#later reply than expected i had to draw all these guys

[slowedmountains]

I'm here to ask about your guys!!!! Tell me about your knights!!!! (Only if you'd like to of course!!!!) What're they like? What's their deals? Anything you'd like to talk about relating to them!!

Some very open ended question here haha! What their deals are what they're like are v dependent on which knight we're talking about so heeere's some characters (not all o these guys are named yet!)

The main guys I tend to draw are The Blue Knight, The Red Knight and Ser Killian.

Killian can seem a little severe at first but he's just dedicated to whatever job he's on and making sure he makes the right impression. In reality he's calm and personable, gentle and patient with kids, especially. He was The Blue Knight's mentor and one of the only knights sensible enough to know his limits and retire while he still has some life left to live.

The Blue Knight is a quiet and serious sort. While they care deeply about the people of the kingdom and doing right by them, they are uncomfortable, cautious and seemingly haunted by an unseen force. Blue was set up for a comfortable life, their father being brother of the King, but they fled home unannounced to fight in the King's army when they were young, seeing plenty of horrors and being badly injured before they met Killian and insisited he take them on as a Squire. Their achievements were admired and respected, and eventually they were assigned a squire...

The Red Knight started life an orphan on the streets of the capital, unnamed and unwanted, this did not deter them from lofty ambitions. They scrapped and stole for whatever they could find until a fateful day they returned a trinket pilfered from the King who saw fit to let them join the ranks of his knights (so Red would say). Their life has deeply shaped their philosophy and they will do whatever it takes to get what they want, no matter how cruel or dirty the task may be. They have a way of minceing words to turn an enemy around to their point of view, and those who stand in their way but can't be persuaded have a way of... disappearing. I'm sure it's just coincidence.

ask me about my characters

[leidensygdom]

AI bros from hell

Hello! Do you have a bit of your time for a story on AI bros and clients from hell? I bring a really fun one!

I met this guy at a con I was tabling at over a year ago, before AI was a thing. He said he enjoyed my art, and inquired me about whether I did book illustrations. I said yes- He was specifically interested in my bigger pieces, the fully rendered and detailed ones. He agreed to send me later a DM to discuss specifics.

For two weeks, he kept DMing me on details about his book, what he wanted, etc. He wanted full illustrations for inside the book as well as a cover, all of them fully colored, painted and rendered. He also wanted illustrations in this style to post on social media to promote the book. I had warned him that something like that would be costly, but he insisted that he needed this to be the best of the best.

Now, I was getting bad vibes from the guy. I shit y'all not, his instagram handle was "The next tolkien". I wasn't however gonna refuse a job opportunity. Now, he finally asked for prices: He had reassured me he was willing to pay fairly for this. Since he's a starting author, I gave him my non-commercial quotes, which are much, much, much lower than the standard for book illustrations. I mean "if you search for how much this costs on google, the lower prices are x5 times more expensive than what I offered".

The guy, upon receiving that, just ghosted me. Immediately unfollowed, didn't reply me with a "sorry, I can't afford it" or "sorry, i was expecting to pay $10 for a full rendered full background several-characters-picture". Nothing.

The other day I decided to search what he was up to. He's now released... THREE books for this series. There's a single review in the first one. Not even written, just a stars one. Also, notably, he had a webpage put together promoting the book, and. Yeah.

All the art is AI crap.

Which makes sense. My guy was very on his high horse about how fantastic of a writer he is, but I guess art isn't really to be compensated fairly. When he saw the "art stealing machine you just pay a subscription for", I'm guessing he was very excited.

So, uh, here's some of the marvelous pictures he generated of the characters, which surely tell you about how great the book is. AI is theft, so I don't give a f*** about reposting it.

I have a lot of opinions about creators who write, draw or make music, who are more than happy to use AI for other stuff- Album covers made with AI, writers using AI crap for book illustrations, artists using AI-made music. It feels like you're sh*tting in any other artistic field and showing how little you respect anyone but yourself. Like, I'll be honest, I don't have interest reading a book from someone who considers that other forms of art aren't real or worth any money. It just tells me you're devoid of any interest for art or humanity.

As an ending note, his instagram description is "More closer to god than to human", which does add to the clownery.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Stolen Angel - Part 4

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 1793

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“You didn't eat.”  

You don’t flinch at the intrusion of his voice, not this time. While it was peaceful without his deep tone in your ear, you knew him finding you was inevitable, and honestly, you’re surprised it took him this long. Although, it’s possible that he didn’t need to find you at all; he could have been watching you from afar. Just because you haven’t seen his face in almost twenty-four hours doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen yours, and you’ve certainly provided him with an unobstructed view. But then you wonder why he hasn’t dragged you back to your room. 

You weren’t going to run. You just needed to see it, feel it, for yourself. Maybe that’s why he’s let you be; why he’s not scolding you until your brain melts. Maybe he knows that you won’t have logic overpowering your emotions when it comes to this, because even if you had some semblance of which direction to go in, you wouldn’t know what to do once you got there. To be anywhere other than here, like it or not you need him. You need his guidance and support, and worst of all, his permission.

“I ate some of it,” you confess. 

“Not enough,” he says. 

When he steps in front of you, his body eclipses the sun. The field around you untouched by his shadow still radiates its vibrant shades while you sit in the darkness he is creating. You look up, and his blond hair is glowing almost blindly from the backlight of the sun.

“Why are you out here, Angel?”

You turn your attention to your hand that’s nestled in the grass. “I had to see if it was real,” you say softly as you twirl your finger around a green blade.

He hums. “And are you satisfied with what you've found?”

Satisfied? You could scoff. What a foolish question; a disrespectful question. You can’t be satisfied with what you don’t understand. Feeling the dirt between your fingers and toes doesn’t provide you with the wealth of clarity he has been denying you. Clarity that you’re owed. 

“Come on,” he says at your lack of reply, reaching out a hand. “Out of the grass.”

“Tell me what this place is,” you say.

“I can explain it to you later. You’re not completely healed and we need to—”

“No,” you snap, meeting his eyes. “Now. Explain it to me now.”

Jake sighs, his hand dropping back to his side. “Angel—”

“I could become a lot more difficult, you know.”

He lets out a huff of a chuckle. Little crinkles form in the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I do know.”

“Then tell me.”

His smile settles. He mutters something under his breath before he glances over your head to the structure behind you. When you turn to get a look at what has stolen his attention, you find only an empty doorway. 

“You want me to like you, don’t you?” you ask, knowing that will draw him back to you. 

A blond brow raises in curiosity and suspicion. “This will make you like me?”

“It would help,” you lie. “The truth is important to me, and I don’t understand how you can expect me to want to be here if I have no clue what ‘here’ is.”

As he bites the inside of his cheek, you begin to worry that the promise of your affection is not a strong enough offer—that he might want more than just your words, he’ll want proof that you intend to follow through with what you say by your actions—but then he turns where he stands and lowers himself into the grass beside you. He’s close, and when his wing brushes over yours as he makes himself comfortable, he’s quick to pull it away, as if your feathers could set his aflame. 

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before he rests his elbows on his bent knees. “It’s called The Tower,” he eventually says. “It was a prison, technically, until about two months ago.”

“A prison,” you repeat. “How fitting.”

He shoots you a look. You’ve offended him and you need to reign yourself in. “If you bothered to behave, it wouldn’t have to feel like one,” he informs you.

You hold back from rolling your eyes. You’re the textbook definition of a prisoner and you both know it. He can deny it to your face all he wants, but you have a right to feel like this place is a prison, even if it doesn’t exactly have the look of a prison. At least, not where you’re from. You don’t know of many ‘cells’ that include wardrobes, open windows, double beds with thick coverings, and fireplaces. Before you left your room you were imagining many possibilities for the cage you’ve been kept in, but among those were large estate or small castle, not a home for the naughty winged people.

“It’s awfully fancy for a prison,” you say.

“Our offenses weren’t so horrible.”

Our? 

Your brows almost shoot off your forehead until you take a half-second to soak it in and then accept the shame of being shocked. “Of course, you’re a criminal,” you say, nodding to yourself. “Did you kidnap a few other innocents and turn them into monsters, too?”

Jake doesn’t look you in the eye as he swallows hard, so you turn your head back to the horizon. “You’re not a monster, Angel. You’re perfect,” he tells you, then shakes his head. “But no. There were no others. I broke a rule—the same rule—a few times, which got me three separate six-month sentences in five years. Four months into my last one, the prison was dissolved here and set up elsewhere. Everyone was released; I stayed.”

Your brow pinches. “Why would you stay in the place you were captive?”

“I liked my room—well, your room right now. I liked the view. I thought it would be a good place for us once you joined me,” he says. “Secluded. Intimate.” 

Stomach flipping, your heartbeat gives a sharp thud. Instinctually, you think to move away, make an early retreat back to your room, but for once he’s actually answering your questions and you can’t sacrifice that in case you’re never given the same chance.

“What was the rule that you broke?” you ask. 

“Out past curfew, so to speak.”

“Out where?”

Jake goes silent, contemplating, then he says, “That's enough for now.”

But it’s not enough for you. “Out where?” you press to no response, so with a huff, you push off the ground to stand. 

He grabs your wrist as you’re about to take a step. “Sit,” he says. “I'll tell you if you stay.” 

Subtly smirking at the win, you return to the grass. 

Jake blows out a breath. “The Below,” he tells you.

“The Below…” You roll the words around on your tongue. They mean nothing to you until Jake makes a face like he might come to regret what he’s just done, and then they mean everything. “My world?”

Jake groans. “How many times do I have to tell you that that is not your—”

“You were there more than just that one time?” you interrupt, stunned that you momentarily forgot that your home is where he met you. It must have been the anger or fear or lasting daze from the week of pain, but somehow it didn’t register that you could potentially return as well. “How?”

“No more questions,” he scolds.  

“But I thought you wanted me to like you,” you counter. 

Shifting to sit on your hip with your legs bent at your side, you set your hand on top of his. He stares at the new touch, then his thumb begins to rub along the line of your index finger in soft, slow motions. 

He doesn’t stop his staring. He doesn’t stop his thumb’s gentle caressing. “Yes, I was there more than just that one time.”

Despite your carefully restrained excitement at the plethora of new information, you forget the game you’re playing and jerk your hand away from his just as he’s about to intertwine your fingers. “So you can go whenever you want?” you ask. “Then take me.”

