#and it's very difficult for me to use up drawing paper in block form

[alsikeclovers]

Summer Adventures #3

I ran out of normal drawing sketchbooks. I've been wanting to do warmup sketches, but won't be going out to craft stores for several days due to current plans. So no shiny-new, store-bought sketchbook for now.

... so, my solution was to learn bookbinding :D

[gradientdescent-does-it-all]

Sewing Journal: In Which My Embroidery Projects Become Increasingly Unhinged In Scope, Scale, and Content

Oh boy oh boy, I’m really excited about this one, y’all. After that series of smaller-scale experiments, I’ve finally pulled it all together to set up this fabulously visceral, gory panel by @barbatusart into the embroidery project that I’ll be doing off-camera for the next 2 months of Zoom calls.

In case it’s not clear from the picture, this thing is BIG. Like, 2 feet tall “big”. And although I can generally fit the embroidery frame onto my desk just off-camera, my coworkers have gotten used to knowing I’m always sewing just-offscreen and are in the habit of asking me to show what I’m doing. So I, uh, may need to keep a decoy project on hand to show them. Showing this one to my colleagues may qualify as ‘oversharing’.

If you wanna watch the daily progress pics of this one, I’ll have ‘em up over on the side blog @gradientdescentthreads . And if anyone’s interested in the combination of quilting and applique that went into setting this up, check it out below the cut!

Ok so this project started by slightly editing the original comic panel to pull out just the black and white line art into one layer, and the geometric color blocks into another. The original image used color sparingly so this wasn’t a very difficult task. I then printed both out to the exact same scale; these form the basis for the 2 layers of patterning that went into the overall composition.

Cutting up the print-out of the background was an easy route to a quilting pattern.

…And then, heart-breakingly, I cut up that nice quilt panel, using the paper print-out of the foreground as a template. Taking the lessons I learned from my smaller test projects, I used double-sided iron-on interfacing both to reinforce the fabric as well as attach it to the white underlayer cleanly. Then I got busy with a washable marker and a light box to trace the design. Finally, since the colored fabric was too dark for me to see through the light box, I printed out one final version of the design onto Stick-n-Stitch and overlaid it onto the red and black areas.

Why not save the time and just use Stick-n-Stitch for the entire design, you ask? Well, purely personal preference, but I feel like hand-tracing a complicated design helps me understand it better, kind of a dry run for rendering it in thread next. And also drawing those big gnarly teeth is just FUN.

[duhragonball]

2024

I'm not very good about making/keeping/remembering New Year's resolutions, so I should probably get some things jotted down before I look up and it's September again.

Finish Final Fantasy V, VI, and VII. I started FF5 in December and got about halfway in, but I planned to have it done by now and I don't, so that needs to get ironed out. VI is next, and I wanted to do it in January, but one thing at a time. VIII and IX would be nice this year, but I have to be realistic. These games are long and I need to block out a lot of time for them.

Finish Mega Man X8. I wanted to play all the classic Mega Man games and that meant going through the X series, which I have not enjoyed much at all, but this is the last one. I might have knocked it out sooner, but X7 drained my will to live. I should give this priority, since it shouldn't take long to do if I use Rookie Mode like I did for the rest of MMXC2.

Read a bunch of my comic book collection. I managed to get the last of my paper comics replaced with digital copies, but now I need to organize them. I'm not going to read all the unread stuff in a single year, but I have plans to take care of a lot of loose, one-off things, which should make the rest of the list easier to manage.

Liveblogs of Neon Genesis Evangelion, Jojolion, and Chainsaw Man for this year. This one actually relates to this tumblr blog. I want to tackle some medium-sized projects for this thing, and the liveblogs I did of Hellsing and Battle Tendency in 2021 were pretty well-sized. NGE's one of those bucket-list anime series form, and I always felt like I should give Jojo Part 8 a more thorough read now that it's finished. And Chainsaw Man seems like something up my alley. I expect each one to take me about a month apiece, so we'll see if I can get all of them done as planned. Full disclosure, it'll be sometime in the spring before I get started, so don't hold your breath waiting for me.

Update Luffa to Chapter 225. This shouldn't take that long, since nearly all of this material is stuff I already wrote in November, but it needs editing, and... I find myself still thinking about this part of the story as though I hadn't already written it. So I have a feeling the editing process is going to involve a lot of rewriting or at least time spent agonizing over whether this is as good as it can possibly be. It's kind of important, and I want it to be just right, but it also needs to be done, too, so.... yeah.

Get Gud at Art. This is more nebulous than it should be, but the basic idea is that I need to spend more time just practicing and learning how to draw. I'm not knocking my current skill level, but there's a lot stuff I'd like to be able to do that I simply don't know how to do. I need to devote some time to that, and I scheduled an OC-tober thing for myself to do, sort of like the one I did in 2021. I'm not looking for any dramatic gains, but I would like to be able to look back on this year and see that I turned a corner.

Tellurium. I used to write a series on the discoveries of the chemical elements on my main blog. I pretty much stopped in 2016 because tellurium was the next one and it seemed too difficult to research, and, well... this blog kind of took over a lot of my free time. I'd like to see if I can get back into the swing of things over there. Maybe do more than just Te, but one step at a time.

Bake a cake. My mom set me home from Christmas with leftover cake, and the pan she baked it in. I should bake my own before I give it back to her. Just for the sake of it.

[yellowtiebite]

Hey!

I saw your comments on the AI post and sorry if this is annoying lol, I just wanted to say if AI art brings you joy then obviously you should have at it,

but I also wanted to say, as an artist, you left an impression on me. One I’m sure I’ll think about often from here on out.

I covet the “early” stages of art… learning a skill is difficult, but you can make anything of yourself in that window. There is no objectivity in art — no good, no bad, not even ugly. That is all opinion and mentality.

There were times I abandoned art, too, so I understand you. There were times I simply thought I was no longer going to be an artist. But eventually, by doodle or by the human need to create, I came back. And art block is also very real… but there are so many mediums to dig into, as well. Why not carve, sculpt, or even write? Your writing skills are quite nice, from what I read.

To conclude my message…After a long time (critical detail here:) studying and imitating art I *did* like that was made by others who inspired me, I had a breakthrough, and I’m now happy with what I can create. Still, I keep pushing myself. This doesn’t even mean my art is good (especially not in any objective sense), I am simply satisfied with it. I accept and love it. It is my mark on the world that I have every right to make.

I encourage you to read up a little on things like “naive art” — such raw self expression is innately human. Even if it doesn’t make you want to create again, perhaps you will find some beauty in it.

I don’t mean to proselytize. Simply put, from one member of our species to another, I’d like to impart you some anonymous encouragement.

Don’t let the glass be half empty when the whole of all art is sprawling endlessly and calling to you. Take up the space you have the right to, make a horrible mess on paper if that’s what it comes to. It is healing. It is necessary. It may not feel good immediately, but we all need some way to empty out our feelings. It’s like stretching out a stiff muscle until it can really work again.

I learned a long time ago to ignore the devil on my shoulder that said my work is meaningless.

I wish you the very best and much optimism for all that lies ahead, whatever it may be… and above all, peace! 🫂

First of thanks for making such a long, detailed and heartfelt comment. I appreciate and respect that. I never had art blocks myself. It was just my art was terrible but I get what you mean. I also pretty much quit writting. More recently realised not just drawing but all art I do is terrible and awful and plan to stop it all soon enough. I don't actually use AI art but wanted to say I could if I wanted to. Sorry for putting it poorly in that text. I just should not draw. I think I knew that since the start but little white lies I told myself put the truth away. I prob won't be doing any other creative art forms. They are just misserable amalgamations of my incompetance and stupidity. Hell who knows I maybe will finally be able to take my life. We can hope.

Peace🫂

[joontier]

Subliminal in Scrubs | V1; report x

pairings: dr. jeon jungkook x female reader

chapter rating: R-18 | genre: humor, romance, smut (voyeurism, masturbation), swearing

warnings: GET READY FOR SOME ACTIONNNNN 

word count: 1.8k

g/n: Send me your thoughts?

[taglist]:  @nottodayjjk @ditttiii @zeharilisharaban @btsbunny07​ @turquoiseandplaidinautumn @aamxxrii @codeinebelle​ @btsmakesmehappy

Subliminal in Scrubs (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Right after you put away your groceries, you take a quick shower and head to bed. Truly, there was nothing better than a refreshing shower after a long day - especially when you know you’re not going to be able to enjoy times like these anymore once you start working. Just then, you recall having to set your alarm early tomorrow because it was your first day, plus the other two wanted to meet up for breakfast before heading to work. 

As you lie on your bed, scrolling through your barely active social media accounts, you hear a soft thud coming from Ayoung’s apartment. Huh, she must be moving stuff - seems strange though that she’s doing it with a potential tenant present. You don’t pay much attention to it though until it happens again and suddenly a faint moan reaches your ears. Your eyes widen, thoughts of all sorts running through your head. You must be mistaken. You should be mistaken. 

You hear it again, and it gets repetitive until there’s a steady rhythm that has you certain about something that could be happening there. You’re really not one to meddle with people’s private businesses, especially ones of this particular kind. You push each incoming thought away, regardless if it is an innocent one or not. It proves otherwise though, with the sound coming in clear for a wall separating the two apartments. 

At the same time, you also wish the best for Ayoung and if this man is a moving-away gift in disguise as this one, well you’re incredibly happy for her. Who were you to take that happiness away from her? But as the man’s grunts become more audible and prominent, your immediate reaction to it is beyond you, and you’re almost involuntarily rubbing your thighs together at the sound. 

‘No’, you think to yourself, stopping your southward train of thoughts and its imminent course of action. Rubbing at your temple, you wonder how could you even allow such pompous thoughts cross your mind. 

Groaning, you lie on your stomach and mush your face against your pillow as if to block those indecent images threatening to corrupt your mind. It isn’t right to get off someone else’s steamy evening, more particularly, that of your friend’s, so you close your eyes and focus on trying to get some sleep. 

You can’t. 

Not when this man’s heavy breathing sounds just as hot as Ayoung finds him to be. 

Not when this man sounds just like a porn star. 

And especially not when this man’s vocals are so stimulating to the point that it feels like an invitation for you to join the fun. Or at least, take an imaginary part in it. 

Holy shit. 

Tapping your fingers furiously on the bed covers, you ask yourself if you have really reached this level of desperation? That your lack of human touch is causing you to question the very principle of civility? 

You shake your head as you reach for your earphones. Coincidentally, Spotify’s shuffle decides to land on a Jamie Foxx track. 

What is with the universe constantly trying to fuck you up? 

You tap on the next button quickly, turning the volume all the way up in the hopes of ridding yourself of unclean thoughts, that is, until you hear Satan himself let out a particularly loud grunt, one you can practically feel travel straight to your core. Jesus. 

The voice of your evil miniature self on your left shoulder whispers in your ear, “It isn’t often for you to get ahold of an opportunity like this. Go get some,” she says, holding your angelic self on a chokehold with her own halo. 

She had a point though, and you really could only imagine having more time for yourself starting tomorrow. Besides, it’s been a while since you truly ‘relaxed’. And to top all of that, with the apartment walls as thin as paper, you can literally feel your neighbor’s bed now moving in a steady rhythm. You’re even surprised you’ve managed to keep your self-control this long. Not long enough though, unfortunately. 

Now that you’ve come to think of it, this man must be on a different level entirely if Ayoung could let herself get...dicked down during a simple visit (and for the first time too!). Just imagining what he probably looks like is sending a light tingle down your spine. 

You sigh, ultimately giving into the temptation. There’s no turning back now. 

Slowly, you slide your shorts down your legs, giving yourself time to still contemplate...but, hesitation was never really your strong point (a trait of yours that had truly blossomed since your friendship with Chohee). So off go your underwear too. 

As quietly as possible, you scoot over to the wall, just enough to let your shoulder touch your old, boring, beige wallpaper. You feel your neighbor’s bed move with a little more intensity this time, and you trail your fingers downward to your cunt, which is surely wet by now with all your thinking. 

The man’s grunts are louder than Ayoung’s thankfully, leaving everything to your imagination. You start at a steady pace, wanting to test the waters. With the couple just a mere distance away from you, save the wall separating your apartments, you try to match your pace with the pair. 

Letting your digit circle your clit, you work yourself out to your orgasm - that is, until your climax won’t arrive and you figure just using your fingers won’t get the job done. Just as if you thought the sounds they were making weren’t enough to get you over the edge. It’s been a while since you had any ‘action’ and your rust ass won’t allow you to cum with just your fingers. 

Hurriedly, you draw out a small box from beneath your bed. In haste, you throw the cover across the small room, fishing for what used to be a very good friend of yours before: Lovecorner’s limited edition of Real Feel 7. Never too late to catch up with good ol’ friends. 

You turn on the device, hoping that there’s enough battery left to get you through the night. Closing your eyes, you circle the dildo around your nether lips, gathering all the slick there. A few more moments and you gradually insert the toy inside you, causing you to shiver in excitement. Gulping, you only push it halfway through at first, wanting to get used to the feeling again.. 

There’s a short pause from the other side of the wall, one you use to your advantage to keep up. When you feel them continue, you pick up your pace, both desperation and shame pumping you up so you could get this night over with as quickly as possible. 

Just as you had expected, you feel their breathing get heavier by the second, and your bed is practically shaking with...what you presume to be yours and their movements combined. 

For some reason beyond your understanding, you work yourself out on your trusty companion, taking in every whimper and grunt from the other side of the wall like it’s your own, like you’re the one fucking like there is no tomorrow. 

You’re getting closer to your high - a feeling almost foreign to you at this point, and with the last string of sheer  will, you push the toy further up to the hilt, stroking your g-spot so perfectly that your orgasm has got you quivering in bed for more than thirty seconds. 

Breathless as ever, you lie in bed, staring straight into the ceiling. 

What. Was. That. All. About. 

You press your thighs together, an unexpected reaction from the reality of tonight’s events suddenly dawning in on you. You did not just get yourself off from your neighbor's live porn. 

With no more movement coming from Ayoung’s apartment, you could only assume that their day has officially concluded as well. Sighing, you make your way to your bathroom, treading over your floor as lightly as you could with your sore legs. 

Ten minutes and a refreshing half bath later, you head back to bed, exhaustion causing you to fall asleep in seconds. 

The sound of your jarring iPhone alarm blares right in your ear, scaring the living hell out of you exactly 6:45 in the morning. You wake up in a fright, panting heavily as you scramble to turn off the horrible sound. 

Quickly, you get off of your bed, proceeding with your daily morning routine. You tick off breakfast at home today, having scheduled your morning meal with Jimin and Soomin as your first official day as employees of Woocheon Medical City. 

Making sure you’ve got everything in your duffel bag -  extra clothes, toiletries, and the rest of your essentials, you lock the door to your apartment, sealing it off with a slight jiggle to the knob to assure yourself. 

Ayoung’s door likewise creaks open, and you glance at it through your peripheral vision to see a man coming out. Your eyes widen - he stayed the night then. Hm. You’re unsure if you want to suspect him of something other than a one night stand, or it’s just this curious itch inside you that makes you want to check who’s responsible for last night’s...occurrences. 

Mustering all that courageous chi Chohee has hopefully transferred onto you, you linger a little bit by your doorway before facing the man. Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t make your job difficult for you and looks your way as well. 

No. 

This can’t be. 

Turns out, Mr. Stranger who was supposed to be your hot neighbor as Ayoung claims is no stranger at all. 

It had to be. 

You look away just as quickly as you looked at him. “________? Hey!  I didn’t know you lived next door!” Your lips form a thin line. Why does he make it sound like you’re already neighbors? 

“Jungkook,” you nod to answer his question.  “Good morning to you too.”

Your cheeks heat up with the range of emotions you’re feeling: anger - from him not even remembering Ayoung’s name; shame - for your actions last night; disappointment - there’s a possibility of you two becoming neighbors and you’d inevitably have to face him more often than not. 

“Where are you off to? Gym?” 

Why does he think you’re going to gym in a collared shirt, jeans, and flats? And more importantly, why are you two even having this conversation? 

The elevator doors open and your impromptu escape plan springs into action, and currently, just like your legs. “Work actually! And I’m going to be late, so bye for now!” You sprint towards the elevator, quickly pressing a button to close the doors. 

You let out a sigh of relief as the doors close, leaving Jungkook with a confused look on his face. 

© joontier 2021

[sirthisisa-wendys]

The General (part 4): Geto Suguru x Fem!Reader

synopsis: escape sounds good. but is it better than staying?

wc: 2.6k

tw: sexual assault and death

a/n: please don’t kill me. This is plot. No smut to be found quite yet. I’m really trying to save up my smut cards for something really big lol

masterlist

 Everything is on fire. Everyone is running around you, because for some reason, you’re walking toward the flames. Screams echo in your ears and the feeling of something tugging you into the burning building that looked like your home is too strong to ignore. When you push the door to your house open, your mother is hovering over your father, who is bleeding out as you watch in horror. When your mother looks up at you, she’s crying fat tears of sorrow, then she whispers:

“You did this, y/n. You let that monster into our town, and now look at what you’ve done.” 

A hand smooths over your face as you twist and turn, but you don’t realize it’s the General until you open your eyes, the light from the moon blocked by his body. “You’re okay. Don’t worry; no one’s going to hurt you here,” he whispers, despite having hurt you before. You push his hand away and sit up, clutching your knees to your chest as you catch your breath. “Nightmare?” he asks, and for a second, you’re wondering if he’s saying that he had a nightmare. But then you feel the sweat around the nape of your neck and on your chest, and remember the feeling of helplessness you just emerged from. You nod, looking around the tent at the table, papers, the ink, the discarded haori near the seat…

“You’re up late,” you mention - trying to change the subject - and the General huffs a laugh, pushing back his hair like he always did before he launched into an explanation. Why didn’t he just tie it up? 

“I do my best work right before the midnight hours. You’d be surprised at the formations I can create with just a hint of alertness left in my body.” He turns back to you, touching your foot with a broad hand. “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“No,” you answer quickly, hoping he would drop the subject. 

“Then let me have Kaori fetch you some water for a bath. I would hate for you to remain as sweaty as you are.” You slide off the bed, walking around to the little desk area that held stacks of papers and diagrams and sliding one free from the stack. 

“You draw maps?” 

“Cartographers are not cheap, little one. I’ve canvassed a massive effort to make a map of every place I’ve been to… Nanami is very helpful with this, as well. He’s so attentive to details that I might have missed, so I rely on his help more often than not.” 

“And Haibara?” 

“Yu? He’s pretty easy to get along with as well. He’s my mentee, if you really consider it. If I have no children, he will inherit the throne after me.” 

“What about Gojo?” you question, sliding a map of the surrounding area forward and examining it carefully. As he drones on about the blue eyed man, you make sure your eyes cover every inch of the map and memorize the routes in and out of the camp. If you could just find a way to get over to the edge of the camp, you could easily hitch a ride back to your hometown and tell everyone about the General’s whereabouts. And expose Yuko for the traitor he is. 

“But do you enjoy your time with Kaori? I purposefully made her the head of maids so she would tend to you and you alone.” 

“Ah,” you push the map away and smile up at Geto, having finally found your escape route. “She’s lovely.” 

And Kaori would be even more lovely once she helped you with your plan to run away. 

_______________________________________________________________________

“How do you feel today?” Kaori wonders as you dress in your standard blue kimono.

“Quite well,” you answer, smiling back at her. She raises a brow, a grin forming on her lips. 

“Might this have anything to do with Master Geto?” 

You look back at the maid, and give her your best fake grin. “Maybe.” Kaori hums in surprise, then gathers her things up before leaving you alone again. “Oh, I almost forgot,” you begin, tying the kimono closed. “Could you bring me an extra pear or two with lunch today? I have a craving for them right now.” Kaori nods and bows slightly before walking out of the tent. 

Map? Check.

Clothes? Check.

Extra food? Check. 

The entire morning is spent pouring over the map, tracking your path in and out of the compound. You would have to walk a considerable distance, but it was perfectly fine. If you could manage to secure a horse, you’d probably get halfway home before anyone noticed you were missing, and that was a considerable head start. 

Your plan went into effect as soon as they announced dinner, and you wait patiently for Geto to come fetch you for the evening meal, laying in his bed with a pained expression. When he comes inside, he sees you clutching your stomach and hanging over the side of the bed a little. 

“Are you unwell?” he asks immediately, stooping by the bedside and smoothing your hair away from your face. You shake your head slowly, all of it an act, and he grumbles something about ‘knowing the food was undercooked at lunch’. Little did he know that you had stowed it away, along with a spare kimono of his and rudimentary copy of the map. 

You fake a cough for emphasis, and his hands fly to your face, patting the tender flesh of your cheeks and forehead. “You’re warm. I’ll have Kaori come and attend to-” 

“I don’t want her to catch what I have,” you moan, rolling over on your left side. 

“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” Geto urges, eyes frantically looking around the tent space for something. “I’ll… I’ll eat dinner here, then. I’ll stay with you.” You shake your head weakly, ignoring his panicked expression. 

“I can’t bear the smell of food right now… I just need some rest.” 

“And you shall have it,” Geto whispers, placing a tender kiss on your left hand. “I’ll be back within the hour to check on you.” And with that, he leaves you in the tent. When you suspect that he - and as a result, his friends - are all gone to eat, you slide out of the bed and retrieve your sack of things hidden underneath it. 

It isn’t escaping the camp that’s hard.

It’s running through the dead of night with only a sliver of moon to guide you that is most difficult. 

Without the daylight, you could easily mistake a patch of trees for a forest and river for a ravine. But it doesn’t matter. Your father had taught you how to tell the North from the South and the East from the West, and you relied on those skills now to guide you out of the camp. First, you have to locate the brightest star in the sky and just follow it to get on the right path. If it is directly overhead, you’d be on your way to determining which way to go. The makeshift map you have is telling you that you should wander northeast to get out of the confines of the camp, and you would be well on your way to your hometown. 

Except… 

You look back at the lights dotted around the camp behind you. 

What if you stayed? What if you stayed and made friends with the General? What if you stayed, made friends with the General, and then lured him in with a false sense of security? You adjust the sack on your back and think for a moment more.

He had let you remain in the tent by yourself. Not only was it a sign that he was finally beginning to trust you while you were alone, but also while you had all of the opportunity to escape, like you were now. Either that, or he’s more than confident that he would be able to find you and drag you back so he could execute his plan properly. 

The only thing that would come from you attempting to run away would be a chase, and you would more than likely be caught without a horse. Then, Geto would not hesitate to discipline you and make you submit to his will, and possibly never trust you again. 

“Flattery is the best persuader of people,” your father used to murmur, but you didn’t believe it back then; rolling your eyes at his old sayings. But now… perhaps you could work this to your advantage by staying. 

You trek back with the pack, dumping everything except the kimono nearby to avoid any suspicion. The kimono is placed back where it had been before, and you slump onto the bed - facing away from the tent opening - groaning with exhaustion and anxiety. 

The General returns what feels like a few minutes later and runs a hand down your back with care, humming in the darkness. He’s unsteady on his feet, it sounds like, and he anchors himself on the bed with one knee, leaning over you to brush a lock of hair away from your face. 

