolding the emperor of Garlemald of all things! He could have had her executed for the slight if he were still on the throne. Not that he would have, that sort of bravery was a turn on for him. Instead he would have tried to conquer her, as he had done before with other strumpets who showed attitude.
“Of you? No.” She stood over him and smirked.
“Dare I ask why?"
"One, You’re too curious about me to kill me and Two, I’ve dealt with your great grandson. He is far more terrifying than anything I have ever faced in this world or the source. Third…..Is a secret.” she smiled oh so sweetly.
“I suppose I should apologize for that as i’ve not had a big influence in either Zenos or Varis’s lives.” Emet admitted sadly.
“Well technically you are supposed to be dead…Do you have any idea how much trouble that Great Grand kid of yours has given me? He was well deserving of the spanking I gave him.”
“Knowing him he would have enjoyed it.’
She shuddered at the thought but admitted, “He probably did.”
“But do I sense a bit of fondness mixed in there?” Emet teased.
“Absolutely not.”
The Ascian’s face softened as he looked her over. “You amuse me Hero.”
She wasnt sure how to answer that but the way he looked at her was nothing short of flirtatious. “Yay for me.”
A white gloved hand suddenly grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto the bed. She landed flat on top of her Ascian Visitor, face to face and mouths so close if she had puckered up you would have been kissing him. Her head spun for a moment with the wine and when she realized the positition she was in, her cheeks lit up. She fought to keep her poker face on. One of his hands snaked across her lower back keeping her pinned to him and the other one rested on her bare thigh.
“What is the third reason I fail to evoke any terror in you Hero?” He breathed against her mouth, eyes half lidded and the ever so smug half smile on his face. If he was going to try to play her like a fiddle she were more than happy to throw it back in his face. A warrior, mother, gunner, savior of the world she was but she was certainly not an easy conquest.
She smiled as sweet as she could muster and bent to reach his ear, whispering,“ I have a secret weapon….”
“Do tell.” Emet cooed as his hand slipped further up her bare leg and stopped suddenly at the contraption hugging her upper thigh. Oh, a derringer belt. He heard the telltale click of a hammer being pulled back and felt something metallic and cold press against his jaw.
“I’ve got guns….lots of them…and i’m sure they’re bigger than yours.” The Hero joked as he put his hands up to fain innocence. She sat up and straddled him while keeping the small single bullet pistol aimed at his face.
He rolled his eyes. “Oh come now do you think shooting me will be of any avail?”
“No but it’s a inconvenience to you and will force you to find another body. Frankly I’d do it just to annoy you!” She smirked. “Besides, I’m a mature woman with mature tastes so don’t get fresh with me.”
“What a coincidence.” He smirked right back, something playful in his eyes. “I’m a mature man with mature tastes more than adequate to satisfy women like you.”
She visibly cringed and had to ask. “Do you even function in that way?”
He rolled his eyes at her and huffed. “Did I not just say I sired children?”
“Maybe you grew them in test tubes like you do these bodies of yours.”
“Zodiarks mercy…..” he groaned. “While that could be done…some things are best achieved the old fashion way!”
She had to pause and stare the man she sat on to consider it. "Emet Selch, you’re good eye candy but wayyyyy too old for me and i never thought I would have to say that because usually its the other way around considering im no spring chicken.”
“Oh is a few millennia too much for you?” He teased. “Think of all the experience.”
“Well…it takes the term grey fox to a new level…” She agreed but then shook her head. “I’ll pass on that. I’ve had my share of genocidal aristocrats.”
“What a cold woman you are.” Emet scowled sarcastically and conceded, his hands dropping to his chest in exasperation.
“That’s your type though apparently.” She surmised as she hoped off of him and opened her door, ushering him to leave.
He got the message and stood up, giving a small bow as he headed out but turned to her before leaving. “Come seek me out when you have time Hero. I’d like to talk to you again.”
“Annnnd If I refuse?“ She dared to ask.
He stood up to his full height, staring down at her so you could feel the weight of his presence and power. Something in his eyes glinted as he towered over her small hyuran fram and in a tone that was menacing said, "I’m a very patient man. I could wait for eons if need be. Something about what and how said it made her shiver a little and she watched him carefully as he turned away and vanished into thick wisps of black Aether.
