#pedigrees scribbles
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Horse Opera*
aka Turn but make it Wild West (with bonus genderqueer!Robert Townsend)
This is just a wee scribble, which is why it's going here and not on AO3 (because I can't be arsed with the necessary trappings). Hope y'all enjoy anyway!
*The can't be arsed with trappings extends to coming up with a title, so now you get a free German fun fact with your Sunday snippet: Pferdeoper (literally: horse opera) is a humorous slang term for a western. The more you know!
~~~ Wild West shenanigans below the cut ~~~
“Should we really be frequenting saloons right now?”
Ben hissed the words like the people on their tail might actually hear them. It was kind of cute.
“We do this one.”
Caleb made sure Darling was hitched securely to the post outside Rivington’s and went to make his way up the porch steps, Ben scrambling after him. Stepping through the double doors into the dim, smoke-infused room, he caught sight of Townsend looking up from behind the bar at their entrance. With his best roguish grin, Caleb doffed his hat and swept into a theatrical bow. If eyebrows could kill, the sardonic one he got in response would’ve dropped him at twenty paces.
His grin widened.
“C’mon," he motioned to Ben and dropped into a chair at the nearest available table. Ben followed suit, glancing around warily. Caleb stretched out contentedly, soaking in the low hum of conversation. He'd know if there was anything to worry about; Townsend ran a tight ship.
Townsend had by then come out from behind the bar and was approaching them with a bottle of whiskey and a pair of glasses.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my most unregenerate scapegrace.”
Ben, halfway to rising out of his seat and removing his hat, faltered in both. Perhaps realising the absurdity of what he was doing, he hovered awkwardly for a moment, then decided to compromise and drop his hat onto the table and himself back into his chair. Feeling lenient toward him on account of just how far out of his depth the poor bastard was, Caleb magnanimously abstained from commenting.
“Always knew I was your favourite,” he said instead winningly to Townsend, who glanced up from pouring the liquor.
“I don’t believe that’s what I said.”
She recorked the bottle and, sliding the glasses toward them, nodded at Ben.
“Who’s the punk?”
Caleb nearly inhaled the whiskey he’d raised to his lips. Never did learn to keep his guard up around her.
“Excuse me?” Ben bristled.
His shoulder only seemed to tense up further under the soothing hand Caleb put on it, so Caleb turned his grip into a gentle introductory shake.
“This here is my good friend Benjamin Tallmadge. And despite his boyish charm, he ain’t that young.” Ignoring both the indignation from beside him and the scepticism from in front, he went on. “Ben, allow me to introduce Mrs. Sally Townsend, the proprietress of this fine establishment.”
“Ma’am.”
Ben’s tone was so polite it could've been an insult.
“A pleasure, I’m sure,” Townsend drawled.
“Where’s Robert?”
Caleb was pure innocence as Townsend levelled her gaze back at him.
“You just missed him.”
“Your husband?”
It was remarkable the range of intent Ben could fit into two words. Product of all that pedigree, probably.
“My better half,” Townsend replied, drier than a Mormon wedding.
“Now, now. That’s a little harsh,” Caleb said. “I happen to like this half just fine.”
“You would.” Instead of dignifying Caleb’s lecherous wink with a response, Townsend changed the topic. “I hear there was some trouble up in Seven Oaks.” She put her hand on her hip. “The two of you wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”
“Jesus, word does travel fast around here,” Caleb exclaimed, genuinely impressed.
Townsend, on the other hand, looked anything but.
“I should have known. I suppose your turning up here is not a coincidence.”
Resting his chin in his hand, Caleb made sheep’s eyes at her.
“You know me so well.”
Townsend rolled her eyes and gestured toward the back room.
“Come on, then.”
#Turn#turn amc#Caleb Brewster#Benjamin Tallmadge#Robert Townsend#Wild West AU#*slaps Robert on the back* This bad boy (gn) can fit so much genderfuckery#don't mind me#just having some fun with these ideas
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Hello, it's me 😈
I came here to ask you to please write that fic - Cyrano de Bergerac style - with this storyline: "Fíli and Thorin getting in a political fiasco over a woman - the advisors choosing a woman for Fí and Thorin starts liking her for himself".
Thank youuu! 💙💙💙
(And please tag me!)
