#Probably only a few dozen to a couple hundred are 'active' at any time

[tswwwit]

When bill sees thru an eye does he switch from one to another like channels or can he see thru all of them at once and pick on which one he wants to focus on?

He can see through multiple eyes at once, though probably not ALL of his eyes at once. There's simply too many around to spread himself that thin! And of the ones he's currently using, he'll only pick a few to really focus on.

[ageofxail]

Sometimes I just have to stop and sit down and reflect on the things this one particular book I own has been through. It’s only forty years old, but it has seen some life.

Specifically, said book is the 1983 edition of the United Kingdom’s Norwegian Buhund National Club Stud Book. It’s literally a maybe hundred page book containing photographs and three generation pedigrees of the couple dozen Buhunds that lived and actively showed in the U.K. at the time. It’s a mint green paperback book that was thrown together as cheaply as possible, probably cost about five pounds for a copy if I had been after it in 1983.

By the time it reached my hands, it was already worn on the spine and has at least eight different stains in them. Some are coffee, some are tea, maybe one or two are water. They’re old enough to no longer hold the scent of what made those stains, but they’re noticeably _something._ Someone, at some point, spent some time pouring over and memorising the family trees of a bunch of sunshiney little spitzy dogs, just as I do now, today, in the next century over.

At some point, that book ended up in a box, and it was donated to a used bookstore. Or maybe sold, I don’t know. This book, printed in Lancashire thirty-nine years ago, found its way into a used book store with no hint of who its previous owner was apart from the note in the inner binding that says “Hygge’s grandfather is on page seventy-eight! That’s who gave him his quirkiness!” 

Who is Hygge. What quirks did Hygge’s grandfather have? All I know from this story is Hygge’s grandfather is a particularly handsome wheaten Buhund named Abu, who was the son of Olaf and Polly Perkins, children respectively of Trump, Fanna, Snorre and Pensive. Cross referencing those pedigree names with a few different pedigree databases tells me Abu sired 28 Buhund puppies across eight litters. Who, in turn, sired or damed an additional two hundred puppies. And that’s just accounting for registered pups. I can’t find one two generations down from Abu named Hygge, but maybe someone’s Buhund bred with a different breed, and there was some Buhund mix out there named Hygge whose owner loved him so deeply they requested some information about where he came from. I don’t know. I can’t confirm that, but its wonderful to think about that hypothetical dog named Hygge who was, along with his mysteriously vague “quirks,” very loved by someone. 

Sometime after this book, somehow, left the hands of Hygge’s owner - maybe they passed away, and their books got lotted up into a thrift store? Maybe they changed hands a few times? It wound up in a store in York. I have no way of knowing how long ago it arrived at that shop, only the listing for the book itself was posted on AbeBooks in 2016. Four years before I saw it, myself.

Including shipping, I paid $54.38 to have this book wrapped up and sent to me in America. Three months passed, and I still hadn’t gotten that book in the mail. I reached out to the bookstore itself, and asked if there was a problem, only to find out the store’s previous owner had unexpectedly passed away a few weeks prior and it was still being sorted what was going to happen to all of these books, as he had neither any staff nor family to take over the shop. My reaching out to them let them know that there was an AbeBooks account to check for orders, and it got a ton of that shop’s books sent to where they needed to go. I received not only the studbook, but a whole box of dog books - antique training guides written in the late 1800s, a couple mid-2000s trick idea books, picture books featuring currently recognised breeds, and I cherish each and every one of these books/

But not one of them is as clearly, personally loved as that 1983 Buhund Studbook. 

I added my name, where I bought it, and when I, eventually, have a Buhund of my own, I’m going to paste a picture of them into the blank Notes section in the back of the book. And when I pass away? I want that book to go to someone else who also loves Norwegian Buhunds, and I want that stranger’s love of Hygge to be known to someone else. 

[fzzr]

The Second Circle

There's something oddly specific that always happens to me in online communities. Every few years since I was 14 I have ended up in a small online community of dozens to at most a few hundred active people. I get pretty intensely involved, interacting nearly daily, sometimes to distraction from my regular life, and then within months I end up in a semi-leadership position. Never high enough to be making really consequential decisions for the whole community, but always in a place where I can give input to the original small handful of people who started and still run the place.

The first time this happened was a BBCode role-playing forum where I became a super-moderator in less than a year. (This is also where #00BFFF became my favorite color.) I was 14 years old, but on the internet no one knows you're a dog. A lot happened there, such as a fellow moderator doing a laughably poor job trying to dox me and meeting my first girlfriend (she was also my age, I met her for the first time with both our parents there, chill). It was a somewhat toxic place in retrospect, but compared to the social networks of today it was nothing. In the end it was bought out by a Facebook-alike in an attempt to buy user count and became a ghost town. I would like to think that I did a pretty good job, only "abusing" my supermod powers for trolling against other mods who could fix the damage themselves rather than against regular users. It was fun.

Another time was a My Little Pony music community. Same basic story: I showed up nearly every day for hours at a time. One day the site crashed and the automoderator bot fell over, which left me and a couple other active users free to go crazy for hours until the actual admins woke up and put things back together. In a combination of exasperation and humor, they made me and the others who had been active at that time into moderators, since clearly we were the sort to be online when the founding inner circle were offline (they were mostly based in Australia) and really cared about the community in our own way. I didn't meet anyone in person this time, but I did spend a good few years there until the site became unstable, bled users, and finally shut down. We all moved to Discord but like the forum, without a binding agent almost everyone drifted back apart. I mostly stopped caring about MLP after that, and that's probably part of the reason why.

More recently I was playing around with custom tools for virtual tabletop RPGs (such as a character sheet for a particular homebrew game programmed with only underscore as a utility library, or a character sheet generator in React) and I got invited to help out with a brand new VTT. I thought I could help out with a little feature here or there, but I underestimated this time. They were under the impression that I was there to become one of that core group of founding members. I balked. I didn't know the tech and was mostly using it to learn. These were people who were working on it full time, but I had a full time job of my own and didn't expect to have the energy to contribute consistently. There were timelines. There were actual financial concerns. I skedaddled out of there and went dark. It scared me away from the tech in question just by association. I had other stuff going on that led me to abandon Slack and Discord for almost two years, which implicitly cut me off from any communication. I did eventually pop in long enough to explain what happened and why, and I am now gracefully retired and can poke my head in with no commitment any time I want.

So, what have I learned? Every time this happened I felt like a new character introduced at the start of season two. Things had happened before I got there which set the cultural context, but which I didn't have the full story on to understand why. Almost every time there had been some founding member who had left under acrimonious circumstances, and adding a second circle was helpful to the remaining founders to fill the hole that person left, or had become necessary to manage growth they never sought out or expected. There were in-jokes I wasn't in on, but we established new in-jokes and I was definitely in on those. When I joined there was a single digit percent of the community that were its founders who I looked up to. When it came to an end, I was one of that elite group, and others looked up to me. This experience was a form of imposter syndrome for me. "Why do you think I know how things work? I'm new here too!"

I saw how leaders of these sorts of communities act in semi-private, with the people who give input on and implement their decisions, but not what is said in the room where it happens. I saw a lot of frustration with people who show up with only mild interest in the original binding reason for the community, who end up being disruptive. I saw people at my same level abusing their power and how long it took to take action to stop them. I never saw the founders, the admins, actually do things wrong - but I did see them become overwhelmed with responsibility that grew on them out of nowhere.

So by staying in the Second Circle I get to contribute to the community but not feel trapped by responsibility to it. I think that suits me just fine.

[imagine-darksiders]

Old Timer.

Chapter 3 - An Old Friend.

----

The maker's footfalls are almost lost beneath the swishing of long grass that sways and whispers in ripples all across the valley, swathes of moonlight turning their blades silver as they flow with the wind. Were it not for the rhythmic thuds sending tremors through your body and coinciding with each step he takes, you'd almost think he was gliding across the vale. You've never known a maker to walk so smoothly.

Unbeknownst to you, even he isn't sure if he's ever trodden so softly before.

Then again, when was the last time he'd held something in his hands that felt as though it might shatter at the slightest jolt or jostle? He can’t help thinking that all it would take is one trip, just one stumble and he might accidentally... A loud gulp disturbs the relatively peaceful walk, and though the sound of it garners your brief and curious gaze, the maker manages to cover it by clearing his throat and keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Your skin feels like silk beneath his inelegant fingertips and it takes more conscious effort than he'd like to admit to refrain from letting his fingers wander up to your bare arms. Even having you pressed gingerly against his pectorals sends an unexpected shiver racing up his spine.

He can't help but beam proudly when he notices that your head is on a constant swivel, staring around at the hills and valley with a look of astonishment plastered on your face, which gets him wondering what in the world your realm must look like. He imagines it must be somewhere beautiful, to produce such beautiful people.

Chuckling warmly, he twitches his thumb against your hip and asks, “So, what're you doing in the Forge Lands anyway?”

He's rewarded by a fleeting glance from strikingly intricate irises. “That's... a long story,” you mutter.

The maker's chest rumbles with an intrigued hum. “My favourite kind!”

His enthusiasm proves contagious and after indulging him in a smile, you look skywards and reply, “Well, since you ask, I'm afraid I'm not exactly here on purpose.”

“You mean you didn't travel here just to get a taste of the local flavour?” he smirks, flashing you a wink.

In spite of yourself, your exasperated smile only grows. “Lewd. And, no, what I mean is... All right, what do you know about portals?”

Okay, so maybe he doesn't need to know that you've come from another time entirely, but perhaps there isn't any harm in telling him the manner in which you came to be here. You're aware that most species in Creation – Humanity notwithstanding – have utilised portals as a means of travel between the connected realms. An unconventional method of getting about for humans maybe, but commonplace for a maker.

He may even be able to help you figure out what went wrong and why Death hasn't come to fetch you yet. Because you're one hundred percent certain that the Horseman wouldn't just leave you here.

...

Would he?

'No.' You tell the doubting voice sternly, giving your head a shake to throw the thought from your mind. He wouldn't do that to you. Nor would he have been bested by a couple of constructs.

So, that can't be the reason you're still here.

The maker's contemplative hum draws your attention and you glance up at the underside of his beard as he muses aloud, “Portals? Mmm, beyond stepping in them and getting to the other side, there's not a whole lot to them, why?”

“Well, that's how I got here,” you explain, “Through a portal in the woods. It wasn't supposed to bring me... uh, here though.”

“Oh?” The maker raises an eyebrow and steps into the entrance of a long, spacious tunnel, “Where were you expecting to end up then?”

“Well, that's the thing,” you say glumly, “It wasn't supposed to happen at all. I... fell into it.” Just then, you find yourself awash in the soft, blue glow emanating from dozens of glow stones that have been dotted along the tunnel walls. 

Slowly, he nods, his hair shimmering silver in the ethereal light. “Right. So, erm, where did you fall into it?”

You open your mouth, hesitating for an awkward few seconds before you manage to reply, “On Earth.”

“Hmm.” Carefully sliding a hand out from underneath you, he raises it to scratch at his chin. “Well, portals can be fickle things, depending on who created them in the first place. Mostly, they take you where they're s'posed to lead. Sometimes, they take you where you want to go, but then there're those times when they'll take you where you need to go.”

“Oh great. All the portals I could have fallen into, and I fall into the one with a degree in psychology.”

“Hey, you fell into it by mistake,” he points out, “can't blame the portal for bringing you here.”

“No..” You feel him slip his hand beneath your legs again. “No, I suppose I can't.” 

Because you didn't fall into it by mistake, did you? Death had activated it under your feet. He meant to send you... somewhere. For all of his unpalatable qualities, privately, the Horseman is remarkably intelligent. You have no doubt that he did a thousand calculations in those few seconds before he shot you back through time, weighed the pros and the cons, considered all the risks... He's loathe to admit it but he makes it quite obvious that he cares about what happens to you, if not through words then through his actions. He wouldn't have left you here. Not if he didn't think he could get you back again.

“Hold tight,” the maker suddenly murmurs, drawing you out of your thoughts and you instinctively latch onto his thumb, despite being held in perhaps the steadiest hands in the known Universe. As it turns out, he simply steps up onto an elevated section of the tunnel. 

Anticlimactic.

Shaking your head with a snort, you turn your gaze to the far end, where a soft, orange glow is seeping in through the arched entrance. Apprehension has you drawing your uninjured leg up to your chest and you’re quite firmly reminded that this isn't the Tri Stone you've come from, and these aren't your friends. They're strangers. You are a stranger.

You take a couple of deep, nervous breaths, stilling when the maker's thumb bumps hesitantly against your side. “Not nervous, are you?” he asks, teasing.

You are, as a matter of fact. Though perhaps not for the same reason he suspects. Truthfully, the prospect of seeing your friend again after you'd watched him die puts the fear of God into you.  How on Earth will you react? What will you say to him? Should you warn him? What if you say the wrong thing and he ends up disliking you? What if Death comes to take you back and you find you can’t say goodbye to him again?

Swallowing, you wet your lips and admit, “A little, I guess.”

Your admission brings a guttural murmur to the maker’s throat and his hands cup a bit more securely around you. Whether the reaction is conscious or not, you aren't sure. But you decide not to mention it.

“You think I'd pull you out of trouble, just to let you get hurt on my watch? In my village? Some of this lot might be a bit boisterous, but they're good folk, and any friend of mine'll be a friend of theirs.”

“Oh? And who said I was a friend of yours?” You shoot him an impish grin, which he returns, peeling his lips back to reveal the extent of his gleaming, ivory tusks.

“Seem to recall it being you, you little smart aleck. Called me a boddy, didn't you?”

“A buddy.”

“S'what I said.” 

A snort explodes from you before you can lift a hand to catch it.

Encouraged, the giant lifts you closer to his face and continues, “You can laugh, sweetheart, but naming me a friend was your mistake. You'll have a hell of a time getting rid of me now.”

At the back of your mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Death's instructs you not to go and start making friends in a place you'll probably, hopefully, be leaving soon - a tricky feat when you're faced with an incorrigible maker who keeps flashing you charming grins and coy remarks. Besides, you're not going to be cold just because you might not stick around. You're a human, not a Horseman.

Dropping your leg back over the side of his hand, you clear your throat to smother a chuckle and say, “You must have no end of friends if you make them that easily.”

It only lasts for a moment, but you don't miss how the hands you're pressed into go stiff and rigid. Then, as though it had never happened, the maker juts out his chest, chin sticking high in the air. “Course I've got friends,” he declares, “But I'll have you know, I'm very selective.”

You raise a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Aye, really!” Chuckling nervously, his eyes dart away from you and back again and he's a little too quick to point out, “Oh, wouldja look at that! We're here!”

Sure enough, as you turn to follow his gaze, you suddenly find yourself awash in warmth and light. Squinting, you raise a hand to shield your eyes after the tunnel's comfortable darkness, blinking out at a distantly familiar, yet unrecognisable scene.

It's the village of Tri Stone all right, only it looks almost new, at least compared to the village you'd left behind. For one, there's a lot less space between the buildings now. Grey, stone huts are packed almost on top of one another in clusters, running up and down the left and right of the bridge that stretches over the seemingly bottomless gorge below. In the place where Muria’s gazebo will stand, there is instead an enormous, open walled garden, bursting with herbs and flowers that stand much taller than you do. 

There are lanterns and glow stones strung up like bunting over the village, leaving everything bathed in that warm, orange light that drapes over you like a comforting blanket. At the far end of the bridge, you spot the distinct doorway leading to the maker's forge and part of you wants to breathe a sigh of relief, drawing small comfort from the familiarity of the stone face carved out of the very mountain itself. 

The village's architecture, however, is not the reason for the gasp that escapes you. 

Milling about between the buildings – in greater numbers than you've ever seen before – are dozens of makers, all shapes, sizes and ages. There are those clothed in lush, richly coloured robes, those wearing leathers and furs and even some who are fully decked out in silver and gold armour.

Older makers gather in small groups, some of them talking animatedly amongst themselves, though the tones are such an amalgamation of low, gravelly sounds that you can't pick out any specific words from your vantage point at the top of the village. In an instant, you begin to rake your gaze over the crowd, searching with a hesitant desperation for that familiar flash of white beard or sweeping prongs protruding from an intricate headpiece.

Then, you spot something that gives you pause. 

Dashing between the adults, almost lost amongst the sea of vast legs, you catch glimpses of far smaller creatures, and it isn't until one of them suddenly emerges from behind a maker's boot that you realise exactly what it is you're looking at.

Without warning, your jaw practically comes unhinged.

They're.... younglings. Proper younglings - not like Karn, who was only called as such because he happened to be younger than the others. These are quite clearly children. And while they'd tower about you by a few feet, some of them hardly seem to reach their elders' knees.

Enraptured and knowing full-well that you're witnessing something secret and precious, you watch them chase each other between long legs and weave around the huts, brandishing wooden swords at one another, save for a few of the smaller ones who cling to the older giants and observe their playmates with shy reticence, content to wait until they're big or brave enough to join in.

It's a community. An entire community of makers.

Your throat is tighter than a vice when you try to swallow.

There's a soft and proud smile tugging at the maker's lips as he observes you, revelling in the dumbfounded expression on your face. 

After giving you a few more moments to soak in your surroundings, he leans down and lets his warm breath wash over the back of your neck. “Welcome to Tri Stone,” he murmurs.

It's beautiful, in a tragic way, only because you've seen it in its future state, and compared to this - this lively, bustling village – the Tri Stone you've come from seems so much like a ghost town. To think... one day, most of this will be gone, and in its place will stand a comparatively lonely and melancholy place. At some point in the future, though you can't hazard a guess as to when, your friends will lose it all....

A single tear wells up in one corner of your eye, but you're quick to deftly swipe it away before the maker can see it.

“Here.. Why don’t I... ” His thick, smoky voice trails off and flutters into your ear and you find yourself being lifted up. You don’t say a word as he gingerly tips his palm and watches you all the way onto his shoulder until he’s satisfied that you’re situated securely upon it. At the questioning glance he receives, he merely shrugs, explaining, “Thought you’d prefer the view from up there.” 

He neglects to mention that he’ll feel much better the further away you are from the ground, and any, wayward boots that might stomp just a little too close for his liking.  

“Now,” he adds, clapping his palms together and already missing the subtle weight of having you held between them “Let’s go and find -” 

“Ah. So, you've returned, at last.” A rasping and admittedly rather grating voice rings out above the village's gentle ambiance and the maker below you groans upon hearing it, turning himself to face the empty staircase on his right and subsequently giving you a better view of the haggard, ancient being shuffling towards you.

Honestly, you can't help but to stare, having never thought you'd get to see a person who could make Eideard look young.

It's another maker, a very old maker, draped in stark, white robes that wash out his pasty complexion and leave him looking sicklier than you imagine he really is. There's almost no colour to him at all, in fact, as though all the life has drained out of his body and left him as little more than a pale ghost, dragging himself towards you on crooked legs, helped along by a staff that resembles the limbless trunk of a birch tree, all mottled and white like its wielder.

As he draws closer, you start to make out the muffled grumbles spat from his thin, drawn lips. Without really meaning to, you shrink against your maker's neck, one hand squeezing around a lock of his silken hair. Why couldn’t he have worn a cowl for you to duck behind?

“You're late,” the old giant wheezes, coming to a halt in front of him, raising a gnarled finger and jabbing it sharply into the younger maker's chest, “You were told to return before the suns fell. Your duties have gone neglected. Again.”

Undeterred by the accusing tone, your new friend turns his head to catch your eye and throws you a wink, plastering on his signature grin before he faces the newcomer once more. “Ah, Cruim! Just the maker we wanted to see-”

“That's Elder Cruim to you, boy,” the other maker sneers, stroking his nails down the long, silver beard that hangs from his chin all the way to the ground, “Where have you been? No doubt getting yourself into trouble, as usual.”

“Oh, you know me. I can't help myself!” he replies with a shrug, accidentally jostling you on his shoulder and causing you to let out a soft gasp at the sudden motion.

Unfortunately for you, although this 'Cruim's' eyes resemble the colour of sour milk, they manage to find you without difficulty and once they do, they widen in visible surprise, his mouth falling open to reveal crooked teeth and a missing tusk.

Shyly, you lift one of your hands and give him a tiny wave. “Uh... Hi?”

His razor-sharp gaze snaps to the younger maker and he subjects him to a scathing glare, hissing, “What... is that thing?”

“Errr..” Your friend's smile droops and he shares another quick glance with you before he admits, “Actually, we were hoping you might have some idea.”

Gradually, your heart begins to sink as the old maker gives you another, suspicious look, recognition never once alighting in his eyes.