At the demand, his teeth clench, jawline sharpening. “No, I cannot go whenever I want, and no, I am not taking you.”

“Why not!”

“Because you are right where you should be,” he says decisively. 

You feel his heightening irritation, so you quickly place your palm on his shoulder and slide it down to his toned bicep where it stays. 

“I just want to see it,” you tell him before you scoot yourself closer to his side, your hip a couple inches shy of pressing against his. He looks down to where your bodies are nearly touching, then back up at you. You try a light smile. “Please, Jake.”

His eyes lock on to your smile, your lips. He darts his tongue out to wet his own, and you prepare yourself for the kiss you’re sure he’s about to give you—a kiss you won’t say no to if it helps get you home—but it’s a kiss that never comes. He just thinks; drinks in your smile and thinks. 

The green of his irises in the sunlight is overwhelming when directed at you for such a long pause, and you don’t initially notice when he opens his mouth. 

“If you show me that you can listen to me and do as I tell you, I’ll consider it,” he finally says. 

Your head flinches back, mind immediately going to the worst of what he could want from you. “What will you be telling me to do?” 

“To start, you’re going back inside. You haven’t finished healing and because you took yourself on a little adventure, you stressed your wing and now part of it is inflamed. You need rest.”

You must have been so mentally preoccupied that you blocked out all physical transmission to your brain because it’s only when he says it that you feel the return of the ache.  

“And you’re going to eat,” he continues. “Everything, this time.”

“Fine,” you relent. 

“You’re going to wear something made of more comfortable fabric than that,” he gestures to your smock, “And you’re going to stop arguing with me over every damn thing. You can’t change what’s been done, so being pissed at me doesn’t do you any good.”

It takes extra effort to muster up an agreement to that last one. Your swallow you can only compare to trying to get down a sponge soaked in wet cement. “Fine,” you grit out.

“Fine,” he says, standing. He extends his hand out toward you again. “Let’s see if you’re capable of behaving, Angel.”

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @fandom-life-12 @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me @eloquentdreamer

[ell-alexanderarnold]

Spinning

Summary: Trent meets Y/n when she’s at her lowest and helps her to find herself again until she falls unrequitedly in love.

Angst & Fluff

Warnings: Reader has mental health issues

Note: I listened to this song while I was writing this ❤️‍🩹 + If you’re feeling alone or something like that, remember that you’re loved and you’re not alone in what you’re battling with 🫶🏻

﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋

It was just a normal day for Trent but for you it was more. You fell in love, with a guy who didn’t even want you. He just wanted to be loved. And so did you, more than ever. Turns out in the end that you were just a distraction, a person who he could lash out his feelings to, like it was nothing.

Whatever you thought you and Trent had, wasn’t love. It wasn’t real.

The day Y/n and Trent met

It was raining outside, it was cold as well. Trent hated the cold and wished he stayed home this day. Y/n on the other hand liked the cold but not the rain.

It was a real challenge for Y/n to get up from the bed this day. She just wanted to lay there all day, she liked the loneliness but still felt miserable.

Y/n got out of the bed and went on a walk outside, eyes still red and puffy from crying. The rain fell down on her and she wished she stayed at home. Y/n couldn’t help but cry, everything in her life felt meaningless at the moment.

She kept her head down as she walked and suddenly she dropped her phone, and figured she’d walked into someone. How embarrassing.

“Oh I’m so sorry.” Y/n apologised and the person handed her the phone.

“No worries!” He said and as you looked at him he noticed your red puffy eyes.

“Crazy whether today huh?” Y/n remarked and looked him in the eyes. They were brown and very pretty.

“Yeah, right.” He answered.

“What’s your name?” He added.

“Y/n, I live down the street.” You replied and the stranger shake his hand and said

“I’m Trent.”

You looked up to see that it stopped raining, and that’s how the story started.

Once you met Trent everything in your life stopped raining. Or so you thought.

-

From that day Trent could tell from your eyes that you’ve been crying. He wanted to know what was wrong and he didn’t even know you.

Months went by and you met Trent met each other on walks now and then, one thing lead to another and you were asked on a date.

You were nervous and overwhelmed, you couldn’t believe that this could happen to someone like you. You somehow felt special for the first time in a long time. Because Trent cared about you.

“I’m sorry you feel that way.” He expressed after you just ranted out all of your thoughts and feelings about your life. You were overthinking if you maybe shared too much, but you trusted him.

“It’s okay.” You answered and forced him a smile.

“How?” You implored.

“I think we’re alike in someways you know?” Trent observed, both of you chuckled.

“I mean I relate to that stuff with loneliness, you just want to be wanted. But I like being alone but not for too long.” He spoke up and you nodded in response.

“For a long time I’ve felt like there was no point in telling anyone what was happening inside of me.” You revealed and as you spoke Trent took your hand and draw small circles on your palm. He could see your eyes well up and wanted nothing more for you thank to be safe and okay.

“Y/n, listen to me. You are enough, okay? Don’t think that no one wants to listen to you, I do. I’ll be here for as long as you want.” Trent said softly as you dried your tears on your cheek.

You didn’t expect to cry on your first date, but it was something pure about the whole situation. You and Trent, two broken hearts are just beginning your “love story”.

4 months later

You’ve grown to love him and yourself.

You walked around in his house in his shirt that smells like him knowing that the smell of his perfume will soon fade, like his feelings for you.

You don’t know what’s going on anymore. You’re not in a relationship but you’re still here, in his house. Were you two just close friends? Who made love on the weekends, kissed each other whilst watching a movie one of you just put on to ignore the silence?

After months of being honest with each other you two couldn’t ignore the reality anymore. Deep down you knew you weren’t feeling better mentally, it was just Trent who made your days brighter and took your torment away.

For him you helped him feel at ease. He loved how he could tell you about things that happened in a match, he would be so angry and frustrated. But you were there for him. The greatest distraction he’s ever had. To you, he was the greatest thing you’ve ever had.

Then there was this silence.

“I don’t think I can go on like this any longer Trent.” You firmly said and looked at him, watching him close his eyes in frustration.

“I wish you wouldn’t look at me like that.” He mumbled.

“Like what?” You challenged.

“Like you could love me.” Trent angrily told you and you were shocked by his words.

“Don’t say that.” You sulked.

“Well, we can’t be together and we can’t be apart so I don’t know what to do Y/n.” He shrugged and sighed.

“It doesn’t matter anymore Trent!” You blustered and tears started flowing down your cheeks.

“The night you told me you love me,” You said laughed in disbelief. “I fucking believed you.”

Trent felt speechless. Perhaps he went too far with leading you on, thinking he loved you but the more he thought about it he just wanted to feel loved. He didn’t want to love.

“Well, then I’m sorry Trent that I loved you and it made you cruel.” You cried and began to walk towards the door before he stopped you.

“Y/n, I’m sorry.” Trent murmured but you didn’t listen.

“I should’ve never told you how I felt that night at the restaurant.” You said quietly as you were ready to leave him.

“Y/n, please.” He sighed.

“It was a long time ago anyways, it doesn’t matter anymore and yet I cannot let it go Trent.” You taunted and stood by the door, waiting for this daydream to end.

“Before you go,” He hesitated. “Don’t walk past me like a stranger next time I see you, please.He finished.

You laughed in response, I mean how were you supposed to live without him when you started living again because of him. Why didn’t he love you like you love him?

“Wasn’t it nice? To feel wanted even if it was just for a while?” Trent questioned, bringing up the feeling you felt before meeting him - to feel wanted.

“It wasn’t real Trent.” You said into the silence.

“But yes, it was nice.” You sniffled and looked down at the floor.

You stepped outside, it started raining once you started walking. Now everything was raining again, you lost him. He was the one you loved, the only one.

It pains you that he saved you but he never knew and he’ll never will.

[veintrry]

WORDS OF INK.

writer!kunikuzushi x gn!reader, fluff, romance, little short thing, library au, silly guy silly feelings. Not proofread!

an: hello to me spawning suddenly again 🫶 (I'm going through hell with these exams, help.) part two

When a skilled writer who's more than capable of writing only the finest of letters for others is requested by a common visitor to fulfill a request, he founds a new worry surround him alongside an outcome he never would have foreseen.

Misery. That is how he'd describe how love felt. It was a gruelling battle and archons, he had begun rethinking all the love letters he's written for others now that he has felt it for himself. Is this what people feel, this unbridled attachment, this need for connection like a course of electricity throughout two wires - a conversation?

He hadn't taken note of you before, you had begun to walk by this library, your eyes skimming the titles on display. You who'd enter and go to the bookshelves in the back where only your shadow confirmed your presence. And you'd stay there for what felt like ages, browsing, reading, seemingly spending your free time here. For a while it stayed that way and you were merely just someone who visited. I mean, he didn't really notice that much, after all, he didn't even work in that part of the library!

He just so happened to notice from his uncomfortable wooden seat when you'd enter. The ring of the door bell jingles was different when you pushed it and his eyes would shoot over to the entrance like a dog waiting for its owner to appear. He didn't even know you, god.

One day, however, a poster was put up, it was an announcement for a deal regarding the letters. Some may say having someone else write your letters takes the fun out of them, though the point was to word it in a more appealing way, a way that captured the buyers want. These letters varied, but many would request writing regarding loved ones from family to friends to lovers. And he'd write them, the stroke of his pen drawing lines that formed letters and then made words and then... created life. Yet he didn't feel it himself, but others did. He was good at it, they said.

You noticed that poster and therefore, you noticed him.

Your request was simple, you desired a love letter. He asked you what you wanted to express and you simply told him to write what he believes was best. He though that was a bit shallow, he didn't expect that from you but maybe he was wrong to make an assumption on your character when he barely knew you. So he wrote what he believe would be most appealing, he wrote using the descriptions you gave him and the ink that tainted the paper black drew a painting of love with phrases and personifications. He gave it to you and you beamed. There was.. something nice about that.

You came again two weeks later, you wanted another. So he asked you again, what you wanted to express and you answered the same. So he wrote what he felt was best again. He gave it to you, your hands gripped the paper open envelope gently as you read the letter and there was a glimmer in your orbs. In a sense, he felt he could... express his own emotions this way, though he felt bitter. Not only did he not manage to have a proper conversation with you, but he was writing letters for you for someone else.