When she closed the door, she let go the shiver and audibly gasped. All the tension she were secretly holding onto released as she put her derringer back into the leg holster and glanced at the bed Emet had been lounging on. She mentally high fived herself for being able to act so casually during what normally would have been a “interesting” situation.
“Who is this guy?….” She asked herself as she searched her own memories. Had there ever been anyone like him before in her life or any of her shards?
Though the memories afforded her were numerous not all the information they contained was useful. Sometimes it was simply the memory of a phrase, a name, a place that had no crucial meaning, and other times it was faces of people long since passed. The name nor face of Emet Selch had no meaning to her and yet there was an air of familiarity about him. She tried to dig a bit deeper in her mind for the answer but hit a mental wall, there was simply nothing to be found. The night was dragging on and she had bigger fish to fry and more light wardens to slay. So the puzzle of Emet Selch was one she could ponder on another night.
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A Peek into the Indie Writer World – Part IV: A Walk Through the Process
If you’re thinking of going indie, or have already decided to, you may find yourself wondering what steps you need to take. This is a look at the process, focusing on hard copy books and e-books.
The short version, in bullet format for those with very little time:
Write your story
Identify your output product(s)
Copy edit your story
Purchase and/or assign ISBNs
Request PCN (hard copy print only)
Format the story
Create front matter for printed work
Cover art and design
Publish
Market
The longer version with more details below the cut.
Write Your Story
There are many different ways to write. Use whatever process works for you (drawn out, under tight deadline, or anything in between). Revise and edit your draft to ensure you have the best possible version you can. Many people like to use critique groups or beta readers, other people don’t. The key is that your content (poetry, short stories, novella, or novel) is the highest quality you can make it.
Identify Your Products and Process
You can start looking at the various products and printers out there while you’re still in the writing stage. As your story gets closer to being ready to print, you’ll want to have some decisions on your starting point, at least. Will it be an e-book with print to follow? Or do you just want to start with the e-book and see how it goes? Your plans will influence some of your next steps.
Copy Edit Your Story
Most people think of this as proofreading, finding and fixing typos, spelling mistakes, and grammatical errors. In this case, it also includes ensuring your soon to be published book has a consistent style.
Style is a set of rules that provide a uniform look to a document. This includes things like use of font, font attributes (bold, italic, underline), implementation of flexible or optional grammar (such as the Oxford/serial comma), and the presentation of specialized terms. Most fiction publishers have a house style built off Chicago or AP style, both of which have handy manuals. It ultimately doesn’t matter what style you go with, as long as you are consistent.
In the editing world, style often includes formatting elements, but for the indie writer, some of that formatting will vary depending on the product or products you’re producing.
Things to Watch For
Consistent spelling for names of people and places
Consistent terminology for magic or world-specific details (eg: does the world use shape-shifter, shape shifter, or shapeshifter?)
Use of numbers (phone, age, height, distance) are generally spelled out in fiction
Consistent units of measure (unless there’s a good reason for it, you don’t want to randomly switch between metric and imperial)
If attention to detail and copy editing aren’t your strong suits, copy editing is something you should plan to hire out. You can also just hire someone for the pieces you need done. If you have a handle on your house style, but want someone else to proofread, that’s totally a thing that people do.
Purchase or Assign ISBN
If you’re printing with a company that offers a free International Standard Book Number (ISBN), and you’ve chosen to go that route, you can skip the purchasing step. I personally prefer to have full control of all my ISBNs, allowing me to take them with me if I switch printers or distributors.
Buy your ISBN in advance via Bowker. You will need one ISBN for each product you are producing. A trade paperback needs a different ISBN than a hardcover or audio book. There’s often a discount to purchase multiple ISBNs at one time.
Once you have any needed ISBNs for this project, you’ll need to link the number to a book title, and provide some information on the book and edition (publisher, summary, cover etc). This is a good time to perfect your back-cover blurb or teaser. You can come back and update much of the ISBN information later if you don’t have all the elements at the time you’re doing this.
Request a Preassigned Control Number (print copies only)
If you’re based in the US, you’ll want your book registered with the Library of Congress as this increases the likelihood that it will get into libraries. It also provides some added copyright protection.