“It's um, good to meet you, Sir,” you venture weakly, trying not to sound as though you're desperate, “We just thought... someone as ol – uh, worldly as you would have seen someone like me before. In your travels?... Perhaps?” Already feeling small, you let your voice fade into nonexistence. 

If nothing else, getting at least a general idea of the epoch you're in might be incremental in getting you back to your own timeline. On the off chance that Cruim has heard of humans before, then you can safely narrow the date down to... oh, within the last four and a half billion years.

You sigh.

One of the giant's wispy eyebrows lifts and he wrinkles his nose, but doesn't otherwise respond to your question, instead electing to squint at you dubiously, sending your heart-rate up a few notches.

“This here's a hoo-man,” the young maker encourages, hoping to perhaps jog his memory, yet all he receives in response is a skeptical 'harrumph.'

“It... it's hyu-man,” you correct him softly, enunciating the word whilst you privately long for the interaction to be over so that you can get back to looking for Eideard, and if not him, then Muria. The pain in your leg may be less severe, but you’re conscious that the wounds still need seeing to.

“A human? Pah! There's no such species!” the old one spits, “Whatever that thing told you, it's lying.”

Beneath your legs, you feel the maker's shoulder tense as he draws himself up, hackles raised. “That thing,” he says slowly, erring on a growl, “happens to be a friend of mine.”

He doesn’t notice the soft, ‘Huh?’ that slips from your tongue, nor the surprised wonder shining in your eyes as you turn to stare at him.

In contrast, Cruim evidently couldn’t care less, and with an exasperated huff, he throws his eyes up to the sky and tuts, tossing his hand out towards you aggressively. “I swear, you always were soft-headed as a youngling. Nothing much seems to have changed with age...” He pauses to reaffix you with a glare, still addressing his younger counterpart as he adds, “It's a glamoured demon, you fool. Nothing more. Now, get rid of it before it causes mayhem in my village.”

Suddenly, a gut-wrenching pit of fear opens up in your stomach. You know exactly what makers think of demons, but just as you try to sputter out assurances that you most certainly are not a demon in disguise, the young maker grunts, twisting himself sideways so that the shoulder you're sitting on is moved further away from his elder, partially hiding you from view behind a waterfall of golden hair.

“Just hold on a whit. This little'un is no demon!” he declares, swelling to his full height until he's looming over the old maker, “You think I wouldn't recognise glamour magic if I sensed it? Now, I might not know what a human is, but I'm inclined to believe that I've met one today - one who needs our help.”

Despite the distant hum of the village, you feel as though you're sitting in a silent bubble of existence miles away from everything else, locked in this one, single moment as the pair of makers stare one another down whilst you watch with bated breath.

Somehow, you get the impression that this isn't the first time they've locked horns.

Your maker stands at least two heads taller than his older counterpart, but the latter has the advantage of being a respected figure, one whose authority is rarely, if ever questioned or challenged. And makers are nothing if not an honourable lot. It's difficult to believe that the younger one is standing up against his own elder in your defence. You, a stranger in their home.

You fully expect him to back down first.

So it comes as a huge surprise when it’s the old one who breaks eye contact and shakes his head, disappointment and contempt radiating off him in tangible waves. “I miss the days when you younglings would listen to your elders.”

“That was 'fore I learned that my elders are capable of being wrong sometimes.”

Cruim's fists clench tightly around his staff, but he takes a step back, levelling the maker with his icy sneer. “Fine. You won't be told... Blind yourself to my warnings. But mark me...” Trailing off to heave his rickety bones around, he begins to shuffle away once more, heading for the staircase that sweeps down towards the lower tier of the village. Upon reaching the top step, he twists his head over a shoulder and calls, “If your little stray causes any trouble, I will be holding you personally responsible....” Then, with a sigh, he lowers his voice and turns away once more, but not before he adds in an uncharacteristically soft murmur, “You can't keep trying to make friends with every creature that catches your fancy. One of these days, your heart will be the thing that gets you killed, Eideard.”

And just like that, with the utterance of a single word, the realm around you grinds to an abrupt and dizzying halt.

The soft-eyed maker doesn't seem to realise that the tiny being on his shoulder has stopped breathing. He continues to watch Cruim descend the staircase until he's out of sight, and only then does he lose his rigid stance.

“Ah, don't pay him any mind,” he huffs dismissively, “Time's made him bitter and suspicious. I know you’re telling the truth.”

But you're barely listening to him. Suddenly, you don't care that the elder hasn't heard of your species. You don't give a damn that you're lost between the fabric of time, billions of years separated from Death and the rest of your friends. Even the ache in your leg is forgotten, drowned out by the cruel knife of grief that lodges into your heart and gives a vicious twist, stealing the breath right out of you. Everything threatens to hit you all at once, disbelief first, then confusion and shock, misery, hope, guilt. It all leaves you numb as your brain tries to sift through the nauseating torrent of emotions until it finally settles upon the one it can most easily comprehend for the moment. 

Apprehension.

Stiffly, with your heart jackhammering against your ribcage, you twist yourself around to face the maker properly, the beginnings of a sob catching in your throat. “Wha...What did he just... call you?”

“Hmm?” The maker pivots his neck in your direction, taking in your haunted stare for a moment before he suddenly realises that... That's right. He'd never actually introduced himself to his new friend. 

“Oh, maker's bones, look at me, forgetting my manners.” Beaming, he fixes you under his warm, blue gaze which is now so, jarringly familiar that you can hardly believe you never recognised it in the first place.

“My name's Eideard, little one. At your service.”

[triscribe]

Swing Batter Batter

Part of a larger fic posted on AO3 over here, in which token metahuman abilities are pretty common, and it’s not unusual to encounter a circus kid who can fly, or a cop who gets impressions of a person’s intentions when shaking their hand, or in this case, a street thief with super strength. 

-Swing-

When he registered the Bat standing over him, Jason didn’t think, he just grabbed and swung as hard as he could. If he’d been a regular scrawny street kid, he didn’t doubt the tire iron would just bounce off with barely a bruise to show for the effort. But Jason stopped counting as ‘regular’ last year, and his skinny arms were plenty strong enough to land a blow that knocked the Bat clear off his feet.

Jason then promptly ran for his life.

He made it to the end of the alley and swerved first around the corner, and again into the narrow gap between wall and dumpster. There he froze, heart pounding, hands shaking, as he waited for either Batman’s footsteps to go past his hiding place like so many others, or for one of those big hands to grab his hoodie and yank him out into the open.

...a couple minutes of nothing went by.

...and then a few more.

Jason’s heart kept pounding at breakneck speed, but shifted from running on adrenaline to fear. He eased himself back out from behind the dumpster, and peeked around the alley corner. Just to double check; maybe the Bat decided to chase him from above, and that fourth tire could be retrieved after all-

Except two thick-soled boots were laying next to the fancy car.

Shit.

He’d killed the Bat.

Shit shit shit - every crook in Gotham would be out for Jason’s blood, looking to curbstomp the little pest trying to make a name for himself. Or worse, someone nuts would show up like the effing Joker in order to get revenge over not getting to off the Bat himself-

One boot shifted. A deep voice wheezed. Jason nearly fell over in relief.

And then, because the Bat didn’t move again, and because Jason was an idiot of the worst kind, he edged his way back towards the car and the crimefighter lying prone beside it. “Uh. Batman? You gonna be okay?”

Another wheeze. Jason got close enough to peek around the car’s fender, and saw the man just staring upwards through the narrowed lenses of his mask. It took a second, but the Bat could apparently tell when he was being watched, because he tilted his head and the lenses opened up a little more so he could stare back. “...’f Robin were here,” the man grumbled, “He’d ask, if you swing for the Knights...”

Jason’s face spasmed as he tried not to laugh. “Nope. Maybe when I’m older, if they pay good.”

Batman snorted, and then wheezed again, one hand starting to grab for his stomach only to stop and clench into a fist. “Got the same spot, as Killer Croc, two nights ago.”

At that, Jason winced. He’d only ever seen Croc in newspaper pictures before, but the guy was definitely huge, and it didn’t take a leap of logic to assume he hit hard, too. “Uh. Sorry?”

The Bat gave an aborted huff. Slowly, he pushed himself up, palms flat to the ground. Then he rolled, to pull one knee underneath himself, and gradually stood while leaning against the car. Jason made sure to keep out of arm’s reach.

After that, the man just braced himself and breathed for a minute, before shifting enough to once again peer down at Jason. “I assume you took the tires to sell.”

He nodded.

“How much?”

Jason lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “Depends on which chop shop I take ‘em to. At least a hundred apiece, maybe a bonus if I get all four.” That probably wouldn’t be an option, seeing as he’d wasted enough time for the Bat to get back to his feet. Honestly, Jason needed to run at this point, but he still felt kinda bad. Batman was just about the only good thing in Gotham as far as working folks were concerned, and even if he wasn’t dead, it didn’t seem right to leave him alone and hurting in Crime Alley...

Jason blinked when a roll of green suddenly appeared in front of his face. “Five hundred,” Batman said dryly, “If you bring back the other three.”

Well hot damn.

In the space of twenty minutes, Jason not only brought back the tires he’d spirited off, he went ahead and put ‘em back on the car, just ‘cause the Bat didn’t seem inclined to bend and use his stomach muscles any time soon. And besides, five hundred dollars. That would be food and rent and even new clothes when the weather turned cold. 

As he worked, though, Jason couldn’t help but feel Batman’s gaze on him. It didn’t seem angry, didn’t raise the hairs on the back of his neck like when certain guys leered, but he still started to feel just the slightest bit antsy. And then, right as he was tightening up the bolts on the final tire, the Bat made his move. “You don’t want to go into foster care, do you.”

Jason scoffed at that.

“Have you been flagged as a meta?”

“‘Course not, never told anyone. Didn’t get strong until after I was on my own, and I’m not stupid enough to put a target on my back to get ‘recruited’ by any of the gangs.”

The Bat hummed.

-Swing-

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne

Date of Birth: August 16th, 1996

No Known Meta Abilities

“Man, rich people get away with anything,” Jason huffed. “Park wherever you want, buy shit you’re not s’posed to have, falsify your paperwork...”

Bruce just grunted, but it was an agreeable sound rather than an annoyed one. And, privately, Jason couldn’t help but feel pleased by the adoption paperwork, his brand new name right at the top of the page.

Which just left the matter of deciding on his other name.

When Bruce had found the pages torn out of a notebook with costume designs sketched out and messy notes in the margins, he’d glanced at Jason out of the corner of his eye and haltingly said he could be the new Robin. And part of Jason felt thrilled by the idea, but-

But.

Robin flew. He soared around skyscrapers, did somersaults mid-air, zipped along just above the ground to take crooks out at the knees. Jason didn’t do that - Jason couldn’t do any of that. The closest he’d ever get to flight would be grappling from perch to perch like Batman did. Which, admittedly, was really insanely awesome, but still.

Jason couldn’t be Robin.

-Swing-

...at least, not until he sat on the Manor roof one evening a few weeks later with Dick Grayson, who sighed and smiled at him. “You could wear them, y’know. My colors. My suit.”

“But- our powers-”

“Are different,” Dick agreed, “But that just means we bring different strengths to the playing field. Literal strength, in your case.” He grinned and ruffled Jason’s hair.

Batting away the playful fingers, Jason took a few moments to consider it. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. I will.”

(Dick still argued viciously with Bruce in nine out of ten conversations. But every so often he’d come by to pick up Jason, and they’d go flying over the forested property, or drive into the city to get ice cream, or a dozen other things Dick very firmly insisted on referring to as Civilian Brotherly Bonding Activities. And a couple years later, when Jason started having his own problems with Bruce, and found his birth certificate in an old box with a different woman’s name listed as his mother-

Well.

He knew just who to go to with it.)

[beetleboo]

long post. one i’ve been trying to make for a while now. hell, i wrote this like... third week of may. didn’t post it until now because i didn’t know if I wanted to.

but something i want to lay out, been wanting to lay out for months. dont want to talk to anyone about it, just want to put the info out there for it to be seen.

if you re/blog this i will block you. i may put this on the relevant sideblog at some point.

because 2020 was the worst year on record for me for a number of reasons, and it’s torn me down to the lowest point i’ve been in a long time, and this is just. everything that’s gone down. not a callout post, no one gets named, but these are all the events

partially in relation to my fandom sideblog, because that’s where i had community, and where it’s all just. gone. doesnt exist anymore.

i started up a server, ages ago now. somewhere i curated to be a positive and safe space for things, and for a while, it was that.

around the end of 2019, spilling over to the start of 2020 when it picked up, i found, both on my blog and in discord spaces, in particular the server i ran, that people no longer talked to me. no one would hold a conversation with me past a few basic responses, no one replied to anything i shared, no one engaged when i tried to start discussions. so i pulled back from the main server - S1. thought it was just a lull in activity. stayed that way for weeks, months, and I just muted the server. no one ever cared about anything i had to say. was lucky if anything i posted got even a token emoji react

was in another, smaller server - S2. people i talked to damn near every day, even in voice. played games together - that became... no fun simply because everyone else was so much better/further ahead in the game. i was completely useless, so didn’t server a function in game and never really felt like anyone actively wanted me around, but i still participated in chat.

but again, no one ever responded to anything I posted beyond maybe a token react

couple people discussing something one day. I contributed with Theory A, and quite immediately got that shut down. few minutes later, they rephrased exactly what I said and happily nattered away. so whatever I said wasn’t worth it when it came out of my mouth but if they talked about it, it was all well and valid. so again, between that specific experience and no one interacting with me, nor anything I post. server muted. treatment taught me no one cared about my presence there.

gave admin rights to S1, my server, to someone I trusted. two requests only: dont delete channels and let me know if you want to invite anyone (since I kept it private)

RYE (i’m just assigning random three letter names to people to keep this straight) posted public invites several times. never asked me. one of the two things i asked. brought it up with them that it bothered me, just got vague noncomittal responses. more public invites. eventually, after having the server muted for months, i handed over full control and left. that was almost a full year ago. none of the people have talked to me in that entire year, through discord or here or anything.

except RYE who sent me a message after a couple months like ‘wow i havent heard from you in a while hope you’re doing ok’. i wasn’t. after a bit but still the same day, i said as much. that i wasn’t doing well. they never responded. and i don’t mean like, they didn’t respond that day. i mean i literally never heard from them until months later when they sent me a meme and also didn’t respond to me commenting on that meme.

and this is one side of things. all of the above was the first half of the year. this next bit happened about. march2020? I was in another server - S3. another place that was a good space at the time. was in voice chat with two other people. started talking about one thing. MIN very suddenly said something along the lines of ‘i don’t care about this i’ll come back when you’re done’

this is one of the very few things that can trigger me - i’ve had a lot of people talk down to me if I dare look excited about anything. when they came back, i asked if they could try to just. depart conversations more softly. MIN always said ‘if i do anything hurtful to you just tell me! i dont want to do that kind of thing!’

this was clearly a lie as they exploded on me, telling me they always have to walk on eggshells around me, that I ask so many things from them. before what I asked them that day, I can only recall one other thing i asked (which was not to talk about a person who was abusive towards me, and they were like ‘yea sure np’ about that, over a year prior’)

the whole thing turned into basically me having to shut down the fact that i was hurt by what they did, had to ignore that now and i had to fawn and placate them and the only thing i got out of that was that my feelings were irrelevant, only theirs.

(incidentally, I have had two other people turn on me in similar ways, accusing me of doing shifty/bad/terrible things, and not being willing to tell me what they are when I ask, only saying that ‘i should know what i did’ so that’s also now a Fun New Bit Of Trauma.)

and that entire weeklong event lead me straight to a breakdown. literal genuine breakdown i cannot convey how devastating that entire scenario was without going into far too many details.

so between all of these things happening in less than six months, with three different community spaces folding and collapsing and fading away from me, with many of the friends i thought i had just. moving on to other things and dropping me. people i talked to every day just not bothering with me anymore. they all have gone on to other stuff and no one ever went ‘hey beets wanna see what i’m up to’ or ‘wanna do this thing with me’

a handful of instances of me saying ‘yeah i’m dealing with these fears that have been reinforced lately that people aren’t safe to deal with, even thought part of me knows they’re probably irrational it feels like i have evidence to back it up’ and people immediately take it personally like i’m saying they’re not safe. despite. me outright saying. i know logically it should be irrational. but their reactions just reinforce it so it’s just a loop and tells me, again, never to bring up any of my problems with anyone.

so this all just reinforces that there’s something wrong with me. couple years back i spoke to a friend and how i was frustrated that I seemed to end up in bad spaces and they said ‘well you’re the one thing in common so its probably your fault’ and obviously they’re not my friend anymore but that has affected me so deeply. i can’t do anything without overthinking, whenever anything goes wrong i tear apart everything i’ve done and everything i’ve said or thought and i don’t know why things keep going bad. i try so hard but i’m just. not right.

so it all teaches me that there’s no point in reaching out in trying to talk to people because if i say ‘hey this hurt me’ i get ignored at best or torn down, yelled at, scolded. no point in trying to talk to new people because everyone just walks away at some point. not even a natural drift apart, i can handle that. but just very suddenly, they’re gone, off with better people doing better things.

roundabout, ties back to ‘consumption versus community’ - this is why i’ve been struggling so hard with lack of engagement on my sideblog. lucky to get a dozen notes on anything i make, unless it’s something other people can use (like mods) and even THEN it’s rare to see much activity. and that was FINE because i had people to talk to elsewhere, who would ask questions and we could back and forth and i shared my stuff and they shared those and it didnt matter if my posts only got a dozen notes because i had friends to talk to.

now i get (example) seven notes, six of which are likes and one is a reblog with no commentary. when i have something with a ton of notes, still, minimal commentary, no one talks to me. even on a mod with five hundred notes it just feels like i went ‘hey i made something :)’ and everyone picked it up and walked away with it, no one went ‘hey this is cool i want to talk to the person who made it.’

and it just feels like 95% of the time, i’m just overlooked. 

and it’s worse than it’s ever been in my entire life, and I wonder, what’s the point of any of this anymore.

why bother to make the posts to share when it all just gets passed by. what’s the point in trying to reach out to new people and make friends when i get lashed out at or left behind? the social is gone out of my social media. i had community, and now it’s gone.

so this has all been going on for months and months and months and hey! suffering. and i dont expect it to get any better, don’t expect this post to fix these issues, but i’ve been trying to say something about all of this for fucking months and i think just, laying it all out is all I can do about it. i’m sure i’ve forgotten some things to touch on but as it is, all these events, all of it happening all together. new traumas, old traumas reawoken, reinforced, i’ve been torn to pieces i don’t know how to function, i can’t remember the last time i felt like even half a real person. taught that the safe, positive spaces that meant so much to me don’t actually exist and they’ll all turn on me and be torn away. nowhere is safe anymore, and trying to make it safe is just going to ruin me again.

people aren’t safe, places aren’t safe, been proven to me time and time again so i just. stay away.

no matter how much i try to fight that, it just doesnt work.

anyway tl;dr beets needs therapy probably

[rigelmejo]

I’ve talked about listening reading method before. And i’m bringing it up again lol! for 2 reasons - first, i found a very nice practical article on it today (skip to the LAST section to just click this ToT), and second because i’m finally in the Mood to l-r Guardian again so i’m gonna see how many chapters i can do today.

A quick summary - what is the listening reading method?

It’s primary goal: acquire vocabulary and grammar over time, also improve listening comprehension. 

You may also improve reading comprehension to an extent, but not necessarily - reading comprehension is highly dependent on how much you read the text in your target language (like if you have a parallel text and look at the target language often), if you do step 2 AGAIN after step 3, etc. Since using the text IN the target language is optional, your reading comprehension improvement is also optional.

*I personally think the activities that help reading comprehension most (that are adjacent to the activities in l-r method) are: doing step 2 AFTER step 3, or simply reading the target language text after either step 1 or step 3 (so reading the target language text after you’ve just seen the english text and have context). I often read a translation, then go and read the chinese version a few hours after, and my ability to pick up new words/follow along is MUCH easier than if i’d just read the chinese with no context. It should be noted either of these activities can be done on their own, so again its more ‘listening reading method’ adjacent rather than actually part of the method. The method is primarily listening comprehension.

What you do:

3 steps, and all of them are optional except for step 3. I do however recommend steps 1 and 2 if you have never read the novel you use before. Or if you’re new to studying the language and aren’t used to the sound of it/word boundaries yet. You will need: a novel translated into a language you understand, that same novel in your target language, audiobook in the target language. The novel can be a parallel text if you’re lucky enough to find a combined text.  