You came again four days after. Quite the passionate lover you are and he asks you if you want the same thing and you nod your head, watching as he pulls out a fresh crisp piece of paper, he raises a brow at your presence still near him and you ask him if you can watch.

He doesn't know how to reply. There's a silence that follows.

"Just... don't interrupt me."

His tone makes it sounds like he's biting the inside of his bottom lip, almost bothered by your request. As he writes he feels that though the words form with ease, thoughts.. worries, taint his mind. Did you desire to observe him to perhaps replicate what he does, to do what he does for you for your lover? To make these yourself for them? That he will lose what little connection he holds to you? The fingers of his free hand tap on the wooden oak desk. Your gaze is so focused onto him, he can feel you looming behind him, your attentive eye picking up on everything.

When he finishes, he's just about to ask you to write your own signature, so maybe he can view you for a change but when he turns around he finds himself doing something he shouldn't. A nonsensical stupid question leaves his mouth, "What's...your name?" And you tilt your head at him, like he had spoken something outrageous, because he had. He knows your name, you registered it when you applied for the product, you listed it because how else would the facility know its actually you?

And yet, you humour him. You answer him and he finds himself melting at the mere sound of your name not because this is new information but because you're telling this to him, clearly knowing that it's something he is already aware of. Then, you return his question. He blankly stares at you, then turns away whilst his hand beckons you forward with the hilt of the pen. "...Call me whatever you'd like."

You take this as him possibly keeping his privacy or being mysterious, you lean forward taking the pen from his grasp and he feels his ears burn as your fingers graze his, the warmth of your skin feels like it burned his hand and... he liked it. As you bend you notice his hand over his mouth as he obviously avoids your gaze without shame. You let out an airy chuckle but you notice his name title, pinned onto the chest of his vest. "Ku-ni-ku-zu-shi." How you spelled it out makes it sound like you were trying to engrain it into your memory but as he hears you speak that name he sharply turns to you, before his eyes move to where you're looking and let's out a small 'oh'.

Maybe he wasn't as reserved and brooding as you initially thought on first glance.

Only in this moment does he realise something. The name you had been addressing the letters to, was your own. Had you perhaps been so stupid as to not know how a letters format works?

You tilt the pen towards him and he appears confused, the spot where your signature was meant to be is still empty as it always is. "Can you sign it off for me?"

And lord knows the shock he had to hold back at your words. Yet, he dismisses it. He's looking to deep into it, yes, that's the case... "Why?" He wasn't meant to say that aloud. "I... want you to do it." It's a bad reasoning, in fact, he wouldn't even consider it a reason in general, but can he decline you, is it even fine he does this? Though as he debates this his fingers bend the ballpoint pen down, writing his name flawlessly in black. Crap.

You giggle. He thinks he feels his breathing quicken. Kunikuzushi opens his mouth to announce something anything, and- "There's a spring deal that you get two letters for one!" No, there isn't.

"That would mean you still have to collect the other one." What the hell am I saying?!

"Tomorrow. Come here again."

Why did I make it sound like some forced date??

"Okay?" Don't agree, don't agree, don't agree. You give the tiniest of smiles, only he would notice the slight quirk at the corner of your lips. "Alright!"

He waits for you to leave the library, letter in hand as you walk with a bounce outside, the jingle affirming your departure.

...

Fuck.

He tucks his own face into his folded arms, groaning loudly as if he had just made the worst decision of his life and in truth, he might've. But the worst part, the worst worst part, is that he can't stop himself from think that small encounter you had. And he hates to admit it, but he was so glad you didn't say no, that you didn't reject the offer - didn't reject him.

[astronicht]

re: Mordor's location

I'm confused! I can understand being annoyed that Mordor is in the east (for me, it's because any new birth/new beginnings symbolism fails. BUT on the other hand, it works great with tolkien's biblical stuff - from study.com, "'East of Eden' is an allusion to the Biblical Book of Genesis. After Cain murders his brother Abel, he is exiled to the land of Nod, 'east of Eden' (Genesis 4:16)". I LOVE Tolkien's biblical symbolism, and smeagol murdering his brother is a direct cain/abel reference, so having the evil be to the east really works for me.

So I guess I'm just wondering if a) the symbolism thing is what irritates you about Mordor's location (or if there's something else I'm missing), and b) how does the evil being in the north resolve this?

Hey cool question!

Caveat that I’m literally just liveblogging my first ever read of LOTR, so while I read Hobbit as a kid and I know the movies and a good portion of the medieval prose and poetry Tolkien is drawing on very well, the only LOTR text I can reference is… from the Shire to Weathertop. Additionally, my perspective is as a medievalist, but I wasn't raised Christian and can’t speak to Tolkien’s personal faith, just to how he might use (and does use) historical Christianity (and a bunch of non-Christian narratives) in his work. At least like. Up to Weathertop.

Short answer a) not exactly! b) Because I expected evil to be in the north, and it checked that box. So-- your particular interest in Christian symbolism is immediately relevant here, because about 700 years before the King James Bible, in the medieval literature (and medieval Christianity) among which Tolkien has settled his own Middle-Earth, people had very very strong feelings about the cardinal directions, and North was heavily associated with Lucifer — this being stated explicitly in an Old English retelling of Genesis called The Old English Hexameron. Here, Lucifer's fall starts like this:

"with a presumptuous pride (moodiness) he said that he would make his throne above the stars of God, over the height of the clouds, in the north part, and be like unto God." (p. 17; not my translation but my guy Henry Wilkins Norman nailed it)

mid dyrstigre modignysse cwæð ðæt he wolde wyrcan his cynesetl bufan Godes tunglum ofer ðæra wolcna heannysse on ðam norð dæle and beon Gode gelic. (p. 16)

In non-Christian stories (though written down centuries later by Christians), the Gylfaginning in the Prose Edda describes Hel as “down and to the North” (sorry, just a link wiki here). So, same idea, and beyond these texts, North is generally associated with hell, death, or evil in early medieval literature, much more clearly than East usually is (even factoring in Old English and Old Norse stories about Cain, Attila the Hun, and the more exciting fauna of the Indian subcontinent, all of which formed the early medieval idea of East). Thus, finding out that an original Big Bad, of whom Sauron was “but a servant,” had once made his throne in the north made me go “OH! He didn’t forget after all!” in utter frustrated delight. My confusion wasn't exactly with evil in the east; it was the lack of evil in the north.

(this reply is really long, but my main point ends here, for anyone looking to bail out)

Actually, Genesis retellings in Old English are absolutely fascinating; I’m not wedded to Christian-only symbolism, but if it’s what you enjoy a lot, I very much suggest looking into the Hexameron and Genesis A, both great examples and very well known to Tolkien.

Personally I suspect I'll end up reading the symbolism of Mordor in the east as a more complex and varied thing than solely a reference to Cain's banishment. But to be really clear, in saying that I'm definitely not saying that Cain and Nod aren't valid interpretations (especially when they work for you so well!). Just my guess and my perspective. Old evil in the north and Mordor in the east is really interesting! So was the story of how Hobbits etc wandered out of the east to colonize the Shire, in another early medieval echo. And with Aragorn's throwaway "In those days the Great Enemy, of whom Sauron of Mordor was but a servant, dwelt in Angband in the North" I got an extra point on the map, from which the story immediately unspooled into an even wider and richer thing. Which is so neat, I love everyone in this bar, etc.

Just a quick further note on Smeagol, because I happen to have just gone past this bit and it's fresh! As far as I know at uhhh this very early point in LOTR (maybe it's changed later), Deagol was not his brother but simply his friend: “He had a friend called Deagol, of a similar sort, sharper-eyed but not so quick and strong” (though if you like the Cain and Abel imagery, this doesn't change that much tbh! I can see how it hits that note regardless). They are under the same matriarch (perhaps implying family ties) who eventually throws Smeagol out years after Deagol's murder; I liked that bit, bc I have no idea where Tolkien's pulling proto-hobbit matriarchs from yet, and Smeagol later lied and said the matriarch had given him the One Ring, implying that she was a ring-giver like an Old English/Norse thane or king. Smeagol and Deagol (and Frodo) are also wrapped up in lots of different tropes and symbols; Cain and Abel, yes, but also Beowulf and Grendel, and probably some other stuff I'll notice in like 10 years and yell at the ghost of Tolkien about. I think these stories work so well because they’re layers upon layers. It’s stories all the way down, you know!

Much like this reply, which is endless, so sorry about that.

[broken-glowsticks]

What Once was Mine

Chapter 15 - Fraying Threads

Genre: Childhood friends, Eventual Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Love corner/love triangle, love rivals, Series.

Not all chapters will be proofread!!

Warnings: 18+, mdni, mentions of sex and alcohol consumption, additional warnings will be added to individual chapters as needed.

Previous • Main • Next

“I don't have any problem with you going to see him,” Changbin answered honestly, albeit tiredly, not even bothering to open his eyes as the morning sun streamed in through your blinds, his thumb rubbing circles into your hip.

“I don't have to go see him alone,” you offered, your face nuzzling into the dip where his shoulder and chest muscles met. Despite his clear statement, you still felt the need to give him as much space to be involved if he so chose, “You could come along and be in another room while we got into it, or… or something.” You felt stupid for how timidly you spoke, gently scratching patterns into Changbins chest as a way to semi distract yourself. You hated how nervous you felt talking about this.

“Bunny, it's okay, really.” Taking your chin between his fingers, Changbin tipped your face up to look at him, his eyes opening for the first time all morning. “I told you I trust you. If you're really worried about him, then go do what you have to do. I'll be here for you when you're done.”

Just like that, Changbins' steady gaze and gorgeous sunlit features dispelled any worry you were carrying. You couldn't do anything other than smile and kiss him silly, your fingers combing through those curls you were all too fond of. Changbin didn't protest, chuckling at your affection as his free hand rested on your ass - his favorite place for him to put it.

“When do you plan to go see him?” Changbin managed to ask between kisses, his hand on your rear drawing you in closer.

“Assuming he answers my call? As soon as possible,” you replied, noticing a familiar buzz start to hum under your skin again as wandering hands began trailing over your bare skin. “Again?”

“Yes, again. You can call him later,” Changbin said in a hungry tone, flipping you onto your back and trailing kisses down your neck. “Hell, go see him as soon as I leave for work for all I care.”