You will use the Preassigned Control Number (PCN) process, which takes 10-15 business days. Start this far enough before you plan to complete the publication process, to ensure you have your Library of Congress Control Number (LCCN) before you go to print. If you have trouble navigating the Library of Congress’ website for questions (and you probably will, it’s not as clear as it could be), you may want to explore the PCN Manual.
To complete the process of registering, you will need to send a hard copy of the printed book to the Library of Congress.
Format the Story
Formatting your work can fit in with style, especially after you’ve gone through the indie process and have a handle on what you want and need. Many writers will create their draft in the most complicated format they are planning on producing, just so this piece is well underway (and less frustrating later). Once the book is ready for publication, they’ll make copies to reformat for other products.
At this point you need to know how you plan to publish and what company you’ll be using, as different publishers have different formatting requirements. Be sure you read the requirements before you put in a bunch of work changing your novel into a font you won’t be able to use.
Features you need to make formatting decisions on include:
Page size (determined by the product you are creating)
Margins (leave room for the gutter – the inside margin where the binding is)
Chapter heading font, size, and position
Indent (fiction usually indents first line of a paragraph)
Line spacing (look at similarly sized books to choose number of lines per page)
Section breaks (asterism or section sign are both good choices)
A Note on Paragraph Styles
If you’re not already using paragraph styles in your word processor, you need to start now. Styles designate font, size, and text attributes, as well as features like line spacing and indents. When used properly, styles ensure consistency and a professional looking end product. They also make it much easier to reformat the entire document if you need different features for a different product, or if you suddenly need a different font for your text body.
If you are creating an e-book, you must designate title and heading 1 styles at the very least, as these are used for navigation. Failure to designate these will often result in your book not meeting requirements for distribution.
Accessibility
Do not use extra returns and the space-bar to place text where you want it on the page. This makes your digital end product inaccessible to people with adaptive reading equipment. Screen readers will read every one of those spare characters, and no one wants to hear “asterisk, asterisk, asterisk, asterisk…” as they wait for the next section. Instead, use your styles to put chapter headings where you want them, and use hard returns (ctrl+enter) to separate chapters.
Front Matter
This is the content that comes between the front cover and the first page of the story regardless of whether it is a print or e-book. The professional standard includes:
Copyright page (including the year of publication, ISBN, and LCCN)
Table of contents (this will be automatically generated for e-books)
Title page (should be on the right page for print editions)
Optional content includes:
Acknowledgements
Dedication
Book Cover
This is your primary advertiser for your book, whether it’s print, e-book, audio book, or a serial. You will use this image everywhere to pitch your work. We’ve all been told to not judge a book by its cover, and we all do it anyway, so expect that this is something that must be done right.
Consider your cover a visual extension of the story. It needs to be appealing while giving your reader clues on what to expect. If your zombie apocalypse story has a cover that feels like a Christian devotional, it won’t appeal to some of your readers and you’ll have gone against the expectations of others. You absolutely do not want your book to look like you spewed clip art at the page, a common new indie writer mistake. A generic cover does you no good either.
It’s okay if you don’t have the skills to create a stunning cover for your book; hiring someone to do this for you may be your best bet. It’s worth paying to get a cover that helps readers decide to pick your story. There are a lot of great artists out there, so look around and find someone whose style is a good fit and who you can afford. That said, don’t whine about prices. Artists deserve to be paid what they’re worth.
Publish
The steps at this stage will vary depending on the company or program you decide to go through.
For most print on demand printers, expect to have to buy a proof before the book becomes available to the public.
Market
This stage will vary depending on your comfort level and opportunities. In general, you should be marketing yourself as a writer at any opportunity. This means participating at conventions, doing readings, and posting announcements on your social media and website. Be careful to avoid giving your friends a constant hard sell on Facebook, though. No one enjoys that. Your social media needs to be somewhat active and should include content not specifically related to a recent book release. Posting teaser chapters can be a great try-before-you-buy option.
While this looks like a lot of steps to take, they are spread out over the course of your process of bringing your story to publication, and many are not that onerous. Most print on demand companies have paid services to help with some of these steps, if they seem too great for you to overcome on your own.
⁂
For the first article in this series, check out Part I. Or if you just missed the previous article, check out Part III. To see the next one, check out Part V.
For more articles on writing, check out my Reflections From the Sol section.
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