“If there’s one thing I know about Yuko,” he breathes, words tumbling out of his mouth like a bucket of apples. “He didn’t lie about beauty or character.” Geto slides in next you, wrapping an arm around your waist protectively and nestling his face into the crook of your neck. He places a kiss below your earlobe, then almost instantly afterward, he’s asleep. 

And although you want to squirm out of his arms and give him what-for, you don’t. The resolve in your new plan has set you on a path of compromise, and you would see this through until the end.

_______________________________________________________________________

Lips. They’re everywhere. On your face, trailing down your neck and accompanied by touches that stoke the flames of a fire you didn’t realize you had burning inside of you. 

When your eyes flutter open, it’s still night, but the General has let the wine go to his head. You let out an involuntary moan at the feeling of his fingers gripping the skin underneath your kimono before you snatch yourself out of his grasp, tumbling to the floor below and remembering how much you hated him. 

“Y/n… are you..” he hiccups a little. “Are you alright?” You push off of the ground in a fury, dusting yourself off and facing away from him as you yell:

“How dare you go back on your promise to not defile me, you filthy swine! Touching me in my sleep is low for even you, Your Majesty!” You spit the last two words at him, then stomp towards the flaps of the tent, which open with a flutter before you can get to them. 

Geto steps inside, his eyes meeting yours in a confused stare. 

“I heard you yelling and I--” He looks over your shoulder and frowns, squinting his eyes at the figure in the bed. “Get up.” When the man stumbles to the floor, Geto pulls you in behind him, shielding you from who really occupied the bed. 

“M-Master Geto, I can expla--” 

“Silence.” The deep bass of the General’s voice is unmatched, deadly, and practically telling of the punishment to come. Haibara and Gojo walk past you into the tent behind Geto, making lanterns glow and illuminate the tent space. “Do you know this man?” Geto roars, pointing an accusing finger at the offender as he turns to you, throwing daggers with his eyes. You look at the soon-to-be dead man, nostrils flaring. But you don’t recognize his face, nor his body. Nothing about this person is familiar.

“No, sir,” you state, and Geto starts a little at the sound of the formality falling from your lips. 

“Has he touched you in any way?” Your skin is crawling with what feels like a thousand little bugs, and you clutch your elbows instinctively. In one smooth motion, Geto turns to Gojo, who nods his head once and grabs the man’s hair, dragging him past you and Haibara as his screams of pain echo into the night. You feel two hands resting on your shoulders as you stare at the tent flaps, the fluttering of them barely revealing the man’s fate. It’s only when the screaming stops that you turn to Geto. “Are you hurt?” he asks, dipping his head a little to look into your eyes with his piercing black ones. 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“Where did he touch you?” You look over to Haibara, and Geto does as well, before waving the youth off. “Make sure Gojo takes care of…” 

“Of course,” Haibara replies, and with a sad smile thrown your way, he departs. Geto turns his attention back to you, taking your wrists in his hands. 

“Show me.” You move a hand across your chest and down your right thigh, grazing the spot where the man had grabbed you roughly. Then you swipe at your neck and face. “My gods,” he breathes before pulling you close. Tears threaten to leak out of your eyes, but you hold them at bay, trying to maintain the hysterics for later when you were alone. “I should have stayed.” 

“I should have let you.” 

_______________________________________________________________________

You awake enveloped in Geto’s warmth, unsure of when you fell asleep for the second time, but thankful for the body heat that wards off the night-time chill. When you move away from him, he does not awaken, but does stir a little. 

And that’s when you see it. The dragon on his arm is moving it’s head back and forth, eyes blinking lazily. At first you think you’re hallucinating, but when you rub your eyes and peer closer, it’s still moving; the entirety of its body doing a little dance side to side. 

“You should see it after a battle,” Geto murmurs sleepily, eyes trained on your astonished face. “Dancing is just how it wakes itself up.” You stare at the mythical being in silence, unsure of whether the true beast was the man before you or the tattoo on his arm. “How are you feeling?” Geto finally breaks the silence, sitting up and pushing himself out of the bed. 

“I feel alright.” He takes your hand, lifting it up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the back. You pause, unsure of how to respond to such a gesture, but Geto keeps moving around the tent, adjusting the sheets and running his hands through his hair. 

“Have you ever thought about braiding it?” you wonder, and Geto looks over at you with an amused look. 

“I have; but no one here is skilled enough to braid - not even Kaori.” 

Wordlessly, you trek over to him and thread the locks of hair through your fingers. 

“How do you keep it so clean when you’re on the battlefield?” you wonder aloud, and Geto chuckles. 

“Water is a resource that I take full advantage of, little one.” He instinctively stops his movements and angles his head back so you can work the strands one over the other, finally ending the long braid with a simple strip of fabric from the edge of your kimono. 

“There.” Geto pulls the braid over his shoulder and examines it carefully, humming at the sight of your handiwork. 

“This is interesting, to say the least.” 

“It will keep things from getting caught in your hair, and I’m sure it feels much less ‘all over the place’.” 

“Indeed, it does,” he breathes, then reaches a hand out to touch your cheek affectionately. Without thinking, you lean into his touch, and after taking half a step forward, Geto places a kiss on your forehead. After this signal of affection, he leaves, making you wonder what was wrong with your face and if you actually had a fever - because your cheeks felt hotter than they had ever felt before. 

[human-do-a-worm]

Ramblings of an Old Soldier Part 1/?

The young Unkall child approached the scruffy looking Terran sitting outside the library reading from a data tablet.

“Hey, you’re a Terran, aren’t you”

“Sure am, kid.“

“I have a report on Terran history, do you know any good events I could use?”

“Maybe, but you’d just be listening to an old soldier ranting about the things he’s seen.”

“I wouldn’t mind listening if you have the time to talk, sir.”

“Alright then, I’ll tell you the story from my most important battle in the Terran-Vrumoid war.”

“Would you mind if I record it? I might need to go back over some details once I get to writing my paper.”

“Not at all kid, now sit back and get comfy, ‘cause this story’s a long one.”

“This story comes from a time when hope was lost. When the Vrumoids threatened to wipe out humanity, as impossible as that seems now. It was over 20 cycles ago that humanity was pushed back to their home system. Everyone knew that the crafty Terrans would become even more determined now, and so the Vrumoids sent the largest fleet they had ever assembled. Unfortunately for them, they had never truly seen humanity at its darkest times, and simply expected the Terrans to be a bit stronger. They were wrong.”

“The Vrumoids had studied the task ahead of them well, and were considering places to launch their first strike on the Terran home system. Europa held no direct strategic importance, it could simply be blockaded. Venus and Mercury would prove too difficult, as the fleet would have to pass beyond Terra itself to even get in striking distance. Uranus and its moons were too sparsely populated to mount an effective civilian resistance, and held nothing but a communications pose which could be simply destroyed with an orbital strike. Eventually, the Vrumoid armada settled on Mars. It had a decent military presence, as well as a significant civilian population. An attack there would surely force the Terrans to surrencer. The planet was well terraformed, and would prove to be a fine colony to the ever growing empire.”

“Unfortunately for them however, they were not fast enough to block the warnings from Uranus, and the people knew what lay ahead. All children and anyone who would not fight if need be was evacuated to Terra. Those who could manned the dense turrets or took to the skies, those who couldn’t prepared the planet for total war. The final preparations made was the commandeering of all PA and speaker systems on the planet to be controlled from the central command bunker hundreds of meters under the ground. With that completed, the bunker doors were sealed from the inside, and reinforced with sandbags and debris at every doorway. Mars was as prepared as it could be.”

“When the Vrumoid armada entered orbit, they were immediately set upon by ships of all sizes; bombers, fighters, interceptors, frigates, light cruisers, and even civilian ships, filled with boarding parties hoping to enter through a gash in a Vrumoid ship. Though ultimately a failure at destroying the fleet, those brave souls accomplished their task, and forced their enemy to descend on to the surface. The fighting was fierce. Farmers mined their fields, factory workers planted explosive charges on their warehouses, and each city had to be taken building by building, room by room. This was not a matter of win or lose, the Terrans had already known that victory was not likely. This was to make the Vrumoids pay for every inch of ground with blood, and lots of it.”

“For the first two months, the battle seemed to be a stalemate, until a clever group of Vrumoid engineers figured out how to remove some of the smaller guns from their ships and mount them to vehicles. Then the tide began to shift. First one city fell, then another, and another after that. Seeing no more need to keep their ships docked on the planet, the fleet command pulled their ships into orbit once more.”

“Eventually, the Terrans had but one stronghold left; the citadel of steel. A massive structure with anti-aircraft High Energy Laser cannons mounted atop it, and guns at every possible avenue of approach. As the now aptly named “Terra’s Doom” cannons were brought to bear on the fortress, the planet suddenly came alive. All across the planet, a single voice could be heard.”

“People of Mars. The enemy has pushed us back to the final bastion of safety on this planet. We are now forced to show our hand. Strike fierce brothers and sinister. Fight for your species, for your friends, for your family. Fight with no mercy, no respite, and no weakness. Now is our chance to show them one last display of what it means to be human. Let the sound of glorious battle fill your hearts, and don’t let our enemies rest for even a second.”

“With that, suddenly, deafening music poured across the planet. It was simple, composed of only a few instruments and played by those of talent among the commanders who were of best use at the command screen rather than on the front lines, but with each power filled note, a city on the planet came to life, from the buildings where the Vrumoid army had not bothered to check the dead, or not bothered to search every building. In but a few measures, the Vrumoid fleet command was in awe, as all across the planet, thousands of units went silent. Finally, the song ended, and Fleet command breathed a sigh of relief, but as quickly as the last song ended, another soon started.”

“Brothers, sisters, friends one and all”

“Come, gather round, and heed my call”

“Our foes draw closer, but hope is not lost”

“We’ll hold this red rock no matter the cost” “They think themselves mighty, they think themselves strong”

“But they’ll not be thinking that way for too long”

“For our people have rallied, together we fight”

“And we will not softly fade into the night” “For our cities may fall, and our walls they may rend”

“But my friends we are very far off from the end.”

“With those words echoing in their hearts, the doors of the citadel fell into their emergency holds, dropping out of the way. Thousands of Terrans, on vehicles from armored transports and tanks, to motorcycles charged the last Vrumoid battalion on the planet. The charging Terrans all knew that this was their chance. This was their final opportunity to make the Vrumoids regret ever attacking humanity. The stampede split neatly into two, surrounding the Vrumoid soldiers. No matter how many they picked off from the horde, it was not enough.”

“The first to strike were the armored vehicles designed for military use. Though they could not hope to penetrate the thick armor of their opponents, they targeted their wheels and treads, forcing the Vrumoids to simply sit and wait for what was to come, though they wouldn't have to wait very long. The riders broke off from the circling swarm, and after forming a smaller circle inside the perimeter, charged in a single line straight towards the three Terra’s Doom tanks. As the riders drew closer, the Vrumoids could clearly see that these riders were charging them with what appeared to be nothing more than simple spears. It wasn’t until the first rider drew near and the tank shook did the crew inside realise that they were doomed. Those were not spears, they were pole mines, and each one was slowly but surely chipping away at a piece of their hull.”

“The riders then finished their assault, and retreated back to the safety of the horde, which then quickly dispersed. Thinking this to be the end of the attack, the crew laughed. One of them got out of their Terra’s Doom and looked at the citadel, before quickly scuttling back inside. From the gate of the citadel came a loud rumbling. When the others looked to see what frightened their comrade, they all panicked. Four large tanks came from the gates, carrying on top of them the HEL cannons formerly mounted on top of the citadel. One by one, the HEL cannons powered up, and one by one, the Terra’s Doom tanks were destroyed.”

“Shocked by how quickly what was shaping up to be a pyrrhic victory became an even costlier defeat, the remaining Vrumoid fleet jumped the system and headed home. And that was how the war shifted, from a simple matter of planting a small fleet on a planet and killing anyone who resisted, to getting as far away from Terrans as the Vrumoids could manage.”

“Well, I think I’ve talked enough for one day. See if you can get what you need out of what I’ve said. If you can’t then just come on by the same time tomorrow, I usually come out here to relax and read the news from home.”

“Thanks for helping me out mister.”

“Don’t worry about it kid, be safe.”

With that, the Unkall child went home to begin his work.

[ziamhaze]

Just thought about “kick, Push“ and wanted to thank you for writing this piece. I come back very often. Also I wanted to ask what your writing process looks like (if you like to share)

Hope you have a great day!

Hello!  So sorry for taking as long as I have to reply to this, life has been crazy busy.

First of all, thank you so much for reading my work and then...reading it again.  It’s mind boggling for me to think that there are people out there who have such a fondness for a world I’ve created that they find themselves wanting to relive it.  Really, it’s a very surreal thing.

As for my writing process, I actually wrote a HUGE post about this on my Patreon about a year or so ago.  To save myself the time, I’m literally going to copy and paste it below the cut.  That said, it’s the mindset I was in back then, so do keep in mind that some points may have changed since, as this past year has been a whirlwind for my writing.  In general though, it paints a pretty clear picture of how I approach a story and the steps I take to see it out.

Also, it should be noted that by no means is there a right and wrong way when approaching any sort of art.  I’ve learned by virtue of being in a professional writing atmosphere for over a year now that how I work is VERY atypical, VERY regimented, and VERY analytical.  Art is not this.  It can be, but it usually isn’t.

Enjoy the process.  Enjoy the mistakes.  And most importantly, enjoy the story.  It’s shown itself to you and for you, above all else.

WARNING: The information below contains spoilers for nearly all of my fics.  Proceed with caution.

In a few of my writing updates for the last fic I mentioned how I tend to write in a non-linear fashion.  I’ve got zero background in creative writing, however, I did dabble in screenwriting during my high school and undergrad years.  That being said, it’s a lot easier for me to write in a visual way with blocking versus simply planning a plot arc and writing it as I go (and also why I have so much dialogue in my stories; they’re really just elaborate film scenes linked to form a story without the b-roll).

What does that mean?

If you’ve read Customer of the Week you’ll have read Zayn using a similar methodology.  And truthfully, many many comic/graphic novel authors use screenwriting software and blocking breakdowns for the subsequent drawings.  But I will admit, I was a bit selfish with using my exact method for Zayn’s in that last fic.

I usually start a fic with 1 of 2 ideas:

A career I want one of them to have

A typical AU setting [ex: uni/frat, coffee shop, supernatural, kidfic, famous (athlete, model, singer)]

Genuinely, that’s what it all boils down to.  From there, I spend some time thinking about what it is they could do in those worlds and form a very simple objective/path that they will allow them to fall in love.  If I had to guess, I’d say The Heart of Him was the most difficult to plan because it was VERY subtle, not a lot of action or huge relationship build up; the easiest by far was Kick, Push.

Next, I do a lot of research on certain plot points.  For example, with Kick, Push I needed to see what the Olympic schedule was in order to know how many scenes I needed to fill to make it one per day.  Or with Z.A.Y.N. I had to make the longest playlist ever to just get the music down because I obviously wanted to have Zayn as a songwriter, but then I took AGES figuring out ok, so I have these 80 songs I love for lyrical analysis, how do I incorporate them?  I remember shifting around the songs on paper just to visually see it all and thought I was crazy, but then I realized if I bunched them together by subject matter, that would allow me to make the scenes’ dialogue based on those topics.  Even with Compartment 451 I needed to do tons of Harry Potter related research to see, could Liam even be a Head Boy and Quidditch Captain?  How does that work?  If it wasn’t canon, do I want to divert?  If I want to stick with canon and he can only be one then how do I switch the plot because it was very obviously based on how busy Liam was with both labels.

Ok, so once I’ve got the research down (though I still find myself doing more during the writing process if I don’t know what something looks like and I need to make it historically accurate or if they have a food item and I need to make it match the setting), I take time to break down the story into scenes, which is where Zayn’s explanation finally comes into play.  For several days (sometimes up to a week or so), literally all I do is map out the entire book.  Essentially, this is the whole of the creative process.  I think about settings and pacing and where things need to happen at certain times and all that good stuff.  It ends up very fragmented, but the best part is finishing because then I have 15-25 scenes and a fully finished story.

Numbering aside, this is what Scene 14 looks like for Customer of the Month:

Zayn’s Flat - One week later

FOR THE NEXT WEEK - liam focuses on reading rather than experiencing bc he’s loved the worlds they’ve entered, but he feels like they’re such a small piece of the larger pie and that’s a little unfair to zayn for having created the whole thing

Takes a long time to get through each bc he’s busy looking at the detailed art and appreciating that just as much as the storylines

Thinks about how much easier it’d be if he lived a life this structured and immediately rewarding - saving people or fighting for them

Zayn notices him lost in thought and comes over to see what’s on his mind

I envy his life and practice;  you could do it; no I don’t think I could; let’s see then

NINJA - Gets a training lesson - gruelling and long, knows Zayn will pull him out with the time constraints

Pair up with training partner - Zayn; flirtatious fighting

Get called in for first test to spy and get info on military chief - kill whoever gets in your way; liam knows he’s trained enough that he won’t ever get caught, so he won’t need to make that decision

Make it through mansion and while zayn goes in to get info, liam keeps guard, outwits a single man, but then doesn’t hear young boy walking around - knows he should kill him but can’t even when boy starts yelling, zayn comes out and signals for him to get in and they have to race through the palace to get out safely

So maybe you’re more of a samurai with your compassion

Now, this was the absolute original outline.  Things change and/or get deleted during the writing process, but this is where I start.  So imagine the entire story blocked out this way.  It’s very very very very difficult to do this (in my opinion) because you’re literally writing the entire story in a few days.  But like I said, once it’s done, you’re all good.  You can stand back and look at the whole thing and think, ok this needs to happen sooner or there was no foreshadowing for that, go back and add in scene 5, or, actually I need to add a scene in between these two because this happens too fast.  I know a lot of people/creatives would say, “but that’s why you do what you do - to create.  If this phase is the equivalent of molding a block of clay in a sculpture, then shouldn’t it be the bulk of your enjoyment?”.  Probably, but the amount of creativity and intense focus needed all at once makes the process a lot less enjoyable than you’d think.

So the hard part is out of the way, now what?

The writing.  Sort of.

Oddly, I find myself writing the first 10k or so words normally.  And by that I mean, simply looking at that scene’s bullet note list and writing it fully/coherently.  After that, I tend to peter off and ditch writing linearly for my second method where I “block out” a scene during the daytime and at night, go back and “fill it in”.  Because my motivation/inspiration was so low for the last fic, I sort of went crazy and blocked out about 70% of the fic all at once, then went back for a weekish to fill it all in (spoiler alert: I hated it).  But typically, and certainly going forward, I stick to the daylight/night time routine.

Here’s what a “blocked out” scene based around dialogue looks like as taken from the above ninja scene:

He’s even more determined than I am.

He sort of has to be if he wants to prove himself using only one arm.  I made him a bit like a militant robot for a reason.  -stares at Liam’s side profile-  You could train that hard if you wanted to.

I don’t think I could.

With these muscles?  -squeezes his arms lightly-  At least try so I can watch.

-smiles bashfully-  Can you afford to take the night off?

-liam doesn’t get an answer, just enough time to take a deep breath before he’s launched into another dimension-

And here’s what it looks like filled in:

“He’s even more determined than I am,” Liam mumbles, defeated over what it means to not be able to hold a light to a fictional character.

“He sort of has to be if he wants to prove himself using only one arm.  I made him a bit like a militant robot for a reason.”  Amid Zayn’s pause, Liam can feel his profile being studied, but he refuses to see why.  “You could train that hard if you wanted to,” Zayn opines boldly.

“I don’t think I could.”

“With these muscles?” Liam’s upper arm gets a light squeeze.  “At least try so I can watch.”

The racy comment finally gets Liam to raise his line of sight, his typical bashful smile present.  “Can you afford to take the night off?”

But Liam doesn’t get an answer, just enough time to take a deep breath before he’s launched into another dimension.

From there, it’s straight to editing draft one.  Word count depending, my beta reader will be sent their copy a week or so after that.  While she edits, I do all the administrative tasks associated with putting out a fic (drafting all the ao3 authors notes/tags/summary, making the picspam, making the BTS page, etc.).  When she’s done, I’ll split my screen, go down the fic for a final read through (draft 3), and look for her edits as I do my own.

As my plots get to be deeper slice-of-life pieces, the longer the scene breakdowns will take for me to create.  Without having ultra detailed bullet notes on talking points, the stories’ slow pacing and societal commentary will be near impossible to smoothly weave into a love story.  Can’t wait to see how much hair I lose in the coming years!

Anyhow, I hope this was an interesting look into how my fics go from concept to final product.  If you’re hungry for more, you can go back to the BTS page for “Compartment 451” to see the full fic in scene breakdown.

[stillebesat]

Wanted

Sanders Sides: Remus, Roman, Logan, Janus  Blurb: Remus knew one thing for sure. No one would ever want to Want him.  Inspiration: from This Post by @recipe-for-thomathy  Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort, Medieval!AU  Warnings: Fire (mention), Throwing things, Breaking things, Captivity/Slavery, Weapons Taglist in reblog. 

The door slammed open with far more force than even Remus was willing to use on it. Mostly because he knew from past experience how difficult it was to rehang that door after striping out the screws in the wood and snapping the hinges more than once.

“What did you do?!” Roman demanded, striding into his work space in his full regalia of King’s Guard. 

Huh. Come straight from the palace? That was different. Remus smirked, keeping his attention on the furnace in front of him, slowly spinning the rod and its molten glass load within to keep it from dripping. “Do?” He shifted his feet to get a better angle, the iron chain around his ankle that kept him from wandering away from the shop clinking softly as he moved. “Plenty I suppose.” 

It was him they were talking about, but to his credit he’d actually been pretty productive today instead of destructive. “Made six vases just this morn--”

Roman took out a scroll, letting it fall open. “You’re on a WANTED poster!” 

His heart skipped a beat at that, though thankfully, Remus didn’t drop the rod. He actually liked the neon green glow the glass was giving off this time. Maybe he could use it to create something far more interesting than a boring stagnant flower holder. Maybe he could make another pair of---no. It would be best to stay with creating the same old same old for a few more days at least. No need to draw any attention to himself.  

Remus drew in a shaky breath he hoped his twin didn’t notice as he glanced to the poster held in his brother’s hands.  

It would be best to not think about what he’d done last night. 

A once in a lifetime opportunity. 

A breath of freedom. 

A dream come true. 

His one and only Cinderella moment where it had felt so right to do what he did. 

Like he’d finally found his calling in life.

And if Remus had any dignity or common sense left he’d stomp down on that siren call and wouldn’t seek to draw any further attention or be anything more than a boring humble glassblower’s apprentice from here on out or he was sure his heart would actually shatter if he ever saw that particular smile again. That particular spark in the eye. That-.  

Remus pasted a smirk on his face, forcing the memory away. 

A dream should remain a dream. 

He raised an eyebrow at the figure on the paper as he pulled the rod out of the furnace. “Ehhhh. That’s not me.” He said, moving to the bench so that he could grab a block to continue shaping the glass. 