“Wait,” you cut off Changbins’ lowering kisses by propping yourself on your elbows, “you're still going to work today?”

Shit. Changbin bit at his lip, turning his gaze away from you.

“Yeah, I can't just leave the guys hanging. We're swamped.”

“Not even for a little bit?” You did nothing to hide the disappointment at the shake of Changbins' head. That's all you get? Sure, you said you'd take whatever he could give, but you were still hoping to get more than just a night with him to yourself. As hard as you tried, you still couldn't help but feel upset and disappointed.

You gave a little huff as you plopped back onto the bed. You wanted to whine, you wanted to pout, you wanted to make him stay. But you knew that wouldn't be fair. His torn despair was more than apparent on his face as he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, as if the gesture could make up for him leaving you so soon.

“I'm sorry bun, I really am. I'm trying to give you as much of my time as I can, but the guys need me.”

“I know,” you said flatly, hugging him tightly, trying to press his warmth into your skin, wanting to neatly tuck this moment into your pocket to save for later. “Don't apologize, it's okay, I just wish we had more time.”

“I know, baby. Me too.”

Above being selfish, you wanted to be supportive. Changbin felt horrible, he knew he wasn't giving you enough time, that he wasn't giving you the attention you deserved, but he also couldn't just leave his friends hanging or expect them to pick up his slack. It was obvious, not only to you, but to everyone, that everytime poor Changbin spent time being there for his friends - at his job - that time with his girlfriend, who he liked so, so much, would suffer. If he spent time with you, he couldn't help but feel guilty that he was the only one getting a free pass to goof around and relax while his friends kept grinding away at the studio. No matter what, Changbin suffered a sense of guilt he just couldn't shake.

It's what made you swallow your disappointment and smother him in kisses instead. It's why Changbin tried to give you all his attention and treat you like a princess whenever the two of you were together. The both of you were doing everything you could to focus on making up for lost time, to fill every moment stuck to each other's side, instead of dwelling on the loneliness you both felt when you were apart. It wasn't sustainable, the both of you knew it, but it didn't have to be. This onslaught of demand couldn't last forever. All you had to do was wait. Things would calm down soon enough. Right?

○●☆♡☆●○

Lee Minho had known Hyunjin a grand total of two years, meeting the overdramatic man a meager two weeks before leaving his job at his little dance studio for a better offer.

Minho never wanted to admit this, but he liked Hyunjin immediately - although, if you were to ask him, he'd deny it. This is entirely the reason why the two kept in touch after Minho left the dance studio he and Hyunjin both worked at. Yeah, Hyunjin could really get on his nerves, but Minho could never deny the amount of care he had for the younger guy. They clicked too well. Despite any friction, they would always be there for each other - which is why Minho even bothered to say yes the day Hyunjin came to him, asking for help.

Every year, without fail, the dance studio Hyunjin worked for held a showcase during the spring. This showcase was pivotal in earning funding from investors and from the general public via donations and ticket sales. It also was the main way the studio drew in more students, as it was a way for people to not only see exactly how talented the staff were but also to see how far a student could progress.

This showcase was vital, which is why it was so detrimental that the studio was short on dancers this year. One had left, one got fired, and one was out on maternity leave. The studio wasn't big, not by any means, so while other studios could get by despite missing three bodies, this studio suffered.

The owner of this small company, Seungmin, was a good guy, and over the years, he and Hyunjin had fostered a pretty solid friendship. Hyunjin hated that his friend was in such a bind. That, paired with the fact that he still really loved his job and cared for his students, was all the drive Hyunjin needed to go above and beyond - it was also a much needed distraction for him.

Hyunjin did his best, giving as much of his time as he could to Seungmin, who was always there for him despite having little free time of his own. Not only was Hyunjin teaching his usual set of classes, but he was even covering the classes of the dancers who were gone, he was staying late to give extra help to anyone struggling, he was helping choreograph dances for the showcase, he was even looking for people to fill the open job vacancies.

It wasn't just him going above and beyond for Swungmin and his company, though. It was a group effort, everyone on the staff doing their part, pulling from their reserves, and giving as much extra time as they could. But it wasn't enough. They were coming up short. They were struggling to find dancers who had the necessary skill level they needed to perform the more complicated routines and who were also willing to double as dance instructors for daily classes.

It made sense why everyone in the company was having so many issues filling the three slots. The requirements were a pain to meet, and everyone was spread thin.

Eventually, Seungmin decided that for the sake of the showcase alone, he would outsource. He needed those spots filled as it was way too late to rechoreograph the whole show. The moment Seungmin announced this to the staff, Hyunjin immediately thought of Minho.

It took a bit of convincing, but that was mainly for show on Minho's part. He was a fast learner and often had evenings off - he only ever came home late from the studio because he wanted to refine his skills, never out of any sort of necessity. Hence, he saw no issue in taking that time to instead help his friend and former boss. It’s not like the choreography was hard either, not for Minho. The real trick was helping the other two temps get up to speed.

“Where did Seungmin find these guys? They suck,” Minho groaned, his hands rubbing roughly over his features to hopefully help ease the tension forming behind his eyes. It had already been a little over a week since Minho agreed to help, yet the two other people who were also brought on had yet to even memorize half of their routine.

“They were sent via a temp agency. They were the best we could come up with on such short notice,” Hyunjin replied through a mouthful of food. “It wasn’t anybody’s first choice, but nobody was picking up Seungmin’s ad.”

“Well, that explains it,” Minho said flatly, flopping back on the grass below him and taking in the nice spring breeze. It was the first week of the year that the weather had finally stabilized into consistent warmth and sun.

“Don’t sweat it, I’ll whip them into shape, even if I have to work with them all night to do it.”

“In other words, you’ll pour all your time and attention into a distraction so you don’t have to think about Y/N,” Minho replied in a deadpan, not taking his eyes off the clouds floating above.

“... No,” Hyunjin said petulantly, taking another bite of his sandwich and avoiding Minho’s pointed gaze that was now locked right onto him.

“Have you heard from her?” Hyunjin took a moment before bothering to respond.

“She called and even left me a few texts. I haven’t texted her back.”

“You can’t keep ignoring her forever, you know?”

“I'm not ignoring her! I've just been-!

“Don’t even start Hyunjin,” Minho said sternly, sitting up and leaning into Hyunjins face, staring the younger man dead in the eye. “When are you going to learn to stop avoiding all your problems, man?” A part of Minho knew better than to push Hyunjin, but with all the frustration from the past few days of working with absolute morons, Minho was a bit on edge and unfortunately not in the mood to pull punches with Hyunjin today.

“Every time things get uncomfortable or rough, you try to push your emotions down as far as you can. You never deal with things. It's why you’ve never confessed to Y/N even when you could've had her. It's why you didn't fight for her when some other guy came to take her away. Even now, you're burying yourself in work instead of facing those yucky feelings you felt when you saw her kissing someone who wasn't you. Hell, even now, you’re working so hard for Seungmin and this showcase because you're scared of how things will change if you can't find replacements for the staff you lost. Because all change scares you.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’ Jin, you don't have to be working yourself as hard as you are for Seungmin or the studio. They'll be fine. You know who won't be fine, though? You, if you don't stop running from your feelings and from Y/N.” With a huff Minho once again flopped back onto the soft, warm grass, his frustration glare pointed towards the sky. “No, I take that back. The only one who's not going to be okay is me if I have to correct those temps one more time on the same damn move! Aaauuhg!”

Hyunjin chuckled at Minho's frustrated scream but was quite otherwise. He didn't quite know what to say, he didn't know what to feel either at Minho's outburst, all he knew was that his phone alarm was going off.

“Back to it,” Hyunjin said simply, gathering his trash and making his way back inside with Minho in tow.

○●☆♡☆●○

The two of them acted like Minho's little speech outside didn't happen while rehearsals continued. Individually, both had decided it was more imperative that they focused on practice - specifically in helping the two temps who were struggling severely. It wasn't their fault, neither of these two guys specialized in dance, but after a few hours Hyunjin could see that Minho was getting frustrated having to repeat himself over and over again only for the temp he was partnered with to repeatedly make the exact same mistake.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Hyunjin suggested to the small group. It was only Hyunjin, Minho, and the two temps in one of the smaller practice rooms of the studio. Hyunjin had volunteered to teach the group of recruits but had more than enough experience to not need any assistance, and he memorized the steps quickly. This gave him plenty of space to act effectively as another mentor as the small group drilled the routine incessantly.

“Yes. A break, I need a break,” Minho huffed as he booked it to the door, trying to keep his frustration in check. His capacity to be understanding and forgiving only stretched so far.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t seem to get the hang of this…” Minhos’ partner whined the second Minho left the room, a look of worry twisting the boy's features.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. Minho just gets like that sometimes,” Hyunjin said reassuringly, a kind smile on his face. “How about we trade partners for a bit?” Hyunjin suggested, ignoring the obvious pout that the girl he was partnered with gave.

“Really? You don’t mind it?” The boy replied hopefully.

“Yeah, I'll let Minho know, rest up in the meantime.” The boy nodded enthusiastically at Hyunjins’ words, going off to the corner to warm down while the girl huffed and busied herself with reviewing the choreography.

“Hey,” Hyunjin called gently, first poking his head out of the practice room before fully stepping out once Minho bothered to make eye contact.

“Hey,” Minho replied flatly, turning his attention back to the water fountain. “Sorry, I just…”

“You don’t have to apologize, I get it. It can be hard teaching someone else.”

“Especially when you’re telling them exactly what to do, and they just won’t listen,” Minho groaned, once again rubbing at the points of tension on his face. “I don’t know how you do it all day, and you make it look so easy. When you explain something to someone, they listen, even if they don’t nail a move right away, they still improve.”

“Hey, it was hard when I first started too,” Hyunjin chuckled, pulling Minho to a nearby bench. “You figure out what works with time and, to be fair, you’re not really here to be a teacher. So don’t be too hard on yourself for getting frustrated, especially since these two seem to be having a particularly strong affinity for messing up their moves.”

“And stepping on my toes!” Minho quipped with a small grin.