Notes: you will have a much easier time if the audiobook MATCHES the text! Especially matches the paragraphs (no paragraphs omitted in the audiobook) and ends chapters in the same places the text ends chapters. LOTS of cnovels have audiobooks which will omit paragraphs, or end audio ‘chapters’ in random places... this requires you to focus a lot harder on keeping the audio and text aligned. Its still useable, but you will feel way less exhausted if you can just find audio that reasonably matches the text (at LEAST that matches each paragraph without cutting anything... you can mark when it ends yourself if the chapter ends aren’t the same, but suddenly missing paragraphs sucks).

Step 1: (optional) read the novel in a language you understand (for me that’s english). This step is so you have context/familiarity. If you use a novel you already know/love, skip this. This can be skipped period, but if its a new novel to you then you may find step 3 more difficult.

Step 2: (optional) listen to the target language audio while following along with the target language text. Your goal is primarily to get familiar with the sounds of the language, and word boundaries. Once you are comfortable with following along to this speed of speaking, and recognizing word and phrase boundaries, you can stop doing this step. At this step learning new words is not necessary - although if you’re an intermediate learner you MAY pick up some new words and if that happens feel free to KEEP doing this step as long as its helpful. (Alternatively - you can continue doing this step, put it after step 3 at that point, and use it to match words you recently learned the SOUND of in step 3 and then match them to the spelling/hanzi/kana etc with the help of the target language text).

 Step 3: (mandatory) listen to the target language audio while following along with the translation in a language you fully understand. So basically, listening to the novel target language audiobook with a translated transcript. It is important at this step to focus ON the audio. You are attempting to comprehend the audio. You look at the english (or whatever language you comprehend) text to KEEP your place in the audio. You look at the text to lookup any unknown words/phrases etc that you hear. You are not reading the english text with the audio in the background. You need to pay attention TO the audio. You are using the english text to fill in the gaps of your understanding - to look up meanings in real time, and hopefully hear new words+see their meanings constantly enough that you start picking up new words. Your english text is to ensure you can look up any part of a sentence you don’t understand, that you can follow along with the meaning of the audiobook as you listen. Over time, you will pick up more and more. 

---

You can continue to do this for hundreds of hours. Get through a novel completely - you may wish to do the same novel again 2-3 times, until there’s no more that you are picking up from it. Or you might chose to move onto another novel. There’s no major drawback i can see to jumping between novels either - if you’d like to just do segments of multiple. However, since authors usually use their own preferred vocabulary, you will most likely have MORE vocabulary/phrase repetition if you stick with one author for a few dozen hours - and the repetition will help you really learn it. With basic vocabulary, any text will likely give you enough repetition to learn them. But if you want to learn genre specific words, or author specific words, or just words used less often... sticking to one novel for a WHILE will likely give you more repetition to pick them up. (Just like intensively or extensively reading ONE novel all the way through will help you pick up a lot more author specific words, versus reading only a few chapters before moving onto a new author).

Once you can listen to the audiobook without the text, and understand it and follow along well, you may want to move onto another novel. If you want to test yourself - pick another novel of the same difficulty or slightly easier, listen to that audiobook on its own, and if you can understand it fine without any text to look up the unknown parts, then you’ve reached a ‘natural listening’ stage. The creator of this method says this usually took them a few novels before they’d get to this point. I haven’t lol so i’ll let you know if i do. I’m still at the ‘can do step 3 basically as long as it keeps benefiting me.’ 

So at the minimum, the process is - be familiar with the text already (step 1 if you need it), be familiar with the sounds of the language/listening to it spoken (step 2 if you need it), then listen to the target language audiobook while following along with a translation in a language you fully understand. Focusing on the audio and attempting to understand as much as possible, using the text as reference to help you. As you follow along, you can use that translation to learn new words/phrases, get an understanding of the grammar you hear, and continue picking things up until eventually you can understand the audiobook on its own. 

*It should be noted, the original creator of this method would do L-R for 6-10 hours a day, and would do a novel for 50-100 hours. They would intensively study. They aimed to use longer novels as that gave them more study material/study hours (if you’re learning chinese we have ample long novels to pick). So expect noticeable progress in 20 hours, 50 hours, etc. Not in 2. Study in general is like this anyway - we don’t see noticeable language learning progress doing anything in like 2 hours pretty much. But its just something to keep in mind - even if you do L-R a novel intensively and finish one within a couple weeks or a month, you should still expect that it will take a lot of hours. Look at how long the audiobook is, and then know if you do step 1 and 2 it will take 2 or 3 times as long as that audiobook is. 

Guardian is 106 chapters (before the extras), with roughly 20 minute audio files per chapter of audiobook - so it will take 2120 minutes, or 35.33 hours to do step 3 (assuming I don’t lose my spot in the text). Step 2 will also take 35.33 hours in a best case scenario. Step 1 will probably take me 17 hours on a BEST case scenario if I read at my fastest, which I might not. So to finish L-R Guardian it will take me 87.66 hours... or 52.33 hours if i just completely skip step 2 (since i already can hear word boundaries/have some basic listening comprehension). So... Listening Reading method is time consuming. A benefit might be - you get to do study hours spent reading/experiencing a cool audiobook, and getting to engage with the original novel and translation. If you were going to do that in your free time in some way anyway, then using it to study can be fun. And unlike trying to get 50 hours of another study method in, if you are a serious reader/you can keep your attention focused? You could probably get these 50 hours done within couple weeks or a month - just like how when you get interested in a novel you can read it in a few days/weeks. Which is definitely a sweet thing if you can get focused on L-R that much... definitely more hours spent studying per month compared to when i intensively read (i spend maybe 12 hours intensively reading a month when i’m reading a lot).

The person who initially did Listening Reading Method would do 100-200 hours, would go through novels 2-3 times then move onto another, and would do it intensively in the span of weeks and a few months. They made very fast improvements - but hours spent wise, it makes a lot of sense. Its a ‘fast’ way to learn a lot, in the sense you can do it intensively in a short period of days/weeks. But the hours spent is still gonna be a LOT. 

And you can also... just be lazy. I’m lazy. ToT You can also just do L-R as desired. I maybe do it once or twice a week. Or maybe 4 chapters every couple weeks lol. I certainly don’t do it intensively over a consistent period. (That said, i think you will probably pick up more things, more Quickly, if you study daily with this method using the same novel - since repetition helps you remember things and pick them up). I’ve done maybe 12 hours of listening reading overall, using a few different novels (so no significant chunk of any of them). I already noticed immediate benefit from doing it. If you’re a mid-beginner+, and already know words through reading? Simply doing the L-R activity helps with listening comprehension skills immediately. While I pick up new words/phrases, its definitely the slower thing I notice. The quickest thing I notice improvement in, is how much BETTER I know all the words I ‘kind of’ knew before from reading alone. Now I have much better instant listening recognition of words, have much better instinctive idea of how ‘phrases’ should sound in listening when people actually speak - the way they flow, how to immediately recognize them. That’s improved my overall listening comprehension to audiobooks, shows, people speaking. Also its improved my reading comprehension - I can now zoom through reading phrases because I recognize them as full chunks, I can now zoom ‘internally sound out what i’m reading’ faster and that causes me to stumble less when I’m reading to myself. All these benefits i noticed as early as like 6 hours into L-R. I also do notice myself picking up a few new words, but I imagine that will happen more once I am done ‘fully’ picking up words I already half knew. I also, again, think if I L-R more regularly, I would notice myself picking up completely new things at a faster rate (because they’d quickly also become ‘partly learned from that initial exposure’ then reinforced over and over). Anyway my point is - if you already have SOME comprehension of the language you’re studying, L-R can within a short amount of time help you improve your listening comprehension of things you already ‘know’ or ‘partly know.’ While picking up new stuff will also happen, I do think that will take longer (and I think beginners are most likely to notice rapid ‘completely new stuff’ pick up since they don’t have material ‘half learned’ bouncing around like I do lol).

This is the original Listening Reading Method article which is long and so, I understand if you just skim it lol: http://users.bestweb.net/~siom/martian_mountain/!%20L-R%20the%20most%20important%20passages.htm

---

Like I said, you can do a lot of variations on it lol. Doing step 2 alone and TRYING to learn word meanings could be very useful if you’re already an intermediate learner and just need to learn Spellings of words you know by sound, or you can understand the meaning of words in context (so you don’t need another language translation to know the meaning of a word). Doing step 2 After step 3 i think is pretty beneficial if you WANT to also work on reading comprehension for the new words/things you learn. (Or just reading the text in the target language, after doing step 3 since you will have the context/meaning fresh in your mind).

---

Finally, this is the article I read on using the Listening Reading Method for languages very unfamiliar to you. I find a lot of its explanations very to the point and clear: http://users.bestweb.net/~siom/martian_mountain/!L-R/lr_for_grasshoppers.html

[waywardwrestlewritingwaif]

The Wages of Sin

Before I found tumblr, I seriously believed I was the only person on Earth whose pulse went up when Samoa Joe appeared. He just broadcasts pure dominant energy and power. I miss seeing him in the ring but I’m glad he’s still on my tv on a (mostly) weekly basis. 

Pairing: Samoa Joe x reader

Word count: 3,732

Content advisory: BDSM smut

It was all you could do not to roll your eyes at his expression when you came in the door. It was always the same with men: they called to have a computer technician come over and when a woman showed up, they looked at you like there had been some mistake. Some would even be so gauche as to ask if you were qualified to do this sort of work. This guy wasn’t that bad but when he saw you, his eyes swept up and down over your body, lingering on your breasts longer than he should have before he waved you inside with nothing more than a grunt. 

“The computer’s in the office,” he informed you. “First door on the left back there. Off the kitchen. It’s been slowing down for a while and now it won’t even start up.”

“Ok. Other than slowing down, have there been any other problems you’ve noticed, Mr…” 

“Joe,” he grunts. “Joe is fine. And yeah, there have been a bunch of programs crashing.”

“Well, Joe, why don’t we have a look and see what the problem is?”

You head in the direction that he’s indicated and enter a neatly organized office space. There’s a desk in one corner, but the room is dominated by a large section coach flanked  by a couple of odd looking benches. It’s strange, because there’s no television in the room, no books, nothing that would indicate this was a place where one would sit and relax. You shrug it off. Maybe he likes to take a nap after he’s done working. Maybe this is where he takes women to seduce them.

Immediately, you try to push that image from your mind. You hate to admit it, even to yourself, but when he gave you that once-over, you’d felt a shiver run through your whole body. He was massive and while at first glance he’d appeared fat, you quickly saw that he was just powerfully built. As he stood behind you and watched what you working, he unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt, pushing them up and revealing forearms like iron girders, the kind of arms you could imagine holding you down with ease, choking you, forcing you to do whatever he wanted. 

You try to shake those thoughts out of your head and focus on the task at hand. You boot up his computer in safe mode and, once you’re able to get a look around, it’s clear that the problem is a large number of files that have taken up so much space that the computer barely has any available memory to launch or run anything. On top of that, there are multiple malware programs that are deviously working away. You’ll have to work on those right away in order to get the computer stable enough for you to see the files and try to clear out some space. 

He stands behind you as you start to untangle the electronic knots, his breath heavy and incredibly distracting. 

“This is gonna take me a while,” you tell him.

“Well I’ll leave you to it then.” His tone is friendly but there’s a dark undertone to it, like he can see inside your mind and know that he’s having an effect on you. 

Once he’s gone, you settle down and focus on the task at hand. He pokes his head in a couple of times but leaves you alone otherwise. It’s just as well because what he’s got is a real mess and it takes a lot of work to identify and then scrub the malware. Normally, you could run a program to deal with the majority of the work but his computer is so unstable that it can’t run anything, meaning that you have to do everything manually. 

Thirteen programs. It takes two and a half hours but you’re finally able to remove all traces of the thirteen programs that have contaminated his hard drive. The early winter light is already starting to fade and now you have to start isolating files. Protocol is that you identify duplicates and separate them onto a second drive without ever looking but everyone takes a peek to see what secrets a client has. Nine times out of ten it’s porn, usually varying flavors of vanilla. It’s never happened to you personally, but a couple of the people you work with have found photos or videos of kids, something that immediately gets reported to the cops. (Peeking at a client’s files is unethical but not illegal, meaning that what the technician sees is fair game.)

When you see that the files are almost all videos, you figure you pretty much know what you’re in for. The nature of the videos, though, is more than you bargained for. This is hardcore stuff, all women getting flogged and bound and taken roughly in every hole as they scream in pain and ecstasy at the same time. There are dozens if not hundreds like this and mixed in among them are videos of Joe himself, proudly displaying his naked body and a thick cock that you can imagine would be rough to take even under normal circumstances.   

Watching all this, you feel your breathing grow faster and that familiar wetness in your core soaking your panties within minutes. The fact is that you’ve desperately wanted a man who’d take you like this, who’d use you and brutalize you, but you’d never found one. You’d eventually had to dump your last boyfriend because the sex was so boring you found yourself repulsed by it. You’ve watched plenty of videos like these at home, but knowing you were only a couple of rooms away from a man who clearly indulged in these activities a lot makes you squirm in your seat, trying to get some friction against the seam of your jeans to relieve a bit of the pressure. 

Your eyes flicker towards the benches you’d noticed when you came in and now you know what their purpose is. You open another file, Joe again with a woman tied up and bent nearly double, his hand wound around her pony tale as he pounds mercilessly into her. 

Looking once again at the benches, you imagine him strapping you to one and whipping you, making you beg for him. 

The woman in the video is screaming non-stop about how good he feels, how she deserves what she’s getting, welcoming every vile slur he hurls at her. 

You’re so caught up in what you’re seeing and in what you’re imagining that you don’t notice that the sound on this video is a fair bit higher than in the others, and are caught totally off-guard when you hear the voice behind you. 

“See something you like?” he drawls. 

Right away, you feel not just your face but your whole upper body grow hot with humiliation. It’s one thing for you to be fantasizing but this is you getting caught invading a customer’s privacy. Even if it’s understood that everybody does it, you’ll be lucky to keep your job if and when he complains. 

“Not really my scene,” you lie. “But I don’t judge. I just need to sort through stuff to free up some space. I’m going to install an external drive and move your videos there. It’s an extra charge but it’s not too much. You can call the office to find out the exact amount if you want.”

Joe gives a noncommittal sound and walks away without another glance. Your cheeks are still burning an hour later when you’ve dutifully moved the files onto the external drive, careful not to open a single one, even though you’re dying of curiosity. Trembling, you pack up your stuff and prepare to make a shame-faced exit. You’re wondering if you should just apologize to him, maybe say that you opened one of the files by accident and just started poking around, not quite believing what you were seeing. You’re unable to decide if that would be better than saying nothing and trying to pretend that nothing had happened. He’s standing in front of the door with an unfriendly look on his face. 

“Well,” you begin unsteadily, “you haven’t lost any files. There wasn’t any permanent damage, so other than moving some stuff to an external drive, everything will be exactly the way it was, but it’ll run a lot faster.” 

He folds his arms and looks down his nose at you without speaking. It takes you a few seconds to figure out what to say next under the weight of his stare. 

“There were a bunch of malware programs I had to remove. That was what was causing most of the problem. There are certain sites that tend to… have… lots of those things. Anyway, I installed newer antiviral software that should block them.”

You sound completely lost and you are. You feel like, rather than registering a complaint with your employer, Joe is preparing to kill you and eat you for violating his privacy. In the interest of getting out before you’re made into a main course, you opt to stop speaking and to leave the subject of your intrusion out of the conversation. 

As you reach for the doorknob, though, Joe presses his arm against the door and his scowl deepens. 

“You lied to me,” he seethes. 

“Excuse me?”

“Before. You were lying when you said you weren’t interested in those videos. I can always tell.”

“Oh,” you murmur, “about that. Look, I’m really sorry that I was going through your-”

“Yeah, that’s not what we’re talking about little girl.”

“It isn’t?” You feel yourself shrinking back from him and he leans closer as you do, until your back is pressed into the doorframe.

“No,” he purrs. “We’re talking about you and how you were turned on by what you saw. We’re talking about how your panties are probably still soaked because you were so excited.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times as you fight to think of something to say. His broad chest is just inches from you, heat radiating from him and clouding your thoughts even more. 

“I have to go,” is what you’re eventually able to croak. 

“Is that so?” he hums. “Well I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna go get into something more comfortable. If you want to go, you go. I won’t stop you. But if you want to find out what I can do to you, what I can make you feel, then you get back in the office and wait for me.”

He steps back and heads up the stairs without another syllable, leaving you with a decision to make. There are assuredly better ways for you to find a man to dominate you. But you’ve seen what this man can do and you’ve felt the power and confidence roll off him, leaving you quivering inside and out. You take a deep breath and head back down to his office. 

He makes you wait. It’s a good fifteen or twenty minutes before he reappears wearing nothing but boxers, a towel over his shoulders and an arrogant expression that says he never had any doubt you’d be here. 

“Eyes down.” It’s an order, you know, even though he speaks as quietly as ever, and you immediately comply. 

You’re able to see him toss the towel on the sofa and you hear him opening something- a drawer?- and then close it again a second later. Whatever he was looking for, he knew exactly where it was. 

“Top off and hands behind your back.” His voice is behind you, even as ever. 

You comply right away, stripping yourself of your sweater and t-shirt, hesitating a little at the thought of removing your bra. 

“Everything off,” he whispers, much closer than he was before. 

Keeping your eyes on the floor, you remove it and try to steady your breath. You feel a light line traced across your back by something you can’t identify. It’s thin and pliable, but has some strength to it, like the branch of a sapling. It makes you shiver as he continues to move it softly back and forth across the widest part of your back. 

“So you like snooping around in other people’s things, do you?”

“No,” you stammer, “I don’t usually do that, I don’t know what I was-”

Immediately, there’s a sharp crack as he brings the branch-like thing, a riding crop, you guess, down on your back with force. You give a short scream and your breathing speeds up as you feel the pain leak from the narrow band of impact across your skin. 

“You’re lying to me again,” he taunts. “We both know you do that kind of thing all the time, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you gasp, trying to focus on anything but the pain and at the same time feeling the juices pooling between your thighs.

“What a bad girl you are.” You flex your muscles, anticipating another strike but he does nothing. You let yourself exhale and relax just a little and that’s when the second blow comes, even harder than the first. The scream you give is louder and tears spring to your eyes. Behind you, you hear him hum in satisfaction and it reverberates in your core. 

“You were watching quite a few of those videos. I saw you,” he continues, to your shame. “Tell me, what did you like the most about them?”

“I- I don’t know…”

This time, the strike hits the flesh of your inner arm, exposed because you have your hands clasped behind your back, the way he told you. 

“If you’re not going to be honest with me, this is going to be a very rough night for you.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” And there’s a sharp impact on your other arm that draws a sob and a long whine. 

“Get to the point, little girl.”

“I liked seeing you. I got turned on by what you were doing to those women because I’ve wanted someone to do those things to me.”

He presses himself against your back, running his thumb roughly along one of the whip marks he’s made there. “Now was that so hard?”

You shake your head, struggling to keep your eyes fixed on the ground as he circles around you. He presses the handle end of the riding crop- you were right about that- under your chin. 

“Look at me.”

You do as you're told, more tears dripping from your eyes as you lift your head. 

“Already crying? Are you sure you want this?”

“I do,” you assure him, nodding your head vigorously. 

“It only gets rougher from here,” he warns you. “So if you want it to stop…”

“I want to keep going.”

“So you think you deserve to be punished.”

“I do.”

“You know what you did was wrong. And you know that you’re a filthy girl for liking what you saw so much.”

“Yes.”

“That’s ‘yes, sir’” he corrects you sharply. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you think about doing things like that when you’re by yourself? About big, mean taking whatever they want from you? About them hurting you and using you?”

“Yes.”

You hear the sound of the riding crop cutting through the air, but not in time to brace yourself for the impact. It hits right across your nipples and if you had thought that the blows to your back and arms hurt, they were nothing compared to this. 

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir,” you sob. 

He snaps the riding crop across the same point, the center of both nipples, making you shriek. 

“Show me your hands.”

You lift them for his inspection and he whips your palms repeatedly, like you’re a misbehaving child. 

“Now take off the rest of your clothes,” he instructs. “And give me your panties.”

You move to follow the order, flinching in pain at having to use your wounded hands. He paces in front of you, seeming impatient but letting you take the time you need to get fully undressed. When you’re done, you offer him the garment he requested, which he snatches away from you. 

He smirks as he rolls them around in his hand. To your relief, he places the riding crop on the desk behind him before he approaches you. 

“What’s this?” he sneers, wiping the soaked cotton over your face. “Is this because of what you saw?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You liked it even more than I thought. You really are a dirty little slut. Do you think you deserve to be punished more?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Ask me.”