If it weren’t for the moustache -drawn a little larger than the little bit of hair he currently had on his upper lip thanks to a small accident with fire earlier in the week, Remus would have thought it was a portrait of Roman since the figure’s hair lacked the tell tale silver streak that marked him as an evil twin.  

No. Roman was the one with the muscles. The one with the handsome smile. With the knighthood. With his star rising insomuch that even foreign dignitaries were falling over themselves to stay in his good graces.

Remus...was just…himself. Stringy hair, crooked smile, multiple scars criss-crossing his entire body from previous beatings and accidents in the forge. Who only had enough strength in his limbs to work glass instead of far more durable, sturdy, and useful materials like wood or iron. 

After all, Glasswork was quite the useless skill when they were in the middle of a war with the neighboring country and needed blacksmiths to create more weapons rather than glassblowers to make pretty cups for parties.

No. Remus let out a slow breath, placing the block back as he returned to the furnace to ensure his current project didn’t harden before he was finished. 

There was a reason why the silver streak had marked him instead of his twin as the evil one. The bad guy. The one who could do no good despite the very obvious proof that Remus could accomplish some good or else no one would be buying the glass objects he created. 

No one seemed to mind that he’d been marked as evil so long as he didn’t go too crazy in front of the patrons when they came to get their stupid little paperweights, flower vases, dinnerware, and sun orbs.

Of course the cursed chain around his foot did a lot to assuage any of their fears of him running rampant. 

If only they knew just what he had done last night. Just where he’d gone. How he’d freed himself from the stupid chain for a few hours to bring--to bring---a gift….to---

“Not--” Roman took a step forward, armor clanking. “It looks JUST LIKE YOU!” 

“Looks just like you too, or did your big fat egotistical head forget we’re identical?” Remus shot back.

Mostly identical. Even if he didn’t have the moustache, Remus was certain people wouldn’t ever mistake them for each other. As kids...probably, but he’d never know for sure since his--their mother chose to leave him out in the woods to die and be found by slavers instead of doing the sensible thing and dropping him off at the orphanage with all the other rejected evil halfs. 

Roman had only been a thorn in his life for the past six months or so after stumbling into the shop while breaking up a brawl that had started at the pub up the street. That was hardly enough time for them to even begin to get to know each other, let alone their quirks. 

Even then, with their on and off brief interactions, Remus knew that Roman only kept coming to see him more out of a morbid fascination of how his life could have been different if he’d been the one born with the silver in his hair rather than wanting to form a genuine familial connection with his long lost twin.

Roman scoffed, resting a hand on his sword. “You know it can’t be of me! I know better than to risk interrupting the peace talks going on at the palace!” 

Remus rolled his eyes, returning to the bench. Peace talks. A freaking ball was now considered a part of those never ending peace talks? They might as well parade the visiting Prince and his entourage around the streets again every day for a month instead for all the good those peace talks were doing. 

At least the foreign Prince was someone different to look at when he did come through town.

And…despite the rather accurate portrayal...Remus couldn’t see why a Wanted poster would be created for him. It wasn’t like he’d hurt anyone. It wasn’t like anyone knew who he was. Not when he’d come in disguise! He hadn’t even talked to anyone beyond---and that was only to explain his--the...gift. 

Unless showing someone how they could see far more clearly was now a crime. No. Remus had had his moment to shine and then he’d returned to the forge like a good obedient mutt to his hovel and destroyed the evidence--most of the evidence--without anyone being the wiser.

“Remus. I know--”

 “No you don’t!” He snapped. “For all you know, maybe we have a third twin brother running around because why would you think it would be me on that Wanted poster, Oh Highly Favored of the King, when I obviously can’t go anywhere?” Remus purposely kicked his foot so the chain trapping him in this place rattled, the sound echoing through the air as he picked up his second favorite tweezers in a shaking hand. 

Not that he intended to use it. No. Not now.

Wanted. 

His brother had managed to...emotionally compromise him and that wasn’t good for working with glass. No it was only for destroying it. A pity. He truly had liked the color on this one.

Remus kept his head down, acting like he was still working as he rolled the pipe back and forth to keep the shape intact. “When, unlike a certain free born goody-two-shoes, I’ve never been wanted in my entire life?”

The Master Glassblower didn’t even want him. Remus had only ever been considered a tool to be used until it wore out. A slave brought in to be worked to death and only taught glass blowing because the greedy old miser wanted more product on his shelves and had to admit as he aged that he couldn’t keep up with demand nor stay near the heat of the forge for as long anymore.

Lucky him, Remus had actually shown a talent for the craft. He could only imagine the sloppy blobs that would be on the shelves now if the Glassblower had bought any of the other slaves on the auction block. 

So long as it meant more gold in his coffers the Master hardly cared whose work was selling. And when the war happened, he’d allowed Remus to keep the shop open while he was off aiding the war effort in the forges nearer the front lines. 

And with him left in charge of the shop...it meant that Remus had finally been able to create what he wanted to create. To experiment. No one was there to stop him. To tell him what to do. To care. 

“What do you mean you’re not wanted?” Roman took a step forward rolling up the poster. “I--”

Remus snarled, hurling the molten glass like a spear in his twin’s direction, watching as the glass on the pole shattered upon impact with the wall, before focusing on the way Roman had stilled, hand flashing to his sword, eyes wide.

Give him a break. He knew better than to throw something directly at his twin, not if he didn’t want to die on the spot for attacking the King’s own personal guard. 

He turned away, tossing the tweezers onto the bench. “If YOU wanted anything to do with me brother you wouldn’t have left me chained here when you first found me!” He clenched his hands as he crossed his arms, resisting the urge to continue destroying things. “You wouldn’t keep coming back to stare at me like I’m a freaking circus act while you pretend you want to get to know me. You. Don’t. You Never Did. So DON’T YOU DARE TELL ME THAT I’M WANTED.” 

No one had truly wanted to see him. Not even with that particular unbelievable encounter last night. It didn’t mean a thing and would never happen again. A shooting star only ever shown for a blink of an eye before going out. 

“Remus.”

Roman had no right to sound so--soo pitying!! If he’d wanted to change things he could have. But he hadn’t. 

“No need to rub it in Mr. Perfect. I know I’m not wanted. How could I ever forget when Evil Twin has been my label my entire life?! So take your stupid Wanted poster and Get. OUT.”  

Get out before he lost the remaining shreds of his self control and actually hurt him. 

The door behind him creaked as it slowly opened. 

“Remus, please. You have to know that wasn’t--”

So Roman did want to see the forge destroyed today. Fine. FINE. He snatched up another rod with a snarl and whirled only to drop to his knees, rod clattering to the ground as he pressed his face into the dirt, heart pounding harder than a hammer to an anvil in his chest upon seeing just who was standing behind his brother.

In retrospect the uniform should have clued him in that his twin hadn’t come for a social visit. Or alone. 

“Ah.” Roman cleared his throat. “My High King Janus. Visiting Prince Logan.” He said formally. “May I present to you...my twin brother, Remus, apprentice glassblower to Apollos, a Master Glassblower who has gone to the front lines to assist the other Smiths there.”  

Remus closed his eyes, pressing his lips tightly together. He was so screwed. No wonder the portrait in the poster had been so accurate despite his disguise. The High King could see deceptions around him as easily as a bird could fly. Of course he’d see an evil twin in disguise and keep an eye on him. Especially after what he’d done--but Remus had been sure he’d escaped notice right after---after----

And to have the Prince--Prince Logan...right here...in his shop---he hadn’t expected to ever see those glorious green eyes again, let alone see the Prince still wearing the glasses that Remus had created and gone to the palace to give him last night.

“So.” 

Remus flinched as footsteps approached him, the silky voice of the High King ringing in his ears. 

“This is our little forge rat who disrupted the ball last night?” 

Disrupted?! Remus fought back the protest rising in his throat, fingers digging into the dirt. Sure he’d stolen the Prince away for a moment to ensure the glasses properly fit. That the Prince could see through them. But he hadn’t disr--He’d been very careful to be good! Even created a fashionable enough garment with colored glass in order to blend in with all the nobles decked out in gemstones so large and heavy it was a wonder the richies could move at all. 

He jumped as warm fingers trailed down his cheek. 

“I would hardly say he was disruptive.” Prince Logan remarked as he lifted up his chin, the corner of his mouth twitching when he met Remus’s eyes, his own no longer narrowed in a squint but wide open with wonder as he traced the lines of his jaw. “Nor would I say that you’re not wanted either, Remus.”  

Remus gulped, heart pounding even harder in his chest. It wasn’t fair how his name on the Prince’s lips made fuzzy embers spark in his chest.  

Logan gently tilted his head back, his thumb running along Remus’s moustache. “There was a reason why I stayed up all night with the royal painter to ensure that your portrait was accurate. And that was so I could find you as soon as possible. But I see,” His green eyes sparked with delight, his other hand raising to adjust the thin wire frames sitting on his nose. “That I was not quite as accurate as I wanted to be, but I suppose that can be forgiven considering my distraction at how clear the world has now become for me thanks to you.”

“You are certain.” High King Janus asked, hands hidden in his gold silk robes, head tilting to study Remus like a hawk studies a mouse as Roman came to stand beside him. “That he is the one you seek, Prince Logan? That he is the one who gave you...sight?” 

“He is.” The Prince confirmed without hesitation. 

The High King raised an eyebrow. “I find it hard to...believe that one born with silver in their hair could be--”

“Remus is the best glassblower I’ve ever encountered, my King.” Roman said, raising his chin as the High King turned to him, unafraid to look him in the eye. “If anyone were to create the ability to see from blown glass, it would be him.”

More fuzzy embers fizzled around Remus’s stomach as he side eyed his brother. Roman...actually thought he was good? At glassblowing? He’d never said anything before--

High King Janus hummed, waiting until Roman broke eye contact before again returning his eagle stare on Remus, golden eyes glinting in the light of the forge. “Considering your own skills, Sir Roman, I would be unsurprised that your other half would be just as creative in his own right. Even more so if he is to be the bridge that finally brings peace to our kingdoms.” 

Remus blinked, fidgeting in place, his fingers digging into the dirt so he wouldn’t try and touch the Prince because he liked his hands too much to lose them. “Bridge?” He asked before he could also tell his tongue that talking was a very good way to get it removed with a hot poker. “What bridge? I can’t--” Surely they didn’t expect him to build a bridge from glass! How would that even work to bring peace? The thing would shatter with one wrong strike of a horse’s hooves! 

Logan smiled. “You can, Remus.” He said before gesturing for Roman to come forward. “Free him.” He commanded.

Surprisingly, his twin didn’t hesitate, quickly moving forward with his sword drawn as he focused on the chain around Remus’s ankle. 

It really wasn’t fair to hear his name spoken like that! Like he--like the Prince actually cared about him. 

Remus fought to hold still, to not look away from Prince Logan’s forest filled eyes to see what his twin was doing with the lock and if it was the same method he himself had used last night to free himself.

“I want you to come with me.” Prince Logan said softly, stroking Remus’s cheek as he maintained eye contact. “To my kingdom. Let me show you how much we want you there. Need you. Your gift with glass, there are so many of us, so many who would fall to your feet to see as you’ve shown me to see. Come with me, Remus.” He dropped his hands again to Remus’s dirty ones, squeezing them gently. “And I will guarantee that you will not regret it.”

Remus made a noise of disbelief, frozen in place, unable to comprehend that these...that the Prince---No one wanted to be around an evil twin!

And yet.

Prince Logan had yet to draw away or show disgust or revulsion upon discovering that he was the evil half.

“If you go with him, the war will stop.” High King Janus intoned. “Both sides will withdraw. Peace will finally be reestablished in both lands.” 

The war would stop? Over him? It didn’t--

Remus drew in a shaky breath as the chain around his ankle that had been his constant companion the last four years fell away with a soft clank for the second time in the past twenty-four hours as Roman took a step back with a faint smile his eyes shimmering with--was his twin actually about to cry? Over him?!  

“But you--you don’t even know me.” Remus whispered as the Prince pulled him to his feet, guiding him outside to the waiting royal carriage. To--to dare he say it? To freedom if he so chose to take it.

“No.” Prince Logan agreed, giving him another smile as he once more adjusted his glasses, the lens flashing in the sunlight. “But I want to.”

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

After Each Midnight Begins A New Day

[Extra #8 - Lan Qiren’s visit to the Xuanli Child Horde(tm) at Jinlintai. This can be read as running parallel to Part 9 - Lan Xichen and Qingheng-Jun briefly discuss Lan Qiren’s return the previous evening from this particular visit while they have tea in the Gentian House.]

[Masterpost]

A quick brief on the children’s names and ages (now with courtesy names for the three brothers):

Jin Ling (金凌 - rise above) - First son, 20 // [Rulan (如兰 - Orchid-like)]

Jin Fei (金飞 - to fly) - Second son, 17 // [Ruhao (如昊 - as the limitless sky)]

Jin Yu (金雨 - rain) and Jin Yan (金焰 - fire) - First and Second daughters, 14

Jin Zhuang (金 庄  - solemn) - Third son, 12 // [Ruhai (如海 - as the sea)]

Jin Lu (金 露 - dew) - Third daughter, 7

Jin Ye (金 烨 - breathtaking/blaze of fire) - Fourth daughter, 3

--

Lan Qiren can’t exactly fault his brother for not leaving the mountain. It is, after all, better than a lifetime of genuine seclusion, and in Lan Qiren’s opinion he’s really not missing much in the wider world that he couldn’t live perfectly happily without in Cloud Recesses. And he’s missing out on quite a great deal of headache as well.

It’s a well-known fact that Lan Qiren is often unhappy with the state of things in the other Sects that he visits, though he is of course nothing but polite to his hosts unless they ever do something to earn his vocal displeasure. He has had fewer and fewer causes to express such displeasures over the last few years, however, and he’s not willing to look too closely to see if it’s because the general population is altogether becoming more tolerable or because he’s growing softer and more tolerant as he ages.

If anyone had told him 20 years ago that Lanling Jin would be his preferred Sect to pay a visit to, he - well he wouldn’t have laughed in their face, of course, but he certainly would have doubted the soundness of their mind - perhaps to their face. Even after watching Jin Guangshan’s paper-thin reputation crumble like so many well-placed tiles (which had been immensely satisfying to watch) before his passing and his children (then just the eldest two) rising up to take his place, he never could have anticipated the sort of changes they would make - or how much he would come to appreciate their righteousness and fairness.

He had only had the opportunity to properly instruct Jin Zixuan during the summer lectures at Cloud Recesses when it had been his generation’s turn, but over the years he has, of course, gotten to know the rest of Jin Zixuan’s siblings - Meng Yao in particular, naturally, thanks to his courtship and subsequent marriage with Lan Xichen - and he has found them to be good, solid people. Even young Mo Xuanyu, though his eccentricities are..numerous.

The responsibility for Lan Qiren’s immunity to Mo Xuanyu’s strange behavior is to be laid solely at the feet of Wei Wuxian. When the child had come running into Cloud Recesses as a boy and loudly declared himself married to serious little Lan Wangji - who had agreed - he had cemented a permanent place in Lan Qiren’s life, whether he liked it or not. He’s immune to quite a bit more impropriety these days than he would have ever expected for himself as a younger man.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Qin Su says now with a smile where she’s waiting to greet him at the base of the steps up to Koi Tower and he returns it with a twitch of his lips that’s hardly visible through his beard. She seems to see it all the same as her polite smile grows into a grin as she reaches out to take his arm - quite improperly, though he’s long learned not to comment on it. The atmosphere at Lanling Jin in terms of familiarity and joyful disregard for formality of any kind in familial circumstances is rivaled only by Yunmeng Jiang these days.

“Qin-guniang,” he replies as they start up the steps. “I trust everything is well.”

“Of course! I wanted to see you when you arrived, that’s all. I’m leaving in a few hours to visit my parents and I won’t be returning until after your visit is concluded - I’m glad I could be here to greet you!”

Lan Qiren has never put much store in small talk. He tends to find it unnecessary, particularly when it’s unwarranted. Should anyone ever ask him, that is still the case. He isn’t quite sure, himself, why it doesn’t seem to apply to the Jin family anymore.

“Great Uncle Lan!!”

Lan Qiren doesn’t jump at the small voice shrieking his name when they reach the top of the stairs, nor does he startle when a small gold and teal blur comes streaking out of the Fragrance Hall to clamp thin arms around his legs. He looks down to find little Jin Lu giving him a gap-toothed grin as she squeezes her arms more tightly around his knees. A nurse comes running out of the hall a moment later looking a bit harried and Lan Qiren offers her a nod as he drops a hand down to ruffle Jin Lu’s hair.

“You are not to run away from your caregivers, Jin Lu,” he admonishes with his typical stern frown. She pouts up at him instantly, eyes wide and pleading with her little bottom lip jutting out so far he wonders how it’s possible. Lan Qiren heaves a put-upon sigh that makes Qin Su giggle softly at his side before he reaches down to dislodge Jin Lu’s arms from around his legs so that he can scoop her up and place her on his hip.

“Oh! Master Lan, really - you don’t have to,” the nurse starts, already reaching for the girl.

“It is fine,” he replies before she can fully voice her protest. “I imagine this will be easier in the end than attempting to keep her away. Could you tell me where it would be best to take her?”

The relief on the nurse’s face is palpable as she tells him she was on her way to take the child to her father in the family gardens for a lesson. He nods along and dismisses her with his thanks and then turns to the child in his arms once she’s gone.

“A-Lu.” The girl in question just grins at him around her fingers in her mouth and glances sidelong at Qin Su beside him, uncaring of his admonishing tone. “You frightened your nurse by running away from her. You shall apologize when you see her next.”

“Yes Great Uncle Lan,” she takes her fingers out of her mouth to reply dutifully, still grinning, and Lan Qiren sighs with a shake of his head.

“Let’s go find your father, you troublesome child,” he mutters and Jin Lu lays her head down on his shoulder as a giggling Qin Su tucks her hand into his elbow again, redirecting their steps towards the family gardens instead of the guest pavilions. They exchange a few more pleasantries as they walk, Jin Lu a silent audience on his hip, until they’re interrupted by the sound of wood clacking on wood. They turn the corner into the gardens to find Jin Zixuan sparring against his second son, Jin Rulan an attentive audience at a safe distance from the practice circle.

“Stop! Dad, A-Fei tapped your forearm, you’re injured.” Jin Zixuan nods and tucks his arm close to his chest as Jin Ruhao takes up his ready stance again, a grin on his face.

“You’re getting too slow for your strapping young sons, dad,” he teases with a laugh just before Jin Zixuan lets loose with a flurry of quick stabs and sweeping cuts, perhaps overcompensating ever so slightly for the ‘loss’ of the use of his left arm. It works anyway though, likely due to Jin Ruhao being the less-skilled of the two of them, and Jin Rulan calls out to award another injury - this time to his brother - within moments.

“What’s this, then?” Lan Qiren asks Qin Su as they draw closer slowly.

“A training game Jiang Wanyin taught the children the last time he visited with Nie-Zongzhu,” she replies with a fond smile. “The boys have progressed far past being content with only practicing their forms and training with the other disciples. They still do, of course, but to continue actively improving they must spar either with each other or with A-Xuan. They fight with wooden practice swords and treat it like a real fight with a spectator to keep track of ‘injuries’ that will hamper their ability to keep fighting. The bout is over when both parties are too ‘injured’ to continue or one is disarmed.”

“I see. The boys are improving quickly if they are ready to train personally with their father.”

“I don’t like it,” Jin Lu declares from where she’s hiding her face in his neck. “They shouldn’t hurt each other!”

“I agree wholeheartedly, A-Lu.” Lan Qiren infuses his voice with as much solemnity as possible. “Your brothers should not harm your father. Are you worried that his skill is inferior to theirs?”

“No!! Dad’s the best!!!”

“He is very skilled, that is correct. Therefore it will be nearly impossible for your brothers to hurt him as they are still learning, and your father will be merciful and refuse to hurt them in turn. Is that not so?”

“Hmmmmm. Yes,” she finally relents, grumbling about it but willing to accept it for now. “Down please, Great Uncle Lan,” she adds with a squirm and he bends to set her down.

“Stop!” Jin Rulan calls as soon as her little feet touch the ground, leaving plenty of time for Jin Ruhao and Jin Zixuan to disengage so that Jin Lu can run safely right into Jin Zixuan’s waiting arms.

“Jin Rulan has excellent awareness of his surroundings,” he notes just loudly enough for the boy to hear as he and Qin Su follow after Jin Lu at a much more sedate pace. Jin Rulan’s pleased smirk is visible even from so far away.

“Who won that round, A-Ling?”

“Who do you think, stupid?” Jin Rulan snarks back and Jin Zixuan shushes them with a tired look on his face.

“Boys, honestly. Don’t make your Great Uncle think that I raised you without manners. A-Fei, I won but you’re improving quickly, it’s becoming more difficult for me to win each time. We have to work on your tendency to step back too far when you block. A-Ling, your observational skills are improving as well, I expect to see that in our sparring. Good job both of you, go wash up and have tea with your mother, it’s time for Lu-er’s lessons.”

The boys bow first to their father and then to him and Qin Su at his side before they turn to head towards the path that leads to the inner family residences, nudging and shoving at each other as they go.

“Grandmaster Lan,” Jin Zixuan greets with as good of a bow as he can manage with Jin Lu perched happily in his arms to play with one of the thin gold chains in his hair. “I apologize I wasn’t able to welcome you properly.”

“Training the children is more important,” he dismisses with a wave of his hand. “What is Jin Lu’s lesson this afternoon?”

A look crosses Jin Zixuan’s face that Lan Qiren doesn’t have time to interpret before the man is responding, perhaps a bit slyly, “Calligraphy. Mine is adequate but...would you perhaps be willing to teach her? She has passed the basics for her age and is improving quickly.”

Lan Qiren clears his throat as Qin Su raises her sleeve to cover her mouth at his side, the movement delicate and graceful, but it does a poor job of hiding that she’s trying not to laugh at her brother’s shamelessness, shifting the duty of teaching the child to him knowing he won’t be able to resist.

“Great Uncle Lan can teach me?!” Jin Lu gasps with wide eyes, looking up at her father in awe. “Please?!”

“Yes, yes, alright,” he agrees with a harrumph and Qin Su doesn’t even bother to hide her tinkling laugh.

“I am afraid I must return to my preparations for my trip so I will leave you here, Grandmaster Lan, it was lovely to see you. A-Xuan, I’ll inform you or Li-jie before I depart.”

Lan Qiren accepts her departing curtsy and turns his attention back to Jin Zixuan and his daughter just in time to catch Jin Lu’s arms as she leans away from her father’s chest to reach for him. The handoff is seamless, and then Jin Lu is on his hip again as Jin Zixuan rotates his right arm slightly to loosen up his shoulder.

“I admit I’m envious of Lan arm strength,” he says ruefully as they begin heading to the guest pavilions at slightly less sedate pace than Qin Su had led him. “I worry for the day xiao-Ye will be the last of her siblings to grow too big for me to carry.”