The two boys shared a laugh before settling into a comfortable silence. It was nice for Hyunjin to hear Minho acknowledge how difficult it could be to be a teacher, it was even nicer that Minho was trying anyway - so Hyunjin didn’t have to do everything all on his own. Minho really was a good friend. He always looked out for Hyunjin, even if the two of them could bicker like there was no tomorrow, always there for him, ready to speak his mind or tell the truth even if Hyunjin didn't want to hear it. Especially when Hyunjin needed to hear it.

“... I hate to admit this. You were right,” Hyunjin said suddenly, staring off into space.

“I'm always right. You need to be more specific,” Minho replied instantly, doing the same. Hyunjin gave a rough sigh and a shake of his head but couldn't help his smile.

“About me and Y/N… mainly about me.” Minho turned his gaze to Hyunjin, giving the younger guy space to speak at his leisure while showing that he was paying attention. “I am avoiding her,” Hyunjin continued, “and I am avoiding my feelings… seems to be my main problem... I'm just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Like you said, of change, of losing her for good, of fucking things up so royally that I could never go back to any semblance of normalcy.”

“And you watching as she builds a life with someone else while you pine from a distance is ‘normal’?”

“Ouch…”

“I'm not wrong and you know it.”

“Yeah… I know…” Hyunjin sighed, leaning back and gently hitting his head against the wall behind them a few times. The two fell into silence once more.

“The way I see it,” Minho began gently, after the silence stretched a little too long for him, “you have two options. One - you tell her how you feel and hope she gives you a chance, or two - you move on.”

“How the hell am I supposed to even do that?”

“That… that you'd have to figure out for yourself. But you need to make a choice, the sooner the better, because how you're handling things now isn't healthy. And it's downright painful for me to watch.”

The words Minho used were cold and precise, but the way he spoke them conveyed his care. Of course, it was painful to watch. It was painful because Minho had to stand by and watch Hyunjin suffer, and he hated it. What he hated the most was not being able to really do anything to help. All he could do was speak his peace and hope Hyunjin would follow through. Little did he know exactly how heavily his words carried with the auburn haired man

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

You know, something nobody ever really talks about is how hard it is to name chapters! Jesus, why did I decide to do this to myself? I didn't have to 😭

In any case, I said we'd be seeing more of Hyunjin, and here he is! I hope y'all don't mind the perspective shift. It's going to last into the next chapter, and maybe the following one as well. It all depends on how long i want the next chapter to be, don't wanna ruin the flow of what I have drafted up. I'm really enjoying the Hyunjin/Minho dynamic I have (even though its hard to write) and I'd like to keep those moments together if I can.

Taglist: @groovygroovyhyunjin @hhwangsmoon @luvyblossom @doggezz @kayleefriedchicken @hyunjinhoexxx @zadkielr @bincxtesworld @jisunglyricist @kpop-kink @amarecerasus @its-kitten-now @antisocial-socialbutterfly

[midnightfire830]

Blog Boundaries

I am ok with:

- People drawing my AUs and characters as long as you either @ me or mention that it belongs to me. (Hell, I’ll even reblog and help support ur drawings)

- Asks about my AUs and characters in general are ok. From questions about how an AU works/aspects, questions directed to my characters, or even if you wanna give something to the characters

- I don’t mind if you draw your OCs in my AUs or with characters. Just don’t expect me to make it canon or draw it into canon.

- If there was an ask that didn’t fully explain something or you wanted to clear something up then by all means go to the comments I don’t mind. Or put in another ask. That’s another way to do it. DM’s are fine too.

- I don’t mind people putting in drawing requests or ideas in asks. Tho there’s a chance I won’t do it if I’m not too motivated by the request.

Things I am NOT ok with:

- Asking me or pressuring me to draw your AUs, characters, or OCs. Even for asks. Any kinds of other OCs or AUs I draw would only be for my close friends.

- Spamming me with the same asks. If you sent in an ask and I didn’t response don’t send in the same ask again. (That includes reiterating the same ask) I can see all interactions with my blog and posts. I see your asks, replies, comments, reblogs, and likes. If I do not respond to your ask it is for a good reason. Sometimes I’m trying to answer other asks, I’m drawing up a response (that takes time), I’m holding on to it for a later date, I’m lacking motivation on answering or I just don’t want to. Pressuring me to answer your ask Doesn’t. Help. Just because you put in an ask doesn’t mean you’re entitled to an answer.

- Being aggressive or pushy with asks. I’m ok with playful aggression targeted towards characters (say for example someone expressing they hate Dice from Royalty) that’s ok. But there’s a line. And some have started to toe that line. Please tone it down a bit.

- Please don’t include me in any kinds of drama. Both internet and off. This includes political topics, wars, events, gossip, etc. I seriously don’t want anything to do with it. The purpose of this blog is to share my AUs and ideas and support other artists. Not for drama. If you’re gonna tag me it should be about art, AUs, and fandom related. I’m not gonna waste my energy, time, or stress on other stuff like that.

- And ig in terms of topics I want to avoid things like: NSFW, incest, p*dophilia, r*pe, proshipping, permanent disfiguration (like chopping off limbs stuff outside of I guess whatever I have built into the lore of my AUs), outright physical torture or major character death. (The usual things)

Warning: if you cross one of these boundaries I will give you some (2-3) warnings. If you continue to cross boundaries I will block you.

I’m sorry to be harsh about this but I really have to put my foot down on this. I can’t tolerate people who won’t respect my boundaries.

This post might be subject to change and updated as time goes and as I interact more with viewers/readers. If you are wondering if something you’re doing might be crossing a boundary, you can use this post as a reference. I’ll pin it to my blog so anyone can find it.

If you are still not sure or want clarification, or you have a specific circumstance in mind, you can jump down to the comments section of this post, send me an ask, or even go to my DMs (if you want to ask privately). I will more than likely see your question and I’ll try my best to answer as soon as possible. It might take a bit depending on if I’m busy IRL. So please be patient.

Anyway, thank you guys for taking the time to read this and respecting my boundaries. Your support with my blog and art so far is greatly appreciated im excited to continue to interact with y’all going forward!

List of my AUs!!!

This link will take you to the AU guide I had pinned previously!

I will update it as I go with talking about my AUs!

Thanks again,

Midnight/Sanity

Last updated: 06/24/24

[howlingday]

(Let's take a break of the spirits. I wanted to have everyone talk to the main group about thier meetings and decide if they need to hunt him down for answers or not.)

Dusknoir Au:Emerald and Oscar wondered back to Shade and met Team Rwby and Jnp confused. Drawing attention of the group they asked what happened they explained they met a strange man. Everyone else expect Nora said they did too. He and his montser knew things that they shouldn't. What should they do?

Ruby/Jaune Weiss Yang/Blake Ren Oscar/Emerald

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

"Hey, welcome back!" Ruby greeted with her usual cheer.

"Hey." Oscar replied, with less enthusiasm than usual, as he entered with Emerald.

"What's up with you guys?" Yang asked, seated at the table for lunch. "It's taco day, remember?"

"The best day of the week!" Nora chimed.

"Didn't you say pancake days are the best days of the week?" Emerald questioned.

"They are," Nora nodded, "but that's because it's every day. Taco day is once a month, so it's more special." As Emerald decided whether or not to argue, Oscar took a seat at the table. "Hey, no tacos until you wash your hands, young man!"

"I just need a second to sit down." Oscar sighed. "Today was kind of weird."

"We got a cold reading by some weirdo." Emerald explained.

"A cold reading, in this weather?" Yang asked with a grin. "That is pretty weird, huh?"

"Anyway," Emerald said, holding back a groan, "this guy just comes up to us and says he's got a message for us-"

"From someone who was dead?" The trio asked at the same time, making the returning party reel.

"Another one?" Jaune said, entering from the kitchen. "How many people is that, six?"

"Eight." Ren said from behind. "Jaune, Ruby, Yang, Blake, Weiss, and I were the first six. Oscar and Emerald make eight."

"That is so weird!" Ruby shouted. "Probably weirder than that balloon thing that was next to him!"

"What did he say to you?" Oscar asked.

"He said he had a message from Penny and Pyrrha for me and Jaune. He said some stuff about us that we didn't tell anyone. Stuff like not blaming us for their deaths."

"Wait, you guys blamed yourselves for their deaths?" Nora asked.

"Well, yeah." Ruby said. "I mean, I couldn't stop Cinder from killing Pyrrha."

"And I..." Jaune cleared his throat. "I actually did... do it. To Penny, I mean."

"Well, we never blamed you, right, Ren?"

"Never." Ren replied with a shake of his head. "I was told my father and mother were proud of me. He also said my mother would speak with me later."

"That's spooky." Yang said. "I got a message from Mom saying she liked where I'm at and that she approves of Blake."

"Speaking of, where is Blake?" Oscar asked.

"She's helping Ice- Er, Weiss with something." Yang jabbed a thumb to the stairs. "She talked with that guy, too, and he said some stuff about her grandpa being proud of her and her family. She probably took it harder than any of us."

"Who talked to you guys?" Nora asked.

"Or who did he say wanted to talk to you?" Jaune said, earning a look from some of the others. "I'm just trying to be realistic. This could be a scam."

"Weirdly enough, I thought the same thing." Emerald said. "But since he came to all of us and didn't ask to be paid, he either did it out of charity, or..."

"Or he's targeting us." Jaune nodded. "We should be careful from now on."

"Or you guys could just be paranoid." Nora said, leaning against her hand. She then turned to Oscar. "So, who did you talk to~?"

"Uh, it was Hazel." Oscar answered. "He said... Well, he said Ozpin was still a prick."

[extrasteps]

30 and 74 - DNF

George scowled at the rude email he’d received the night before from his client. He’d been stewing over it all night, and it didn’t look any less annoying in the cold light of day. Not even the grande vanilla bean creme frappuccino that was currently sitting next to his mouse was enough to cool his ire.

He took a long drag of the sugary goodness and then set it down, cracking his fingers before resting them over the keys.

“Here is a list of all the ways you are wrong,” he typed in reply, ennunciating each word as he typed. “First of all…”

He wrote like a demon possessed, itemising every reason for why no, the code he’d sent this moron was not, in fact, incorrect, and did, in fact, do everything he’d promised. He included screenshots of the stupid fucking code working perfectly on his end, even going so far as to use photoshop to draw large, flashing arrows to the relevant places.

It was sarcastic and even utterly scathing in some parts, as he all but called the client an incompetent baboon for being unable to run such a simple code within his program.