“Please, sir,” you stammer, “I want you to punish me because I’m a dirty slut who got turned on watching your videos.”

He gives you a smirk that carries just a hint of approbation. “Very good, slut. Go kneel on the sofa, ass out, arms on the back.”

You scurry over and do exactly as you’ve been told. Once you’re in position, he follows you, hovering over you. 

“Your eyes stay straight ahead,” he cautions. 

He kneels on the sofa beside you and reaches down, producing a pair of handcuffs already attached to the old-fashioned heater, obviously installed for the purpose of chaining women in place. You let him take your wrists and manacle them, flinching because the metal is actually hot on your skin. Once again, he disappears behind you. 

His hand comes down on your ass with a thunderous noise and you swear you can feel the reverberations in your skeleton. You let out a half-gasp, half-cry but before you’re able to regroup, he smacks your other cheek just as hard, if not harder. He continues this, increasing the pace as he does until you’re screaming and crying. 

“Have you learned your lesson?”

“I… I think so?”

“I don’t know,” he muses, “your pussy is dripping. I think we might need to look at punishing you another way. I think I might have to pound that slit with my cock to show you what happens to dirty sluts who go looking at things they’re not supposed to.”

“Yes, sir, you should.”

“Is that what you really want?”

“Yes, please, sir, I want your cock.”

“What’s that?”

“Please fuck me, sir. Show me how bad I am.”

He bends over you, pushing his boxers off, and whispers harshly in your ear, “Well as long as you’re absolutely sure.”

You nod and he accepts that, grasping your bruised ass tightly and ramming into you like a jackhammer. He pounds relentlessly, leaving you with nothing to do but take what he’s giving, gasping and mewling in ecstasy as each brutal thrust seems to increase the sensitivity of your cunt, the sensation of pleasure flooding through you. 

“Is this what you needed?” he snarls, panting. 

“Yes, oh god, yes!” You’re a little shocked at the volume of your own voice but all you want to do is scream because what he’s giving you is what you’ve fantasized about for so long, what your body has always known it needed but could never get. You can feel every nerve rushing towards climax and just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge, he pulls out, pressing the tip of his dick against your tailbone, just above the crack of your ass, and he comes, the hot liquid trickling down between your ass cheeks and your swollen lips in streams. He traces the flow with his thick fingers, up and down, making you whine in need. Finally, he grabs the towel he brought with him and wipes you off. You’re still whimpering, moving your hips all around, searching for any kind of contract. 

He gives a dark chuckle and you hear him walk away. You want to cry but he’s back in a moment, close by you. Immediately, he starts to wind a rope around your legs, soft like silk and strong. He binds your thighs to your calves, your ankles together and then he flips you over, the chain on the handcuffs pulling your arms taut. 

You could not be more vulnerable, spread open before him. He wipes his dick across your chest to remove the remaining mix of your juices. 

“I’ll bet you think you deserve to come, now, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please sir.”

“Why should I let you.”

“I’ve tried to be good for you, sir. I’ve done everything you asked. I’m sorry I lied to you before but I told you the truth after. And you just turn me on so much, sir.”

He smirks again and plants his tree trunk of a thigh on the sofa between your legs. 

“Like this,” he growls. “You want to get off? You fuck yourself on my leg like an animal who doesn’t know any better.”

Part of you wants to resist, but you’re so desperate for it that you press yourself against him and start grinding into his thigh. You can feel the powerful muscle beneath the flesh as he flexes, giving you a little more friction. It’s still slippery and the way that you’re bound makes it difficult to move the way you need to, but you’re able to make it work. 

“Are you close?” he rasps. 

“So close, sir!”

“And am I good to you, letting you cum on my leg like this?”

“Yes, thank you!”

You thrust yourself even harder against him to add just the little bit more pressure that you need, moving faster as you can feel your orgasm ready to burst through you. 

And with a nasty grin, he steps back. 

Your clit is so engorged that the sensation of air hitting it is actually painful. Although you’d like to remain composed and be angry, you just sob, tears welling up yet again. 

“Why?” you cry at him. 

“You don’t get to cum until I decide you’re ready.”

“Please, sir, I’m begging you, I need to.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not yet.”

He pulls his boxers back on and grabs the towel, heading towards the door. 

“Wait!” you yelp after him. “Where are you going?”

He laughs again, deep and almost demonic. “I’m a busy man. I’ve got a lot of things to do.”

“Aren’t you going to untie me?”

He smirks and throws the towel over his shoulders again. “Oh no. You’re gonna stay right there until I’m ready to use you again.”       

[flightfoot]

Let It Be Enough To Reach The Truth That Lies Ch.1

Thanks to my betas, @miabrown007, @khanofallorcs, and Marby!

AO3

-------

Well, so much for THAT test.

He’d found a Holder for the Ladybug Miraculous quickly. That girl from the bakery would do nicely.

The Black Cat was proving trickier.

Apparently, an old man on the ground, straining to reach his cane wasn’t even worth stopping for, much less helping. Granted, he didn’t see any kids around; it was just random adults. Which was weird since he was right outside Collège Françoise Dupont and he was pretty sure Bakery Girl was running here to her class.

Though, she seemed like she was late… maybe he should’ve waited until lunch period to try the test. Most of the students were probably inside by now.

With a sigh, he got up and trudged off. Hopefully whoever held the Butterfly Miraculous now would wait just a little longer before activating it.

He didn’t notice the small box he had left behind.

------

Adrien sighed as he sank into the car seat. 

Of course Nathalie and Gorilla caught him. His father probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone, but those two? They actually looked after him. They’d notice — especially Gorilla.

Though he had a feeling Gorilla hadn’t been the one to draw attention to him being gone. His job might be to protect Adrien, but well… even he seemed to realize that the lockdown his father had put him under wasn’t so much ‘protecting’ him as ‘stifling’ him.

At least, that was what he thought from Gorilla’s facial expression, body language, and him very conspicuously going to the bathroom for an extended period of time right about when Adrien would need to leave in order to run to school.

Unfortunately, Nathalie wasn’t so lenient.

He played around with the box he’d scooped up as he ran to school. He’d intended to bring it to the lost and found (assuming a student or faculty member lost it, judging by its location), but it looked like he wouldn’t get the chance.

Maybe she’d return it for him?

“Hey, Nathalie, I know you probably won’t let me head back there but… could you at least make sure this gets to the school? I think someone left it behind and I wouldn’t want them to not get it back because of me.”

She was silent for a minute. He didn’t even think she heard him at first.

Finally, she let out a deep breath and stuck her hand back. “Very well. Give it to me.”

She brought it up in front of her where she could see it. 

And choked and spluttered.

“This- how did you- where did you get this?!”

Adrien blinked, surprised. Why would just a small box — albeit a very ornate one — garner such a strong reaction? “I found it on the ground just outside the school.”

She turned halfway around in her seat, her face deadly serious. “Adrien. Do you remember anyone around? Anyone at all?”

“I- I mean, there were some random people, but I don’t-”

“Adrien. This is important. Think.” 

He closed his eyes, concentrating hard.

But-

“Sorry, Nathalie. I don’t remember. I wasn’t paying attention to that.”

She stared at him a moment, searching his face, then nodded. “Very well. They may have left already in any case.”

“They who?”

She ignored him.

“Nathalie? What’s up with that box?”

She pulled out her phone. “Mr. Agreste? I’ve got something you need to see.”

----

She refused to acknowledge him for the rest of the car ride.

He stopped trying after the third attempt. Clearly, he wasn’t going to make any headway like this.

It was like talking to his father; once he made a decision nothing Adrien said or did would sway him.

When they entered the house, Nathalie headed straight for his father’s study. He tried to tag along but-

“Adrien. I must speak to your father privately.”

He frowned. “Is this about the box?”

She just turned around, closing the door behind her.

With a sigh he walked to his room, depositing his school bag on the floor before making a flying leap onto his bed, burying his head in his pillow.

What was Nathalie hiding?

Why was that random box so important?

And why couldn’t he go to school?

He’d always had a very… constrained social circle, limited to Chloé, and occasionally Félix, whenever he happened to visit. It could get lonely sometimes and he really wanted to spend time with more kids his own age, but he’d at least always had them, plus his mother.

A deep ache filled his stomach. She’d only been gone a couple months, but it felt both like no time had passed at all, and like an eternity.

And when she passed away, so it seemed had his father.

He’d ordered a full lockdown, not allowing Adrien to see ANYONE but Nathalie, Gorilla, and himself. Not that that meant much. He seemed to live in his study now.

Adrien had been trying to give his father space.

But… while his father had lost his wife... he’d lost his mother.

And he still needed people. 

He couldn’t stay locked up in this house forever, slowly going insane with only his spiraling thoughts and memories to keep him company.

*rumble*

What was that?

He ran out the front door, expecting to see… he didn’t know.

But definitely not what was actually there.

A giant stone monster?

What the hell?! 

Could this day get any stranger?

The police shot at the monster, which seemed like a pretty ineffectual choice to Adrien. If it was made of stone like it looked, that wouldn’t do much more than annoy him.

It glowed, growing even bigger.

Well.

So much for that.

Rushing back inside, he turned on the TV. 

A surge of excitement ran through him as he listened to the newscaster. 

A supervillain? Here in Paris?

Maybe it wasn’t a good thing. Wasn’t something to hope for. That supervillain was causing a lot of damage, and judging by the police chief’s broken arm, had already hurt people.

But Adrien’d grown up on tales of superheroes and supervillains, of good versus evil, of epic battles and the triumph of the best of human nature.

He may have practiced some superhero moves a few times. His climbing wall was great for perfecting the landings.

Of course, not all superhero tropes were created equal. While he liked the regular human superheroes showing how even ordinary (well, for certain values of ‘ordinary’) people could fight against the most extraordinary foes, he loved seeing people who had superpowers intrinsically fight for what was right as well, his favorite superheroes weren’t even usually called ’superheroes’.

When he was a couple years younger and flicking through TV channels, he’d stumbled across a show in a style he hadn’t seen before, but had grown quite familiar with since.

A pigtailed teen girl struggling against a supervillain, not knowing what to do, thinking all hope was lost and she’d failed-!

Until a rose embedded itself at her feet.

A mysterious dashing stranger dressed in black giving her the words of encouragement that she couldn’t find for herself.

He continued watching, later discovering that the show was named after the titular heroine Sailor Moon. 

Tuxedo Mask — at least, while transformed — remained his favorite element of the show, the sort of hero he secretly wished he could be.

Though with a cooler transformation sequence. Tuxedo Mask’s was pretty boring. The Sailor Scouts were far more interesting to watch.

He may have made up his own transformation sequence for Tuxedo Mask, practicing it a few times.

A few hundred times.

With what had happened in- in the past few months, he’d stopped watching it.

Stopped daydreaming.

But now it all came rushing back.

He jumped up, about to race out again-

And paused. 

What exactly could he DO here? 

He didn’t have superpowers, and his attempt at karate…

Well. There was a reason he’d dropped the class after a few sessions. 

Right now he wished he’d kept at it. Fencing didn’t seem like it’d be that useful here.

Oh who was he kidding, even KARATE wouldn’t do much. The police had already tried firing at the monster and that only made it stronger.

He’d go and follow it, see what might happen — hey maybe he could still help from the sidelines, and who knew? Maybe a superhero would show up to help! — but somehow he doubted Gorilla would let him.

Look the other way so he could go to school? Sure.

Look the other way so he could follow a dangerous, unknown supervillain? Kiiiiinda went against his entire job.

Though, that didn’t stop him from feeling a pang of jealousy when he saw a girl around his age on TV, following the supervillain on her bike. Absurdly dangerous, most definitely, but he’d change places with her in a heartbeat.

Unfortunately, all he could do was watch.

A superhero DID show up a short time later. There wasn’t much info on her — the only recording was from that girl on the bike from before, and she didn’t catch the full fight — but he thought she was pretty cool from what he saw. A bit camera shy, though.

He understood that sort of thing. He’d been pretty anxious whenever the press gathered around when he was younger and less experienced.

Not so much anymore, he was used to it now, even enjoyed it at times, but for someone not used to the attention? It helped having someone there with you for reassurance and guidance.

For him, that had been his mom. 

But this girl didn’t look like she HAD anyone.

Adrien flicked through the news channels, trying to devour any info on her, the supervillain, all of this, that he could.

And then-!

“A new wave of panic is sweeping across the capital as dozens of people are mysteriously transformed into stone monsters”

Well.

That wasn’t good.

Ladybug had managed to take down one supervillain by herself (who was apparently a kid named Ivan who didn’t even remember it?) but that many? 

With no backup?

The supervillain had grabbed her during the fight. It’d been part of her plan… but with no backup, she couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, and that could easily have gone wrong.

That was a lot of pressure to put anyone under, especially a kid who looked no older than himself.

Maybe staying up until midnight, browsing online forums, speculating about Ladybug, the supervillain, and the rock monster clone army hadn’t been his best plan.

Going to bed early might not have made a difference, though, he was too hyped up.

Still, even exhausted, he was determined to give escaping to school another shot…

...Aaaand was quickly shot down. Turned out Gorilla wasn’t going to let him run out there when people were turning into frozen stone monsters. Who knew?

He contemplated trying to turn his bedsheets into a makeshift rope (he’d seen it in several movies and TV shows, it had to work, right?), but eventually scrapped the idea. He may have been climbing the walls of his room, but he wasn’t THAT desperate. Yet.

The superhero Ladybug returned, but her confidence seemed pretty shaken. She stuttered and fidgeted in front of the camera a lot and seemed to wilt under some particularly harsh statements by the police chief.

Which - seriously dude? She was TRYING!

But even as unsure as she seemed, she persevered. When the giant butterfly head man, Hawkmoth, tried to blame her for causing the damage to the city, she snapped. She was NOT taking that crap.

Adrien may have jumped up and down and cheered a few times during her subsequent speech, grinning like an idiot. She was AWESOME! And that Lucky Charm thing? Inspired! He wished he knew more of how that power worked. Did she make the plan and then summon the object? That would make sense but from her look of confusion after summoning it, that didn’t seem quite right.

Sitting back he sighed. He really, REALLY wished he could be there with her.

A door opened behind him.

He turned his head.

And did a double-take.

His FATHER?! Actually coming to speak to him UNPROMPTED?!

That hadn’t happened since-!

...Actually he couldn’t remember the last time that happened. It only ever seemed to coincide with him wanting something from Adrien or chastising him for something or other.

Oh no.

He- he couldn’t be that mad about him running to school yesterday right?

Or- or maybe this was about the box? There was something unusual about it, maybe he just wanted to know more about it? Or tell him what was so important about it?

Probably not that last one.

A hand rested on his shoulder. 

“Adrien, there’s something I need to show you.”

-----

His father had a secret passage by his mother’s portrait.

WHAT.

Seriously, when had he had THAT installed?! Was that just part of the house and he’d altered it to work via pressing part of the painting?!

...Were there more?

He’d scoured the house when he was younger, searching for the cool secret passages that all mansions seemed to have in the movies he watched and books he read. Only to come to the depressing conclusion that that was NOT, in fact, an intrinsic quality of mansions.

Might have to rethink that now.

He fidgeted as they descended in the secret elevator (he was still not over that) into some large, underground chamber.

...Okay, he REALLY thought he would’ve noticed this place being excavated, it had to have already been here.

Superheroes, supervillains, secret passages, hidden chambers… he was beginning to think he was dreaming. Or maybe trapped in a comic book.

The elevator came to a halt. 

Lights slowly came on as they walked down a long suspended hallway.

At the end? A nature area with grass and bushes, some sort of pod among them, a giant window looming over everything.

Was… was his father part of a secret underground cult?!

Was Adrien supposed to be indoctrinated in as its newest member against his will?

Or was he led here as a human sacrifice?!

Normally he’d calm himself thinking that this was real life and not like, a comic or movie — but considering everything that’d happened in the last twenty-four hours (heck, in the last twenty-four MINUTES), that wasn’t much of a reassurance.

His father turned around as his own steps slowed. “Keep up, my son. I don’t have all day.”

With a shaky breath he willed his feet to move.

It- it probably wasn’t a secret underground death cult.

There’d be more people around, right? Hooded figures in dark cloaks?

Just his father (and maybe Nathalie?) wouldn’t make for much of a cult.

Yeah! So… so there must be a perfectly normal, reasonable explanation for all of this. He didn’t have the slightest idea what that could be, but he was sure it existed!

They came to a stop in front of the pod.

...it looked entirely too much like a coffin.

He’s not using me as a human sacrifice, he’s not using me as a human sacrifice, HE’S NOT USING ME AS A HUMAN SACRIFICE-

“When I- when I told you that your mother passed away… I may not have been entirely truthful.”

Wh-what?!

But that meant-!

“She’s alive?!”

His father simply moved forwards and pressed a button on the pod.

The cover opened.

Adrien forgot how to breathe.

He hadn’t seen her for two months.

Hadn’t expected to see her ever again outside of portraits, photos, and films.

And yet, here she was.

But she wasn’t moving. No medical equipment was attached to her either.

He tore his gaze away from her. He needed to know. To read his father’s expression and know he wasn’t lying. “She’s ALIVE, right?!”

Father gave a slow nod. “She’s in a magical coma… but she isn’t dead.”

...Magical?

“How…?”

Father stared forwards, lost in thought.

A moment later he sighed. “She used a magical artifact she shouldn’t have, did something she should not have done… and paid the price for it.”

Turning around, his father turned his attention back to Adrien. “You gave me half of the cure. With your help we can acquire the other half and save her.”

Gave him half?

The box!

“Was that why Nathalie was so insistent on taking that box? What was it?”

“It contained a powerful magical artifact known as a ‘Miraculous’.”

Adrien frowned. He’d heard that term before. “That’s the thing the evil butterfly man wants, right?”

Father scowled. “She should’ve just handed it over. That pesky little girl doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

Something about that — his tone, his body language, his words — caused Adrien to take a step back.

“Father?” he asked cautiously. “What do you mean? How would that help you? What does Hawkmoth wanting Ladybug’s Miraculous have to do with anything?”

Adrien had a bad feeling about this.

In answer, his father took off his candy cane-striped tie, revealing the purple jewel underneath.

“Nooroo, Dark Wings Rise!”

A purple light flashed over him.

Leaving a man in a silver helmet and purple coat, a butterfly shaped jewel on his chest.

WHAT?!

Wildly, Adrien’s mind cast back through the extraordinary things he’d seen in the last few minutes, the secret passages, the underground chamber, his mom in a coma; all kept secret from the world.

All being recast in light of this new information.

They weren’t signs his father was part of a cult.

The secret passage, the underground chamber — both part of a secret evil lair.

And his mother being in a coma?

The hero refusing to give up an item that could cure her?

He’d seen this sort of thing before.

Sometimes the villain wanted an item, wanted something from the hero for a good cause.

But there was often a good reason the hero would fight tooth and nail to prevent them from acquiring it.

“Ladybug’s Miraculous, when combined with the Black Cat Miraculous, will allow me to save her.”

That was frustratingly vague.

“How? What do you need to do? What are the risks, the consequences?”

His father looked down on him. “I thought you missed her. That you wanted her back. What a poor excuse for a son you are.”

“No! Of course I-!”

“Do you wish for her to remain like this forever?”

“No I just-!”

“That Miraculous is the only thing standing in the way of reviving her. We MUST retrieve it.”

“We…?”

His father took a small box out of his coat.

A very familiar box.

Being held right in front of him.

“Open it.”

It wasn’t a request.

Gingerly he opened the lid.

A small black ring with a green glowing pawprint sat in the middle.

“Put it on.”

Swallowing hard, he did as his father commanded.

A light shot out.

“Wah-!”

It dimmed, revealing a small black catlike creature.

Who shook himself, looked around-

And locked eyes with his father.

“LET ME GO THIS INSTANT, YOU TERRIBLE EXCUSE FOR-!”

“I forbid you from speaking.”

The creature's mouth vanished.

“MMMMM! MMmm- MMMM!”

“Ah… much better.”

Adrien just stared, slack-jawed.

“Father, what did you just- what did you just DO?!”

“I shut up an annoying pest. If he insists on misbehaving and acting out, he no longer gets the privilege of having the ability to do so.”

WHAT.

Adrien opened his mouth to protest… and then shut it.

If he spoke up, ‘acted out’... would his father do the same thing?

He didn’t think his mouth could be sealed off.

But he wasn’t certain of it.

And there were plenty of other things he could do to him.

Suddenly, he was VERY acutely aware of how much bigger, how much taller his father was than him.

How much stronger.

Would Father ever hurt him?

Before today he’d have said ‘no, of course not’. 

Now he wasn’t so sure. He certainly paid no mind to hurting others.