“Time passes whether we will it or not,” he replies quietly, his thoughts turning to the day he had finally been forced to concede that Lan Wangji was both too old and too big for him to carry through Cloud Recesses anymore. “It is inevitable, but there is the hope of future generations to provide further chances.”

“That is true. My children have certainly had no shortage of family members ready to carry them everywhere rather than tire their feet,” Jin Zixuan teases, reaching over to pinch Jin Lu’s cheek that isn’t smushed against Lan Qiren’s shoulder. She giggles and turns her head the opposite direction to hide from his pinching and Lan Qiren hopes that his smile is tucked far enough in the opposite corner of his mouth not to be visible. Jin Zixuan glances over his shoulder as he chuckles and he pauses on the path. “Ah it seems we’ve picked up an extra pair of shadows, Grandmaster Lan.”

Lan Qiren turns to look as well to find Jin Zhuang following behind them, far enough away to muffle his near-silent footsteps, with little Jin Ye’s hand in his own.

“Jin Ruhai, Jin Ye,” Lan Qiren greets as Jin Zixuan waves for the children to approach so that Jin Ruhai can bow.

Lan Qiren truly doesn’t have a favorite grand-niece or nephew, he finds them all quite charming and wonderful in their own ways, but it’s been obvious since the boy was quite young that Jin Ruhai is surprisingly calm and even-tempered, so much so that even as a baby Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan had affectionately decided his name would be a character for ‘solemn’. It’s a fitting name, though as he grows older the boy typically radiates a sense of contentment and satisfaction under that serious facade. So much like a young mirror of Lan Wangji.

The boy lets go of his youngest sister’s hand to offer an absolutely perfect salute - quite impressive for his age - and the girl rather adorably leaves her hand extended straight out for him to take again once he’s straightened.

“You two are supposed to be eating your afternoon snack in the Fragrance Hall,” Jin Zixuan points out with another weary sigh. Lan Qiren remembers the days of attempting to keep track of Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji as children (the former of whom was quite fond of sneaking into the kitchens at random times throughout the day and the latter of whom seemed to always slip away at the first opportunity to play with his rabbits or tuck himself into a comfortable corner of the library to read things far beyond his age level). He truly doesn’t envy his nephew-in-law attempting to keep track of seven strong-willed, free-spirited children.

“Ate,” Jin Ruhai says almost too softly to hear with a resolute nod. He looks at his second youngest sister perched in Lan Qiren’s arms and then back to Jin Zixuan with a stubborn set to his jaw. “Great Uncle Lan,” he continues with a pointed glance at him again.

“You can wait until he settles in to visit with him, Zhuang-er, he just arrived.”

The look on the boy’s face grows so morose that Lan Qiren can’t resist clearing his throat a little and adopting his sternest tone as he says, “It is fine, Jin-Zongzhu. I am not so frail as to need to sleep after taking two days to travel comfortably, let the children come along.”

The glint of moisture in Jin Ruhai’s eyes is promptly replaced by a smug sort of satisfaction as he tugs Jin Ye gently forward to fall into step behind them as he and Jin Zixuan turn back in the direction of the guest rooms.

They finally arrive at his usual quarters without further interruption. Lan Qiren is pleased to see the doors to the gardens for this section of the complex - the Lan rooms - have been left open, the scent of peonies and the magnolia tree in bloom nearby suffusing the space, a pleasant breeze fluttering through the wall hangings.

He sets Jin Lu down on her feet and she promptly darts away from his side to begin investigating the room for anything new since the last time the space had been open for her to explore.

“I have some correspondence I need to reply to,” Jin Zixuan says apologetically from outside the threshold. “Zhuang-er, Lu-er, xiao-Ye, be good for your Great Uncle Lan please. I don’t want to hear later that you need discipline.”

“Yes dad,” the two older children chorus - Jin Lu from where she’s sticking her head under his bed and Jin Ruhai from right next to his elbow. Jin Ye only reaches up to tug on Lan Qiren’s belt to get his attention and then she sticks her arms up to be held now that her sister has gotten down. Lan Qiren waits until Jin Zixuan turns away from the open door to head back towards the more official buildings before he reaches down to oblige the toddler, lifting her up and holding her securely perched in front of himself so she can reach out to pat a little hand against his cheek.

“Xiao-Ye,” he greets and she slips her hand down to tug on his beard with a clear, happy little giggle that makes him smile. “I believe it is nearing time for you to nap.”

“Wanna play,” she pouts instantly with another tug on his beard.

“I have been asked to teach your sister her writing, and Ruhai will observe. You will nap, we will wake you to play when the lesson is finished.”

Lan Qiren can tell instantly as a whine builds in her throat that she’s used to fighting against this particular part of her schedule, but no child in the world is capable of being more stubborn than him. He pulls back the quilt on the bed just enough to set Jin Ye down on it and he wraps her up tightly, elbows bent so her hands are poised up near her shoulders in case she should need to pull herself free. He indulges in a few passes of his hand across the top of her head and almost instantly her whining is cut off by a wide yawn and some long, slow blinks.

“Go to sleep, child, we’ll be here when you wake up again,” he soothes and she relents to close her eyes.

“Wow. She usually only goes to sleep like that for mom and dad,” Jin Lu breathes when he rejoins the other two children on the other side of the space, sitting at the desk where Jin Lu has busied herself laying out some of the paper left in the room for him to use alongside ink and brushes for two.

“I have experience,” he replies simply. “Ruhai, you will grind ink for your sister and then observe her practice.”

The boy nods and leans forward instantly to begin the process with his usual care, moving slowly to ensure he doesn’t splatter anything. Lan Qiren watches carefully, silently correcting the boy’s posture and form with gentle taps of the end of a brush before he’s satisfied enough to begin grinding his own ink. He takes time to show Jin Lu how to properly hold her brush before he lets her touch it to paper. She still moves with some of the natural clumsiness of childhood, but it quickly becomes clear that Jin Zixuan had been telling the truth when he said she has mastered the first set of skills typical for her age group.

Jin Ruhai is an attentive audience as Lan Qiren guides Jin Lu through her practice, settling comfortably into the familiar role of a teacher. He becomes absorbed in it, watching Jin Lu’s hesitant strokes become bolder, more confident as the lesson progresses. So absorbed, in fact, that he’s startled to look up near the middle of the hour to find Jin Yan and Jin Yu flanking the door, arms crossed over their chests as they watch on. Not for the first time he wonders if they will ever be sent to Meishan Yu for training with the Spiders like their grandmother’s Jinzhu and Yinzhu. They would be excellent fits for it, the way they move silently when they want to and always seem to work in tandem, always on their guard.

They offer him a respectful bow - more respectful than he ever sees them offer anyone else in the extended family - and only step further into the room when he waves them in.

“Hi Great Uncle Lan,” Jin Yan greets as she steps forward to sit beside her younger sister, careful not to jostle the girl or the table as she folds her legs neatly underneath her.

“Wow - you got xiao-Ye to take her nap,” Jin Yu marvels as she approaches the bed where the toddler is still sleeping, tiny snores escaping her parted lips.

“Indeed. I do not recommend waking her yet, A-Yu.”

“Yes, Great Uncle Lan.” The girl backs away from the bed immediately to join her sisters, sitting on Jin Lu’s other side to peer down at her work. Jin Lu ignores them to stay focused on her work, Lan Qiren is pleased to see, continuing to practice the new character he had shown her with the tip of her tongue just barely poking between her teeth as she concentrates.

“Hey, this looks great, Lulu,” Jin Yan praises and Jin Lu’s concentration breaks just enough that she grins, tongue still out. “A lot better than ours was at her age, don’t you think Yuyu?”

“Better than ours now,” Jin Yu snorts as she leans back on one hand to lounge, the opposite knee propped up to support her extended arm.

Lan Qiren is just opening his mouth to admonish her posture (it’s far too improper even though she wears trousers) when there’s suddenly the sound of running footsteps on the path outside and panting. All eyes - except for Jin Lu’s - turn to the door to find the swordmaster of Jinlintai leaning against the doorframe to catch his breath. He sketches a hasty approximation of a bow.

“Yan-guniang, Yu-guniang,” he manages after a moment. “Your afternoon training is not yet over, I have promised Jin-Zongzhu to instruct you-”

He cuts himself off as Lan Qiren holds up a hand to pause him. “My grandnieces are attending a lesson with me,” he says smoothly. “I will inform Jin-Zongzhu of the change in their schedule, you need not worry.”

The man seems about to argue for a long moment before he seems to think better of it. He sighs and nods, retreating with a quick bow.

“What are you two training with now?” he asks as he turns his attention back to watching Jin Lu’s brush.

“Uncle Sang sent us new knives made by our favorite bladesmith in Qinghe, but we decided we want to wait to really practice with them until Uncle Jue can show us how,” Jin Yan replies while Jin Yu nods her emphatic agreement, still looking down at Jin Lu’s paper. “If we’re going to fight with Nie blades then we want to learn how the Nie would do it.”

“It is good to seek a well-rounded education in any area of study. Variety is invigorating to the mind,” Lan Qiren replies with a glance up to find the twins practically preening under his approval. “I am sure Nie Mingjue will be pleased to demonstrate to such enthusiastic students.”

“Done!” Jin Lu states, setting her brush on its holder and crossing her arms resolutely, a proud, lopsided grin on her face. Jin Yan and Jin Yu instantly lean closer, crowding and jostling the younger girl between them until she giggles as they look over the page. Even Jin Ruhai leans in, eyes scanning the page from his sideways perspective.

“Beautiful,” he praises gently with a smile and Jin Lu positively beams as the twins nod and start pointing out particularly pleasing lines, chattering over each other easily.

“You have improved,” Lan Qiren cuts through the chatter to agree before turning to his nephew. “Ruhai, have you practiced the score I left with you two months ago?” The boy nods quickly, his eyes wide. “Would you like to show me?” Another nod as his hands come up to rest on the table as if already resting on his instrument, though he frowns after a moment. “You may use my guqin. I will prepare what is needed.”

There’s a quick flurry as Jin Yan helps him clear the table of the calligraphy supplies - Jin Lu’s practice sheet gets safely set aside to be shown to Jiang Yanli and Jin Zixuan later - and Jin Yu follows his nod towards the bed to go wake Jin Ye from her nap. With the table clear, Lan Qiren calls his guqin from the pouch in his sleeve and settles the instrument on the surface next, Jin Ruhai swapping places with Jin Lu so that he is now in place to be instructed and she can sit to the side to observe.

Lan Qiren watches Jin Ruhai check the tuning of the instrument with careful brushes of his fingers and then he looks up to check on Jin Yu and Jin Ye. He can’t help but smile ever so slightly as he watches the teen pinch her younger sister’s round cheek, bearing faint creases from the blankets that had been pressed into her skin. Jin Ye is still sleepy and not willing to do much work to support her own weight as she sits like a sack of potatoes in her sister’s arms and so Lan Qiren holds his hands out to take her and settle her in his lap while she rubs her eyes and yawns, trying valiantly to wake properly.

The twins settle back into their spots on either side of their brother, clearly enjoying their position so close to the source of the afternoon’s entertainment. The boy seems to steady with their presence at his sides and Lan Qiren watches his hands settle firmly on the strings. He takes a deep breath in and then begins to play, his fingers sure on the strings despite his moment of nerves.

An unusual stillness accompanies his playing. Jin Lu stops fidgeting with her fingers, the twins slip into the perfect stillness of those who are utterly aware of themselves at all times - a trait he’s noticed in every skilled fighter he’s ever come across - and even Jin Ye relaxes, slumping further and further backwards until she’s slouched down against his stomach, legs dangling over his crossed shins.

The piece isn’t a terribly long one, nor as complex as the next score Lan Qiren intends to teach the boy, but Jin Ruhai’s mastery of it is impressive. Again, Lan Qiren is forcefully reminded of Lan Wangji, always most at peace when behind his instrument to play with and/or for the people he loves.

There’s silence in the room until the last note fades with a shiver into the air and Jin Ruhai pulls his hands back from the instrument. The stillness lasts for one more moment before it’s interrupted by Jin Lu sneezing suddenly and her siblings laugh as the quiet breaks.

“I had to hold that in the whole time!!” Jin Lu laughs as she rubs her sleeve under her nose, one eye screwed shut as she giggles. “I didn’t want to mess up A-Zhuang’s song, it’s so pretty!”

“Is that what you practice in your room after dinner every night?” Jin Ruhao suddenly calls from the door and Lan Qiren looks up to find that the two eldest boys have found them, clean and dressed in fresh clothes and apparently done visiting with Jiang Yanli. They step inside the room and move to sit at the table - which is quickly becoming very crowded - on either side of Lan Qiren, directly across from the twins.

“That’s a song from Gusu isn’t it, Great Uncle Lan?” Jin Rulan asks as he and his second brother settle into their spots.

“It is. It is a traditional folk lullaby.” Lan Qiren hesitates for the briefest moment before he adds, “It was your Uncle Ji’s favorite as a boy.”

“Did Uncle Chen have a favorite?” Jin Yan asks curiously and Lan Qiren nods.

“It is the next piece I would like to teach Ruhai, you will hear it when he has learned it.”

“Maybe you can play it for them as a gift the next time they visit, A-Zhuang,” Jin Ruhao suggests and Jin Ruhai visibly perks up at that idea, eyes going bright and his entire expression resolute as he nods. Lan Qiren doesn’t even have to ask to know that he’ll devote himself wholeheartedly to learning the next song until he masters it as soon as he can.

“Oh, my heart!!” A sudden cry from the door has all the children sighing with varying degrees of fondness and dismay as Mo Xuanyu swans into the room. “All the children sucking up to their Great Uncle! How come I never get a cuddle pile, huh? You don’t love your poor Uncle Yu!”

“We hang out with you all the time, Uncle Yu,” Jin Yan sighs heavily, tipping her head back to look at Mo Xuanyu upside down. “What are you doing here? We’re busy hanging out with Great Uncle Lan.”

“Ungrateful child,” Mo Xuanyu chirps with a smile and a tap of a fingertip to the underside of Jin Yan’s chin before he flicks her throat in retaliation.

“Mo Xuanyu,” Lan Qiren greets and warns simultaneously - the gesture was clearly teasing and it couldn’t possibly have hurt his grandniece, but Lan Qiren is protective, he has never once claimed not to be.

“Grandmaster Lan,” the man returns with a nod, hair ornaments tinkling softly as he moves. “I was asked to round up the children for dinner which usually takes the better part of an hour, thank you for corralling them all in one place for this poor tired uncle.”

“Children, go prepare for dinner,” Lan Qiren instructs and everyone but Jin Ye gets to their feet, stretching stiff limbs and nudging each other playfully as they file out of the room. Their laughter echoes in the courtyard as their voices rise, jokes and good-natured chatter filling the air.

“Uh-oh, you’ve got a little bug stuck on your robes there,” Mo Xuanyu chuckles with a nod to Jin Ye. “Never fear, Uncle Lan! I’ll save you from this awful creature!” Jin Ye giggles as she holds her arms up to be swept into Mo Xuanyu’s embrace with a twirl for an extra flourish, the skirts of his robes swishing around his ankles.

Lan Qiren sniffs a bit as he gets to his feet and straightens out his own robes, readjusting his belt to its proper place and brushing himself off as Mo Xuanyu rubs his nose against Jin Ye’s in an affectionate gesture, both of them smiling. He clears his throat next and Mo Xuanyu glances over at him as Lan Qiren settles his arms behind his back, tipping his chin up ever so slightly.

“I spent this morning traveling and this afternoon teaching the children. I also need to prepare for dinner.”

“Ah of course, of course. I’ll just deliver this little bug to her mother, see you at dinner Uncle Lan!” He calls that last over his shoulder as he sweeps out of the room again and Lan Qiren stands in the still silence for a long few moments. He shakes himself out of his reverie quickly enough and begins the process of getting bathed and changed into fresh clothes for the evening spent happily with his family.

Perhaps it was once a surprise to realize that the Lanling Jin is his favorite sect to visit, but now..though nowhere will ever match the love he has for Cloud Recesses, anywhere that contains so much of his family will always come very close to it.

[decalinethespacecat]

The Games that We Play-Ch.1

A simple exploration.

That's all this mission was supposed to entail.

Well, in a sense, perhaps they had accomplished such. Stranded on a new, foreign world, brimming with energy, and teeming with organic life. And with that, it was the very life that they had been forced to alter themselves to, the very lifeblood that dwelt on this strange sphere in too great an excess, and thus, should they not adhere to the laws set by this new world, it could mean the loss of their functionality, or even more, their own sparks. Of course, ironically enough, it hadn't just been themselves that had to follow this code: the very ones that had caused their stranding here had also been subject to it. And even more, one amongst their former pursuers had, albeit forcibly at first, integrated amongst their numbers. Now, as the two parties faced each other atop this mountain, five against five, the playing field had been leveled.

The two heads of the opposing sides made direct eye contact with each other, the differences between them evident in far more than just their conflicting ideals and ambitions. On one side stood the stalwart, strong form of a darkly furred primate, leaning on his knuckles as the species he had scanned were inclined to do. His eyes were dark, yet soulful, and in the minds of some of his fellow explorers, dare they say, they appeared almost akin to the small creatures that had aided and catered to their ancestors. On the other was, for all intents and purposes, a complete antithesis of everything the primate was. He bore the outer flesh of a large theropod coated in a sheen of violet with a series of green ridges trailing along his back, ending at the base of his tail. Rows of sharpened, ivory teeth lined the inside of his powerful jaws, small, yet menacing red eyes full of intent glowering back at the primate opposite of him.

"Across the galaxy," the ancient reptile spoke, voice low and smooth. "It has come to this, Optimus Primal." The primate stood his ground, along with the other four organically based Cybertronians with him. "Face to face," a smile crept onto the theropod's features. "Tooth to claw...yesss." Oh yes indeed, he had been clamoring for this very moment! "Have you anything to say?"

The primate's face grew stern. True, he had not set out on this expedition with the intent to seek combat. Yet ultimately, Primus, it seemed, held other plans for them. "I'd say, that's prime." he simply stated before bearing his elongated canines. "Let's do it!"

...

"YEAHHHH!" a chorus of young voices cried out, five to be exact, as they charged in unison at a collection of five pieces of notebook paper held up by a used popsicle stick glued onto the back, each of them stuck into the ground so they would stay in place. The owners of the voices came forward and did 'battle' with the pieces of cut-out paper, lightly striking and flicking the fragile, crudely drawn depictions of their current 'adversaries'.

This was the third time they needed to be redrawn, and frankly, no one was wanting to have to do all five Predacons all over again. Especially if one of them was a young adolescent with questionable drawing skills. If anything, at least they LOOKED like how they were supposed to this time. Sort of.

One amongst the five, a boy with tannish skin and a darkly colored buzz cut, grabbed the cutout of Megatron (at least, it was supposed to be Megatron) and purposefully fell to the ground, bringing the piece of colored paper on a stick close to his face, raising one hand to keep it back, as if it weighed a good deal of weight.

...

The jaws were close. So insultingly close. Just a few centimeters more, and that slagging ape's head would be firmly in his jaws! "Admit defeat, Maximal!" Megatron bellowed, Primal not wavering, yet it was evident that he was struggling against the Tyrannosaurus' massive head. "The Energon shall be ours!"

The silverback needed to act fast. He held no intention of obeying the violet Predacon's demand, yet he needed some leeway. He needed to at least get the larger beast off of him! "Not if I can help it!"

...

"Yah!" the tan boy hollered, behaving as if he had just flung a two-ton boulder off of him, yet the paper cutout landed in the grass with little more than a soft crinkle. "Surrender, Megatron!" he proclaimed, his voice far from the authoritative, triumphant Maximal he was imitating. "You're scrapped!"

'Megatron didn't retort back, the boy realizing then what kind of corner he had just put himself in.

"Uh, guys?" he called out, the other four children ceasing their 'battle' against their respective Predacons and turning towards him. "Who's not fighting at this part?"

One boy amongst them, African and with a top of short, black curls, turned to him. "They all are!" he answered back.

"Yeah, but who's being shown fighting?"

"Uh…" the other boy paused, thinking for a moment. "I think it's just Optimus and Megatron."

"Ok." the tan boy went over to pick up the Megatron cutout, his dark eyes taking notice of a nearby tree. "You mind? I can't really chase myself."

...

The impact was immediate, and even if it had been mere seconds, the shock that came with the splintering rock formation behind them both clearly affected Primal more than his adversary.

A fact that they wasted no time in taking advantage of.

With one swift, precise bite, Megatron put the jaws of the mighty beast he had donned as his alternate form to proper use, the premaxillary teeth that once belonged to the likes of the extinct predator tore through the alpha primate's thigh, right above the joint. Primal released an involuntary wail of agony, the sharpened instruments having torn through his alt mode's synthetic flesh and down to the fragile circuitry and wiring underneath. Not feeling satisfied with just one sample of the Maximal's mech fluid lightly bathing his tongue, Megatron bit yet again, only this time, Primal seemed to have better prepared for it. He was still in a great deal of pain, yes, yet now he could better channel it, using the horrid sensations and transferring it into an unquenchable need to fight back, beginning with delivering a hardened chop with both hands to the top of Megatron's scaly dome.

This blow had put the behemoth reptile in the same position Optimus had been mere seconds prior. And due to the blow he had delivered, it took the Tyrannosaurus a moment to realize that, surprisingly enough, the foolish ape had somehow found it in him to up and began swinging him around by the tail! As soon as the world had begun spinning for him, it stopped, only to then realize he was flying right into the ceiling of the mountainous structure, crashing down with a resounding thud that shook the entire landscape.

"Gah!" Optimus cried out, hissing as he analyzed the injury done to his leg. True, he had managed to stand to deliver that rather 'creative' maneuver against his aggressor, yet it now dawned on him that there was no way he could walk with a tear like this. And internalized repairs wouldn't be able to undo damage such as this. As if to add insult to injury (literally in a sense), the reptile had somehow managed to get up. "It…" Optimus stammered, forcing himself to rise. "It's over, Megatron!"

"It is NEVER over! Nooo!" He could scarcely believe it at first, yet given how the brute's forces traveled all this way to engage them, perhaps anything was possible. After all, what other Cybertronian before them had been forced to adopt a secondary skin of organic flesh? Despite the painful surges the multiple Energon crystals sent through his true form, Megatron did not waver, aiming and sending a missile right in the direction of the wounded Primal. "For if I must die...I shall take you with me!"

There was no way he could avoid this. Its proximity was too close. The urge to flee was great, yet Primal stood firm. He would stand tall and accept this. He had begun to shut his eyes, awaiting the inevitable. 'Till all are one…'

Yet one, he was not yet to be.

The missile had never come to meet him.

...

"Wait, you want me to do what?" one amongst the group questioned with a quirked brow, this time the child, despite the role, a young girl with skin slightly darker than the boy roleplaying as Primal, her thick, black hair tied back in a low ponytail. In her hands was a wooden sword, one that she had made sure to bring each and every time she met with the others. Yet now, the African boy was asking her to do something a little...odd with it.

"Well, in the episode, Dinobot blocks it with his tail."

"So, what? You want me to put this on my butt?"