With an evil smile, George reread his work and then, satisfied, clicked send.

“Suck on that, idiot,” he said, glancing over the e-mail address. What kind of a dumb name was Dream anyway?

The rest of his drink tasted like victory, and was all the more sweet for it.

***

“George,” Skeppy said, popping his head into his office. “You got a minute?”

He hummed an affirmative, fingers moving rapidly over the keys as his eyes tracked the code he was building for a different client.

“Earth to George?” Skeppy said.

He typed one last line and then sighed, letting his hands fall from the desk. He looked over at Skeppy. “What is it?”

Skeppy rolled his eyes. “Bad says he wants to see you in his office in five.”

George waved him off, mind already back on his current project. He did flick a glance down at the clock though. Bad was a good boss. He didn’t want to piss him off.

Four and a half minutes later, he sat up and stretched with a loud groan, locking his computer before getting up and making his way down the hall.

Bad’s office door was already cracked open, so George let himself in. There was a strange dude sitting across from Bad already, with a bunch of dumb curls twisting in every direction and shoulders that were more broad than they had any right being. George disliked him on sight, and ignored him as he turned towards George.

Instead, he dropped down into the other chair, giving Bad an expectant look.

“George,” Bad said. There was a hint of warning to his voice and George internally sighed, sitting up from his slouch and raising an eyebrow at Bad.

Satisfied, Bad turned towards the other man.

“Dream, this is George. You mentioned that you had some concerns with the coding he sent to you?”

George’s head whipped to the side. This was the incompetent baboon who had disparaged his work?

Dream had the grace to look a touch embarrassed as he turned to meet George’s icy glare.

“Um, yes. It’s very good code, of course, but it doesn’t seem to be compatible with our program,” Dream explained hesitantly. “I’ve passed it onto our IT guys, and, best they can tell, there was an update to our program only a few days ago that didn’t play well with George’s code.”

Bad nodded and hummed thoughtfully. “Did you raise this with George?” he asked.

Dream’s shoulders turned in slightly. “Not exactly,” he hedged. “That’s why I’m here, in person. I wanted to apologise.”

He turned to face George more fully, the earnest look on his face bringing to mind some big, dumb Golden Retriever. 

George was more of a cat person.

“For what?” he asked brusquely.

Dream brought a hand up and scratched at the scruff that covered the lower half of his face, looking sheepish. 

“Well, you see, I’ve been told in the past that my emails come across as really rude-”

“Understatement of the century,” George muttered.

“-so my company hired someone to uh, vet my emails, as it were,” he continued, either oblivious to George’s comment or deliberately ignoring it. “Well, they rewrite them, to be completely honest.”

George didn’t respond, just staring at him, silently urging him to get to the point. He loathed wasting time like this, even to talk to idiotic dog boys with big hands.

“I normally just write the email and schedule it to send, and the intern rewrites them before they’re due to go out at 5pm. Unfortunately, I didn’t realise until it was too late, and I’d received your reply, that she had left early yesterday.”

“Oh,” Bad said. “Well, that sounds like just a misunderstanding then. George has worked here for a long time, and I know his reply would have been understanding.”

George suppressed a wince. Understanding was definitely not a word that could be used to describe his response to Dream’s email.

Dream glanced at George, his lips thinning.

Oh God, George thought. He was totally going to rat him out.

“Of course,” Dream agreed.

Wait, what?

“But I still thought I should come and apologise in person. The error in the code wasn’t George’s fault, and I didn’t want him to feel responsible when I requested for it to be redone,” Dream explained.

“I’ll add it to the schedule,” Bad assured him, and the two of them rose, shaking hands across Bad’s desk.

George stood up as well, nodding at Bad before trailing after the ridiculous giant. Dream paused and turned to him, but George stone walled him, stalking past him to make his way back to his office. He didn’t realise until one of those ridiculous hands stopped him from closing his office door that Dream had followed.

“I am sorry, you know,” Dream said, giving a rueful smile as George continued to ignore him, flopping into his office chair.

“Whatever,” George said dismissively, unlocking his computer. “I’ll do you stupid code. Just get your people to send me the new version of your program.”

“Of course,” Dream agreed easily. He still hovered in the doorway, looking expectantly at George.

George turned to face him. They both looked. And looked. 

Reluctantly, George mentally noted that Dream’s body was built like a triangle and he wanted to climb him like a tree.

“There will be an extra fee included,” he said to Dream eventually.

Dream’s eyebrows rose. “A fee? For what?”

George turned away from him, fingers moving over the keys already. “To take me to dinner.”

Dream let out a hoarse bark of laughter. George ignored him, checking his emails. There was already one in his inbox from Dream’s company with the new program specs included.

George closed down his previous project, pening this one instead while Dream let himself out.

A smirk dancing on his lips, George started typing.

[skzstoryvault]

Erase and Rewind (angst, fluff, smut - Hyunjin - Part 3)

F!Reader

ex!Chan

good friend Hyunjin

multi chapter story

this chapter: light fluff

Chan broke up with reader

Reader is moving on

Hyunjin is being a supportive friend

Featuring insecurities, internalised misogyny and self-hate

This is in no way meant as a commentary on the real persons depicted here. They all deserve the world.

Please be kind.

Please do not report this post. If it's not your thing, just scroll away.

If you're underage, please scroll on, there is nothing for you here.

If you enjoy this story and are reading along, I would love to hear your comments in the replies, reblogs or DMs - however you feel most comfortable.

*** Part 2

It’s been a year. You lost a lot of yourself during this time - some select shit beliefs, the ability to give a fuck about other people’s feelings on your decisions, ten kilos of your weight.

You gained a lot, too. A new, wonderful home, closer to Hyunjin’s dorm and in a better part of the city. The will to keep it tidy and presentable. The zest for life. Abs and thighs of steel. And it’s all because Hyunjin invited himself into your life and forgot to leave. Or maybe, just maybe, he really likes you even after he discovered more of you. 

He has a way of being inspiring without being pushy, and close without it feeling creepy. He also chose you for a sort of casual intimacy you’ve only ever seen him display with Felix. The more you think of it, he’s given you a gift you thought was not in any human’s power: the elusive self-confidence you’ve been struggling to acquire since you were a teen. And he wasn’t direct or forceful about it - he just taught you how to dance like him. You remember the first time he dragged you into the practice room. You felt under pressure, because Hyunjin is a choreography god. But, unlike with Chan, who used to intimidate the living soul out of you in his capacity as an idol and a band leader, with Hyunjin you felt safe to goof off and weren’t afraid to mess up. The stakes were comfortably low and he created an atmosphere where it was expected to have fun first and be technical later. 

“Just follow my movements in the mirror,” he had said, and after a short time of getting used to him and the way he led, you found out you were way better at it than you thought. That was months ago. It was so much fun, that neither of you noticed the hours spent sweating together adding up. “What are you two doing in there? I hope nothing that requires an NDA.” Lee Know remarked at some point. “Hyunjin, you sound and look like you had a Spanish Fly milkshake, without fail.” “Not a word to her, everyone. If you have issues with how long we are in there and how often we hang out, address them to me.” Hyunjin said, unusually serious. “I mean it.” Usually, the members  roast one another endlessly, and Hyunjin is not excluded. But that one time, they listened and no one made a single remark since. Soon came the dance challenges - Hyunjin in the front, you at the back, both or just you with caps and masks and hoodies with the hood on. Some of the videos ended up on Hyunjin’s tiktok but no one batted an eye. You are halfway between Chan and Hyunjin, height-wise, and your recent pastime melted the fat off your hips and other areas. You easily pass for a guy in baggy clothing and everyone assumes you’re one of the backup dancers or some other idol from the same company who is just friends with Hyunjin - so that’s not even an issue. 

You discovered that dancing comes easily to you, especially when Hyunjin is choreographing. Most of the time it’s K-Pop songs, not just Stray Kids ones, and you like them just fine, but every now and then you bring a dirty trap song or an Afrobeats one that you vibe to privately and Hyunjin feels challenged to design a dance to go with the track that you like so much. On one of those days, he went to his notes, drawing more stick figures and annotating his sequence, leaving the song playing in a loop. You were feeling yourself and you were still in front of the mirror, so you busted your most carefree C-walk footwork and leaned into it. “Baby! What is that??? That’s awesome, where did you learn to do that?” Hyunjin said, looking up from his papers. “Oh? This? This is the C-walk, the C stands for Crip and rappers like Snoop Dogg and Blueface include these moves in their videos. There are people all over youtube doing improv with these steps… But they’re not complicated, I just default to this because it’s the most fun way to move. Plus it looks cool,” you explained. “Show me! Teach me, please. Slow it down first.” Hyunjin said, coming up to stand next to you. 

After that, he made sure to always bust a C-walk move or two in content for fans or in behind the scenes videos. He even told you he began feeling cooler and more laid back, not trying so hard and not living for approval. He leaned in one time and said “every time you see me happy, doing my little gangsta steps, it means I’m thinking of you!” 

You giggled, finding no words, delighted that you had something to give to the god who had everything. Looking back, you realise that in the past year plus, you forgot to be angry, hurt and ashamed about Chan breaking up with you. You saw Chan and his new girlfriend often at the dorm, but it was casual and it caused no reaction in you. Something strange also happened. Back before you began dating him and during that time, you used to think he was dizzyingly gorgeous and your body was frantically cycling through all the reactions it knew in response to how attractive you found him. Now you can tell that he’s a beautiful man who works out and cares about his appearance, and someone who is smart, brilliant and loyal as a friend - but your insides are not rioting about it. 

You’re not sure how you feel about the nothingness stretching out inside you. A part of you is questioning the lack of interest in potential partners, especially since you’re surrounded by some of the most beautiful guys in the world. Another part of you fiercely protects the scarred part of your soul which only knows the pain of having been abandoned. Because that was it, wasn’t it? You weren’t just blue because of a break-up, although that in itself had come as a blow for you. You were mourning the immediate withdrawal of Chan’s warmth towards you, like a punishment for choosing something he had not had time to accept. You were sure that he didn’t see it the same way, and maybe by now he was more assuredly childfree than back in the day. But you could not rule over Chan’s feelings, just your own.

Final part

[all54321]

A Date? (Part 2)

Part 1, Bonus

AO3

Scar and Grian get back on track on the mission.