The small cat creature gave his father a death glare, making gestures he guessed would be extremely rude if his forearms had actual fingers to gesticulate with.

“That,” his father pointed at the cat, “is a Kwami. They give the owners of their Miraculous powers. Simply say ‘Plagg, transform me’ and he will be sucked into the ring, much like what happened with my own kwami earlier. Each grants special powers unique to their Miraculous on top of the standard super strength, endurance, and agility. The Black Cat Miraculous gives the power of destruction; simply say ‘Cataclysm’ and you’ll be able to destroy anything you touch. But since you are a child, you will detransform five minutes later, same as that accursed Ladybug.”

He could transform?

Gain superpowers like Ladybug?

Become a superhero?!

He glanced at Plagg.

The kwami’d gone still, simply looking at him with lidded, narrow eyes, mouth still missing.

No. Not a superhero. Not while under Father’s control.

A superVILLAIN.

He swallowed hard.

He wanted to have superpowers, to run around the city, to fight and be free.

But if he had to be a supervillain, he’d rather not have powers at all.

Hesitantly he grasped the ring, slowly pulling it off.

Too late, his father spoke up. “I wouldn’t do-”

The ring was off his finger.

Plagg dropped like a rock.

“WHA-!”

Dropping to his hands and knees he cupped his hands around the violently twisting tiny creature.

His eyes bugged out as he spasmed wildly, flailing uncontrollably.

If he’d had a mouth, Adrien was sure he’d be screaming.

“What’s wrong with him?!” 

“You activated my failsafe,” Father replied. “I wouldn’t want you just leaving the ring lying around. Best you keep it on at all times, unless I allow you to remove it.”

His father did this? INTENTIONALLY?!

Ok, ok, don’t panic! Prioritize. The failsafe activated because he took the ring off, it was meant to incentivize him keeping it on at all times, so…

Fumbling around, he put the ring back on one of his shaking fingers.

Instantly, Plagg relaxed, sinking into his palm, eyes half-closed.

This… this little creature was at his father’s mercy.

And it didn’t seem like Father had much of that.

“F-father?” he said, looking up at him. 

Quickly, he dropped his eyes. Best not to seem like a threat, like he was challenging him.

Maybe Father would assert his dominance by taking it out on him.

Or maybe he'd just take it out on Plagg.

“Please. Please, could you return Plagg’s mouth to him?”

“Hmmph. Perhaps later, provided that he’s well-behaved. Keep him under control or else I’ll do so myself. Right now, I have a task for you.”

That normally would not sound ominous.

Normally, his father would not say that after revealing he was a supervillain and torturing someone.

“Yes, Father.”

His father smiled.

Adrien’s spine stiffened.

“Transform. Let me see what you can do.”

----

Left. Right. Dodge. Jump.

OOPH

He wasn’t used to being caned in the stomach.

It didn’t hurt much — the Miraculous was pretty protective as it turned out — but it was still a pretty harsh impact.

While he was off-balance Father hit him again, sending him flying into a wall.

And again.

And again.

Each time before he could even begin to recover.

Father walked over to him as he lay on the ground, struggling to get up.

Adrien braced himself for another hit.

“I expect better from you. As an Agreste, and as my son.”

He turned his back to him. “We will spar every day until you can put up even a paltry fight. I cannot have you putting up such an embarrassing performance.”

Every day?

This was going to be EVERY DAY?!

He understood training. Understood the need to practice to get better. But training was supposed to include guidance, helpful tricks, being shown a few moves. Not just being beaten by a stronger, more experienced opponent.

He grit his teeth. “Yes, Father.”

“You need to be stronger if you are to take Ladybug’s Miraculous. If we are to heal your mother.”

Mom…

He looked over at her, still peacefully sleeping, entirely unaware of everything that had happened.

If she knew, would she be okay with this?

An hour ago, he would’ve choked at the thought and yelled ‘Of course not!’ 

He knew his parents after all.

But finding out how little he truly knew his father made him doubt.

His father glanced at him. “You may leave for now. Tomorrow, you go out in the field. Do NOT disappoint.”

As he made his way to the elevator, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. “Not while transformed. Say ‘detransform’ to release it.”

“Detransform!”

Plagg spiraled out of the ring.

His mouth was still gone, but he seemed in better shape than he was right after being tortured, at least.

Oh god, Adrien didn’t want to risk accidentally upsetting his father but-

“I- I think Plagg’s learned his lesson. Please Father?”

He rested his gaze on Adrien for a moment. Then-

“Very well. But if there’s one peep out of him...”

“Thank you, Father.”

He snapped his fingers.

Plagg’s mouth came back. He opened and closed it many times as if testing that it’d truly returned.

“Y-”

NOPE.

Quickly snatching Plagg out of the air, Adrien ran for the elevator.

------

If he ever got his paws on that candy-cane son of a bitch…!

Plagg floated wildly around the room. 

Well. For certain values of ‘around’. That complete and utter BASTARD had decided that in addition to preventing Plagg from harming him, from interacting with anything or anyone else except for eating food, and forcing him to hide whenever others were around, he was ALSO on a leash.

Five feet.

He couldn’t wander more than five feet away from his Miraculous.

And since that- that torture spell would take effect the minute his ring slipped off of his Holder’s finger, that meant he was, in effect, tied to staying within five feet of Adrien.

Adrien…

He didn’t really know what to make of the boy just yet.

His father? Very clear opinion on him.

But his son didn’t exactly seem thrilled with Candy-butt’s actions.

Just his luck. OF COURSE the ‘dark power’ Wayzz had sensed had stumbled on his Miraculous. Naturally. 

He may have been the Kwami of Destruction, but sometimes it felt like he was the Kwami of Bad Luck instead.

Not that assholes getting their hands on him was entirely new, but well, usually they weren’t quite as well-versed in putting up safeguards to stop him from stealing his Miraculous back, or in extreme cases, Cataclysming their asses.

He hadn’t even been activated when the curses were applied. Which hey, on the upside, meant he didn’t have to feel them taking effect! ...On the downside, it meant he didn’t know exactly what the curses were or how many of them there were. Some of them he’d been told about, others he’d figured out for himself, but… there could still be others. He hadn’t known about the “torture if ring is removed” curse until Adrien actually did it.

Not that that would STOP him from looking for loopholes, but well… not right now. He’d been through quite enough pain already without risking stumbling across a curse that would activate the torture again.

He shuddered.

Kwamis by themselves rarely got hurt. But when a Holder transformed, fusing the two of them  together, he’d feel the same pain as the Holder.

The only time he’d felt pain that bad, his Holder had had the brilliant idea to extend his staff upwards a few thousand feet into a stormcloud, just to see what would happen.

They’d both been okay afterwards, but being electrocuted hurt.

“So, uh… is there anything you want to do? Or talk about? Or- or not do, whatever you feel like!”

Plagg blinked.

Adrien looked around awkwardly. “I know this isn’t exactly ideal and it sucks and I’m so, so sorry, but is there anything I can do to help?”

“...Camembert.”

“What?”

“Camembert cheese. The stinkier, the better.”

The kid made a face, but nodded. 

 ------

Thirty minutes and a trip down to the kitchen later, Plagg was completely surrounded with the delectable aroma of smelly, smelly cheese.

Adrien looked about ready to gag, but gave an attempt at a smile whenever he looked over at him.

A small part of Plagg got some satisfaction out of the kid’s discomfort. At least, he wasn’t the only one suffering because of the five-foot leash.

“Do you want to watch anything?” 

Plagg stifled a laugh. Kid’s nose was still wrinkled up from the cheese’s fumes and his eyes watered slightly, but he was making a valiant effort to pretend he was fine.

As far as TV went… well. He hadn’t left the Miracle Box much and Fu’s taste in shows was pretty dull, so-”

“Whatever you feel like. Unless it has to do with cheese, I don’t care. ...IS there a cheese TV show?”

“...I’ll check the guide.”

[ryqoshay]

Putting on Hairs: Audition Day

Primary Pairing? Trio?: YuuAyu... Setsu? Words: ~4.2k Rating: G, maybe light T for some implications? AU: Theater, Werewolf, Werebeast, Monster, Cryptid, Angel, Demon, Eldrich Horror

----------

Author’s Note: I’ve no idea how real theaters work, so anything that may be off with the timeline or proper procedure or whatever, I’ll just have to excuse as author ignorance, or handwave away by this theater being different, in many ways. That said, thank you lonelypond for fielding the questions I’ve sent thus far.

----------

“Ayumu!” A voice called from a few rows up. “Up here! Up here!”

“Yuu-chan?” Ayumu had to consciously keep her own volume down due to her surprise on seeing her girlfriend. “Shhh!” She added, holding a finger to her lips.

Yuu simply chuckled in response as Ayumu moved up the aisle. Well, it wasn’t like the twin-tailed girl was being any louder than the blonde sitting nearby. Ohara, was it? The theater’s patron, or one of them at least.

“I saved you a seat.” Yuu said with a grin as Ayumu reached her.

“Thank you.” Ayumu replied as she sat.

She was pretty sure they both knew the gesture was unnecessary as there were literally hundreds of empty seats, but it was the thought that counted. Ayumu loved that part of Yuu, always seeking little ways to make her feel special, even simple and unnecessary ones.

As for why the seats were empty, it was because this was merely an audition session. The only people in the theater today were cast and crew. And the cast were all up on stage, ready to make their bids for their potential roles. Well, all but the two leads, Yazawa and Nishikino, as they had been brought in specifically for their star power and were also sitting in the house with most of the crew.

Also, not everyone present was theater staff. There was of course, Ohara, the patron, and her driver, Matsuura. And there were the two from the catering company that had brought lunch earlier, Honoka and Rin, who insisted Ayumu refer to them by their given names when she spoke with them during the meal. She wasn’t quite sure why they were still around as they had finished cleaned up a little while back.

“I didn’t expect to see you here, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu whispered as Dia and Umi prepped the future cast for their auditions. “How did you even get in?”

“I told ‘em I was Ayumu’s girlfriend.” Yuu shrugged. “And they obviously figured out what I am, which probably helped. Although speaking of that…” She glanced around quickly, sticking out her tongue a couple times. “I’m pretty sure everyone here is like us. I don’t remember them advertising that they were only hiring monsters, but… oh sorry, supernatural beings.” She corrected.

Ayumu let her grimace relax. She had never liked the term monster as seemed to carry more negative connotations than other similar terms. And while Yuu was usually careful to avoid using the word, so many of their fellow cryptids used it that Ayumu couldn’t really fault her girlfriend for accidentally using it as well from time to time. Of course, that still didn’t mean she had to like it.

“But I don’t think there’s a single full blood human here.” Yuu continued. “And man, what a mix.” She flicked out her tongue again. “I’m getting a bit of everything. There’s gotta be a werewolf among them. And someone with feathers. At least one undead. I’m getting a bit of sea salt, so there’s probably a mermaid or the like. Sulfur, brimstone, so maybe a demon, or other fire creature I suppose, maybe both. And…” her brow furrowed, and she held her tongue out for longer than usual “that’s odd…”

“What’s odd?” Ayumu pressed.

“I don’t know. There’s something… else… here.” She shook her head. “I’ve never smelled anything like it. Heat. Flame. But not like any I’ve ever known… It’s otherworldly, and yet, not unpleasantly so. Huh…”

“Oh, I think they’re starting.”

“Right.” Yuu turned her attention to the stage where a young woman with long brown hair with some tied in a bright red ribbon was about to begin.

If Ayumu remembered right, the young woman’s name was Osaka Shizuku and had graduated alongside Nishikino Maki from Waseda, a prestigious school known for its arts degrees. For her audition, she had chosen to recite and act out a dramatic monologue in English. Ayumu felt like she had heard the lines before, though not on stage. Perhaps a movie? In any case, Shizuku left little doubt as to her skill and training, leaving Ayumu rightfully impressed.

Next up was… Nakasu Kasumi? Ayumu knew she had seen that face before. The young woman had appeared in a handful of television commercials, usually cute things aimed at a certain female demographic. Ayumu had actually purchased a few items promoted by Kasumi. As such, it came as little surprise that Kasumi’s audition resembled one of those cute commercials.

The next few auditions were a bit of a blur for Ayumu. It didn’t help that she was far less familiar with their names and faces.

But then, she stepped onto the stage. A short, raven haired young woman with an aura Ayumu could only describe as passionate. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Yuu sit up straighter as she seemed to sense something about this girl. Like the previous several others, Ayumu wasn’t familiar with this one, but something about her held her attention.

“Yuki Setsuna, was it?” Umi read from her list.

“Yes.” Setsuna confirmed.

“And what do you have for us today?”

“Well, I read the script and really enjoyed one character, so I would like to recite a few of her lines.”

“You’ve already memorized lines from the script?”

“Yes.”

“The script you were just given earlier today?”

“Yes. It was just so~ good. I couldn’t put it down.” Setsuna seemed to be actively holding back her excitement.

“Impressive.”

In a nearby seat, an orange-haired girl bounced a little, seemingly excited by the admission. Perhaps she was the one who had written the script?

“Oh, I may have also added a few lines.” Setsuna admitted. “I believe they fit the character.”

Umi gave a glance toward the orange-haired girl behind her who nodded enthusiastically.

“Very well.” Umi turned back toward the stage. “Carry on.”

Setsuna closed her eyes and took a deep breath before releasing it slowly. When she opened her eyes again, her entire demeanor had changed from restrained excitement to a fiery passion. Even from several rows up, Ayumu felt she could see flames in the young woman’s eyes.

Suddenly, Setsuna struck a dramatic pose. “At last, I have found you, foul beasts!” She practically shouted, pointing to somewhere else on stage.

Ayumu jumped a little in her seat, having not expected the outburst. She heard Yuu giggle quietly beside her.

“It is I, Artemisia Ullrin! Hunter of Horrors by trade and Collector of Cryptids by hobby.” She held her hand to her chest as the belted the lines proudly. “By order of Lady Lycaonian, I am to exterminate the infestation of werebeats suffered by her lands. You are welcome to resist, though I assure you that you shall lose. However!” Setsuna emphasized her lines with exaggerated gestures. “I offer an alternative! Surrender and be added to my collection.”

As melodramatic as the performance was, Ayumu couldn’t deny that it was quite entertaining. She watched in amusement as Setsuna skipped ahead to what she assumed to be a battle scene where she called out attacks like a cheesy hero show for kids. She knew the production was intended to be a little tongue in cheek, but Setsuna seemed intent on not just chewing, but flat out consuming the scenery, happily.

And then, seemingly all too soon, it was over.

“Bravi! Bravi!” Mari cheered, loudly, as she stood up from her seat. “Bravissimi!”

The orange-haired girl joined in standing as well, clapping and laughing. Then Yuu stood, as well several others.

“Thank you, everyone.” Setsuna bowed before standing back up with a beaming smile.

“<Where in the world have you been hiding,> Secchan?” Mari exclaimed in English

“Se-Secchan?” Setsuna blinked.

“Really, you were perfect!” The script writer added. “I love the new lines! I’ll be sure to add them!”

“It would appear you’ve earned a few fans.” Dia spoke next, fairly coolly and calmly, though Ayumu was certain she detected a touch of amusement in her tone. “That will undoubtedly play in your favor when we make our final casting decisions.”

“Thank you.” Setsuna bowed again before moving off stage to allow the next audition to proceed.

“Alright, next we have…”

Whatever else Umi was saying was lost to Ayumu as hands grabbed her shoulders.

“That was amazing!” Yuu did he best to keep her volume down. “That really got my heart racing! Actors are amazing! Theater is amazing! Ooo… I want to meet Setsuna-chan in person now!”

“-chan?!” Ayumu balked.

“I can’t wait to see the production!” Yuu continued as though she hadn’t heard Ayumu. “How long did you say it would take?”

“Well, it’s a musical, so that apparently adds more time.” Ayumu recalled. “I think I remember either Umi or Dia saying they were slotting for twelve weeks before opening night.”

“Twelve weeks?” Yuu visibly deflated a bit. “That’s like three whole months! I don’t think I can wait that long…”

Ayumu chuckled at her girlfriend’s newfound obsession. She’d seen this dozens of times before as Yuu would latch onto and hyper-focus on some new hobby or interest. “Maybe we can find some old clips of plays performed by the other Sonoda or Kurosawa theaters?”

“That’s a great idea, Ayumu!” Yuu’s eyes sparkled like emeralds. “Let’s do that tonight.”

“Alright.” Ayumu nodded in agreement.

Satisfied, Yuu settled back into her seat to watch the ongoing audition.

For her own part, Ayumu found her thoughts drifting. Artemisia? Ullrin? Lady Lycaonian? Mythology was not her strong suit, but it sounded like that wasn’t the case with the script writer either. It was almost as if she had simply Googled something about werewolves and just went with the first result that came up. Also, wasn’t Artemis already a woman? Did her name really need an -ia at the end to make the character female?

Well, the showrunners seemed fine with the ideas and the script writer and at least one of the actors were excited about them. So, who was Ayumu to judge? It wasn’t as if she herself hadn’t been entertained by Setsuna’s performance.

Setsuna… -chan… Ayumu glanced at her girlfriend. She had seen Yuu fawn over fictional woman before, but this was a first time she remembered her doing so over a living, breathing woman. And for some reason, that bothered her. Was she jealous? Ayumu shook her head to clear it of such thoughts. She was probably overthinking things and being insecure. She and Yuu had been happily dating for several years now. She shouldn’t be worrying about losing her at this point… right?

----------

“Yuu-chan, wait!” Ayumu protested as her girlfriend pulled her through a door clearly marked Employees Only. “We… I mean, you shouldn’t…”

“I just want to meet Setsuna-chan and thank her for the wonderful performance.” Yuu responded, not letting up her pace.

They rounded a corner and…

“Takasaki Yuu-san.” Dia stated solemnly as she stood in the center of the hallway.

“Oh, hi!” Yuu responded cheerfully. “You’re one of the women I met at the front door and decided to let me in. Dia-san, right?”

Dia blinked, obviously not expecting Yuu to skip a level of formality. But Yuu had been like that for the entire time Ayumu had known her. Still, Ayumu winced as she wondered how much trouble they were now in.

“Yes…” Dia confirmed.

“Right. Thank you again for letting me watch the auditions today.” Yuu continued. “They were amazing! My heart was racing pretty much the entire time. Especially with Setsuna-chan’s.”

There she goes again with -chan…

“Yuki-san did indeed give us quite the performance.” Dia agreed. “Anyway, as I was about to say, Takasaki-san, you are not employed here.”

“Nope. Not yet.” Yuu grinned.

“Not yet?” Dia raised an eyebrow.

“This whole experience has been so inspiring that I want to apply to work here.”

Ayumu also raised an eyebrow. That was news to her.

“You wish to become an actor?” Dia inquired.

Yuu shook her head. “No, I don’t really want to be on stage; I’d rather watch from the audience. But I can’t help wanting to support the amazing members of your cast in whatever way I can.”

“I see.”

“I could haul supplies around.” Yuu suggested. “Oh, I’m pretty good with my hands.” She held them out for emphasis. “So maybe I could help assemble sets or props? Ayumu has taught me a thing or two about hair and makeup, so I could definitely help her. Oh, and I worked a while as an editor for my college newspaper, so maybe I could go over the script and help there? And I did some composing for the band and orchestras, and even learned to play a couple instruments, like the piano, so I could help in the pit as well.”

Dia nodded. “I think I am starting to understand. You are essentially a jack of all trades.”

“Master of none.” Yuu confirmed.

“But better than a master of one.” Dia completed.

“Right. I’m no specialist, but I’m pretty good at picking up the basics.”

“Yuu-chan is a fast learner.” Ayumu added.

“I see.” Dia nodded. “Then I would suggest you get a resume in order and send it our way. Uehara-san should have the contact information.”

“Oh, I have that already. I was actually the one who found this place and recommended that Ayumu apply. I probably would have applied as well at that time, but I had a job then.” Yuu shrugged. “But they decided they needed to cut costs, and as I was the most recently hired, I ended up being part of that cost.”

“Well, I admire your enthusiasm and desire to help my cast and crew.” Dia smiled. “I shall look forward to working with you soon. Now, if you will excuse me, there are matters to which I must attend elsewhere.” That said, she stepped past the couple and moved down the hall.

Ayumu released a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. So… Dia wasn’t kicking them out after all? She wasn’t in trouble for letting a non-employee into this area?

“C’mon!” Yuu said, grabbing her hand again and shattering her thoughts. “We still gotta find Setsuna-chan. Say, do you know where her dressing room is?”

“I, uhm… know some of the rooms are off to the right.” Ayumu motioned in that direction. “Though I’m not sure if she has one assigned to her yet.”