"Uh...well, it'd be accurate."

It sounded absurd, not to mention difficult to pull off. Sure, she didn't really know how to properly use the sword, yet at least she could make use of it as something of an improv baseball bat. But nooooo, when she batted the "missile" away like that, they had to stop so that they could do it 'the right way'.

"Fine." she moaned, rolling her eyes and tossing the crumpled piece of paper (Waspinator got stepped on, AGAIN) in the African boy's direction. "Throw it again."

...

The one that had once been under Megatron's command, the one that had blocked their way and saw fit to end his life on the stone bridge, allowing the Predacons to catch up with them, had just been the one to strike the incoming projectile with his striped, reptilian tail, sending it off course and away from them both.

The former Predacon and his would-be usurper had just miraculously saved him from certain death.

This revelation was given no time to truly be dwelt on at the present, for the missile had found itself a new target, the explosion sending a chain reaction that soon caused the entire mountain to shake.

"It's going to blow!" a brown rhinoceros bellowed, the once battling Predacons quickly realizing the danger they were all in and making a hasty retreat, leaving their downed leader behind.

"Time to fade, heroes!" one amongst the Maximals shouted, a green-eyed cheetah, he making himself scarce along with Primal and the rhino, a large, grey rat also atop of the horned creature's back, a velociraptor racing alongside with them off of the mountain. None dare to look back, lest they waste precious seconds before the entire formation exploded.

Thankfully, they thought as they now found themselves a good distance away, all of them had managed to make it out of that close call in one piece. All four...no, all five of them.

Optimus turned his gaze towards the newest member of their group, his pale eyes gazing back into the silverback's own. "Thanks." he simply stated, the ancient reptile somewhat taken aback by this gesture.

"My actions did not imply loyalty, Optimus." the striped theropod clarified, momentarily averting his gaze, his voice low and raspy, yet strangely enough, sincere. "I owe you my life." He admitted the act, even if he dare not openly say it, was rather humbling. "Now we are merely...even."

The silverback took no offense to this. In fact, to the raptor's befuddlement, he simply presented him with a satisfied grin. "I'll accept that."

"Yeah, well, uh.." The rat, having long gotten off the rhino's back, wasn't exactly ready to allow this saurian into their ranks, no matter what Optimus declared. Orders or not, he'd make his opinion on "Chopperface", or rather, "Choppahface", known for a long while. Still, there was a burning question on his mind. "At least Megatron's gone, and so is the Energon!" he declared, voice rising in hope. "Can we go home now?"

It was too good to be true. The shaking of his leader's head cemented this fact. "No, Rattrap." the gorilla solemnly stated. "For now, we're stranded here with the Predacons on this unknown planet." the situation sunk in for all of them now, truly. "Megatron may be back, and there is still more Energon. If they ever get enough, they could conquer the galaxy." he could see the trepidation etched into their features. Indeed, he would be a liar if he said he did not share in their collective concern. Still...there was no other way. Their opposition had to be stopped. And whether it be here, Earth, or even Cybertron, his conviction would have remained the same. "So for now," he began, looking towards the endless, blue horizon above. "Let the battle be here, on this strange, primitive world. And let it be called," he shouted, extending his fist towards the skies. "The Beast Wars!"

...

"YEAH!" The five shouted in chorus, full of nothing short of absolute triumph and exhilaration, the sight of the untamed, unconquered canyon and mountainous landscape the Maximals stood upon at the forefront of their mind's eye.

Of course, after a few moments of this, said landscape steadily began to fade, the mowed, fertile, green lawn of the African boy's yard coming to consume the place stationed in their imaginations.

"Uh, ok." a voice amongst them spoke, said voice belonging to another girl in the group, though contrary to the other young lady with them, she bore lighter skin and a head of long, red locks. "So...do we go over the toy fund now or later?"

"I think we've got a more immediate problem than that." the African boy said, picking up the crumpled-up piece of paper. "Somebody's got to redraw Waspinator. Again."

The skies had darkened, the sun just beginning to set. Yet in the small, packed enclosure of the cubical-shaped treehouse, none of the five children paid any mind, a serious and passionate debate taking place amongst them.

"No way! I did it last week! It's Tim's turn!" a blonde boy with scruffy hair protested, crossing his arms.

"Last time I checked," the African boy clarified, gesturing an accusing finger back at the blonde. "You only did it last week because you skipped out on the last time it was your turn."

"Hey, I was sick that week!" he protested.

"Yeah, that was boring." The black-haired girl admitted. "I was tired of acting out that episode where Cheetor got kidnapped by Tarantulas."

"You got tired?" another girl questioned, she of lighter skin and a head of fiery red hair, even if her voice was meek and smooth. "I had to make sure the cutout we made didn't get too messed up."

"At least Rattrap got to do stuff in that episode!' the other girl retorted, looking to her wooden sword. "Dinobot was barely in that one!"

"And we can only do so many with just five of us!" the blonde added in. "Soon, it's going to get to where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

"Ok, look!" the tan boy interjected, the other four quieting down. "We're getting off track. The point is that Waspinator got messed up, again, and somebody's got to make another cutout-"

"Again." the other children finished for him, he somewhat startled by how quickly they picked up on what he was about to say.

"Right, so one of us is going to have to do it. But we've got to find out who's turn it is to make a new one-"

"Timothy Leblanc!" each and every one of the five adolescents jumped at the voice piercing through their private space up in the crudely constructed, yet still standing treehouse. And whilst the feminine, rather irritable voice called out for just one of them, each didn't need to ask what this also meant for them. "It's thirty minutes past five now, and you're STILL up there?! Your father's going to get here in less than five, and your dinner's had to be heated up twice already!"

The African boy winced, looking at his friends with a rather sheepish expression. "I've got to probably get going too." the red-haired girl confessed.

"Me too." the blonde added. "Mom's going to kill me if I don't do the dishwasher before the day's done."

"And my mom wants me to help her with the...the…" the black-haired girl paused. "I think she called it a…bistek tagalog?"

"A what?" Tim questioned.

"Your mom always makes the weirdest stuff." the blonde added.

"Whatever it is, she wants me to help mix the sauce and put the onions in."

"So, who's going to redraw…" the tan boy began, only to find that all eyes were on him.

A few hours later

"Thanks a lot!"

"Yeah, totally!"

"You're always so thoughtful!"

"Yeah, the best!"

Even now, he was STILL seething mad at all of them.

True, there really wasn't a rush, and he could probably get it done during study hall tomorrow, but still, once again, he had been sacked with the task of redrawing Predacons (correction: one particular Predacon) AGAIN, when the rest of them knew well and good that it was someone else's turn! Still, in a way, he sort of knew why he got this particular task the most, mainly because he was the only one that could actually make them LOOK sort of accurate. As accurate as a fourth grader that had a decent enough grade in Art could get.

'Yeah, well, let's see them when we act out 'Starscream's Ghost'!' the boy thought, scribbling a green crayon in the thick pencil lines that made up Waspinator's outline. 'I'll be Waspinator on that one! And...oh wait, no.' he just remembered. 'We don't have anyone that can be Tigetron or Airazor.' let alone did they have anyone that could've filled in the role of Blackarachnia or Inferno.

'And we can only do so many with just five of us!' the blonde boy's words echoed in his mind.. 'Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!'

"Inuksuk!" a man's voice said from the other side of the door, the young boy ceasing his doodling. "Don't tell me you're still up!" the child inwardly groaned at hearing his full name. Culture and heritage aside, he still hated it. "Have you even brushed your teeth yet, young man?"

Brushed...oh shoot!

The older, far taller adult standing outside of the boy's room was knocked back by the door, quite literally, slamming in his face, a small figure rushing out and into the bathroom. "Well, at least you know to stand out of the way next time." a woman shouted at the bottom of the stairs.

"Y-Yeah...guess so…"

Bathroom

Not so much brushing as he was grinding the bristles in and around his teeth, yet from what he could see in the mirror, his mouth was foamy enough for it to count! Speaking of which, he took a moment to eject said foam from his mouth and into the sink, washing it down and getting out the dental floss, tearing off just enough (just as mom showed him) and tying the ends around his fingers (just as mom showed him, though he struggled more with that particular step). Inuksuk looked good and hard in the mirror at his still growing teeth, a couple of empty spaces from recently pulled ones serving as areas he needed to keep extra clean, this particular tip from his father (of whom he just realized he might've just slammed in the face with a door).

He'd have to apologize when he got out. Assuming he hit him hard.

Still, as the young boy garbed in a simple, grey t-shirt and worn down, dark grey sweatpants navigated the floss through his available teeth, he found one thought running through his mind on repeat as he went on with his (very belated) nightly routine.

"Soon, it's going to get where we're going to have to start making up our own episodes!"

...

"...making up our own episodes!"

Making up their own episodes...hmm.

Perhaps the better term for it would've been 'making up our own stories, as really, how were a bunch of kids going to get ahold of anything better than a handheld camera, let alone, by some miracle, contact Mainframe with a stack of papers detailing these new exploits and adventures of the Maximals?

Still, Tim thought, as he spit out the strong tasting, even stronger stinging Listerine, it could work.

Yeah, they'd have to go through the process of deciding on a plot, a script, who'd be the 'star', all things that, frankly, he would've been more than content to leave for the fine folks who were in charge of the show to decide. But, seeing as it was evident that they'd probably be playing out these reenactments with just five, Timothy couldn't help but entertain the potential Mathis' proposal brought with it. What if, just if, they did go through with it...what could they do? Or perhaps the better question was, what COULDN'T they do?

Oh man, oh geez, oh gosh, oh man! He had just meant it as a way so that they wouldn't have to act out the same stuff over and over again! But thinking about it now...oh geez, he was near slapping himself for not suggesting it earlier!

...

"Mathis, bed!"

"Ok, mom! Just a minute!"

The blonde boy heard the door to his room open, a hand setting itself on his shoulder.

"It's been ten." a low, feminine voice told him. "And unless you want to go through the ritual of me setting the radio on at max volume for you in the morning...and also, did you even brush, let alone take your pills yet-"

"Ok, fine." Mathis groaned, getting up from the dining room table and to the foot of the stairs.

"Clean up first."

He turned back to face his mother, she bearing his blonde locks, yet not his chocolate brown eyes. "But didn't you just say-"

"It's going to take you five minutes to get all these crayons and pencils up." she answered, a small, curt grin coming to her lips. Once again, she foiled him. As the young boy went back over to the table and began putting the art supplies back in their proper boxes, correctly, as she was watching him, the woman couldn't help but notice what her child had been drawing. "Who's that?" she asked, picking up the piece of lined paper. "One of the characters from that show you and your friends watch? Um…" she tapped her finger on her chin, trying to recall whom exactly her son fawned over. "Cheetara or something?"

"That's Thundercats, mom." Mathis moaned. "It's Cheetor from Beast Wars." well, technically, that wasn't what it was called over here, yet he and his friends were in mutual agreement that 'Beasties' sounded ridiculous, not to mention stupid. Besides, Optimus outright even said that the fight they were in was called the flipping 'Beast Wars'!

"Ah, right. He's the...leopard, right?" This earned the woman another groan. "Kidding, kidding." She scanned the crude markings meant to resemble the computer-generated robot cat (at least she thought that was what he was, she only saw the show in brief intervals), and found a strange, new figure beside him. "Who's this?" she questioned her child, gesturing to the right of (what was supposed to be) Cheetor.

"Oh, that's…" Mathis began to answer, stopping before he could finish. "Well...I don't really know what his name is, but he's somebody I made up."

"Ah, like it's supposed to be you in the show?"

"No, it's not me. It's someone I made up." the boy affirmed. "He's a Saber-toothed Tiger."

(AN-I know it's more accurate to call it a Saber-toothed cat or Smilodon, but being a kid in the 90s, and in general, a kid, everyone I knew, both other kids and adults around me, just called it a Saber-toothed Tiger.)

"Oh, ok. That explains the teeth." his mother nodded.

"Yeah," Mathis confirmed. "There's only five of us, so we only have so many episodes we can act out as the Maximals. So I got to thinking we could maybe make up our own episodes."

"And in turn, make up your own characters?"

"...yeah. Yeah, I guess so."

"Yeah, well," the woman ruffled the younger boy's hair. "You have all the time in the world to do that tomorrow and on the weekend. Right now, everyone, even Saber-toothed Tigers, need to get up into bed. And they definitely need to keep their teeth clean"

"Before they have pills in some ice cream?"

She smiled, going over to the freezer. "I guess that can be arranged. Though, I'm not sure how you could eat anything with chompers like that."

...

'Making up our own episodes…' she wondered, as she climbed on into bed, her long, red locks contrasting greatly with the ivory fabric of her pillow and pale pink of her sheets, as well as a majority of her room, of which followed in a similar color scheme. 'How are we going to do that when we can't even save up enough to get some actual toys?'

Indeed, before the whole discussion involving who was going to be tasked with re-drawing Waspinator, she had collected what everyone had to offer that week to the 'toy-fund'. Inu (of which she and the rest had called Inuksuk, seeing as his name was somewhat difficult to pronounce) was the only one to have actually brought a full dollar along with herself. Everyone else ranged from fifty to no more than five cents.

'Five cents?!' she remembered losing her cool at that. 'Really, Mathis?!'

'Hey, it was hot out!' he in turn retorted to her. 'And Dr. Pepper was RIGHT there in the machine!'

She was still more than a little peeved about it, but ultimately, there was little that could be done now. 'We've gotten up to twenty-five, but if each toy costs around ten dollars, each separate toy, then…' her hand traveled to her forehead, realizing in horror what this meant. 'We're going to have to get around fifty dollars total! And that's not even with tax!' she flopped onto her bed, her red hair fanning out underneath her. 'We're going to be stuck using paper cutouts for the Predacons forever!'

This pessimistic musing, however, was cut off by the cracking of her door, her blue eyes watching as a large, furred, quadrupedal creature squeezed through the opening it had created and made its way to her bedside, sitting on the small, white floor mat stationed beside it.

"Hey, Zoe." The young girl greeted the massive Main Coon, this vocal utterance being all the greyish-brown feline needed to act, hopping on her bed and planting herself at the footboard, curling up and tucking her head under her tail. She folded her hands underneath her head, still more than a little perturbed that it'd be even longer before she and her friends would reach the desired goal of however many dollars before all the Predacons could be purchased. Assuming they would even be able to find any at a Wal-Mart or Toys R' Us. "If anything," she spoke aloud to herself, Mathis' words coming back to her. "Making up our own episodes would probably mean that we'd have to do even MORE work. Because then, we're going to start making up our own Maximals and Predacons!"

...

'Which would be so cool!' The Filipino, black-haired adolescent mentally declared, having been warned already to not be too loud, and that she had school to look forward to in the morning. 'Looking forward to school...yeah, dad, that was a REAL good one.'

'It'll be even better if you get in those eight hours. Now haul yourself up to bed.'

Frankly, she wasn't sure she'd be getting any sleep tonight. Not with this running through her head.

'Like...like there are already characters that are toys that aren't in the show yet! Like Claw Jaw, or Armordillo, Wolfang, and…' as she continued on, listing each and every Maximal and Predacon she had seen on the shelves (Dinobot WOULD be hers! Eventually.), her brown eyes surveyed her environment before she got out of bed and locked the door to her room, then went back to her bed and cut on the lamp stationed on her dresser. She then opened the single drawer on the small, wooden dresser, an even smaller, black notebook, and a single, number-two pencil residing in the compact space, the label 'Lulu' stuck on the cover via a small piece of paper and tape.

'Ok,' she mused to herself, grabbing the two objects and flipping open to a page with just enough room. Then, she began writing. 'Now...there was Claw Jaw, Armordillo, Wolfang…'

...

'...some guy that's a German Shepard...don't know how that happened.' indeed, he didn't, but lo and behold, it WAS indeed a toy. Inu rolled around on his left side. 'Maybe we could start with something a little more simple. Like...like after they left the mountain, they got the ship up and running better.' Despite his eyes being closed, scenarios and 'what ifs' began playing out in his mind. Yeah, that could work. Lulu could maybe play out how Dinobot settled in...and Mikaela could come up with some stuff to throw at her as Rattrap does in the show. Granted, that in itself might've been a little difficult. The Filipino girl could play out her role well enough without much assistance, yet the redhead kind of needed some 'coaching' on how to be snarky. Bizarrely enough, she could channel the rodent-based Maximal quite well whenever the subject of the 'toy fund' was brought up.

Inu continued to ponder and think, drowsiness steadily beginning to creep in, the faces and forms of his small circle of friends steadily transforming into the characters they portrayed in their reenactments.

'Hey.'

Yet...as he drifted off, the smallest bit of his mind that was still conscious noticed that despite the boy himself playing the role, the transformed silverback in his mind seemed to be paying attention to something or someone ahead of him. Something or someone that clearly wasn't present there before, yet he behaved as if they had been there all along.

'Thanks for the help back there.' Inu took a moment. This had to be a dream, yet...he certainly wasn't complaining. 'If it wasn't for you clearing out that path for us, we probably wouldn't have gotten off that mountain at all.'

"Oh, uh, no problem, sir." the young child answered, standing to attention like a soldier, salute and everything. He was far from a Maximal in this developing vision, let alone anything that could've ever had the potential to supposedly clear out a path, yet such details were trivial and minute to him. This was getting good, and he wasn't about to risk spoiling it.

"Despite your size, I'd be more than willing to allow you into our, heh," Primal chuckled, looking at the variety of fauna around him that were his comrades. "Ranks. Besides," he continued, extending one large, darkly colored hand. "I've always been curious about humanity and their culture."

...

Normally he'd totally be against this.

"Ah, here are some nice ones."

Here he was, some kid, in a time where people didn't exist yet, riding upon a talking rhinoceros as if it were the most mundane, normal thing in the world!

"Tim, you mind getting a few samples of these also?"

And even more...he didn't have a single problem with it.

"Sure thing. Just a second.'' The boy addressed both his transportation and 'favorite', hopping down from the Maximal's back and to the fertile, grassy plain below, said plain coincidently teeming with flowering specimens of all kinds. Some of these he had never seen before in his life, let alone in the pages of any book he could potentially check out from the school's library. Thus, he wanted to get the best one. The most fascinating and intriguing, not to mention definitely alien specimen…"Aha!" he cried out, wasting no time in plucking the desired flora from its place and bringing it to the brown rhinoceros. "Here.'' He presented his 'present', a strange, budding thing with fanned-out petals of primary colors.

"Now THAT'S one I might have to keep for myself," Rhinox admitted, the human boy in turn put the flower in a glass compartment he (somehow) had on his person. Dream logic, but he wasn't willing to spoil this. "Truly though, Timothy, sometimes I feel like you, aside from Optimus, are the only ones that can understand and appreciate the majesty of this place."

It was then that the child swore his heart had stopped. True, it probably hadn't, as he certainly didn't feel like he was dying in his sleep, yet to hear those words from the disguised robot, his 'favorite'...well, he was quite ready to go and pick every single thing that was growing in this imaginary field, should the rhino wish it.

...

His two legs carried him forward, the grassy plain and clear, summer sky nothing short of a picturesque perfect day. The slim spotted big cat with vibrant, green eyes that ran beside him was far from allowing the blonde boy to catch up. Far from it.

"Awesome!"

Impossible as it was, Mathis was actually catching up with HIM.

"You're almost as fast as I am!"

"Wait, almost?!"

"Yeah, almost!" With that, Cheetor gave himself a little bit of a boost, propelling forward and leaving the blonde a short distance behind.

Oh, it was on now.

The boy wasn't even getting tired. His legs were burning, his entire body drunk on adrenaline and whatever other chemical that flowed through his body (he'd have to remember to copy the notes off of Tim for Science class again), but by God, he was in absolute nirvana.

"Whoa, you actually caught up?!" the younger Maximal exclaimed to the human child, more than a little surprised at this.

"Y-Yeah!" Mathis shouted back. "Yeah, guess I did!" who cared about being a Sabertooth Tiger or whatever other animal, he was killing it just being an ordinary, boring….well, kid!

...

"..."

"..."

"...ok, look kid, you gonna stare all day?"

The red-haired girl giggled at the grey rat's annoyance. Even if she was the current source of such, she found she didn't particularly mind it. "I guess I just never realized how…"

Rattrap quirked a brow, taking another bite of the rotted blue apple (another indication this was no more than a dream. Not the giant, talking rat, oh no). "How what? You said it now, you can't leave me hanging."

Her teal eyes shifted. "I don't think you'll like it."

"I reiterate my prior statement."

"Fine," she said. In truth, she was somewhat anxious about how he'd react, yet all the same, a part of her hoped it'd be something he'd react to. "I never realized how fuzzy you are."

Any contents that once rested inside his mouth were promptly spat out. "Wh-WHAT?!" he exclaimed, scarcely believing what he had just heard. "What'd ya just say?!"

"I said you were fuzzy!" she repeated, a part of her somewhat fearful she offended him, yet another just as excited. "Right now! Your fur's getting all ruffled up!"

"It-it is not!" it clearly was. Robotic at spark he might've been, his outer skin was still a slave to its species' "quirks".

"Yes it is!" she chortled, fear finally gone and replaced with total amusement.

"It is not, kid!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it ain't!"

The vocal back and forth continued on and on, his growing frustration and embarrassment seemingly only channeling more and more humor for the human child, she then actually having the gall to come over and stroke him. Actually stroke him, as if he were some pet she had owned! Even worse, as he came to see as she continued to do it over and over, her hand traveling through his grey fur, Rattrap didn't entirely seem to mind. Daresay, it actually felt kind of...nice.

"Still don't know which of yous is worse. You or Choppahface."

"...you're still fuzzy."

"...it's you."

...

Block.

Thrust.

Block.

Swing.

Block.

Upward swing.

How she had managed to conjure up this particular kata in such a small amount of time, mattered not to her.

"Come now!" all that mattered was whom she was doing it for. "You're surely more capable than that!" Twisting herself around, the Filipino girl lifted her wooden sword and brought it down on the winding blade of Cybertronian origin, the wood miraculously not splintering upon impact. The azure features of her idol transformed into something of a curt grin of amusement. "You really believe you have a chance against me?"

"M-Maybe?" she answered. How she was doing this, she didn't know, yet frankly, she didn't care. And now she just up and made herself look like an idiot in front of him. Great.

Their weapons continue to strike and hit against each other, Dinobot outranking her in strength and size, yet she found that her smaller frame led to her gaining some clear advantages. Ducking under his legs, she aimed to stab upwards, he, in turn, whirling around and leaping forward, away from her strike. She got up, ready to go at it again, yet on the transformed Maximal's azure features, she beheld something that, had she not been so determined to keep her composure in front of him, she could've died happy right then and there in her sleep.

A smile.

A smile that echoed nothing short of absolute pride. Pride for her, of her, of one that had called him her favorite.

"You're far from ready to be partaking in any battle." the transformed velociraptor told her. "Yet...I will say this: there is a degree of potential in you."

...

Despite the distance between each of them, some greater than others, the same consensus was shared among all of them that night. And for many more nights to come. If their fantasies could either become their reality or better yet, have the ones they fantasized of step into the one they were unfortunately stuck in, then their young barely lived lives would be nothing short of absolutely perfect.