—————

Grian takes a deep breath and slowly opens the door, looking around to make sure that the people are gone. Once he’s sure it’s safe, he steps back out and continues to make his way deeper into the building. He tries to refocus on the task at hand, but it’s really hard for him to forget how Scar’s lips felt on his. It’s also hard to focus when he can feel how close Scar is to him. Grian huffs, but gives in to the urge to grab Scar’s hand and lace their fingers together. Scar makes a quiet noise in surprise, before squeezing his hand back.

It does take much longer for them to reach what is supposed to be the main office. Scar carefully peeks into the small window, giving a small nod after a moment. He tries the doorknob, and when it doesn’t open he steps back, gesturing to Grian. He steps forwards, takes out his lock-picking kit, and crouches down to be at eye level with it. Scar steps off to the side, keeping an eye around the corner.

Grian makes quick work getting through the lock and steps inside the room. He doesn’t take a look back, knowing that Scar won’t follow him in and that he’d be staying guard. Grian can’t help but let out a groan when he sees the filing cabinet, at the size of it. With no other choice, he goes up to it and quickly searches through the files. If the intel they received was correct, getting their hands on this information could be vital, or at least give them a leg up over other gangs.

“Aha!” He murmurs, pulling out a big folder. Of course it was in the last drawer he checked.

As he turns around, Scar enters the room, quickly and quietly closing the door and locking it. “G, we’re about to have company,” he whispers.

Grian doesn’t hesitate to press himself up against the wall beside Scar, murmuring, “lethal?”

Scar hesitates only briefly, “not unless they see us.”

Grian doesn’t get a chance to respond as the lock clicks as someone unlocks it. It opens a moment later. They both stay completely still as two people walk in, talking about something. In sync Grian and Scar rush forwards and wrap an arm around each of their throats, soon choking them both out.

Grian lets out a breath as he lowers the guy to the ground, mostly out of stealth then cares about his health, “let’s bounce.”

“Found the files?” Scar asks with a grin.

“Yup,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ a little.

“Great!” Scar grabs his free hand and starts pulling him out of the room. Grian rolls his eyes but keeps pace as they hurry to exit the building. Once they reach the door, Scar gives one final squeeze of his hand before letting go and pushing the door open.

Grian schools his face into something neutral as he follows him out. It doesn’t take them long to reach when Cleo is waiting for them, alone. He’s faintly bothered that Joel and Jimmy didn’t come with. Before she can even ask, Grian hands the folder over to her, “it’s all in here.”

They grin as they take it, “perfect. This should help out a bunch. Did anyone see you?”

“We had to knock two people out, but they didn’t see us,” Scar answers.

“At least you weren’t seen,” she murmurs, opening and scanning through the folder.

“Is it what you expected?” Grian asks, looking over at the files himself.

“I knew enough to expect something useful, and it seems like it will be.” Cleo glances between them, “it seems like you two actually can make a good team.”

Grian makes a noise, “what does that mean?”

Before they can respond, Scar throws an arm over his shoulder and draw him close, “we make the best team!”

Partly out of instinct and partly out of embarrassment, Grian jabs his elbow into Scar’s side, causing him to recoil away. Grian turns his face away, trying to force away any blush that appeared. He briefly catches sight of Cleo’s face, who, thankfully, seems more amused by this than anything else. Okay, yeah, maybe their crushes on each other were a tad obvious.

“Right, of course,” she replies, tone carefully neutral. They quickly go back to business, “once I have a more thorough look through this, we’ll have a meeting with everyone about it.”

Grian nods, “sounds good. We’ll be awaiting that message.”

“See you later!” Scar says, with more cheer than the situation calls for, waving enthusiastically. As Grian goes to wave back, he winks.

Grian quickly turns away to hide the blush he feels growing and gives a backward wave instead. “We will.”

[rosyrosethorns]

(behold…..the first thing im writing w/ my shrek/puss in boots retcon)

୨ ——- ♡ ——- ୧

“Are you serious?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!” Rumpelstiltskin threw his hat onto the ground, stomping it out of frustration as he continued his tantrum in front of the white-clad ballerina. “You can’t just… turn down my offer and then steal another client from me weeks later!!”

Madi felt a little awkward, but gestured with her hands as she attempted to interject with reassurance. “Rum—Rumpelstiltskin—“

“You’re just gonna kick a guy while he’s down?!” the little man continued. “I’m already scraping the bottom of the barrel for business and you’re just gonna pirouette on over here to ensure I stay at the bottom out of spite?!”

“Listen—“

“What’s a guy gotta do to get a magical transaction to some desperate moron, huh?!”

“Calm down and listen to me.”

… The ballerina’s assertiveness caught Rumpelstiltskin off guard, watching with wide blue eyes as she calmly stepped towards him with the grace of a swan.

“Just because I advised them to not turn to you in order to solve their problems, doesn’t mean I hold any sort of grudge towards you for attempting to talk me into signing anything,” Madi gently explained. “I know I said that I don’t trust you, and that’s still true, but I didn’t draw them away out of spite towards you—I drew them away because I knew they weren’t sound of mind and needed to calm down before jumping into something out of desperation… It has nothing to do with me turning you down the other day.” She held out her hand. “Please, don’t take my actions personally—I literally have no reason to hold a grudge against you and I mean no ill will.”

… The little man looked dumbfounded. Has no one approached him in this way before? After an awkward moment of silence between them, he scrambled back towards his carriage without a word.

“… Rumpel—?” The ballerina watched him depart with a disheartened expression. Was he still mad?

୨ ——- ♡ ——- ୧

It had only been a few days and Madi continued to wonder if the little man was still upset with her… He had left so abruptly, but he looked more baffled than enraged when he turned to leave. Why did her assertiveness defuse him?... She was contemplating all this while out in town when she suddenly heard a familiar voice close by:

"Hmm, you look to be lost in thought~"

Upon turning towards the source, the girl saw Rumpelstiltskin sitting nearby in a relaxed posture. The yelp she let out as she jumped a little in response made it obvious he was the very last person she expected to see today. "You...? But...?? I thought you were upset??"

"Naaaah," the little man replied as he stood up and approached her. "I mean, yeah, I was pretty mad at first but that went away after you spoke up about it so we're fiiiiiiiine~" To Madi's surprise, Rumpelstiltskin took her hand with a hum--the same one she offered to him a few days prior--and placed a trail of kisses from the tip of her fingers to her wrist. "So how've you been, Princeeeeeess?~"

... Thrown off by his change of behavior, her face was red as she covered her mouth for a moment.

"Wha... What's all this?" she squeaked. "What did you want this time??"

"Oh, no no no no, Madilyn--it's not about what I want," Rumpelstiltskin replied. "It's about what you want!~"

"U--Uh..." The nervous girl side-stepped behind a nearby tree, poking her head out. "I still... don't... really trust your... con--contracts..."

"Not even if I tell you the terms up frooooont?~"

... Madi hesitated for a second, her eyes shifting as she contemplated this offer, and the eccentric little man continued anyway:

"You know, Madilyn, you're so... humble~ You keep offering all this ballet-style help and you refuse to take anything in return, but there's also obvious... hmmmmm... trust issues~ What if I said I'd give you anything you want--anything your big bleeding heart may desire, deep down, more than anything else in the world--if I were gracious enough to inform you of the one itty bitty thing you'd have to give me in return?~"

... The sweet-talking was tempting, but the girl was still wary... She took a step away from the tree, one hand still resting on the trunk. "De... Define 'itty bitty thing'."

The next thing Rumpelstiltskin said was so jarring that she froze:

"Your hand. In marriage~"

...

The brief silence was broken by the only word Madi could form in response:

"What?????"

୨ ——- ♡ ——- ୧

(an afterword: madi stated she would keep rumpelstiltskin's offer on the back burner due to still not trusting him but the forwardness had still awoken a crush...)

[bluiex]

Finished part 2 of Grian and Scar going on a mission together and proceeding to get distracted. Where they do actually get back on track.

—————

Grian takes a deep breath and slowly opens the door, looking around to make sure that the people are gone. Once he’s sure it’s safe, he steps back out and continues to make his way deeper into the building. He tries to refocus on the task at hand, but it’s really hard for him to forget how Scar’s lips felt on his. It’s also hard to focus when he can feel how close Scar is to him. Grian huffs, but gives in to the urge to grab Scar’s hand and lace their fingers together. Scar makes a quiet noise in surprise, before squeezing his hand back.

It does take much longer for them to reach what is supposed to be the main office. Scar carefully peeks into the small window, giving a small nod after a moment. He tries the doorknob, and when it doesn’t open he steps back, gesturing to Grian. He steps forwards, takes out his lock-picking kit, and crouches down to be at eye level with it. Scar steps off to the side, keeping an eye around the corner.

Grian makes quick work getting through the lock and steps inside the room. He doesn’t take a look back, knowing that Scar won’t follow him in and that he’d be staying guard. Grian can’t help but let out a groan when he sees the filing cabinet, at the size of it. With no other choice, he goes up to it and quickly searches through the files. If the intel they received was correct, getting their hands on this information could be vital, or at least give them a leg up over other gangs.

“Aha!” He murmurs, pulling out a big folder. Of course it was in the last drawer he checked.

As he turns around, Scar enters the room, quickly and quietly closing the door and locking it. “G, we’re about to have company,” he whispers.

Grian doesn’t hesitate to press himself up against the wall beside Scar, murmuring, “lethal?”

Scar hesitates only briefly, “not unless they see us.”

Grian doesn’t get a chance to respond as the lock clicks as someone unlocks it. It opens a moment later. They both stay completely still as two people walk in, talking about something. In sync Grian and Scar rush forwards and wrap an arm around each of their throats, soon choking them both out.

Grian lets out a breath as he lowers the guy to the ground, mostly out of stealth then cares about his health, “let’s bounce.”

“Found the files?” Scar asks with a grin.

“Yup,” he replies, popping the ‘p’ a little.

“Great!” Scar grabs his free hand and starts pulling him out of the room. Grian rolls his eyes but keeps pace as they hurry to exit the building. Once they reach the door, Scar gives one final squeeze of his hand before letting go and pushing the door open.

Grian schools his face into something neutral as he follows him out. It doesn’t take them long to reach when Cleo is waiting for them, alone. He’s faintly bothered that Joel and Jimmy didn’t come with. Before she can even ask, Grian hands the folder over to her, “it’s all in here.”