“Well, let’s go see.”

“Uhm… alright…” Again, Ayumu was pulled down the hall.

The couple turned another corner, moved past the rooms for Yazawa and Nishikino, another without a name plate and… huh…

“She has one.” Yuu said, stopping in front of a room. “They must have just given it to her.” She indicated the paper sign taped over where the a more permanent placard would be placed. “Maybe she already got the part she wanted?”

Ayumu shrugged. She didn’t know enough about the overall process to comment.

“Setsuna-chan!” Yuu called as she knocked. “Are you in there?”

“Yes,” the young actress replied from within “you can come in.”

Yuu opened the door and stepped in.

“Uehara-san?” Setsuna turned away from whatever she was setting up on the vanity. “And… uhm…?”

“Yuu.” The twintailed girl responded. “Takasaki Yuu. I’m Ayumu’s girlfriend and they let me watch the auditions with her.”

“Ah…”

“So, you’re the source.”

“Eh?”

Yuu flicked her tongue. “Of the scent I smelled earlier.”

“Sc-scent?” Pink dusted Setsuna’s cheeks.

“Flame. Fire.” Yuu stepped closer and leaned in toward the young actress. “But not the kind I am used to… Just what are you, Setsuna-chan?”

“Yuu-chan!” Ayumu scolded, moving forward to pull her girlfriend away from Setsuna who was starting to display some defensive body language. “You shouldn’t just ask such things so bluntly.”

“Mm? Why not?” Yuu seemed confused. “I think it’s pretty obvious now that Dia-san and Umi-san intended to create a sort of haven for us here. And if we’re all going to work together, it makes sense to know what we all are.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Anyway, I’m a lamia.” Yuu indicated herself. “I’d show you, but I wore pants today.”

Well, at least she has the decency to not unceremoniously drop trou in front of someone she just met. Ayumu thought to herself. Like she so often does at home…

“But I can do this.”

Eh? Ayumu felt her cheek being pinched.

“There. As you can see, Ayumu is a moon rabbit.”

Eh? Eh?! Ayumu caught her reflection in the mirror near Setsuna. Sure enough, white, fluffy rabbit ears had sprouted on her head.

“Mohhh… Yuu-chan!” Ayumu punched her girlfriend lightly in the arm.

“What?” Yuu giggled at the playful jab. “Ayumu always looks so cute like that. I can’t help wanting to see you like that more.”

“Mmph…” Ayumu puffed her cheeks out to pout, though she couldn’t deny liking the compliment.

“They are indeed quite cute, Uehara-san.” Setsuna agreed with an amused smile.

“Oh, uhm… thank you.” Ayumu replied. “And, Ayumu is fine. Like Yuu-chan said, we’ll be working together a lot, so I don’t mind being a bit less formal.”

Setsuna’s smile grew. “I’d like that. Please feel free to call me Setsuna in return. Oh, and if you don’t mind my asking, by moon rabbit, do you mean…?”

“Well, I wasn’t actually born on the moon, if that’s what you mean.” Ayumu explained. “My ancestors were though.”

Setsuna nodded in understanding.

“But you should try her mochi, though.” Yuu spoke up. “It’s the best. Same with her rice cakes.”

Setsuna seemed to recall something. “I think you’ll find a good friend in Koizumi-san.”

“Oh yeah,” Yuu thought out loud “Ayumu, wasn’t she the one you said they brought a huge container of rice for?”

Ayumu nodded in confirmation. “I was honesty surprised how much she was able to eat, though she wasn’t the only one.”

“I suppose some of us have larger forms to feed.” Yuu shrugged. “Anyway, I gotta know the source of that fiery smell.” She turned her attention back to Setsuna. “You know what we are now, so what kind are you? Why is your fire so different than that of an ifrit, salamander, phoenix, dragon or whatever?”

“Oh, uhm…” Setsuna fidgeted a bit. “I’m a Cthughan.”

Yuu furrowed her brow in thought for a moment before something came to her and she looked up excitedly. “You mean you’re the Elder God, Cthugha?”

Setsuna shook her head. “Great Old One, actually. And I’m only a descendant of him. Cthugha is my great great great… I actually don’t know how many greats, grandfather.”

Oh, kind of like me being a descendant of rabbits who actually lived on the moon way back when. Ayumu thought.

“That’s. So. Cool!” Yuu practically squealed. “No wonder I couldn’t identify it, I’ve never met an Elder God before.”

“Great Old One.” Setsuna corrected again.

“Right, sorry. Anyway, that wasn’t actually the reason I wanted to meet you today.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I actually wanted to tell you how amazing you were in your audition and that I really hope you get the part.”

“Thank you. And they did actually already give me the role.” Setsuna said. “That’s why I’ve been setting up my stuff here.”

“I was right.” Yuu tossed over to Ayumu. “Congratulations, Setsuna-chan!” She offered the actress.

“Thank you again.” Setsuna smiled. “I really like the part.”

“It looked like it was a lot of fun to play.”

“I know right?” Ayumu detected some of the excitement Setsuna displayed before her audition.

“I haven’t read the script yet, but…

“It’s so~ good!” Setsuna seemed less able, or perhaps less willing to suppress her excitement. “I was able to talk with Chika-san, who wrote the script, and she was able to tell me a ton of things about what she had planned for possible modifications, depending on who got what parts and, oh my gosh, it all sounds amazing, and I think they already know who to cast for the main villain and while I didn’t expect that choice, Chika-san’s explanation was awesome as she revealed her plans to me and what she has planned for Yazawa-san and Nishikino-san’s characters, oh it sounds like so much fun and…” Setsuna suddenly recoiled and stepped back. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to go off like that…”

Yuu laughed. “It’s fine, it’s fine.” She dismissed. “Your excitement makes me want to see if I can track down this Chika-san and get a copy for myself.”

“You can have one of mine!” Setsuna pounced at offering.

“One of…?” Yuu asked, picking up on the word choice.

“Oh, uhm… I may have made a couple copies for myself to write ideas on after Chika-san said she would like to see what I think.” Setsuna admitted as she shuffled through a stack of papers. She started to hold out a set before pulling them back. “Wait, you don’t work here though.”

“Not yet.” Yuu admitted. “But your audition, and many of the others, inspired me to apply here so I could support the amazing actors here however I could.”

“Ah.” Setsuna nodded, holding out the papers, only to pull them back yet again. “You’re not a spy from that other theater down the street, are you?”

Yuu chuckled. “If that was the case, I’d just get my info from Ayumu.”

“Right, that makes sense.” Finally the actress gave the script to Yuu.

“I already offered to Dia-san that I could help with editing.” Yuu skimmed it excitedly. “I wonder if Chika-san would mind if I slipped in a few ideas of my own.”

“She seems pretty willing to accept ideas from others around the theater.” Setsuna said. “Both Osaka-san and Nakasu-san have offered some of their thoughts already.”

Yuu opened her mouth, but whatever she was about to say next was interrupted by her stomach growling. She giggled. “I guess it is getting a little late.”

“Let’s head home then.” Ayumu spoke up. “I’ll make dinner for us. It was nice meeting you, Setsuna-san.”

“I don’t think I can make it all the way home.” Yuu said. “Why don’t we stop at that sandwich shop along the way.”

“Alright.” Ayumu agreed.

“Wanna come with us, Setsuna-chan?”

“Eh? Me?” Setsuna seemed caught off guard by the invite.

“Yeah, that way we can talk about the script and stuff.”

“Oh, uhm, thank you, but I wouldn’t want to impose. Besides there’s still a couple things I want to do here before I head out.”

“Alright. Maybe some other time then.” With that, Yuu took Ayumu’s hand and headed for the door. “See you later, Setsuna-chan!” She called as she exited.

At first Ayumu felt relief that Setsuna had declined, but as she and Yuu walked down the hall, a sense of disappointment set it. She actually did want to talk about the upcoming play. Perhaps next time…

----------

“Ne, Yuu-chan.” Ayumu said as the couple walked home.

“Mm?”

“Would you… uhm… Would you support me if I decided to become an actress?” The way you say you want to support Setsuna-san and the others?

“Of course!” Yuu gave her a toothy grin. “I think Ayumu would be an amazing actor.”

“Really?”

Yuu chuckled. “Well yeah, the Ayumu I know and love may be shy sometimes and hesitant to try new things. But when she decides to do something, she’s the hardest worker I know. She always gives it her best. That’s one of my favorite aspects of Ayumu.”

Ayumu blushed at Yuu’s affirmations.

“So, what prompted this all of a sudden?” Yuu looked at Ayumu with sudden curiosity. “Did the auditions inspire you as well?”

“A little…” Ayumu admitted. Did she need to include her desire for Yuu to look at her the way she looked at Setsuna?

Yuu smiled. “Well, maybe tonight we should look into finding some acting classes for you to take.”

“Classes?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about acting, so I’d be no help to you there.” Yuu explained. “Though I’d be happy to help you rehearse lines or whatever. And you’ll want some knowledge before you start auditioning for roles, right? Surely there has to be some evening or night course you can take somewhere.”

“Alright.”

Yuu’s expression became whimsical. “Mm… I can imagine it now. Uehara Ayumu stars in… something something big show, the marquee proudly proclaims with flashing lights. Ayumu on stage bowing before a standing ovation. Flowers are tossed on stage by devoted fans.”

“Y-Yuu-chan…” Ayumu murmured a quiet protest.

“What? I can’t imagine my amazing girlfriend being adored by all?”

“Well… I don’t really need to be the star, do I?”

Yuu shrugged. “Even if you only want supporting roles, I’ll still happily come watch your performances.”

Ayumu smiled. She loved this side of Yuu, her unwavering and unconditional support, always willing to adapt to anything Ayumu wanted to do. It was a constant source of confidence from which she drew to take on those new things, when she did.

Maybe she was overthinking the thing with Setsuna. Yuu was just being Yuu, getting excited over a new obsession, and Setsuna’s performance just happened to be the gateway into that obsession. As for Setsuna herself, she seemed equally excited about acting as Yuu, if not more so. And as her audition proved, she had talent. Perhaps Ayumu could learn a thing or two from her through observation, or just talking with her.

“Alright.” She set her mind on her decision. “Let’s look into classes when we get home.”

----------

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

[theexaltedbride]

Quote by David Drake.

In the summer of 1970, I had occasion to spend part of an afternoon watching a seventeen-year-old girl die.

She'd taken a bullet from a fifty-caliber machine-gun through the abdomen, so it was really pretty surprising that she'd survived the short helicopter flight that brought her to us. We were at a firebase somewhere northwest of Saigon, a squadron headquarters (battalion level, in effect), and the medical facilities weren't the fanciest in Military Region III. They were the closest, though, and the medics had enough experience and cared enough to be pretty damned good. Not that it mattered. Nothing was going to save the girl by the time she got to a place that somebody could try.

The bullet was half an inch in diameter, weighed just under two ounces, and must have had a velocity of about twenty-five hundred feet per second when it hit her - spitting distance from the armored vehicle that fired it. She was wearing black trousers and a beige ao dai, the attractive "skirt" with knee-length panels front and back which is traditional garb for Vietnamese women. There was some blood on the right front of the garment and a great deal on the left rear where the bullet had exited, but the resilience of flesh had puckered closed the lips of both wounds. The bleeding that killed her was internal, where a wide track through her torso had been jellied by hydrostatic shock. It was a big bullet, that cal fifty, and it was probably going as fast on the other side of her frail body as it had been when it hit her.

The medics were pissed. They were too good and they cared too much to like losing a patient, even though they knew the girl couldn't have been saved. More specifically, they were pissed at me for trying to question the kid as they worked on her. I'd been ordered to do things I liked more, to tell the truth; but that was my job, and I got through a lot at that time by doing my job. The girl didn't care, any more than she cared that somebody in the line troop which killed her had stolen her green-sequined shoes. She was in a coma from the time she reached the firebase to the time she died, not long after.

We got the story a few hours later, from the girlfriend who'd been captured in the same action. The two of them had been recruited by the VC a few weeks before - or abducted, if you prefer, since the girls wanted as little to do with the war as any of the American draftees I knew in Nam. Sometimes it's hard to draw lines. The girls had been grabbed to transport rice from villages to local VC units. That was what they'd been doing that afternoon, each of them pushing a bicycle with a hundred-kilo bag of rice balanced on the frame, under escort of a VC soldier with an automatic rifle. While they were walking along the trail, they met an armored platoon on routine patrol.

That shouldn't have caused any problem. The platoon's half dozen ACAVs and Sheridans made enough noise to wake the dead, between diesel engines, the squeal and ringing of their tracks, and the assorted other noises of ten- and twenty-ton metal boxes moving down a path beaten through the jungle by water buffaloes. There was plenty of time for the trio to get themselves and the two massively-overburdened bicycles into concealment at the trail's edge.

They did that, and it would all have been fine - except that the escort panicked and popped a couple shots toward the vehicles as they came abreast. He ran like hell, then, showing a great deal better judgment than he had when he pulled the trigger. For all I know, he's still alive. Certainly he got through that afternoon uninjured. The girls crouched down while the platoon opened up with everything it had, firing into the undergrowth on both sides. Cannon, more than a dozen machineguns, and the odd grenade launcher and automatic rifle, all spraying the immediate vicinity. Just thinking about it, the amazing thing is that only one round from all that storm of fire hit anybody. That's what happened, though; and of course, one was plenty for the kid who caught it.

So this isn't a story about an atrocity. The victim was in the active service of the enemy and, while nobody could see well enough to shoot at her as an individual, there would have been ample reason to do so on the information the gunners had. As for the shoes - both pairs, though we got the survivor's back for her - talk to me about that when somebody's put a couple rounds past your head and you've behaved like a perfect gentleman afterwards. All things considered, it worked out about as well as it had any right to do. Only...

It gives me problems sometimes to think about a world in which seventeen-year-old girls are gutshot as a matter of course.

Maybe there isn't a better way, maybe it's part of the makeup of the species. Certainly there's enough evidence to support that view. But I sort of wish that more of the people who talk so blithely about "conflict" had had a chance to watch a kid or two bleed out on a stretcher.

A lot of fictional violence has been cleaned up. When I was a kid, I watched Davy Crockett shoot an Indian into a neat, bloodless swan dive from a tree branch. Nowadays you can see a lot of the equivalent thing on TV, folks using fully-automatic weapons which do even less obvious injury than Davy's flintlock had. In prose, the normal technique is for the victim to fall over, out of the storyline, and permit the author to get on to matters of greater interest.

And that's fine, no problem, we all do what we do.... But for my part, I don't want kids joining the Marines - or politicians voting to deploy those Marines - because at the back of their minds they have the notion that real violence is clean and cute.

Violence is sometimes necessary? Maybe; I won't advocate unilateral national disarmament until I'm willing to disarm myself, which at the moment I'm not. But the look and sound and smell of the results of people killing one another - that should be clear to everybody.

Everybody who might be asked some day to kill, or might vote that other people go out and kill for them.

- Dave Drake, Author of Hammer’s Slammers.

[pebblysand]

[writing rant - on the monetisation of fanfiction]

a couple of months ago, when i updated my long fic, one of the people on the comments wrote to me the nicest possible review (one of the ones that you keep in your feel-good 'saved' emails - you know the ones), which, amongst other things also said: 'If I could pay you for this...believe me, I would.'

in the moment, i kind of smiled and laughed, and thanked the person for their kind words before moving on with my life. yet, since then, i have to admit that this sentence has kind of been living rent-free in my head. i think it is also because since diving back into fandom a few months ago, i've noticed something that kind of shocked me at first: more and more fanfiction writers seem to be monetising (or attempting to monetise) their craft.

now, back when i started writing fanfic, we wrote fanfic on ffnet and livejournal. it was accepted that thou shalt never (ever) charge money for your writing or else the author and their mean, angry lawyers will come after you for damages and you will die a slow and painful death. we wrote disclaimers at the start of all of our posts and thanked the gods every day when we did not get sued.

i have seen this change gradually over the years. first, in the mid 2010s, the disclaimers went. then, i noticed that people were getting 'tipped' for fanart, sometimes even charging commission. from what i understand (though, don't quote me on this, i'm not an ip lawyer and this post is not intended as legal advice), this is because the way the concept of fair use is framed under us law makes it easier to monetise fanart than it does fanfiction. maybe this is why visual artists came first on this trend. later still (and more recently) i've noticed fanfic writers, doing the same thing.

to be fully honest, the first thought i had when i saw this trend, considering the fear of god (and his lawyers) that was instilled in me in the past, was: how on earth is this even possible? (i'll come back to that in a bit). the second, though, was: fuck, i wish i had the guts to do that, lol.

because, yeah, i will admit, the idea of getting paid for writing what i love to write does appeal, to a certain extent. i won't lie. dear fanfiction writers who've tried to do that recently: i one hundred per cent get it.

looking back at the last fifteen years, i would say that for me, writing fanfiction has been (in terms of time commitment and energy consumed) the equivalent of having an on-and-off part time job. a job that i have held for one or two years at a time, then quit for a while, before coming back to it when i needed (wanted) it again. i obviously can't realistically give you a number re:the actual total of hours i have spent at this since i started out, but i can give you an idea. recently, i started clocking my hours out of interest and calculated that a chapter of my current long fic takes roughly between one hundred to two hundred hours to produce (and they're around 10,000 words). at that rate, i'm probably working 20 hours a week-ish? sometimes more, sometimes less? something as small as a three-sentence fic (like this for instance), takes roughly two/three hours. i'll be honest, i have cancelled plans to write fic. when i'm working on a long project, i do tend to organise my life to give myself the time to write, so i opt for socialising after work during the week rather than on weekends, as i've found this is when i write best. i won't lie: it is - for me (i know some people write quicker, bless them) - a huge time suck.

so, yeah, i understand, in the capitalist society we live in, wanting to make that time count. our world has unfortunately, repeatedly taught us that time is money and getting more does seem like a nice bonus (as long as you have an audience for your art that's willing to pay, obviously). after all, year after year, i've seen a lot of my friends try and monetise their passions as side hustles, with varying success. at first, glance, i look at the time i spend on writing fanfiction and think: man, i wish i could get a bit back from that too. i couldn't even draw a stick figure to save my life but i assume that the time commitment and energy put into that kind of work is roughly similar for visual fanartists as well. i thus very much understand the sentiment, both with fanart and fanfiction.

additionally, though i appreciate this is a bit tangential, the fact that fanfiction is free, i would argue, hinders its potential to be as representative as it could be. it's a bit sad because on the one hand, the fact that it is free makes it completely accessible to the masses but on the other, it makes fanfiction quite exclusive to rich, privileged people who can afford to spend the time and energy putting content out for free. if i spend this much time writing fanfiction, just because i like it and it makes me happy, it's because my full time job pays me enough to cover my bills. if it didn't, i probably would have to forgo writing and get a proper side gig. if you look at my periods of inactivity on ao3, those also kind of coincide with the times in my life when i had to have more things going on to put food on the table.

so, now, assuming that monetisation is a thing that, as a fic writer, one might want to look at, the next question is: how do you go about monetising it? obviously, the law hasn't changed since the days where we were all terrified of getting sued (although enforcement has been quite lax over the years) so it's more about finding workarounds around the law as it is, rather than actively seeking payment for fanart.

from what i've seen: two main solutions seem to exist.

first, there's the tipping/buy-me-coffee technique. as i understand it, this involves either setting up a page on one of the dedicated websites or just putting up your paypal account link on your tumblr posts. with these links, people can then send you however much money they want (however much money they can afford/think you deserve?) on a one-off basis. they're not actually paying for fanfic because there is no actual exchange of services, it's basically like them giving money to charity, except that charity is a fanfic writer/ fan artist whose work they enjoy.

there are two main issues i see with this: one, legally, i'm not sure how much ground this actually holds. assuming you're quite prolific/successful, if every time you're producing new content, you receive dozens of tips, although you're not actively charging for your fanart, making the argument that your content isn't what these people are actively paying for seems hard. imo, the fact that this method sort of holds is that realistically, you're going to make very little out of this. even if you're really good, you might make what? a couple hundred dollars. now, sure, that's a lot of money for a lot of people but in the grand scheme of things, no one sues anyone for such a low amount. as long as you're not making 'proper' money from it, it is highly unlikely that anyone would come after you.

this being said, the second issue, from my perspective, is that this is not in any way, shape or form, a reliable income. it also does not represent, at all, the cost of the time and investment actually put into said fanfiction (or fanart, i assume). for example: if you're going to tip someone who's worked on something for, say, fifty hours, ten dollars, that's very good of you, but that isn't going to be 'worth' their time. it is only worth their time if tipping is done at as scale, which imo is quite unlikely considering you're putting your content out for free anyway. there are kind souls who will tip you, but not that many, meaning that ultimately, you're not working for free anymore, but you're still working at a huge loss.