Primal's best soldier.

Rhinox's number one assistant.

Cheetor's best friend.

Rattrap's favorite (though he'd never say it).

Dinobot's best student.

The ideal scenario, should it ever be granted to them.

Though even in their young minds, they all knew such things, and their idols were regulated to the television and their own minds. True, it far from curbed or starved the desire to wish and hope for it, yet ultimately, it would be for naught.

For now, they had to make do with what they had at their disposal, regulated and limited to the simple, partially fulfilling games that they played.

[romantic-barnes]

unintended | part two

| part two - how can we win when fools can be kings |

Parings: king!bucky x princess!reader 

Summary: The moment you have come of age, you are being ripped out of the place you call home and into the kingdom of Cydonia ruled by King James, your betrothed. Neither of you pleased with the situation, neither of you being honest. Between fights, snarky remarks and glaring, do you find time to breathe? Is it possible to reconcile or even love one another?

Warnings: arranged marriage, insulting, being mean on purpose, a bit of a slow burn, the reader has a twin!

A/N: this is the second part of my entry in @sillyqt​ 1k writing challenge. I hope you like this, love! I’m still a little delusional from me staying up all night, but I hope you won’t be able to notice it! 

Dividers by @whimsicalrogers​

The next few days were very tense. You both tried to stay civil, only talking to each other when necessary. You tried tiptoeing around James as much as you could, retracting your steps when you saw him walking down a corridor. It felt strange, feeling so unwelcome. At home you could be found running around the castle grounds with the children, playing hide and seek for hours until supper, but here in Cydonia you felt like a stranger. 

This is not what you thought life would be like in Cydonia.

You decided to read a little outside, sitting by the pond. A few lady’s of the court were walking in the garden, chatting amongst themselves. You were itching to go to the maze in the far back of the garden with Clint. The warm feeling of the sun on your skin and a smile crept int’s way on your face.

The book you chose was one of the many Julia gifted you, but you couldn’t see the appeal of it. It wasn’t the reading that made you gag, it was the sitting still, concentrating on tiny words. Nevertheless it brought you a little closer to your sister. You missed her dearly, sitting like you now, preferably under the cherry blossom tree, reading for hours. You stared at the page, trying to refocus on the words but you simply couldn’t. 

You decided to walk around a little, but as you were about to stand up, James’s voice stopped you.

“What are you doing, princess?” James stood next to you, blocking the sun from your face.

“Reading, your highness.” You said sweetly as if nothing happened a few days ago.

“How nice.” The King smiled before taking the book from your hands, examining it for a second and then throwing it into the lake, a mischievous grin forming on his lips.

You stood up at once, looking at the book floating in the green water. The pages soaked in the green water and you were able to watch the letters bleeding into the white paper. You weren’t necessarily attached to the book, but an idea struck you and you ran with it. “How could you!” you shrieked, holding a hand over your heart. Walking towards the pond, down the slippery steps and into the water.

James watched whilst you were immersed in the water up to your shoulders, retrieving the book.  You grabbed your book, turning back to climb out of the water to sit on the stone steps. You sobbed, looking at the book and James approached you, feeling guilty.

He just wanted to be a little mean.

He kneeled before you, sadness in his eyes. “This was my mother’s book. She gave it to me before she was brutally murdered.” You spoke softly between sobs.

James reached out to rest his hands on your bare shoulders. “I-I’m sorry.”

“No, no I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was- I was rude and vicious-” You stammered through your tears, looking up to meet his eyes and a small but sad smile graced his lips. You leaned forward,feeling his breath on your face. The pupils of his blue eyes widened and you gently touched his nose with yours. Slowly, James tilted his head, pulling you closer by wrapping his arm around your waist. His other hand caressed your cheek and you melted against his lips.

You forgot all about your grand plan, feeling the electricity run through your veins. His lips soft against yours, moving ever so gently, the short stubble grazing your skin. You wrapped your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss, a low groan from James and you giggled into the kiss.

James was the first to pull back, smiling and drawing circles on your soft cheek with his thumb. He had never kissed someone so delicately, so passionately and so lovingly. All seemed to be forgotten, everything he thought was so wrong with you fleeting away. Maybe there was a chance to look past each other differences, to live a life happy and full of love. 

Maybe he could teach her how to ride a horse like a man, shoot an arrow, all the things he loved.And maybe, just maybe, he could learn something from her. Although he didn’t see the appeal in sewing, if that’s what brings her joy, he could try, for her.

You removed one arm from his shoulders, picking up the soaked book next to you, laughing a little. “I guess it’s ruined.” James joined you, apologising again. But you were having none of it.

You stood suddenly. “Good thing my mother isn’t dead.” You said, pushing James into the water, smiling wickedly and throwing the book into the pond after him. You twistend your hair out, leaving a trail of water as you walked back into the castle. But the wicked smile didn’t stay for long. Sitting at the foot of your bed as soon as you entered your chambers.

It took James a minute to process what you had just said. How could he be so stupid? He knows your mother’s not dead. How could he fall for that? He didn’t want his heart to break, but it did.

You should’ve been more occupied with guilt, but the thing you thought most about was the kiss. You touched your lips with your pointer finger occasionally, still feeling the tingle of his soft lips against yours. You had never kissed anyone and never in a million universes did you think it was going to be like this.

Truth be told that you felt a little beside yourself, knocking things over, spilling wine on your dress, running head-first into a door. There was something when you kissed James, but you couldn’t exactly place it. 

You needed clearance and you knew just how to get it.

Getting Clint to take the horses out for a ride wasn’t difficult, leaving for the stables as soon as you asked him early in the afternoon. The horse you chose was called Medossa, a beautiful black horse with a ring of white above her hooves.

You decided to ride through the woods, thick trees covering most of the ground, a hazard to ride through, but the beauty of nature around you was mesmerising. You rode in silence relishing the clean air, the sound of leaves crackling under the hooves, birds chirping above you. You took a deep breath in, closing your eyes.

“I don’t think the King and I will ever get along.”

Clint observed you with raised eyebrows, cracking a smile. “No shit, princess. You went pretty hard with the insults.” You cocked a questioning brow at him. “Sam told me.” Clint’s mouth stretched to a wide grin.

You rolled your eyes. “He insulted my intelligence! I should just go back home and become a nun.” You steered your horse past the trees, and you heard Clint laugh ahead of you.

“You ain’t a saint, Princess!”

You faked a gasp, holding your hand over your chest. “How dare you, I have never done anything wrong in my life!” Both of you erupted in laughter, but your voices died down at the sight in front of you.

A field, miles and miles of colourful flowers. Both of you got off your horses, walking through the knee-high flowers growing wildly all over the place. The skirt of your dress pushing the plants aside. There was a small patch of grass and you sat down, your white and yellow striped dress spreading around you.

You didn’t know how to tell Clint about the kiss. He would never judge you, but you feared you went too far. You mustered up the courage, taking a deep breath in. “The King and I kissed.” You blurted out, Clint whipping his head around to you staring at you wide eyed.

“You- what- when?” He stammered.

“Yesterday. He threw my book in the pond, I pretended it was a gift from my dead mother and then I- uh- kissed him.” You chewed your bottom lip waiting for him to say anything.

“Wow uh.” Clint looked away off to the distance. “Why would you do that?”

“I don’t know?” You picked a few flowers in front of you making a little bouquet. The though haunted you since yesterday. Exactly why did you kiss him? “I guess I just wanted to make him believe that I was sorry, I guess. Show him that I liked him.” 

“And do you? Like him?” Clint stared at you in anticipation.

“No?”

Clint nodded, very confused by the whole thing. One day you can’t stand the King, insulting his appearance and the next you’re kissing him. Clint dropped the topic, knowing full well that you were just as confused about this situation as him.

You rested your head on Clint’s shoulder, relishing the sun shining on your face. As the sun lowered on the horizon, both of you got back on your horses and decided to take a different route back. A cobbled walk led you along the woods, to your right a field of corn. Cydonia has way more nature than you were used to.

A house came to few, stables to the side along the path. The horse’s hooves clicking along the stone and you saw three children playing in the front yard. A woman sat on a chair sewing a piece of fabric.

A you got closer, you grabbed the attention of one of the children, a little girl staring up at you. Smiling down at the girl, you decided to get off your horse, Clint looking back at you with knitted eyebrows.

The little girls’ mouth wide open as you kneeled in front of her. “Are you a princess?” She asked, eyes wide with admiration.

“That I am. I-“

You were interrupted by the woman shuffling to her feet, frantically running to the two of you. “Oh god your highness, I am so sorry.” The woman apologised for her daughter too many times. You shook your head, smiling up at her.

“Don’t apologise. She wasn’t being rude.” You bumped the girls nose with your finger, giggles erupting from her. You held out the bouquet of flowers handing it to her. “You take care of these flowers for me, will you?”

The girl nodded and you stood up. The girl ran inside, and a sudden flash of jealousy hit you. If only you could be as free as her.

The mother thanked you for the flowers and you could not reason with her that it was in fact not a big deal. She gave you some berries wrapped in linen for you to take back to the castle and you bid your goodbye.

A week later and you were informed that the Queen mother would return from her travel, and you went into another panic. She was the one who chose you in the first place, the start to the fire. If she doesn’t approve of you, the way she thought you would be, then surely hell would break loose. You woke up with a terrible headache, Natasha getting you ready for breakfast. The only dress you had left to wear was the blue one with the pearls. Hopefully the King wouldn’t snitch on you and tell his mother that you had already worn that dress.

You wondered if James would say anything at all about your relationship with him. Hopefully, he’ll behave and not tell his mother of all people about your bickering.

Natasha tied the strings on the back of your dress into a little bow, fluffing out the skirt of the dress a little. “Why didn’t you take more dresses with you, Princess?” Natasha asked, examining you from a distance, making little adjustments around the sleeves.

“I don’t have more fancy dresses. My favourite ones are in the other chest.” You pointed towards the end of the bed. “But they aren’t really royally accepted.” You chuckled at the thought of it.

It was silly, really, having the same striped dress in five different colours, but no other dress is more suitable for your day to day life. Not too fluffy at the skirt interfering with your legs while you rode a horse or ran.

“Alright, I’ll ask the tailor to make you another one. Can’t walk around with the same three dresses all the time. Princesses like you usually have at least a hundred of dresses.” Natasha chuckled looking over to the two dresses hanging in the closet. “Ready?”

“Yup.”

Immediately upon walking into the dining hall, you felt the change in atmosphere. The servants standing even straighter, looking like they were going to break their spine, the guards all having their mean face on, a sight that wanted to make you laugh.

You walked closer to the table, James standing at his regular place at the head of the table and a woman standing on the other end. She had her back turned to you and your nerves were surely about to explode. You had met so many important people, but this was different.

You stood next to her, lowering yourself in a deep courtesy like you did with James. The moment you stood tall again, you were met with a warm smile.

“I’m honoured to finally welcome you to Cydonia, Princess Y/n.” She held her hand out and you kissed the back of her very soft hand. She gestured for you to sit down and you took your seat on the right side of the table, right in the middle of the King and the Queen mother. This is where you needed to shine. Your only first impression and the only chance for the Queen mother not to immediately hate you. The three of you ate breakfast in silence, a tense one on top of that. You glanced at James’ mother from time to time, checking if she saw how delicate and proper you ate.

“I heard you like to ride horses, is that true, Y/n?”

“Yes, a little.” You answered once you knew your mouth was empty. James coughed, excusing himself, taking a sip from his orange juice.

James couldn’t believe the show you were putting on. You were far from proper, at least your tongue wasn’t. The desperation of impressing his mother was so obvious and he knew she saw right through you.

“Maybe James and you could go for a ride through our beautiful nature after breakfast?” James’s mother looked between the two of you.

James cleared his throat, smiling at his mother sweetly. “Sure, mother, that would be a wonderful idea. Don’t you think, Princess?” James’s eyes fell on you and your mouth opened, but you just nodded.

The thought of spending more time with him was the last thing you wanted to do. Clint thought it would be fun to take a trip to town, exploring the town and what they have to offer, but now you were stuck with the King.

After you got changed into the blue version of your favourite dress, some complaining to Natasha and you were off to your one-on-one date with James.

You reached the stables and James was already sitting on top of a horse… the one you wanted to take. “You stole my horse!” You exclaimed, hands on your hips as you looked up to him.

“Your horse? Last time I checked these are my horses.” James laughed, galloping ahead of you as you mounted a different horse. Medossa was definitely calmer than the one you were sitting on.

Riding a little further along the path you focused on anything else other than James. The surroundings would be so much more enjoyable with Clint or even by yourself, it’s a shame you’re being dragged along with the King. You were annoyed, with both legs on one side, the most uncomfortable way to ride a horse in your opinion. 

You caught up with him a little, riding beside him and you knew just how to rile him up.

Pulling on the reigns a little too harshly, directing your horse to the right startling James’ horse a little. He glared at you, but you just smiled sweetly apologising profusely. “I’m still a little insecure on horses.” You giggled and James rolled his eyes at you.

You did it once more, earning a groan from James and you held back a laugh seeing him fighting inside.

Pulling on the reigns one more time, James’s horse steered far too the right, galloping to the dense trees. You followed him quickly but there was nothing you could do. James’ shoulder hit a tree, sending him to the ground. You dismounted your horse, kneeling beside him. He looked up to the sky, face scrunching in pain. You reached out but were unsure of what to do, maybe you had taken it too far, seriously injuring the King. Medossa ran away into the deep trees and you prayed she would find her way back to the stables.

James grunted with discomfort. “I can’t move my arm.” He panted, a pleading look your way and you were on the brink of crying. It was his left arm, the one that was already severely scarred and now you ruined his shoulder. Tears prickled in your eyes, seeing him laying there in pain, unable to do anything.

You looked around you, thinking about what to do, but before you could get up, James sat. “Well, that was fun!”

Your jaw dropped watching as he stood up with that stupid smirk plastered on his face. You were too distraught to come up with a snarky comeback. James walked to your horse, mounting it. “What are you waiting for? Don’t tell me you were actually worried!” You glared at him.

You stood, walking to the horse. As you sat in front of James you held on to the front of the saddle, hearing him chuckle. His body pressed to your back, feeling his warmth against your exposed back.

“I did worry.” You mumbled.

 [ part three ]

[rark-journey]

Happiness

A few days ago, a question presented itself to me in the form of a happiness webinar ; "What is happiness to you?". The speaker only gave the audience 10 seconds to answer in the comment, thus the first thing that came to my mind was 'Beauty'. I couldn't elaborate nor explain my answer at the time. I didn't feel the need to do so anyways, but for some reason my brain decided to hyperfixate on the idea of beauty and why it brings me so much happiness, so instead of writing an article about the webinar, I decided to write this instead. Of course I'll eventually get to my main job, but if I don't get this out of the way, that semi-formal article would be too messy to publish. My first love when I came to this earth was art, even as a kid I love vivid colors, beautiful patterns, aesthetically pleasing structures. I made it my purpose in life to paint whatever combination of colors and incorporate them into the skies of my many drawings as a child. 

Some things got lost as I grew up, as I mentioned on my previous posts, life once lost its color and beauty. I realized, during my darkest days, I lost sight of what is beautiful. So, let me explain how I view beauty. Beauty, is not something that could easily be defined, people with different cultures and upbringing will have different ideas on beauty. Hence, the diverse beauty standard. Although through my eyes, every single thing have their own appeal that makes them beautiful. That's one thing I learned from art. Art is more than just a drawing, art is an abstract idea of a method, how to present something in a beautiful way. In the beginning it takes a lot of focus and questioning to understand art, to form your brain into seeing beyond what is presented to the naked eye. When you're used to observing, learning, even making art, you'll be conditioned to see beyond. You'll get used to using all of your senses and from those input, something within you is provoked. Be it thoughts, emotions, feelings. 

Art is meant to be provoking, it stimulates you to form abstract ideas, it inspires. Art is an expression used to bring beauty and inspiration to life, in turn it will invoke further beauty and inspiration, creative ideas to form even more art. 

Don't limit yourself into thinking, 'I can't paint, I can't do art'. Sure paintings, sculptures, visual arts, performing arts, literature, those are what considered as art. Then again, if you see a bed of flowers on your way to work that gives you a pleasant feeling that lingers through your shift. If you found and see something as beautiful and it leaves you feeling some type of way. Congratulations, that's called aesthetics or philosophy of art. Anything and everything that inspires, invoke a certain feeling, gives you creative drive, that's art; and that is beautiful. 

Though I've strayed away from my dream of being an artist and going to art school, I never let go of how art shaped me and my philosophy. Holding on to my habit of seeing the beauty in everything definitely helped me got through some of my difficult days in college. I made some mistakes though, I only see the beauty and good despite the obvious red flags. Definitely put me through certain predicaments that wouldn't have happened if only I was more realistic. Sometimes I was too stubborn to be realistic, I was a dumb optimist that only see the good and beauty even when the subject is major sus. Anyways, if it weren't for those mistakes I wouldn't have formed a more critical and balanced way of being an optimist, seeing the beauty in everything, and still being objective and evidence based. After all, I was lucky enough to fail evidence based medicine block twice so I got to learn it over and over again. 

Pretty sure me failing EBM block have a lot to do with my inability to quickly memorize and apply critical appraisal theories and research methods, and less to do with objective thinking, but I digress. Critical appraisal is the heart of evidence based medical practice and I've found it useful to see through which research paper are actually applicable. 

Anyways, I once written in a motivational essay to apply to an exchange program, my goal in medical school is to rediscover the art of medicine and re-incorporating humanity into my medical practice. It sounds so pretentious, I know, but holding on to that goal really helped me get through long shifts and difficult days, and hey it helped me pass the selection for the program.

Even though my day to day revolves around medicine, which subjectively deemed as something logical. It wasn't until I go back to my artistic roots of abstract thinking and perceiving beauty that I finally found happiness in my line of work; somewhat practicing my own art of medicine. So to me happiness is beauty, because everything has its own appeal to be beautiful. Finding those appeal, helped me broaden my perspective, kept me balanced, and inspired me to feel, to think, to create.

Here's a disclaimer though, when you're depleted of serotonin, your way of thinking gets distorted. Inspiring thoughts and perception of beauty is virtually very difficult to invoke when you're depressed. Clinical assessments and intervention does help me a lot in going back to my roots, as I'm healing and regaining more balance within my life, beauty is also easier to find. They have a two way causal relation, the more balanced I am the easier it is to perceive beauty and vice versa. The easier it is for me to find beauty, in turn, happiness in little things- let alone big ones. 

To this day, I kept an index of things I find beautiful and brings me so much happiness, I'm grateful to say the list is ever growing. When I'm feeling uninspired and about to spiral into a down episode, I open that list to remind myself that it will pass and I will find even more beautiful things if I keep on going.

So I will pass on the question to you, what is happiness to you?

[g0dspeeed]

Unconditional Positive Regard, 4

To finally meet her, Adam Smasher feels relieved. 

Well, kinda.

=====================

Intake

Towering over her with enough girth to block out the sunlight from the street windows was Adam and his dwindling patience. He could feel the hot coals of his temper start to heat up as the terrified receptionist tried desperately to avoid eye contact.

It would be simple, he thought. The only thing that separated his frame from her own was a large desk counter. With one hand he could flip it on her, break some bones and crush her skull if she kept stammering as stupidly as she was.

“Um, do you, do you have the extension number-”

So simple.

“If I don’t know her fucking name, then why would I know the extension number?” he snapped.

“R-Right, um. One, one moment, please, Mr. Smasher, sir.”

Red eyes rolled at her incompetence. Been in the building for less than five minutes and his composure was already diminishing. The receptionist worked quickly on the screen in front of her, her blue optics lighting up intermittently. His glare settled on the frozen form of the other receptionist. She, too, deterred her gaze away from his own and busied herself at her side of the counter.

Pitiful, he thought.

No spine.

“The, the only thing I can see in our calendar is a note about scheduling a future appointment, sir.”

“I know,” he breathed. “Make me an appointment with Services. Now.”

“Oh, we, um, we don’t typically do walk-in appointments-”

“Today you do.”

Adam’s cold stare ended any argument that the receptionist prepared to make.

She pressed a button on a switch board.

“Hi, I have a Mr. Adam Smasher here for a walk-in appoint-Yes, I know that, but he insists to be seen. Well, can you check? He’s at my desk…”

At the receptionist’s rising panic Adam couldn’t help but feel a sense of satisfaction. Didn’t take much for that fear to kick in. Just a little physical presence and she was malleable to his whim.

A moment later, she ended her conversation and looked up at him with a weak smile.

“They said to wait in their lobby on the Services floor,” she stated.

Without so much as a thank you, Adam turned from the poor woman and headed towards the elevators. He smirked to himself as she exhaled behind him.

Even though the Arasaka Netrunner lacked proper access to the information he sought, Adam wasn’t planning to relent any time soon. For one, the job depended on it. Second, Adam knew that he simply would have to gain intel the more direct way, in an approach that was familiar, easy, and frankly more enjoyable.

Deep, deep, deep in the dark depths of his mind there lied a third reason. A reason that Adam would deny ‘til his dying breath if someone were bold enough to ask. A reason that sounded like curiosity, but actually teetered more so on the line between obsessive and slightly enamored.

But he would never admit that.

Not to a single soul.

The elevator doors opened on the Services floor, allowing the soothing fragrance of flowers to fill his senses. The lobby was empty like before, void of any witnesses as Adam stepped out of the elevator and approached the double doors. There was that same sense of determination in him, one that was resolute on getting this meeting over with and finally answering some of those damned questions that kept him up at night.

However, before he could grab the handle, the doors swung open. Out stepped the same doctor from before, Dr. Estrada, greeting him with that million-eddie smile.

Adam grimaced immediately at feeling the man’s positive attitude rolling off him like radiation.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Smasher,” said the doctor warmly. “May I call you Adam?”

“No.”

“Okay. I’m glad you decided to reschedule. Some of us were worried that you wouldn’t.”

Though annoyed, the doctor’s greeting also brought on a wave of confusion. The words as well as the man’s smile seemed oddly sincere. The doctor’s eyes held a friendliness in them with no hint of any fear or resentment from what occurred in the lobby during their first encounter. Another new kind of interaction, a change that was unsettling to the hardened merc. Those who were on the receiving end of Adam’s wrath seldom stuck around for a round two, let alone approached him with such confidence and genuineness that the man before him showed. Never broke eye contact. Never spoke in a small or mumbling voice laced with anxiety. There was a strong reminder of that initial meeting, however, one that the doctor would have a difficult time hiding. Ugly, purple bruises colored his neck in a pattern that matched the length of Adam’s fingers. His head moved stiffly.

“Have you deposited your weapons into our reservoir?” Dr. Estrada asked. When Adam didn’t respond, his hand gestured towards the reservoir unit and he added, “After they’re deposited, please also turn off your combat cyberware.”

A pause.

Adam squared his shoulders.

“And if I refuse to listen to this bullshit request?” Adam grumbled.

The doctor appeared to contemplate, as if truly mulling over Adam’s question.