They grin as they take it, “perfect. This should help out a bunch. Did anyone see you?”

“We had to knock two people out, but they didn’t see us,” Scar answers.

“At least you weren’t seen,” she murmurs, opening and scanning through the folder.

“Is it what you expected?” Grian asks, looking over at the files himself.

“I knew enough to expect something useful, and it seems like it will be.” Cleo glances between them, “it seems like you two actually can make a good team.”

Grian makes a noise, “what does that mean?”

Before they can respond, Scar throws an arm over his shoulder and draw him close, “we make the best team!”

Partly out of instinct and partly out of embarrassment, Grian jabs his elbow into Scar’s side, causing him to recoil away. Grian turns his face away, trying to force away any blush that appeared. He briefly catches sight of Cleo’s face, who, thankfully, seems more amused by this than anything else. Okay, yeah, maybe their crushes on each other were a tad obvious.

“Right, of course,” she replies, tone carefully neutral. They quickly go back to business, “once I have a more thorough look through this, we’ll have a meeting with everyone about it.”

Grian nods, “sounds good. We’ll be awaiting that message.”

“See you later!” Scar says, with more cheer than the situation calls for, waving enthusiastically. As Grian goes to wave back, he winks.

Grian quickly turns away to hide the blush he feels growing and gives a backward wave instead. “We will.”

Cleo did it on purpose sending them together huh- smh LOL gosh I lvoe this sm

[asksoldieron]

SO-23: Meet Marc!

If there's a lot of engagement on this, this post is liable to get real long, beware before you expand.

No art, but I am working on it and I will add it retroactively. The eyes are letting me draw, just real slow.

Welcome to the Engagement Lounge, for Picture Book (252|23) an instalment! Short comments can go in the replies, but there's a 475 character limit. Longer ones will need a reblog. Remember to @asksoldieron if you're reblogging someone else's reblog, so I can see it too!

I'm excited for everyone to meet Marc, and appalled at his situation, and still very aware that everything I do to this broke-ass website is built on sand. Mixed emotions!

Welcome to the wonderful world of trying to fix social issues with eugenics! We still do this! We're a bit more subtle about it, but we do it! I was naturally disposed to be "one of the smart ones," so I got thrown in a class with more people like me, and we got more resources and higher expectations! Then, later, I was naturally disposed to be one of the loser, burn-outs, and I got thrown in a class with more people like me, and we got fewer resources - but lots more supervision! - and lower expectations! Except then they decided I was smart again, and then dumb again, and now Capitalism and I don't have much to say to each other. I need money to eat, but I'm not worth any. All things considered, I haven't earned a place here. I'm a burden! Some people would like to be rid of me!

And sometimes those people have really fun ideas about how to be rid of me. Sometimes allowing me to exist at the edges, as long as I figure some way to get by, just isn't enough, ya know? There's a little bit of that folded into this as, if you'll recall, immies are as many of us at once as possible. We do try to train the children to be a little more convenient when their way of being is inconvenient - not just the autistic ones, but it's still considered a legit "treatment" for them, and a few others. And psychosurgery is not that far in the past!

It's not fixing the social issues in my story any better than it works IRL, of course. They've just created entirely new ways of being divergent that are no easier to control. ...Except maybe that last guy on the sheet, the smoke, but we'll deal with that later.

Marc will return too! As you can tell from the tags at the site.

I needed something happy to mitigate the horror, so I got to write a tiny short story for the NDA to find. It's hard to keep pushing to heal from damage someone inflicted on you, sometimes it's hard to even figure out what "healing" means, but it helps to keep trying. You do pick up a few wonderful things when you keep trying.

I want to write what really happened to him, for continuity reasons, but I'm still murky on the circumstances of the reveal. I'm pretty sure I know who'll help out, but not exactly how. Broken is just the beginning!

(Man, I dodged several bullets with David, by putting off writing his past for so long. I managed to connect all the dots! Even if you'll probably never get the whole truth out of him. I could tell you if I had to. For now, only the spouse knows!)

Marc would not be happy with the NDA taking Erik home, but he also wouldn't be happy with how Erik ended up helping the RA. He'll have to reconcile on his own time, but I think he'll manage. For now, at least he gets to register an objection, even if he may issue a partial retraction later. I think he's justified. I'm still gonna send Erik home, but Marc's not wrong.

I prrrobaby should've made Marc a girl, just for gender diversity in pathetic, lovable characters, but I like my men pitiful and damaged and my women competent but conflicted. (You can tell!) I can only self-correct so much. And, in this case, Erik's not into boys, so that prevents things from getting to complex on my end. The romantic entanglements are gonna be bad enough as it is!

And now, I need to leave off with minimal proof-reading, and just post this early to get it out of the way, because Windows 11 installed an AI on my computer without my permission, and I need to kill it if I can. Thanks, Microsoft! I didn't have enough to do today! I NEED TO BUY COFFEE, YOU ASS!!

...This inst. is gonna go live without me finalizing and formatting the song lyrics, isn't it? *headdesk* Sorry, Readers.

[Back to Site?]

[trainofcommand]

Tell us more of the cowboys and golden retrievers retrieving a weird scientist

Well, okay then! :)

Cracky flash ficlet: Retrieved, with Science (Cam Mitchell, Jonas Quinn, Rodney McKay, two golden retrievers, cowboys 1950s AU).

"Those are some dumbass dogs for a cowboy," some idiot once said to Cam, his face scrunched up with disgust and derision. "Dumbest cowboy dogs I ever seen," he'd reiterated, drawing out the 'dumbest' into a slow drawl, and punctuating it by spitting a mouthful of tobacco on the ground.

The dogs in question – Killer and Fang – had looked up from where they'd been curled on the stoop of the little cabin where they all stay in the off-season, their mouths open, panting happily, exhausted from a long day of doing whatever the heck Cam had wanted them to do. He'd looked at the dogs, looked at the idiot who was talking, and figured to hell with him. Then he'd punched that idiot right in the mouth, smiling the whole while.

He'd kept on smiling while the guy spit out blood and a tooth, and smiled a little wider when Fang got up and ambled to stand between them, tail wagging, canines showing.

"Oh darn," Jonas had said when he came 'round the front of the cabin, buckets of fresh water from the well in each hand. "Insulting the dogs, huh?"

"Yup," Cam had replied, wiping his bloody hand on his shirt.

In the evening light, Killer and Fang's fur had gleamed golden, and so had Jonas's sun-bleached hair, and the idiot had looked at them all, thought better of trying anything, and walked away.

---

The truth is, golden retrievers make great dogs for a couple of cowboys out on the range.

They're loyal.

"They sure are," says Jonas.

They're energetic.

"Oh, definitely," Jonas agrees, as he bends to give Killer a good scratch.

They'll chew a man's leg off, just for the fun of it.

"Well, I'm not sure I agree with that one." But Jonas is smiling, so Cam doesn't have to argue about it.

And finally, they look fantastic in bandanas. Wholesome. Fetching. Downright red-ribbon-winning. "Heck yes, they do," Jonas says, nodding vigorously as he ties a new red bandana around Fang's neck. Cam likes it – the red looks great against Fang's fur, it makes her easy to spot from a distance, and it'll hide any blood after she sinks those teeth into an interloper's arm, or leg, or whatever's in biting distance that gets in her way.

"Ah, sure, Cam," Jonas says, stepping away and observing Fang's new look.

---

"Well, this is interesting," Jonas says, the evening that Killer trots up with what looks like a stick in his mouth. Turns out it's not a stick at all, unless it comes from a tree made of metal and covered in numbers and lines. Cam's seen a lot of trees out on the range, and he's never seen a tree like that.

Killer's path is followed, a few minutes later, by a guy who's huffing and puffing a little bit, his face red, his hands dirty, and his mouth yelling.  

Cam listens for a while, arms crossed, taking in the swearing, the exclamations about their sub-standard camp, the demands for something to eat, the admonitions that their food stores are inadequately out of reach from invasive wildlife, the complaints that it's now too late to safely get back to his own camp so he's going to have to stay with them for the night, and the accusations that Killer took an instrument that cost more than 'whatever the hell it is you two are' make in a month, which is really inconvenient, because there's science that needs to done.

Eventually the guy stops talking, mostly because he's alternating between chewing on a biscuit and tearing into some dried jerky. But even as he's eating, he's looking expectant, like he's waiting for some kind of response.

So Cam shrugs, reaches down and takes the metal instrument out of Killer's mouth and says, "Not like we can expect much else. He's a golden retriever."

Jonas nods and holds out an apple, just in case the scientist-guy is still hungry. Jonas is real welcoming like that.

Science-guy scowls but he takes the apple.

---

Cam doesn't listen much while science-guy and Jonas talk details. Mostly it's boring. Plus there are golden retrievers curled up on either side of him, the cattle are lowing in the distance, the sun's starting to sink below the horizon, and all together, that's just bound to make a guy sleepy.

"That is very interesting, Dr. McKay," Jonas says excitedly, not for the first time. "Right, Cam?"

Cam just hums because it'll make Jonas happy, and leans back against a tree stump, already dozing off.

---

Science guy heads out in the morning with several warm, freshly-baked biscuits wrapped in a bandana in one hand, his metal stick instrument thing in the other, two apples in his pockets, and what Cam guesses must be the minimum amount of grumbling and complaints that he allows himself each morning. He leaves behind some a whole bunch of quiet, which Cam is real grateful for, and a jaunty wave from Jonas, accompanied by, "Have fun with your science, Dr. McKay!"

He doesn't leave behind Killer, who gamely gets up, stretches, and trots off after him, tail held high and wagging. And that's a real son of a bitch, because Fang is going to get lonely, and Killer was wearing Cam's third-best back-up emergency bandana.

"So much for loyalty," he mutters, watching man and dog disappear into the edge of the forest.

Beside him, Fang rolls onto her back, kicking her feet into the air and flashing her fierce canines. "Don't worry," he tells her. "Next time we meet him, I'll let you gnaw his leg right off." She kicks her back feet a little harder, baring all her teeth, and wagging her tail so hard it makes her lose her balance, rolling onto her side.

Then she picks herself up and shakes, loose fur and pieces of grass flying everywhere, and she looks deadly as hell.

Cam feels real proud.