additionally, because this income is not even reliable on a monthly/weekly basis, it isn't something that anyone can actually rely on, even if only to fund their coffee habit. it's nice to have, don't get me wrong, but from my perspective, is the legal risk outlined above worth the trouble for the $20/30 tips i'd get every once in a while - not really. such low amounts also don't help diminish the class issue that i talked about earlier. again, if you're going to spend fifty hours on something, you might as well work a minimum wage job - even that will pay you more and will be dependable.

second, there's patreon (and patreon-like sites). here, the income is monthly, people pledge on a subscription basis, which does solve the last point above. it might not be much, but at least it's regular.

the main issue i see with patreon is that it is contingent on the author providing more services on top of what they already provide. in most cases, the author will keep putting their usual content out for free + provide their patreons (depending on tiers) with more content, specifically for them. this, to me, makes this scheme even less appealing than the previous one because a) if i can't provide fanfic to potential patreons (again, you can't sell fanfic), i'm not sure what on earth i could give them (original content? that's not really the same market) and b) that's even more work on my plate. honestly, considering the amount of time i already spend writing fanfic, i have neither the energy nor the willpower to provide extra content for an amount that, regardless, will probably pay me less than a part-time job would. again, you'd have to scale this (i.e. have enough patreons) to make it all worth your while, and even in very big fandoms, even for someone waaaaay more successful than me, i doubt it would be likely.

lastly, as a side note, both of these "methods" are solely accepted if they occur on tumblr/writer's own website, rather than on the writer's ao3 page/fic. there was a post going around explaining why that is (nutshell: it endangers ao3's status as a non-profit archive) but as with all things, i seem to have lost it. [if you do have the link to that post/know what i'm talking about, hit me up and i'll rectify this]. this, regardless, supposes driving traffic from wherever you post your fics towards tumblr/your own website which, again, decreases your chances of scaling this.

so, in the end, where does that leave us?

i think, at this point, we've kind of reached a crossroad. ultimately, i see two ways to look at this:

option one: if you believe that fanfiction writers should be paid for their art, you also probably agree that the methods outlined above, while they do offer some sort of solution, are less than ideal. the ideal solution (for this option) would obviously be to allow fanfiction authors to be properly paid for the publication of their work through 'normal' publishing/self-publishing deals, without the need for a licence from the author (bar - perhaps - the payment of royalties). that would create a proper 'market' for fanfiction, treating it as any other form of writing/art form. it would mean a complete overhaul of the laws currently in place, but why not? ultimately, in a democracy, laws are meant to be changeable.

this being said, though, while my personal knee jerk reaction would be to shout 'hurray!' at this solution, i do not actually think i want this. or, maybe, only part of me does. the part of me who has been writing fanfiction for free for fifteen years is like 'hey, yay, maybe i could get paid!'. but then, there is another part of me that would like, maybe, one day, to write more original fiction (i already do a bit, but not much). that part of me is feels frankly a bit icky about giving up her ip rights.

would i be comfortable with people writing fanfiction of my original work? hell yes. that would be the dream. imagine having your own ao3 fandom, omg. however, would i be comfortable with people profiting from writing fanfiction of my work? honestly, i'm not sure. to me, the answer to that is: it depends (how much time investment was put in? how original the concept is? etc.) which, in fact, kind of brings us back to the current concept of licensing. and yes, maybe the current frame imposed by copyright law has also shaped the way i view the concept of property, and maybe i should be more of a communist, free-for-all kind of person, but unfortunately, i'm not that revolutionary.

also, and slightly tangentially, i find it interesting how profiting from fanficition/fanart is seen as more acceptable i certain fandoms rather than in others. taking the hp fandom for instance, even prior to jkr expressing her views on transgender rights, i often read things like: 'ah, she's so rich anyway, she doesn't need the money.' now, that argument has not only gained traction but is also reinforced by: 'ah, she's the devil and i don't want to fund her. it'd rather give my money to fanfic authors/buy things on etsy.'

while i completely understand the sentiment and do not, in any way, shape or form, support jkr's views, i do find that argument quite problematic. if you set the precedent that because someone is too rich, or because they've expressed views you disagree with, you don't believe that they should be entitled to their own intellectual property rights, i do wonder: where does this stop? this being justified for jkr could lead to all sorts of small artists seeing other people stealing/profiting from their original work without authorisation. 'i don't pay you 'cause i disagree with you,' would then act as a justification, with i find highly unfair. the fact of the matter is: jkr created hp. knowing that, the choice of buying hp products, regardless of her opinions is completely and entirely yours, but buying the same stuff unlicensed, from people who are infringing on her copyrights seems, to me, very problematic as this could potentially be scaled to all artists. either we overhaul the entire copyright system or we don't, but making special cases is dangerous, in my humble opinion.

option two: we choose to preserve copyright law as it is, for the reasons outlined above. this means that most people will not get paid for the content they put out and that the few that do will operate on a very tight, legal rope, and work for tips that are a 'nice bonus' but not a proper pay. this sort of perpetuates the idea that fanfiction is 'less than' other art forms, because in our capitalist society, things that don't generate money (things often made by women, may i add) are not seen as being as valuable as things that do.

for me, personally, while getting paid to write fanfiction sounds lovely (and makes my bank account purr) in theory, i think i side to preserve the current system. as an artist, i think that intellectual property protects us and our concepts from being ripped off by others, including by big companies who might find it handy to steal a design, a quote, anything, without proper remuneration. this is even more important for smaller artists who wouldn't necessarily have the means to defend their craft otherwise.

this being said, i do appreciate that it depends on why you're writing fanfiction. i think that topic probably deserves a whole different post in its own right but ultimately, most people write fanfic because it's fun. we know it's for fun, and not for profit. and if that's the case, then we're okay to receive compliments, reblogs and sometimes, for some people a little bit of an awkward tip for our work. for me, fanfic has been a space to make friends, to get feedback, to learn and to experiment without the pressure of money being involved. that's why i don't particularly mind doing it for free, and wouldn't even bother setting up a patreon or tip-me jar. i love being able to do it just for the enjoyment of myself and my five followers (lol), without worrying about scaling it, or making it profitable. not every part of our lives, not every passion has to be profitable. as we say in ireland, you do it 'for the craic' and nothing else.

this, though, as i already said, also depends on your means and level of privilege. to me, writing for free is fantastic and a bloody relief - it means being able to do exactly what i want. original fiction writing is full of rules, and editors, and publishers. in fanfic, i can write whatever i feel like, and i'm willing to forgo a salary in exchange of that freedom. again, i have a full time job that covers my bills. this does mean, though, that i don't have as much time to dedicate to writing as i would like to.

and also, the thing is: i'm a small author. i happily write in my own little niche. bar that one comment, it is highly unlikely that anyone would actually want to pay me (or even tip me) for my content. but when you look at very successful people, like the author of all the young dudes, i could see how they'd want to get paid for their art, and why they'd feel differently.

bottom line for me is: the flaws of the current systems of remuneration combined with my strong belief in copyright law as a means to protect small, original creators, means that i don't really think it would be right for me to get paid for fanfic, even if i was the kind of person who had the market for it. whilst it would be nice, this very long rant has, hopefully, explained why.

[phcking-detective]

HOT SINGLE ANDROID IN YOUR AREA WANTS TO FUCK

Gavin barely even notices the annoying pop ups anymore. He’s tried a dozen different scans and virus protection programs, but obviously they’re not going away.

And it’s kind of fair.

Not that he would ever admit this shit out loud, but his views have ... OK, they haven’t changed. Not technically. He always thought androids were watching him and--like--alive in there. Screaming on the inside. So fucking creepy. But every time he went on one of his “rants” about how they were going to rise up and kill everyone, people scoffed and very condescendingly told him “they’re just machines” and “you’re paranoid, Reed” and “do you need to take your BPD meds again?”

So yeah. Technically, his “views” on androids have stayed the exact same: they’re secretly people, they hate us for abusing them, they’re going to rise up.

HOT SINGLE ANDROID INTERESTED IN YOU

Ugh. And of course the one single time he decided to be an ass and take out his anger issues on someone everyone swore up and down didn’t have any feelings or experience pain, the little fucking twink bot went crying to Hank with his big boo-boo bambi eyes, and then Lieutenant “throw them all in a dumpster and light them on fire” suddenly hated HIM for being the racist asshole.

Whatever. If sucking it up--wait no. Taking it on the chin--fuck! If not complaining about Connor infecting his terminal with horny malware as a revenge-prank is what puts all that shit behind them, then fine.

HOT SINGLE ANDROID WOULD LIKE YOUR ATTENTION, PLEASE

Wait. That doesn’t sound like malware.

Gavin stares at the newest pop up for a moment. He’d started ignoring them, so he can’t remember when they switched from saying shit about single androids--plural--in his area to one singular android.

Not plural.

He tries to casually glance around the bullpen without being obvious. Connor isn’t here, but would he even have to be? He can like, wirelessly do this shit, right?

Also, isn’t he fucking dating Hank??

OK, so maybe he’s imagined it a few times.

With HANK, not Connor. No one could work underneath the DPD’s youngest, hottest lieutenant for years and not have a wet dream or two, OK?

HOT SINGLE ANDROID OPEN TO EXPERIMENTATION

Yeah, that’s a six syllable word, definitely not horny malware. But what kind of “experimentation”? Does Connor think that’s what swinging means? He wouldn’t--

If he’s cheating on Hank, Gavin will kill that cocky little ipod shuffle for real this time.

Shit, but what’s he going to do? He can’t click on it and accept ... whatever the fuck this is ... without looking like he’s actually interested, and he’s not going to do that to Hank.

Maybe he should ask Nines what the hell his brother is up to.

“H--”

The hey dies in Gavin’s throat when he looks over and realizes Nines is already staring directly at him. His partner’s LED swirls yellow.

HOT SINGLE ANDROID GROWING IMPATIENT, DETECTIVE

Gavin honestly feels like he just got shot in the chest. Like when you’re wearing a vest, so the bullet doesn’t kill you, but all your mcfucking ribs break at once and you can’t breathe and you’re not dead thank god but fuck at what cost??

OK, so maybe he’s imagined it a few times.

It’s not his fault everyone he works with is hot! So maybe he’s imagined with lots of--and Nines was just, like, included. In his horny daydreams. Wet dreams. Nightly jack off sessions.

Whatever! Anyone would be attracted to him.

He just didn’t ever think it would actually happen. That it could happen. They’re partners, for fuck’s sake. Just because Hank and Connor want to shit where they eat, doesn’t mean Gavin planned to be that stupid in real life.

Oh god, Nines is still staring at him. He’s like a stupid little baby bird mesmerized by a snake. A beautiful, blue-eyed--

No! Get it together, Reed.

YOU MAY CLICK X TO DECLINE, DETECTIVE

Gavin grabs the mouse and desperately clicks on the message itself before his brain can interfere. CGI confetti bursts across his screen and an invitation appears to La Antoinette’s in Bricktown at 8 pm.

Oh my god.

He knows this was really made by Nines too, because his partner is approximately ten million times more expressive via text than in person. The confetti matches perfectly with the hundreds of smiley faces and hearts and a couple of knives, but mostly--

Oh my god.

Nines likes him. Nines HAS liked him.

Gavin looks back over at him. Nines sits at his desk with his back perfectly straight and his hands neatly folded in front of him. His face looks as impassive and slightly-bored as ever, but that’s because Cyberlife only programmed four facial expressions into him and he’d have to trust a technician to install more like they’re fucking DLC.

His LED circles yellow again.

YOU WILL PICK ME UP AT PRECISELY 19:30 FOR OUR RESERVATION

Oh my god.

“Ye--” Gavin stops and clears his throat to get back down to a normal octave. “Yeah. Seven-thirty, right. But uh, can you get rid of the naked androids on my screen now?”

Nines continues to stare at him without expression, but the bare no-skin androids to either side of the pop up messages disappear. A new picture pops up, and he thinks it will be more details for their reservation until his brain processes that it’s a torso-shot of an android--Nines, has to be--in a black dress shirt tucked in but unbuttoned all the way down to show off his chest and pump, hands in the action of taking off his belt.

BANG BANG. Shot directly in the chest twice. A double tap. Gavin wheezes as he tries to remember how to breathe like a functional human being, but all blood previously in his brain has now relocated immediately to his dick.

“Incentive,” Nines says.

The picture disappears, thankfully for Gavin’s sanity, which is currently fracturing. 

Sure, he and Nines have gotten close. Maybe Nines spends more time at Gavin’s apartment than his own, maybe he sits in the chair next to Gavin’s bed and spends the night sometimes, maybe they already eat lunch and dinner together regularly and Nines will wake him up in the morning and make him coffee and they’ll lay on the couch together at night to watch action movies and documentaries and

And they’re dating. Shit. He’s been dating his fucking partner for months now FUCK Tina was right and she’ll never let him live it down goddammit.

So the date part makes sense. But Gavin would swear before God, Jesus, and Captain Fowler he’s never gotten any sexual vibes off of the android. 

Shit, that’s probably why he didn’t realize they’ve been dating each other.

He grabs his cellphone.

love ur incentive super hot bby

but we dont have to have sex tonight

can take it slow

or like

not take it anywhere but dating

Gavin makes himself stop texting before he sounds even dumber than he already does. He looks up and checks Nines’ face instead. Just because the android can’t make clear facial expressions doesn’t mean there’s nothing to see. 

It’s in the way he shuts his LED off so it can’t spin red, and the way he finally looks away from intensely direct eye contact to stare off to the side. Moving his hands off the desk and into his lap so no one can see his fingers twitch at an inhuman speed.

Yeah, Gavin knows his partner.

<3 <3 <3

Noted. But may we still try certain sexual activities, detective?

Gavin knows from the way he can hear Nines’ processors whirring from across the desk that he’d be blushing if he could. And then when the android looks back at him from beneath his lashes, LED back on and spinning a shy blue--

God, he’s going to date the fuck out of his partner and take him home and kiss him all over and suck his cock so so good.

“Anything you want, baby.”

[ahwuum]

I absolutely love freewood with mute! Ryan and bcs this is me, how about throwing some angst into it? Like Ryan and Gav went undercover and things goes just as planned UNTIL Gav mis-steps and their disguise was blown. One of the bad guys get to Gav when they were seperated and Gav didnt realise the bad guy but Ryan did and he tried to warn gav but oh god he cant talk and gav too far away to notice him and the bad guys aiming his gun at Gav and Ryan sprinting to save him but the gun when off...

Yesss I love this so much omg! I decided to write a little something for it quick, sorry it took a while aha

‘All clear?’ Ryan signs to him once they’ve creeped up along the walls of the complex to the entry door, waiting while Gavin checks the security cameras from his phone.

‘Yep, the loop’s started now, so we have a few minutes before the next guard makes his round, but it shouldn’t take much longer than a minute to transfer the files. Let’s go.’ Gavin signs back, grinning and giving him a thumbs up before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the keycard he’d swiped from the guard at the gate and pressing it against the scanner.

Green light. Go.

They move quickly, quietly, the layout of the entire underground complex committed to both of their memories by this point. The server room they need to get to is down a set of stairs, through another locked door and then on the left.

It’s so easy it’s like they’re begging to have all their information stolen.

Bank details, safe house locations, weapons stache, upcoming deals, heist plans, active jobs, all invaluable information that the FAHC could definitely use. All conveniently held in the one server room in an underground complex that, sure, has plenty of armed guards and locked doors that you need a keycard to get through, but beyond that has almost no security.

It’s so easy that Ryan starts to think that maybe they are begging to have their information stolen, especially as they get further in and still come across no guards.

Of course, that had been part of the plan, only one guard making the rounds of this particular wing, and no foreseeable reason as to why any other guards would be down in this area. But it makes him nervous.

What kind of crew leaves their server room so unprotected? What kind of crew would even put all of their information on the one server that could so easily be broken into? What kind of crew—especially one this big—would leave just one guard standing watch at the only way into their secret underground complex?

He slows down only for a moment as his creeping suspicion becomes genuine concern and anxiety, head swivelling around as he tries to spot anything amiss around them.

In the time he takes to look around, Gavin’s gone ahead of him, unaware that Ryan’s stopped as he continues toward the door. He notices too late that Gavin’s going to open it, that he hasn’t come to the same realisation as Ryan and he’s going to open that door and get shot-

‘Gavin, wait!’ He signs frantically, trying to wave his arms in the hope that the blur of motion might catch in the corner of Gavin’s eye and he might turn to look.

In the moment he wishes desperately for his voice back. He hasn’t had it since he was a child, mouth probably doesn’t even remember how to form words anymore, but-

But if he could just yell, just get Gavin’s attention so he can save his damn life because he’s too far to run and stop him before he’ll open the door and his brain is running on too much adrenaline to remember that he could clap his hands, could hit the glass window next to him or-

Gavin presses the key card against the lock. Green light. Go.

He’s shot before he can even get the door fully open, body tumbling backwards like a doll being tossed onto the floor. Luckily, the door closes with him and Ryan’s bolting to catch up to him, picking him up bridal style and holding him tight against his chest as he turns heal and sprints in the other direction.

They knew.

They fucking knew.

Deciding the fact that their crew having a fucking mole is something he’ll be pissed about later, he instead focuses all his energy on slowing his brain down enough that he can remember the layout like before, remember what hallways go where so he can find an alternate exit because he knows that this crew isn’t stupid enough to leave the way they came in clear. There’s probably a dozen guards already waiting.

He can’t even let the rest of the crew know what’s going on; he doesn’t have a comm (for obvious reasons) and Gavin’s got lost somewhere in the chaos. They’re completely alone, no way to ask for help now.

Gavin’s practically limp against him, barely clutching onto him with trembling fingers as his eyes look around blankly like a drunk person’s. He’s gulping air like a fish out of water, rasping and coughing, blood dribbling out of his gaping mouth and rolling down his neck.

It’s not a pretty sight.

Ryan’s seen worse in all his years, sure, but nothing could compare to seeing Gavin with a bullet in both his shoulder and his gut.

They’re lucky he only got tagged twice, fuck.

It could have been so much worse. It could have been so much worse, but it also could have been avoided completely, if he had have just been able to warn him-

“Ryan,” Gavin rasps out, his eyes starting to focus more as the shock wears off a little, “Ryan, go through that door on the right.”

He follows without thinking (though perhaps he should have taken a moment to think twice about it considering the fact that Gavin looks ready to pass out), the door opening up to what looks like a break room. It’s small, with a tiny kitchen stuffed into the corner and a few shitty little tables scattered about.

It’s a dead end, they’re trapped.

He purses his lips and glares down at Gavin accusingly since he can’t really use his hands now, though he’s not sure if that even comes across through his skull mask.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re thinking I’m an idiot now, aren’t you?” Gavin laughs weakly, reaching up with a bloodied hand to give the side of his mask a couple of patronising taps, “but even when I’m shot I’m bloody brilliant; I might’ve just saved your life.”

Ryan looks down at him questioningly, then turns his gaze to the room. There really is nothing special in here; a fridge, a sink, some countertops with a microwave sitting on top, a few cabinets and a vending machine—nothing they can use!

He’s about to drop him on the ground out of pure spite when Gavin rolls his eyes, grabs his chin through the mask and tilts it upwards.

There, up on the wall right above the fridge, is an air vent.

He looks down at Gavin incredulously like he’s the biggest moron alive, deciding to set him down in one of the chairs so he can actually talk.

‘Are you an idiot? This isn’t like in the movies, Gav! There’s no way we’ll fit in there!’

“Relax,” Gavin says, holding onto his side as he slumps down in the chair, “don’t you remember what I said? This is an old building, industrial. Used to be a factory decades ago and they’re still in the middle of renovating. That means the vents are bigger, they needed them to be to pump out all the fumes right? Might be tight but you can do it.”

Ryan looks over at the vent. It is quite big, but big enough to fit a person? Let alone someone as big and bulky as he is? No.

He loves Gavin dearly, but he really does want to strangle the lights out of him right now for being this stupid.

“So you go, I’ll hold them off as long as I can, it’ll be impossible to take me with you in there-” Ryan cuts Gavin off as he’s pulling his pistol from his boot, grabbing his wrist and kneeling so Gavin is looking at his eyes through the mask.

‘I won’t fit. Won’t leave you either. We’re just going to have to fight our way out. Might be harder now since we’re stuck in here and they’re probably already surrounding us-’ Ryan signs, pausing as they hear sets of boots running past the door, ‘but I trust you to cover me. We’ll get out of this.’