“If you choose to refuse, that’s fine. We would have to reschedule for a different date.”

Another pause.

“To be honest,” continued Dr. Estrada, “You could walk in there completely ignoring our request without much issue. Our staff only has defensive cyberware programmed, and not even everyone has the full modifications so there wouldn’t be a lot of resistance. Not really anyone back there has any experience with combat, much less any violence other than that from who we work with, but…”

The man shrugged.

“She still wouldn’t see you,” Dr. Estrada concluded. “She keeps her word, keeps her promises, and when she sets an expectation, she won’t back down. Ever. And that’s just something you’re going to have to get used to, my friend.”

When it became clear that the doctor wasn’t going to offer anything more or elaborate, Adam found himself in disbelief. Again he felt unsettled. The words shocked him in their sincerity and his response, Adam’s own lack of anger or bitterness, was so foreign.

“Who the fuck is she-”

A loud scream cut through Adam’s words, upsetting the peaceful atmosphere of the floor. The doctor’s body stiffened and his hazel eyes lit up as he received new data.

Before the doctor could explain anything, another shriek ripped through the air, this time drawing out longer and with an even higher pitch.

Dr. Estrada’s smile vanished as he quickly exited through the double doors.

The whine of scraping metal echoed beyond the doorway, followed by the floor shaking as if something large and heavy was suddenly dropped.

From his place in the lobby, Adam could hear chaos build and build along the chatter of nervous voices that muttered and called out to one another in hushed tones.

Seeing that it was clear that the doctor wasn’t going to return anytime soon, Adam chose to cross the threshold.

The other side of the doors consisted of a large open space that was attached to several hallways and lined with tall windows. The space itself held many desks with computer screens and office supplies. Adam recognized some of the women from his first visit. Already appearing alarmed by whatever was happening, the sight of Adam Smasher stalking through their office certainly did not alleviate any of their fears. Before he could interrogate them, another scream rang out with enough volume to make him wince. He headed down the closest hall, towards the source of the dreadful noise.

At the hall’s end there was a group of concerned women, Dr. Estrada, and a couple in civilian clothes. The couple was holding hands, both looking more terrified than the others. All stood by an open door. Their postures were rigid.

Dr. Estrada acknowledged Adam as he approached the scene.

Again, before Adam could ask what the hell was happening, another scream cried out followed by a deep, shaky sob.

It was only then did Adam realize that the pained voice was that of a child.

Dr. Estrada motioned for the merc to come closer, though he pressed a finger to his lips as he did so. Adam complied, his eyes peeking into the open doorway to see what the commotion was about.

The room was destroyed. Absolutely torn apart. Books, papers, and other office supplies littered the floor, along with broken glass, a shattered computer monitor, and a large couch completely flipped over and on its side. One piece of framed art hung crookedly above a large dent in the wall, the metal bent and scuffed.

Small whimpers could be heard with breaks of short sobs in between. It was there amongst the wreckage and debris of the office did Adam see two forms huddled behind the flipped furniture. A small child, a girl, stood hiccupping in a pink, frilly dress. Her shoes were gone, but that wasn’t what made her so striking. All of her limbs were artificial, all new and polished chrome.

The girl couldn’t have been any more than five years old.

Her modified hands were gripped into tight fists at her side as she stood before the crouched body of the woman.

Her.

The woman with the golden eyes.

Adam swallowed at seeing her again.

How poorly his memory served in recalling their vibrancy.

Dressed casually in a pair of dark jeans and a graphic t-shirt, the woman spoke calmly to the child.

“You’re very sad that our time is over,” she said. “I see your tears.”

Once more, the girl cried out. Adam winced at the painful noise, but his attention never turned from the woman’s face. The woman did not react at all.

“I hear you,” she stated. “You don’t want to leave, but it is time to go home-”

“No!” yelled the girl. “I-I don’t wanna go home-”

“I know. I hear you, but our special time is over for today. I will see you next week-”

“No!”

The girl’s metal hands then reached out and grabbed the woman’s face. Those in the hallway gasped.

But Adam, without a second thought, stepped forward and completely entered the room.

Both the woman and the child quickly looked up and stared at the large merc as he stood before them.

The child’s anger disappeared, twisting into pure fear at the sight of Adam’s glowering presence. Her small hands detached from the woman’s face as she drew closer to the woman’s body for comfort.

“You’re okay,” chided the woman softly into the child’s hair. “He won’t hurt you.”

“He looks mean,” argued the girl, her wide eyes never turning from Adam’s scowl.

“He does,” agreed the woman, a hint of amusement in her own voice. “But know what else I see?”

With a raised finger, the woman pointed to Adam’s exposed arms.

“This man has a body like yours,” shared the woman tenderly. “See his arms? See his head? See his face? Some of his body is different, too, and that’s okay.”

She winked at Adam playfully. His scowl, though still very much present, weakened slightly at the unexpected act.

“Its time to go home,” the woman repeated, this time a firm tenor to her words. “You can choose to walk with me to the elevator or your parents can help you. You have a choice.”

Stare never leaving Adam, the child nodded her head and took the woman by the hand. As if leading her away from danger, the child pulled at the woman’s hand with a new urgency. The woman mouthed for Adam to wait in the room as she rejoined the others in the hall. The door closed behind them.

Mentally, Adam was already kicking himself over how easy it was for his focus to be deterred, let alone how he reacted to seeing her in person again. Why he decided to insert himself in the chaos with the child, he had no clue. Didn’t give a fuck about children. So long as they stayed the hell away from him, there would be no issue. But something disturbed him in seeing how the child grabbed her, how the woman contained the pain she felt in the child’s sudden hold on her face.

The woman’s words and how they were said weren’t lost on Adam either. Not one bit. How this woman was able to deescalate tense situations and how similar her dialogue with the child was to their own exchange in the lobby infuriated him.

Is that how she perceived him?

Like that of a child?

“Sorry about that.”

Angry red eyes fell upon the woman as she closed the door behind her and began tip-toeing through the mess in the office. A small smile touched her full lips as she went to stand behind a metal desk.

“Sometimes its hard to go,” she continued with a shrug. “And although I appreciate your desire to help, please don’t interfere next time.”

Adam scoffed.

“I’ll do what I want.”

Sensing his attitude, the woman’s smile flattened into a pressed line.

“Yeah, I know, Adam,” she returned. “I know that you’ll do whatever you want. Which is why I’m glad you decided to come back so we can go over how exactly this all will work out.”

“’Bout fucking time,” he groused.

To his surprise, the woman scoffed and shook her head.

Adam immediately crossed the room to stand over her. He savored how far she had to crane her head up to meet his eyes.

“Something I say amuse you?” he challenged darkly.

What he expected was her instant submission.

What he expected was her to avert her eyes like everyone else, to deny she did anything or apologize altogether, and to wait for his next command.

What he didn’t expect was what came next.

“Yes, actually,” she stated, not even hesitating to pay back his hard stare with one of her own. “Yes, I find it amusing that you’re so inconvenienced by your own stubbornness and are trying to blame me for it. You had the choice to cooperate with our policy and chose to strangle my colleague because we held up our expectation, then you have the nerve to come into my workplace, my office, demand for an appointment, and then proceed to complain because of the stalling that you yourself created. Does this normally work for you? This whole standing-over-me-tough-guy routine? Because I can do this all damn day. I really can. Know why? Because I do do this all damn day, but last I checked we both are pretty busy adults and I’d like to not have my time wasted by your outdated ways of handling things. Or is this some kind of foreplay to you?”

Oh.

Oh, where was he to begin with that?

It took every ounce of patience and self-control to not pick her up and shove her against a wall. No one spoke to him like that. No one questioned him the way she did, whether there was some truth to her words or not. Fortunately for her, she was named as a person of importance to Arasaka. Fortunately for her, there were still many questions that she held the answers to, her value in that light being the only reason she still breathed and was alive to argue with him.

“Who,” he began, his voice low and tightly controlled. “The fuck are you?”

A smile, one that hinted at some little victory, he figured, one that somehow made Adam even angrier, pulled at her lips.

“Bothered you, didn’t it?” she said. “Thought it would. You’re not used to waiting-”

“Answer me-”

“I’m Lumen,” she answered. “Dr. Lumen Furi.”

Not bothering to wait for his reply, the woman stepped away from the desk and began tidying up the office. Adam watched as she began making small piles of all the trash and debris, his anger still very much pulsing through his body. Anger from how she was talking to him, how she dared to tease him and make smartass comments in response to his voiced frustration. That anger was there, true, but more so was Adam upset with himself for how he allowed it and how learning her actual name brought some relief.

“The contract,” began Lumen. “Is one that I don’t really like.”

“What is it?”

A sigh.

Her face wore a look of disdain as she turned to speak to the merc.

“I’m conducting research on cyberpsychosis and crisis intervention,” she said. “I want to know if mental health crises are related to cyberpsychosis and even though I think it is, its 2070 and people still think that it’s just a hardware problem. They’re not looking at it seriously, at least not from a mental health standpoint, so I need hard data to prove my theory. And that’s where you come in.”

His eyes narrowed.

“Myself, Dr. Estrada, and some of the other researchers will be working with law enforcement and a Trauma Team convoy to provide crisis support to different neighborhoods in Night City. As you can imagine, it can be pretty risky work and we’re sorta ‘ride alongs’. Trauma Team has enough on their plate and covering our asses isn’t something they need to be concerned about. Arasaka is already backing our research, so-”

“Why?”

She shrugged.

“I guess they want in on the medical market? Not entirely sure. Don’t really care. What I do know is that they offered your services to aid in our groundwork.”

“In security.”

“Yep.”

“For how long?”

“Three months, once or twice a week, depending on the city region and time of day. Starting next week now that you decided to show up.”

His tempter bristled at the snarkiness in that last comment, but he decidedly shifted his focus to the contract instead. The jobs that he detested the most were that of security or protective services. He’d prefer that the only ass he cover was his own, and often the target was too slow, dumb, or fragile to make his job any easier. Although the woman appeared to be in good shape and proved her intelligence in their limited interactions, her ability to defend herself wasn’t clear, not yet. If anything, all she proved to him was that she enjoyed throwing herself in the middle of dangerous situations, a trait that wasn’t valuable to her new bodyguard.

“Fine.”

The word caused the woman to perk up. The sight entertained him.

“But I have limits,” he added. “Hard ones. And if you refuse to abide by them, you’ll either die or this contract is null.”

Her arms crossed, but she looked at him with expectation.

“Going to teach you some basic self-defense so you don’t get yourself killed. Until you do that with me then I won’t allow you to go into the field. Period. Next, I want to know what cyberware you do have and outfit you with defensive cyberware should anyone get too close.”

“Isn’t that your job?” she quipped. “To make sure no one gets ‘too close’?”

“Something tells me that you’ll fuck it all up and I’m not about to let you ruin this for me.”

He caught it. Small, but he saw that flash of rebellion, that grain of resistance, before she checked herself and pursed those lips shut.

“Last,” continued Adam. “You get a tracker.”

“Why-”

“Because I fucking said so. That’s why.”

The two stared at one another with enough intensity to start a fire. She didn’t balk at his stature, nor at how harshly his eyes took her in.

“Might I suggest a compromise?” she questioned.

“I don’t do compromises-”

“Humor me.”

When he didn’t argue, she resumed.

“If I have to have a babysitter, then I also would like a tracker for you.”

“What good-”

“Because I fucking said so.”

At that, Adam couldn’t help himself. He stomped towards her with enough force that she stepped back, pressing herself against the desk. His frame enveloped hers, all black camouflage and large arms caging her in on either side of her hips. Sitting on top of the desk, she gaped with wide eyes up at the furious mercenary, his face inches from hers as he towered over her body in muted rage.

“This is my job, my fucking ass on the line, and I’m not letting anyone, anybody, fuck up all the shit I had to do to get where I am,” he declared, voice shaking. “I don’t give a shit about who you think you are, I’m the one who says how this contract will go. Me!”

That’s it, he thought, his eyes unashamedly studying every curve and how that primal fear shattered that confident front of hers.

That’s what he liked to see.

The fear.

The uncertainty.

He got drunk on it, finally, the sight of her weakness, the proof that she was like everyone else.

Standing so close to her body, Adam picked up on the deep notes of her perfume.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, a new lowness coating his voice. His body shifted to stand more directly between her knees, causing her legs to spread. “Is this that ‘foreplay’ you were bitching about, Lumen?”

No response came from her at first.

Nothing.

Nothing new for him to be challenged with.

Nothing special.

But just as he felt that familiar burst of empowerment swell in his chest, the woman did something to instantly snuff it out.

Gently.

Kindly.

With a soft hand, the woman reached up and cupped Adam’s face. His own hand shot up to grip her wrist, a hard warning. It was ignored. Completely ignored as her thumb lightly stroked his cheekbone with an easy slowness. He swallowed.

As his smirk fell as did the look of uncertainty from her own face. Golden eyes glittered with something warm, something that Adam couldn’t quite define. A raw energy hummed between them as she held him there, held him in a paradoxical space of peace and a primal urgency to do something more.

A small smile.

“I love your eyes,” her voice said in a near whisper. “Red. They fit you.”

Just as his mouth parted to reply, an incoming call crossed his HUD. Adam moved away from her and the desk as if her hand burned. Her smile remained as he answered the call, the client on the other end simply informing him that he was running behind and would be late to their scheduled appointment.

“I’ll see you next Wednesday,” stated that woman above the sound of the client’s words. “You can go.”

And that he did. Adam held his composure, but never has he left a client as quickly as he did that that day.

[deliciouspeachpirate]

“Take my hand. Just trust me.”

A/N Here you go @prettyinlimegreenboots! I hope you like this! Its a little bit all over the place and the ending is a little wack, but I’m still happy with it. I think it’s actually the longest thing I have written to date. It does have character death, mentions of alcohol, and some generally sad stuff so please be careful! I have several other fics I’m working on right now so it will take a bit, but requests are always open! Enjoy!

It was late November and the days were starting to get shorter and colder. So far selling wasn't too much harder than normal, though the loss of so much daylight made it a bit more difficult. Jack knew that pretty soon fewer people would be willing to take even a few seconds longer than needed outside to buy a newspaper and that the boys were going to need all the money they could get for the coming winter. Winter was like a downward spiral. It got colder and people needed better coats, mittens, etc, but it was harder to sell enough papes to pay for it. Not to mention that after getting new clothes you still had to get food, figure out how to keep the lodge warm enough for everyone, keep the boys from getting sick for as long as he could, and then take care of them once they did inevitably get sick, all while making far less than they did in the summer. Winter was always the hardest time to be the leader of the newsies. Jack couldn't bear the thought of what might happen if someone got really sick and they couldn't afford medicine or a doctor. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing one of his newsies. His friends, his brothers, his family. They were all each other had and the possibility of someone getting sick and not recovering was very real. It had happened before and he didn't know if they could get through it again.

A little boy was lying in bed, extra blankets, some of which the older boys had given up, pulled up to his chin so that only his clammy face was visible. Despite the blankets and sweat slicking his hair down against his cheeks and forming beads on his forehead, his was still shivering. He hadn't left the bed for weeks. What had started out as a small cough and runny nose had spiraled until he collapsed one day on the way back to the lodging house.

Jack couldn't believe he had let the kid sell, but everyone needed the money and he couldn't let a little cough mean this kid didn't eat or sleep in the lodging house that night. He would have payed for him himself, but he had just bought a new coat for little Romeo and couldn't afford to cover the kid's board until he felt better. It was his first winter as Manhattan's leader. He was only fourteen at the time and didn't know what he was doing. How he wished he didn't let that little kid sell.

Crutchie hadn't smiled in at least a week. Race had stopped talking almost entirely, only ever saying anything that didn't directly have to do with selling to Jack and Albert. Even the younger kids were picking up on the fact that this was not just some ordinary cold. The entire lodge was quieter than it had ever been before. He hadn't stirred in days. They couldn't get him to eat anything and had resorted to forcing little sips of water past his lips hoping it could help. Jack didn't know what to do. They couldn't afford to get any help for him, but none of the methods they knew were helping. He was slipped away more and more every day.

Specs had been sitting with him when it happened. It was one of the few times Jack had ever seen him cry. One moment he had been breathing shakily, the next no sound came from his at all.

Jack was drawing in his penthouse, trying desperately to relax and rest a bit before he went down to replace Specs for a few hours until Finch's turn. It was freezing and a light snow was falling but Jack couldn't bring himself to care. Suddenly a chocked cry came from the bunkroom below him. Jack felt his stomach drop and he knew what had happened even before he saw the tear working its way down Specs' face.

They couldn't afford any real coffin for tombstone for him. He was taken away in an ordinary pine box and buried in a peasant's grave with nothing to mark who he was. There was no fancy church service. No pastor to say anything over his grave or to pray over him. The boys didn't have time to say their goodbyes, though most of them had been for days. The world stood still and he felt like there was nothing in him when he saw the box get taken away. He had kept his tears at bay, refusing to cry in front of the boys he was supposed to lead, to protect. But he had failed and now one of them was dead

Finch didn't come home that night. When Jack caught him as he stumbled through the door the next morning, his eyes were red and he smelled like alcohol. The tears hadn't dried yet on his cheeks. Jack couldn't find it in himself to tell Finch off, even if he knew he should. He was never quite the same after the kid's death.

That same winter, Jack decided that he wasn't going to let one of his boys go without something they needed if it was at all in his power to get it for them. He vowed to take care of them, no matter what it cost him. No one would go without a roof over their head, dinner, or mittens, even if it meant Jack had to give up his own. No one became a newsie just for fun. They all had something they were running from, some hardship in their past, or something they wanted to forget. Jack decided that as leader it shouldn't just be his job to tell his newsies what to do, but to take care of them. Starting in the winter of 1896, Jack made sure that the Manhattan newsies were a family.

Jack pushed away the memories of his failings in his early days as leader. He tried to think about what Crutchie had said when he'd confided in him on the roof top about how he felt after the ordeal. Crutchie had reminded him that he had been a fourteen year old kid, forced to take care of a bunch of other children after the disappearance of their old leader, and had no experience or help from anyone. No one had told him how to lead them and he was just trying to do the best for his boys. As much as it hurt and as easy as it was to blame himself, he couldn't have known and it wasn't his fault. All the same, Jack had vowed not to let anyone suffer if he could do something about it.

So when he was on his way back to the lodging house after selling his papers and came across a little girl shivering in an alley way, his mind was already made up about what he was going to do.

She was tiny, probably about eight. Judging by her thin frame, dirty dress, and the fact she was in an alley by herself with winter coming on, she probably didn't have anyone to take care of her. Unfortunately, it wasn't at all uncommon in New York for a kid to be living on the streets. The girl hadn't noticed Jack yet, so he approached her cautiously and knelt down a few feet away.

"Hey there, sweetheart. Watchu doing out here?" He spoke to her in the higher, gentler voice he typically saved for when one of the littles was scared.

She jumped and turned to look at him, not saying anything. She didn't seem to afraid of him, more surprised that he was talking to her. Years of experience taught him that if she had expected him to hurt her she would likely have flinched away or tried to run rather than just jumping. Given that, she likely hadn't been kicked our or run away, rather being on her own through some kind of accident.

"My name's Jack, how bout you tell me yours? If you'd rather not we can just go get ya something to eat instead."

The little girl's eyes brightened a little bit at the prospect of food and she smiled a bit, but she didn't seem keen to up and leave with him just yet. Jack smiled a little at her and scooted so that he was sitting with his back against the alley wall across from her.

He put his chin in his hands and said, "Ya know, its pretty cold out here. I live a few blocks away with my siblings and its nice and warm there. They'd like you, and we even have a few girls livin' with us too!" His smile fell the tiniest bit when he saw her look down and bite her lip. She was clearly hesitating and he didn't blame her, but his heart hurt to know that someone so young already knew that some people might want to hurt her. He took a deep breath and held out a hand to her.

"Hey, squirt, I ain't gonna hurt you. Take my hand. Just trust me. If you don't like it back home with me, ya don't have to stay." His voice was soft now, just barely above a whisper as he looked into her eyes, silently begging for her to take his hand.

She considered him for a moment, taking in his face. Finally, she smiled shyly again and took his hand. Jack's face split into a wide grin as he helped her stand up and he was rewarded with an adorable gap toothed grin in response. The two of them walked hand in hand to the end of the alley where Jack scooped her up into his arms, balancing her on his hip. She immediately snuggled against his side, melting into him as he moved his thin coat to cover her shivering form.

"Ya know what squirt, I think I'm gonna call you Teddy, is that okay?" She giggled a bit at that and he felt her nod against him as he walked down the street towards home.

Jack knew he would never forget that little boy lying sick in bed, and he would never stop being afraid that he would lose another of his boys, but he was building something better than they had ever had before and he was going to help anyone who needed him if he could. Teddy was one of his siblings now and pretty soon she would be integrated into the rest of their crazy, loving family. He couldn't wait for the sleeping girl in his arms to wake up and see that she wasn't alone anymore and never had to be again. He was going to keep her safe.

[letterboxd]

Beautiful Day: The Don Hertzfeldt Q&A.

In which the singular creator of It’s Such a Beautiful Day and the World of Tomorrow trilogy answers 57 questions put to him by the Letterboxd community, about death, gills, snacks, back flips, the best time of day to watch a movie, and the sick pleasure of emotionally destroying people.

Since his first animated outings in the 1990s, filmmaker Don Hertzfeldt has had a way of staring deeply into humanity’s soul via a humble stick figure, and his skill at blending existential questions with situational humor breeds intense reactions. To browse Letterboxd reviews of Hertzfeldt’s animated works is to meet film lovers at a rare, collective gathering point: heaping great piles of love for films that do “the exact opposite of helping with depression”.

There’s something optimistically anti-feel-good in Hertzfeldt’s works; a bleak view of the future, and a frank appreciation of death’s inevitability, that makes viewers urgently want to fix the way they’re living right now. “I’ve built a lot of my life philosophy on the messages of this film,” writes Misty, of his acclaimed It’s Such a Beautiful Day. “It has kicked my ass completely,” writes Dirk of the first, Oscar-nominated World of Tomorrow instalment, “making me angry at myself for letting trivial stuff take over things I love and making me happy I have so very, very much in my life to enjoy and be grateful for.”

The filmmaker’s magic lies as much in the process as the content: “Hertzfeldt is able to make every moment count,” writes Artpig, of the second WoT instalment, The Burden of Other People’s Thoughts, “every line of dialogue, every moment of silence, every note of music, every line of animation.” The World of Tomorrow films, says animation expert Toussaint Egan in our Letterboxd Show animation episode, are “some of the best science fiction films, period”.

And his timing. Oh, his timing. Just as the northern hemisphere days were turning cold, and the drawn-out misery of the pandemic was really taking hold all over again, Hertzfeldt tweeted:

WORLD OF TOMORROW EPISODE THREE everywhere october 9 5pm est 🚀

— don hertzfeldt (@donhertzfeldt)

October 8, 2020

And like that, World of Tomorrow Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime was ours, an overnight gift to the quarantined and bereaved-weary, on Vimeo for all to rent or own. The gifts, they keep coming: a master list of movies that have their fingerprints on the World of Tomorrow universe, and now, in recognition of our community’s love for his films—and in his signature lower-case—the answers to questions asked in an exclusive Letterboxd Q&A.

To make things easier for Don, we grouped similar questions (and have noted which members asked what). Read on for more than you ever thought you might get to know about Hertzfeldt’s process, brain, heart and influences.

Filmmaker Don Hertzfeldt.

From “holograms that yell at you!” to the stunning colors, textures and folds of the blue mountains, to attributes David progressively deletes to make room for memories, would you please give us an insight into World of Tomorrow Three’s world-building process? —Letterboxd in the grand scheme of the series, episodes one and two still felt like baby steps to me. episode three was my first chance to really start blowing things up and exploring this universe. when i’m writing, i don’t want to worry about going over the top or think about structure or meaning or really much of anything yet. writing is playtime, it should be fun and messy. i want to go over the top. there is no top. i don’t want to start thinking too much until i’m rewriting and sorting through it all. thinking too much too soon can get in the way, like being too aware of when you’re trying to fall asleep. when you write a diary entry or a text to a friend, there’s no self-consciousness or creative blocks, you just write. it’s casual and fluid and automatic. but if you’re asked to write a term paper or a screenplay, suddenly all those lights turn off. it can be paralyzing. it’s hard to get to that place of truly not caring what anyone thinks and approach all forms of writing just as freely as writing those immediate thoughts in your diary. but that’s what i try to do.

When you start writing a new piece, do you usually start with a plot idea, a thematic idea, one uniform philosophical notion, or a little bit of each? —Kodiak J. Sanders, Trenz, Mr. Tables i don’t think i ever write in a straight line. i’ll jot down a hundred stray ideas over time, and one day i’ll sit down and see what connections might be made out of them. i really want this scene to be in the movie, so how do i get there? this is a good line, how can i get a character to say it? so the actual story usually only starts to reveal itself when i sit down to logic all these bits and pieces out. hey, in order to connect this strange idea to that strange idea, suddenly there is a very interesting third scene.

I’m astounded by how much the animation and the visuals improve with each instalment of World of Tomorrow. What have you done differently for each one? —Aske Lund, Cringetacular the characters needed to physically perform a lot more in episodes two and three so there were more demands put on the animation. when emily 4 dances or david staggers up a mountain, those sorts of scenes were animated in “ones”, which means doing 24 drawings per second versus my usual twelve. it’s still all 2D hand animation, just more of a classic disney approach that gives the movement a smoother look and a little more room for nuance. and obviously it takes a lot more work. but i hesitate to call such things improvements because i’m not sure i like the idea of different techniques being thought of as good or bad. it’s just another way of doing things. it really depends, sometimes super limited animation can be more effective.

Likewise, Part Three’s sound design is incredible. What conditions did you create it in, and what are all those sounds, and how do you have such an incredible command of the cut-to-silence trick?! —Letterboxd thanks, the sound design is always my favorite thing to do. other than julia’s lines, it’s easy to forget that all the animation starts with dead silence. obviously there’s no sound coming from a live-action set. so adding sound and music to everything, usually pretty late in production, is when all the stuff i’ve been working on suddenly starts to feel like an actual movie. this is not a future that works very well—particularly david’s, which predates everything else we’ve seen so far by a century or two—so you’re hearing a lot of creaky old hard drives booting up, electric distortions, and bent circuits from broken toys.

Emily and Emily Prime in a still from ‘World of Tomorrow’ (2015).

World of Tomorrow used to fill me with existential dread, but now with the current state of the world it’s become more and more comforting in a strange way. Do you feel that at all as you make new episodes? —mariano gg i wish that were possible but when i’m making something i’m usually so close to it i’m unable to see anything but all the things i need to fix.

Can you talk a little bit about sourcing the photo-realistic images for the backgrounds in Part Three? —Jack Moulton most of the environments were 2D images i built in photoshop, usually starting from close-up photos of different textures (like sandstone), all sort of reshaped and puzzle-pieced into something new. an easy to see example was david’s cockpit, which was cobbled together from all sorts of different old aircraft engine and machine parts. the trick in building and lighting these locations was always figuring out where the line was drawn in making these places realistic, but not too realistic for minimal characters to inhabit. i kept landing on a sort of painterly looking middle ground.

If the cloning process in World of Tomorrow existed right now, would you go through that process and create clones of yourself to prolong your life? —tim probably not, that process doesn’t seem to work so well.

If you were put into the world you’ve created, would you buy gills? —Lauren Torres i tend to avoid putting my head under because i almost always get water in my ears so i guess i wouldn’t need them. gills also seem like they’d be a real nuisance to keep clean.

What does love mean, and why do your characters go through so much effort to find it? —Andrew Michalko oh man.

In this year of years, what do you hope people will understand about death and its inevitability (or is it all there on the screen, and if so, that’s okay too)? —Letterboxd understanding death and its inevitability is maybe the most valuable thing a person can do for themselves.

Was the absence of Emily Prime in Part Three a practical decision [Don’s then-four-year-old niece Winona provided Emily’s voice] or an intentional departure from the first two films? —Michael it was both. i couldn’t find a way to fit her in naturally and i also felt like the series needed to start growing in other directions and not rest on the past. episode two had also been really difficult to write, it was so reliant on winona’s recordings, and it felt like the dam was really broken when i was finally able to write without any restrictions this time.

In a series like World of Tomorrow, where you headed in a direction that is a lot more plot-driven than your previous work, how far in advance do you plan? Did you always know this was in David’s past, or are these stories told one at a time? —Ryan Welch, Kodiak J. Sanders, julius, Alex Leon i could tell early on that this wasn’t a story like it’s such a beautiful day with a clear beginning, middle and end, but a much wilder thing that could continue to grow. the openness of it is still what makes it so interesting to me. i have all sorts of notes for the next episodes but if i already knew what would happen in episode nine i think that would take a lot of the air out of the tires and i’d start to feel like i was just connecting the boring dots. while writing, i’ve also had to be aware that there someday might be an episode nine so i can’t go wrecking the timelines before i get there.

What were the rocks and the gas pump that Emily fell in love with meant to represent? —Ekaneff she was learning how to love, and like all of us, in her youth she gravitated to a bunch of individuals that were wrong for her.

Aside from the ability to release more frequently, is there something about the episodic structure that you prefer/appreciate, as opposed to creating one larger feature-length film? —SiddFinch1 there’s just more freedom. the traditional running time of a feature film, 90 to 120 minutes, is a totally arbitrary number.

Have you ever considered writing a World of Tomorrow book or graphic novel? —Jay Smith the earliest ideas for world of tomorrow were sloshing around in a graphic novel called the end of the world that came out in 2013. but i don’t have any talent or much confidence in making another book like that. it’s a different world. when i look at someone like chris ware and then look at something like the end of the world, it’s like, “wow, baby made a mess”.

A page from Don Hertzfeldt’s graphic novel, ‘The End of the World’ (2013).

What attracted you to the unique style [of minimalist stick figures]? Is there a sense of intimacy that you feel you can achieve with this simplicity? —Evan Whitford when i was little, before i wanted to make movies i wanted to be a newspaper cartoonist. i think my drawings today might have more in common with newspaper comics than the sort of characters you usually see in animation. comic-strip panels were always composed in a very reserved way because they were generally intended to be skimmed. you needed to be able to read the strip in five seconds so you could be off to read the sports pages and obituaries. the comics pages were also under constant size and space restrictions. so they were minimal by design and the artists reduced their characters to only their most essential parts. there was no room for fussing. charles schulz said “i only draw what’s necessary”. and that’s actually incredibly hard to do. you’re accomplishing so much more with so much less.

i’ve also found that if there’s a scene that’s not playing right and bothering me, most of the time it’s because my composition was too cluttered. i almost always find myself removing things from the frame and trying to pare it down to only what’s necessary. very rarely do i ever think ‘i need to add more stuff in here’. because this shot is only five seconds long and i want you to be looking over here when this moment happens and this character says something, and if you’re distracted by this other flickering junk i put in the corner it’s going to throw everything off.

Animation-aside, which creative medium do you resonate with the most? —Bronkdan music.

How much did you pull from real-life experiences to make It’s Such A Beautiful Day, if any? What research did you conduct into memory? —Gunnar Sizemore, David Sigura, Micah Smith whenever i got a little stuck writing it’s such a beautiful day, i’d go back and reread my journal and pull more things out of it. dreams, conversations, small scenes. reading the journal now, it seems like i stole something from it every few pages. i also heavily researched neurological problems. it’s never said in the movie what exactly’s going on with bill, but i needed there to be a real diagnosis to base the medical writing on. so all the things he’s going through are real treatments or symptoms based on an actual condition. i didn’t want to ever come out and say, “he’s got terminal brain clouds”, or whatever in the movie, because then it becomes a “brain-cloud movie”, and that’s too easy for the audience to compartmentalize and distance themselves from… “brain clouds are so rare, that will never happen to me”. but not being told exactly what’s wrong with bill might help make the story more relatable and universal.

In what ways have you kept your mind fresh creatively? How do you keep yourself from slipping into complacency? —Watchmoviez, Drew’s reviews most creative blocks or stagnation come from anxiety, second-guessing and doubt. over the years i’ve learned to just sort of calm down and trust myself more. it’s like the old aesop fable: when you stop thrashing around in the water, the water becomes clearer and you can see more. if a scene isn’t working right, i can more easily chill out about it these days and trust that i’ll eventually figure it out—because i’ve figured these sorts of things out a hundred times before and i know by now that i’m not the sort of person who’s just going to allow a scene that isn’t working to remain in the movie. there’s a little more panic about that sort of thing when you’re young: “oh no, the movie sucks right now, will it always suck?!” i’ve reached the point where i know that i will not let it suck. and that sort of thinking allows all the movie gears to turn more easily.

Do you have a specific thematic, emotional or other miscellaneous motive in mind when including classical music pieces? —James Y. Lee when i’m listening to music and suddenly the right piece arrives, it’s usually blindingly obvious to me: there’s just no doubt this needs to be in the movie somehow. it’s like the idea has always existed and i’ve just finally uncovered it. it’s the same with writing. when the right thing floats along, it is striking and obvious and into the pile of notes it goes.

How much of your animation style lends itself to experimentation, such as discovering new tricks and pretty shots, that is then discarded if you learn it doesn’t work as intended? —Adam, Jacob i think i’m always experimenting. i figure if it doesn’t work, at least i’ve learned something.

What is the strangest compliment or critique you’ve gotten personally or of your work? —Elliot Taylor i’ve always remembered this one. i am so proud of you came out a couple years after everything will be ok. it was a continuation of that story, so it was basically the first time i had ever made a sequel. and everything will be ok had done really well when it came out. it won sundance and got all these great reviews. so i am so proud of you comes out and i remember reading this review that says, “everything will be ok was probably my favorite animated short of all time. it honestly changed my life. it was funny, sad, beautiful and just so wonderful. everything will be ok, boy did i love it. incredible. two thumbs up. truly, best thing ever. wow. so, unfortunately, its sequel, i am so proud of you, just feels like more of the same.”

A still image from ‘It’s Such a Beautiful Day’ (2012).

Are there any pieces of fiction that have influenced your work that we probably wouldn’t think of? —Gyani Wasp, Mikolaj Perzyna, Aaron McMillan, Harrison, Axel, Cringetacular, The25centman, Hunter Guidry one thing that pops to mind is the phantom tollbooth. my favorite children’s books were the ones with all the fun metaphors and clever wordplay. when i was plotting out episode two i wanted to lean into that, where visiting different sections of emily’s brain would be like milo visiting the land of math, the land of letters, the land of sound, with different looks and logic to it. so we had the bog of realism, glimmers of hope, broken memories, the logic center, and all the stuff in triangle land and square land. i guess that’s a lot but i wish there had been a bit more.

How did your friends and family respond to the “my anus is bleeding” part of Rejected? —Alex Tatterson they were pretty used to me by then.

Do you know of the work of David Firth, the internet animator? His work is also surreal and has dark humor, but more sinister than whimsical. Would you ever consider making an animation in the realm of horror in future? —KEVIИ HДWKIИS i’m afraid i don’t know him. i’d love to make a horror movie. from a certain point of view though maybe it could be argued that most everything i’ve made is a sort of horror movie?

My first tattoo is of Billy from Billy’s Balloon hanging from his ankle and it was the best decision I’ve ever made. How do you feel about people having your work tattooed and do you have any ink from other creatives that have meant something to you? —Elias it really fucking enrages me when people get my stuff tattooed on them. no just kidding. mostly i feel embarrassed but i’m glad you haven’t changed your mind about it yet. sometimes i wonder how many people have.

Have you ever thought about directing live action? —Abeer, Noah Thompson yes.

Is there an update on your feature film Antarctica? —Rylan California it’s one of many things swirling around.

Will you do a remake of Robocop and why not next year? —Simon no, because robocop is already sort of perfect.

Do you ever see yourself directing a large studio film? Or working with a large team to make something with a higher budget, maybe through a crowd-funded project? Or do you just strongly prefer working on your own? —Vteyshev, Monotone Duck sure. i’ve never preferred working on my own at all. it was usually just the only way to ever get anything made. i haven’t had the funding to pay a big crew, or really much of a crew at all. there’s the old saying: you can make something good, you can make it fast, and you can make it cheap, but you can only pick two. if you make it good and fast it won’t be cheap, if you make it cheap and fast it won’t be good, etc. so my only route in hoping to make something good and cheap has been to totally forget about making it fast.

What did you find digital animation added or took away from your work, and what did those changes do for your storytelling? Will you continue using the digital medium when/if you decide to move on from the World of Tomorrow project? —Alec Lai, Slipkornbizkit, Aldo digital just sped everything up. it’s still one person drawing everything, so we need to remember that speed is relative here, but i felt like i went from riding a bicycle to driving a car. there are many pleasant, wonderful things about riding a bicycle but you’re not going to get anywhere very quickly. and i’m not in my 20s anymore, in fact my 20s and 30s were mostly entirely devoured by making movies in what was maybe the slowest way possible. so these days i am appreciating the speed of digital.

If you could have a conversation with any filmmaker, dead or alive, who would it be and why? —ToBeHonest, Cringetacular if i could resurrect one of my heroes from the dead i think i would feel terrible wasting his time forcing him to have a conversation with me. he might also just sit there, covered with graveyard dirt, screaming in horror.

What is the best time of day to watch a movie? —Sammy night. i always feel a little nuts coming out of a movie and the sun is still up.

What’s your all-time favorite science-fiction film, and why? —Letterboxd 2001. because come on.

What is your favorite of Julia Potts’ films, and why? —Letterboxd i like the one with the severed foot.

Are there any animated films that you felt had a profound impact on you as a child? —Sprizzle probably fantasia. and ray harryhausen stuff. whenever there was a sunday-afternoon movie on TV, my brother and i learned that if in the opening titles there was a credit for “special effects” we should keep watching because we might eventually see something cool.

Which one of your movies is your personal favorite? —Jakob Böwer, RodrigoJerez i don’t know. sometimes it’s the newest one because it’s usually the one with the most experience behind it and therefore feels like it has the fewest mistakes. but then over time i realize they’re all riddled with mistakes. of the it’s such a beautiful day pieces, i think my favorite has always been i am so proud of you. and then i’ll see reviews that say “clearly the second chapter is the weakest one”, and i’ll think, man you guys don’t know what you’re talking about.

One of Don’s layout sketches for ‘I Am So Proud of You’ (2008).

What’s your favorite Pixar film? —Jordan inside out.

What film would you want to be the last one you watch before you die? —Gavin honestly if i’m in the process of dying i hope i won’t be watching movies at all.

Do you have faith in humanity? —Connor Kriechbaum not often.

What is something that worries you about where humankind is headed? —Felix_Bouchard social media.

What is the most valuable thing you have ever lost? How often do you think about it? —Siminup well now i’m getting sad.

Can you do a back flip, mister Don? —Doug maybe with the help of a catapult.

What is your take on the after life? What do you think happens to us when we die? —Luisdecoss i guess that it’s probably a lot like our memory of what the year 1823 was like.

Do you want anything from McDonald’s? —Andrew Rhyne only if i’m in an airport and desperate.

What’s your favorite meal or snack? —Pfitzerone, Evan lately in quarantine i’ve been discovering this particular breakfast burrito.

How’s your quarantine life, Don? —Ivan Arcena it’s okay thanks. eating lots of breakfast burritos.

Hi! I can’t believe you’re going to read this. I am currently filled with an unparalleled amount of joy, wow. This is a long shot but here I go. I’m 17 and your (self-proclaimed) biggest fan. I’ve seen It's Such a Beautiful Day eight times now and every single time I pick up on more details. I’ve watched a few of your interviews and in the AFS one about Rejected you said that the louder you play a movie, the funnier it is. On my seventh watch of It’s Such a Beautiful Day I hooked my laptop up to three huge speakers and I must say—you were so, so right. I made a video essay about the movie. Lol, I’m not sure if this will get to you but Michael Jordan once said something about missing shots or not taking shots or maybe about tequila, I am unsure but I know it was important. Thanks MJ. Not you, Mr Jackson. I’m sorry Ms. Jackson…

I actually do have a question, sorry about the rambling. Every single time I watch the guy at the payphone flip his pencil and go “fantastic, fantastic” I cry. And I think what really does it for me is that “we’ll finally have our day”. Earlier in the movie, Bill’s co-worker talks about how all of time is happening at once. So what I constantly ask myself is if the guy at the payphone is simultaneously having his day and waiting for it. And I’m no longer speaking to that one specific example or even to the movie as a whole but I guess I’m wondering if the idea of all events happening at once comforts you?

In Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut writes: “The most important thing I learned on Tralfamadore was that when a person dies he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past, so it is very silly for people to cry at his funeral. All moments past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist.” When I read this I immediately thought about your movie. I think the idea of all of time happening at once makes all of life feel less important but more special. You know? Anyway, I suppose I’d just like to know what inspired the lines about time in the office scene. This isn’t much of a question, more an incoherent ramble but thank you so, so much for all you’ve done. I feel so incredibly inspired and so deeply moved by your work and I know that so many people in this comment section and around the world would agree. I can’t believe I’ve been given the opportunity to ask something. It really is such a beautiful day. :) —Eli Osei (co-signed by Vooder) that old guy at the payphone was someone i saw at the laundromat once and he borrowed my pencil and the whole thing just played out like in the movie. i just thought it was such a perfect little scene that i’d just witnessed. anyway, the idea of time being a landscape and everything taking place “at once” just came straight out of a science magazine. i don’t know how, but apparently it’s been more or less proven to be true? we perceive time in one direction, but the past and the future are always all around us. think of it as though we’re driving our car through a landscape. even though the mountains we saw ten minutes ago are behind us now, it doesn’t mean those mountains have ceased to exist. they’ve only ceased to exist from our point of view. we’ve only just driven past them. the mountains, like your childhood, are still going on back there. anyway, i had never heard of that before and thought it needed to be in a movie.

A still from ‘World of Tomorrow Episode Two: The Burden of Other People’s Thoughts’ (2017).

Are you a fan of Kurt Vonnegut by any chance? It may be coincidental, but I love how you both utilize science-fiction settings and concepts like being “unstuck from time/memory” to explore the human condition. I feel his writing and your animation are both capable of making me laugh wholeheartedly one minute and weeping genuine, sorrowful tears the next. —Vooder i’m embarrassed to say i’ve never read him and i’m told on a regular basis that i should. that all started after i am so proud of you came out with those discussions about time being a landscape. but i almost only ever read non-fiction. it’s a long story. but now i’m almost afraid to ever read vonnegut after all these years of build-up.

Hey Don, this is really cool. I don’t have as much of a question, more of a comment. It’s Such A Beautiful Day has gotten me through a lot of hard times, being in middle school sucks, I think everyone knows that: and your movie has made life just a wee bit better for me. It also gave me the inspiration and motivation to finish my first feature! Thanks lots. Love from Indiana —Blood Mountain: Experimental Cinema <3 hey thank you. yeah middle school was pretty much the deepest pit of hell. there’s this old saying, “if you find yourself in hell, keep going”. and i’ve never understood that saying. “keep going”, because, i guess, you can always just go deeper into hell?

Hi! Has the vitreous humour in your eyes started to deteriorate and have you experienced floaters within your eyeballs? If not, that’s okay. Just remember it’s part of life, so don’t get scared when it happens! Just keep moving on! But if you do have them, follow-up question: Do you think it’s funny that the body of vitreous fluid that allows your sight to be clear is called the vitreous humour, and when it detaches it’s anything but humorous? I find that pretty humorous myself, in, like, an ironic way. —Clbert1 i actually blew a blood vessel in my eye a couple weeks ago and the whole thing turned bright blood red. it didn’t hurt or anything, i just walked into the room all disgusting and my girlfriend was like, “what the fuck?!” and then the next day i had further weird eye problems. i just went to the eye doctor yesterday. i think i will be fine but i was thinking, wouldn’t it be like the most heavy metal thing ever for my biography if i just suddenly went BLIND? “and then in 2020, HE WENT BLIND.”

Will Intro ever be released to the general public outside of theater screenings? —Melissa okay yes you’ve talked me into it. on that note, i noticed that the poster of intro used on letterboxd is a weird fake and i’m not sure where it came from. someone just used a picture from rejected. if fake posters are to be made i would prefer it if they used a picture from raiders of the lost ark or something.

Do you have plans to combine the World of Tomorrow shorts into one feature-length film à la It’s Such a Beautiful Day? —David Sigura, Sam Stewart, An_Person no, it’s going to be much longer than a feature-length.

Will we ever get a ‘Hertzfeldt 4K Collection’? Or at least a Blu-ray with It’s Such a Beautiful Day and all episodes of World of Tomorrow? —Teebin, HippityHoppity there is actually already a blu-ray for it’s such a beautiful day. up next we’ll do some sort of world of tomorrow blu-ray of the first three episodes. but 4k is too many k’s. you don’t need that many k’s.

Would you ever consider comprising an OST album of all the songs you used and mixed from your films? —PhiloDemon i don’t think so. i read that for many years cat stevens resisted releasing his original songs from harold and maude on any records because he thought they were more special if you could only ever hear them in the movie. i like that.

Do you get a sick kind of pleasure from emotionally destroying people with your movies? —MaxT26 yep.

What’s been your ongoing experience of the outpouring of joy and love of your work? —Henry gratitude. how sad for me if, after all this work, nobody was watching at all.

Related content

Don’s invaluable Twitter thread about “old-school animation camera stuff”

A Few of the Fingerprints on the World of Tomorrow Universe: a list of influences curated for Letterboxd by Don Hertzfeldt

Modest Heroes: the Letterboxd Showdown for indie animation

The Drawn Cinema: Analena’s list of rough animation, pencil textures, watercolor effects, dynamic brushes and other poetic artistry.

Beloved Indie Animation: a list by Gui

Animated Sci-Fi and Fantasy: an extensive list by Stonefolk

‘World of Tomorrow Three: The Absent Destinations of David Prime’ is available now through Bitter Films on Vimeo.