“Ryan, just go! I’m already shot, I’m just dead weight to you now so stop being a prick and just-”

Ryan huffs, stomping over to the fridge, climbing up onto the countertop and reaching up to yank the cover from the vent. He tries to crawl in just a little, pushing against the fridge and trying to shove his shoulders through the gap, but no use. Like he’d thought, it’s way too small.

‘See?’ He signs as he climbs back down, returning to Gavin.

“Oh,” he says softly, “I really thought it’d be big enough… And this vent leads right outside near the gate, too! It would have been perfect. God, I’m so sorry Ryan, I’m such an idiot. I didn’t save you, I’ve doomed us both!”

Ryan sighs and kneels back down in front of Gavin, cupping a hand to his cheek for a moment. When he pulls it back, it leaves a trail of Gavin’s own blood on his face.

‘It’s alright, maybe those guys we heard run by earlier came from the entry. We might be able to double back and go out the way we came, now. Or we’ll just have to fight our way out. Either way, I’ll make sure we get back home.’

Gavin takes a moment, then nods shakily, resting his gun against his thigh as Ryan hooks his arm underneath his knees and picks him up bridal style again.

They open the door quietly, Ryan peeking his head and looking around down the hallway for any guards before deciding it’s clear and pushing ahead.

They hadn’t made it very far into the building, the set of stairs they came down only a few hundred yards away and their path seemingly clear for now as Ryan jogs in a beeline for the stairs.

“Here!” He hears a guy yell from the hallway next to them, any further yelling silenced with a shot from Gavin’s pistol. All it takes is that one yell, that one shot for everyone to know where they are. Ryan’s booking it as fast as he can, now, just hoping that Gavin can manage to still shoot with his signature golden gun shaking in his hands.

His eyes are starting to droop, now.

Pushing through the burn in his legs and his lungs, Ryan makes his way to the stairs, climbing up them two at a time as Gavin starts to slump more and more in his arms, the gun in his hands starting to slip a little.

Come on, come on, he thinks, just a little longer, just a little longer…

They burst through the entry door at the top of the stairs, making it out onto the concrete courtyard before Ryan hears the familiar whirring of helicopter blades.

He looks up expecting the worst, expecting this shitty fucking crew to have had another surprise hidden up their sleeve as a helicopter starts to dip down towards the compound. Then he sees their logo.

He’s never felt so much relief as when he sees that familiar, stupid duck painting onto the side of the FAHC’s very own private helicopter; it’s possibly only rivalled by the relief he feels at seeing their entire crew out in force.

Jack’s piloting as usual, Michael and Jeremy hanging out from the side and firing bullets at the guards flooding up from downstairs, Fiona and Matt he can see doing the same from the other side, and Geoff hanging from a rope ladder, extending his hand down to Ryan as Jack lowers the helicopter enough to reach him.

“I’ve got you, we’ve got you.” Geoff yells over the whirring of the blades, yanking on Ryan’s jacket and holding him close as tightly as he can as he climbs onto the ladder. It’s an awkward task, what with Gavin in his arms, but eventually he manages to cling on and keep Gavin tight against his chest, Geoff climbing up above them until he’s back in the helicopter.

They pull the ladder back up slowly, Jack quickly veering the helicopter away from the complex as bullets fly all around them, some nicking the side and some whizzing just below the rotors, barely missing them all.

Eventually they’re pulled up into the helicopter as well, Ryan cushioning Gavin from the fall as they flop onto the floor. He doesn’t even need to look at him to know that he’s passed out by now.

In fact he doesn’t want to look at him, knowing that all he’ll see is an all-too-pale face and copious amounts of blood covering them both. Instead he sits up, presses his back against the door that Michael’s just shut behind him and holds Gavin tightly in his lap.

They made it.

“We heard shots going off through Gav’s comm, came as soon as we could.” Jeremy says as Geoff moves back to his seat in the front and everyone starts buckling back in again, looking over at Ryan and Gavin with worry, “You alright?

Ryan takes a shuddering breath, peeling his hands off Gavin’s back carefully and wincing when they come back sticky with blood.

“No,” he signs, hands shaking, “No, I’m not.”

Ok this is done aa, thank you for this lovely ask!!

Oh and just as an end note: this absolutely never happens again. After this Gavin helps make Ryan a new comm that he can use different commands with to say different things when he can’t get the attention of the others and he needs to say something to them. It’s very limited but it’s basically just so they know to look at him/can be warned/can be given answers to questions when Ryan has to break off from the rest of the guys during a heist gone wrong or something

Gavin probably spends WEEKS on it non-stop after seeing how upset and guilty Ryan feels at not being able to warn him.

[remicon]

Mt. Candy Dead Ghost

It’s Crow’s first Dawning with other people, and Catra-3 is gonna make sure it’s a memorable one.

Characters: Original Guardian, Original Ghost, Crow, Glint, Spider Pairings: none Words: ~1400

Catra hummed a little tune to himself as he pulled the pan of cookies from the oven, savoring the smell of freshly baked treats that filled the room.

"Oh wow, those look good," Seraph said, coming out of phase over his shoulder. "Too bad I can't eat food…"

"Yeah, what a shame," Catra muttered, images of his ghost pestering him for treats filling his head. "Can you hand me some of those tins?"

Seraph complied, transmatting a blue cookie tin into his hands. Like a well oiled machine, Catra placed the cookies into the tin, making good use of his four hands to get the job done quickly. In what seemed like no time at all, the exo had about a dozen tins wrapped up and ready for delivery.

"I'm surprised you haven't made any for Spider yet," Seraph quipped, spinning their shell around.

"I'll get around to it," Catra muttered, "just gonna let him sweat a bit first." Despite their argument months ago, Catra was still, understandably, peeved at Spider for putting a bomb in Glint's shell.

And if his refusal to do anything about it meant he had to wait for his cookies? Well, that was a consequence he'd have to deal with.

“Right,” Catra said, making a show of dusting his hands off, “let’s get these delivered.”

With the oven and cookies, save for one, safely put into storage, Catra walked out of his personal quarters, heading towards Crow’s corner of Spider’s hideout to make his first delivery. The halls were a bit more active than usual, so Catra found himself stopping every few minutes to make small talk with his fellow crewmates.

He was just a little ways away from Crow’s workroom when he turned a corner and nearly ran smack into his boss.

“Whop! Sorry about that,” he said as he stopped suddenly.

“Well, someone’s in a hurry,” Spider said, looking down at the cookie tin in his hands. “And you even have something for me? Why, I’m almost flattered.”

“Ah,” Catra said teasingly, holding the box behind himself, “these aren’t for you.”

“Oh? And who, pray tell, could they be for, if not your favorite eliksni on the Shore?” Spider purred, casually leaning against the corridor walls.

“They’re for Crow, actually.”

Spider felt a flash of jealousy at the answer. “What, he gets treats and not me?”

“You’ll get some!” Catra shot back, feeling a smug grin form on his face, “Maybe.”

“Be good, and maybe you’ll even get something extra sweet for Dawning!” he taunted, dancing around Spider before hurrying down the hall, leaving Spider sputtering behind him. 

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

“Happy Dawning, Crow!” Catra said, handing him a box of Bittersweet Biscotti.

“Ah,” Crow started, not expecting the gift. “Thank you Catra, I only wish I had something to give you in return.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seraph chimed in, “We just wanted to get you something nice!”

Catra nodded. “If anything, consider the face Spider made when he found out those weren’t for him your present to me!”

“Kind of wish I was there to see it,” Glint said, “I’d pay good money to pull a fast one on him.”

Catra hummed, gaining a somewhat thoughtful look. It quickly changed to a rather devious looking smile however, as an idea bloomed into existence in his head.

“Say, Crow…” he started. “I’ve got a couple more deliveries to make, but afterwards… would you be willing to help with a little project of mine?”

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Glint said.

Crow felt more than a little afraid of the look on the exo’s face. “...What would I need to do?”

Catra leaned in, as if afraid someone would overhear. “How much dark ether cane can you get in a day?”

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

Crow had, against his better judgement, agreed to help Catra with whatever it was he had planned, and started gathering up as much dark ether cane as he could possibly carry. After nearly eight hours of ingredient gathering, Glint was pinged with a message from Seraph.

“Come to the kitchens.”

And so Crow found himself in his current situation.

“What on Earth…”

Dozens and dozens of boxes of ingredients lined the far wall of the kitchen, and Catra already had a few of the boxes sitting open on the counter.

"Ah, there you are!" Catra greeted, turning around to face Crow. "Have Glint add what you gathered to the pile over there and come over here."

"What exactly do you need all of this for?" Crow asked, feeling like he probably should have asked earlier.

"Well, since Spider wanted to be a whiny little bitch about me making your gift first, I decided I'm going to bake enough cookies to bury him alive." As if for emphasis, he waved a wooden spoon at him. "And you're going to help me!"

"...I'm what."

"Don't worry, it's not that hard to make them. Here, I'll show you how it's done."

And just like that, Crow found himself dragged into a flurry of prepping ingredients and baking cookies. Even with Catra showing him the ropes however, he was pretty sure he burned some of them, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't matter in the long run.

Before he knew it, they had gone through all the ingredients they gathered, and Catra boxed up the last of the cookies.

"Right," he said, "how many does that make?"

"A hundred and twenty-eight," Seraph supplied helpfully. 

He frowned. "That's not enough."

"It's not?" Glint asked, slightly disturbed by the idea that the small mountain of boxes was enough.

"Nope. We need more," Catra said. “Let’s pick this back up tomorrow.”

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

The next four days continued much like the first, with Crow and Catra using almost all of the time not spent hunting wrathborn gathering up ingredients and baking cookies. It was somewhat slow going, considering they had to keep what they were doing a secret, but eventually, Catra announced that they finally had enough.

“...How many cookies is that?” Glint asked, staring at the mountain of boxes they had made.

“Four hundred and sixty-two,” Catra answered.

“You kept track!?”

Catra ignored him. “Right, all that’s left to do now is give these to Spider. Seraph, can you put these away?”

“Can do,” They said, and in a flash of light, the boxes were whisked away into storage.

Crow let out a yawn, feeling the baking-induced exhaustion starting to creep up on him.

“Why don’t you go get some rest?” Catra offered. “I can clean up here.”

Crow nodded, and began sleepily stumbling off towards his room to get some much needed sleep.

“I’ll make the delivery in the morning, want me to wake you up for it?” Catra asked before he made it to the door.

Glint answered for him. “Don’t you worry, we’ll be there.”

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

True to his word, Glint had Crow wake up early and hide himself away in his workshop, looking through the door into Spider’s throne room. Thankfully, he didn’t have to wait very long for Catra to come strolling in.

“Spider.”

The mob boss looked up from the tablet in his hands. Spotting the hunter, he simply made a gesture as if to say, “go on.”

“I know you’ve been waiting patiently for your present,” Crow heard Glint let out a snort at that, “and I’m pleased to announce that your gift is ready!”

“Oh?” Spider leaned in eagerly. “Well then, let’s see it!”

From seemingly out of nowhere, Catra pulled out a cheap, one use transmat beacon and tossed it onto Spider’s lap. Before he could do more than jerk back slightly, it pulsed once, and then seemingly exploded into hundreds of cookie tins, leaving a small mountain that buried the eliksni all the way up to his chest.

Crow tried to keep his composure, he really did, but the sight of Spider sitting frozen, half buried in cookie tins was just too much. He let out a snort, which quickly devolved into hysterical laughter. Holding onto the wall for balance, he saw through watery eyes that not only was Catra also doubled over laughing, but even Arrha was struggling to keep his composure.

“Happy Dawning!” Catra choked out between laughs, and in a flash of light, his ghost had transmatted him away.

“We should... probably make ourselves scarce as well Glint,” Crow gasped, nearly doubling over in laughter again as Spider started yelling at Arrha.

“Waaaaay ahead of you.”

[rigelmejo]

fyi if anyone besides me IS trying out the Listening Reading Method - I have some tips you can read if you want (or feel free to ignore):

you should see significant progress within 30 hours. If you started as an absolute beginner, did what the guide suggests beforehand (learned some common words like a few hundred, looked at a pronunciation guide, looked at a basic grammar summary), then you should see SOME progress. If after 30 hours you don’t see any - you might be doing it wrong (or its not a method that works for you in which case don’t feel u need to waste ur time on it when other stuff might help you more). (http://users.bestweb.net/~siom/martian_mountain/!%20L-R%20the%20most%20important%20passages.htm)

Someone did L R Method as an absolute beginner in Italian (they already knew french, english). They took tests - were A1 when they started L R Method. They did about 30 hours of L R Method. They took a test again and scored B1. So 30 hours should see SIGNIFICANT progress for a language reasonably close to yours, and SOME clear progress I’d imagine even if it’s a less common language (even some gains from absolute beginner to A1-A2 would be solid and noticeable). (https://forum.language-learners.org/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=1721&p=99415#p99415)

Someone tried to L R Method mandarin as a proof of concept. So they only did several hours, and used The Little Prince (which is much simpler writing/language than the L R Method article recommends using). This is their results: “I tried Mandarin LR as a proof of concept a while ago. I used "The Little Prince", and did a few hours. The first couple of hours were exhausting and I was usually lost; by the end, I was associating quite a few characters with their sounds, occasionally understanding sentences in real time as I read along (knowing what parts corresponded) of up to 7 characters or so, etc. Again, this was a small handful of hours, as an effectively zero-beginner; I know some Kanji, but my active Mandarin vocabulary was probably in the single digits... I think this was after I'd studied tones/Mandarin phonology relatively intensively, but I don't recall for certain.” So - within a handful of hours, someone saw language improvement in Mandarin as a total beginner (http://how-to-learn-any-language.com/forum/forum_posts.asp?TID=38593)

I personally have been trying L R Method as a beginner-intermediate ish learner. What I noticed: without a parallel text (so just using english text for step 3) I improved listening comprehension of words I already partly knew (through reading) FIRST. I also picked up some new words, but listening comprehension of words I knew improved most noticeably the first 10ish hours I did L R Method. Using Pleco’s dictation tool for step 3 (so instead of english text, I use chinese text where the english definition auto-pops up as the audio reads each word), or using a parallel text (so chinese and english visible at same time), both VASTLY improved how many new words I pick up per session. For me at least, seeing the chinese text to keep my place in the audio, and seeing easier what audio matches to what english definition, lets me learn new words faster. Since I waste much less effort trying to just keep the text/audio matched up. 

So if the effort of matching up text is draining to you (like it is to me), I recommend: getting an audiobook and chinese text that match as closely as possible. And getting either a parallel text, or using Pleco’s dictation tool in the Reader, or something similar (Pleco’s dictation tool is a lot like using a word by word chinese/english translated text). 

Step 2 seems very useful for: giving you context prior to step 3, practicing reading comprehension and reading speed, listening practice with the chinese(target language) spelling visible, and reinforcing what’s learned in prior step 3′s. 

Step 3 does seem useful the more you repeat it (I’m just lazy).

Test yourself by trying to LISTEN ONLY every once in a while. You should be noticing some improvements in your listening comprehension - the audiobook chapters you should follow more parts, a show without subtitles you might recognize more dialogue, etc. If your listening comprehension itself is not improving to some noticeable degree after 10+ hours of L R Method you may either be doing L R Method wrong, or its just not useful for you.

To see considerable progress in language abilities, it may take 50-100 hours. Or even 100-300. The article linked above, the person who does L R Method (aYa) would usually do at least 30 hours, then 50-100 for a language - eventually also doing step 4 shadowing, step 5 translating back and forth. For less-closely related languages, people mention having done it for a few hundred hours. So do NOT expect total beginner to Fluent in 30 hours. I simply mean, you should expect noticeable progress after some X milestones. After a dozen or so hours you should be able to start recognizing word boundaries with ease, some short phrases. If you’re not a total-beginner, but beginner-intermediate like me, then you should start notice much BETTER listening comprehension of words you already half-knew from reading within a few dozen hours. Then after 30-50, maybe some dialogue understanding, some common words regularly understood, etc. Again - test yourself with Listening-Only every once in a while to see if you’re actually making any progress. Also to see if you wanna ‘alter’ the L R Method to suit your needs better. Maybe you’ll find a way to do it that works better for you.

For ABSOLUTE beginners, especially in languages very different from their own, at the beginning stages simply using sentences with audio may be easier. To perhaps learn a few hundred to thousand common words first - and/or using translations that are word BY word translation right under the target language word. To help with getting used to the grammar, all the new common words, the sounds etc. So materials like Assimil probably do this - Spoonfed Chinese anki deck with its audio/text does this, Nukemarine’s LLJ audio/text deck does this, Japanese Core 2k with its audio/text does this, etc. Clozemaster app might even be a nice beginner transition tool...

For the L R Method steps - really READ them and understand what they mean. Step 3 is NOT watching a target language audio movie with english subs. It is trying to comprehend all of the audio, glancing at the translation JUST to fill in the gaps for parts you can’t manage to comprehend (so for looking up words here and there). While you’re supposed to ‘follow along’ with the translation text, you do NOT tune out the audio. The audio should be your main focus, keeping in line with the translation text is so you can REFERENCE it when you hear a word/phrase/sentence you don’t fully comprehend. And I am guessing step 3 is suggested to be done multiple times so that each time you need the translation less.

 L R Method works best with very vocabulary rich, long texts. If you use a simple text, or a short one (3 hours of audio for example), there’s only so much you’ll be able to learn from it. For example The Little Prince only has a vocabulary of 2000-3000 unique words, 1200ish hanzi in it - so even if you learned it entirely, repeating it over and over, that’s not a lot of info. Particularly if you don’t plan to repeat things, it’s probably going to serve your time better to pick rich vocabulary long texts (so you can pick up tons of words just through one pass through the book, and if you choose to repeat the book, pick up tons more words, before you start running into the rarely used words which will be harder to pick up). 

I am mentioning all this, because I saw someone who did L R method for mandarin for hundreds of hours, and does not have natural listening yet - so cannot follow a new audiobook listening-only, cannot follow a show listening-only. Considering that people have demonstrated they made some progress in 5-10 hours for Mandarin, and 30 hours for Italian, then 300 hours in Mandarin might be able to make more progress. I’ve done maybe 20-30 hours of L R Method so far, and already find I can now listen to at Least the audiobook of the book I’m L R Method-ing now without the text, and follow the main scenes fine. With simpler audio, if I have a visual cue (like acting scenes, or pictures) I find I can follow the main idea much easier than I could before. So I just think... if you are seeing very little noticeable progress after 30-50 hours, the method may not be giving you benefits as quickly as you might want a study method to show improvements. I think if something isn’t giving you some improvement after X effort, you don’t need to stick with it if something else helps you more.

Other factors that may affect this: 

I had some reading basis before I started L R Method. This might have helped me as far as how fast a rate L R Method is helping my progress. For an example: when I simply do step 2 ON ITS OWN I see improvements - because it helps me read through a chapter as fast as the audio, matches audio to the spelling I might already know, and I already can understand enough when reading at that speed to follow the general plot (so step 2 gives me context and increased plot understanding). Therefore, when I do step 3, I can really primarily put my attention on learning to recognize the SOUND of what I already understood - and on learning a few new keywords I already JUST saw and realized I didn’t know. Basically I can use L R Method to quickly pinpoint areas I’m weaker in, while practicing what I can already do. A total beginner won’t have the ‘practice what they already know’ benefit. (Genuinely though step 2 is helping my reading SO much and I know that’s in part due to my current reading comprehension level).

Also I have seen an example of someone who did L R Method while already B2 in Italian - he was aiming for C1. He noticed less drastic improvement after 40 hours - he did still notice some, like easier listening comprehension for shows and conversations. But he did not reach C1 listening/reading skills. So from this we see: L R Method might help you improve faster if you start off with more you still need to learn (which makes sense, since as the words you need to learn get rarer you will run into them less frequently in L R Method). Also, the gap from B2-C1 may be bigger than the gap from A1-B1? Also what I took from his example, is repeating step 3 multiple times becomes MORE important as you’re more intermediate-advanced. I would guess because you probably have less frequently occurring words/grammar to learn, so repeating content WITH those things in it is a way to get more exposure (whereas just going over it once then moving on is Not going to expose you to it much). Also step 3, if you really look away from the transcript for most of it, allows you to really practice listening comprehension. Also shadowing/translating, steps 4 and 5, may be of more benefit to an intermediate-advanced learner. Since shadowing may be doable for them now, and translation may be doable (and hone in on skills more). So... I would guess either the gap you have to bridge as an intermediate-advanced learner is bigger, and/or you just need to do more challenging aspects of L R Method to get similar frequency of benefits you would’ve saw at the beginning stages.