Sincerely,
Lathalea the Enabler 😈
Dear @lathalea, I am sorry to say that this will be in 2 parts (at least)...
So, here we go <3
A queen
Words: 1,6k
Warnings: None
Characters: Thorin x OC
“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” Thorin leaned against the doorframe, watching his sister scribble invitations furiously; the look of ice-cold impatience she threw him chased a shiver down his spine, but he conjured up a half-hearted smirk just to annoy his little sister.
“I’ve given up on you,” she replied acidly, “but I will not let my son dawdle away his best years waiting for the right dam to just fall into his lap.”
The king found that assessment rather unfair and more than just a little insulting; after having healed from his near-fatal wounds, sustained in an epic battle that had rid the earth of Azog once and for all, he had focused all his strength on rebuilding his kingdom.
It was hardly his fault that wooing shell-shocked maidens had not been amongst his highest priorities.
His sister’s amazing battle plan – temerity as well as a dash of foolish hope truly seemed to run in the family – was not exactly confidence-inducing though; she had foreseen to submit her poor son, his heir, to a string of young, to a parade of available maidens in hopes that at least one would catch his eye…and his fancy.
Thorin knew that Fíli was not excessively interested in that kind of proceeding – having taken the boy all the way to Erebor, where he had almost died, had allowed the king to get to know his nephew in ways his own mother could not fathom – but that he’d agree nonetheless to assuage his own guilt; relations had been tense since Dís’ arrival in the ancestral halls of her family.
Of course, she was relieved and happy to see the men she loved most regain their colour and their health, but the long months of doubt and anxiety had worn deep grooves into her fierce heart and beautiful complexion; therefore, the boys were ever eager to make her smile and so was Thorin.
“I shall be in attendance,” he grumbled reluctantly.
“You will?” Her luminous eyes settled on him with that mix of mischievous joy and affectionate mocking that had mellowed his heart countless times in their childhood; she was his baby-sister still and he would have dared much more than to merely accept one boring evening to soothe the burning agony still lingering just beneath the surface. He knew that he had done her wrong when he had risked leaving her life as abruptly as their father and grandfather had, taking her two young sons with him as he fell; until the end of his days, he would carry the memory of her first cry – harsh and wailing as the one a wounded beast uttered before expiring – upon seeing them bandaged and ailing.
“Anything for you,” he assured her and – unable to restrain himself – strode over and pressed an insistent kiss onto the top of her head, hoping she’d read the gratitude in it; he had lost her good graces – even if only temporarily – but never her love, and he would owe her reparations for that loyalty alone until the end of time.
Thorin was bored out of his mind; most of these young dams – paraded like pedigreed beasts – were much more interested in the king’s halls than in the young prince who was still bearing the marks of exhaustion and injury in his sallow complexion and slightly limp posture that was so unlike the vibrant energy he had once been known for.
“What about this one?” Kíli – who could not have been prevented from attending this charade by guards and locks – leaned over and nodded jerkily at a lady who reminded Thorin of a garment washed too often and too vigorously; everything about her seemed somewhat faded and diluted, from her indecisive smile to the mousy brown of her wispy hair.
Fíli made a face before declaring quickly but with little conviction that he was sure that this particular candidate was a lovely, kind, and caring dam; for someone who had stood at death’s door though, she was not invigorating enough by far to stand any chance of dispelling the tenacious shadow of gloom dogging their every step. Not like the young woman probably already waiting for him in the stables; impatience started needling him and he waved the dam aside with a harsh fluck of his wrist.
Just when they were about to give up on their unsuccessful scheme though, the door was flung open and a last dam hurried in; her hair – of a charming strawberry blonde that shimmered with echoes of copper and gold as she moved purposefully to catch up with the end of the line – had partially escaped the simple bun at the nape of her neck, and her dark grey eyes flashed like polished steel as she looked up at the dais, undaunted.
Thorin’s heart gave a small leap at her sight; she was visibly older than most of the others – barely out of their mothers’ arms – and she moved with the self-possessed confidence of a woman who could take care of herself. Even though she was nowhere near traditionally beautiful, her deportment spoke of pride and decisiveness which piqued his interest.
“This one,” he proclaimed sternly, much to the surprise of his family who had not expected him to take an active part in choosing a bride for his nephew.
“I don’t know,” Fíli mumbled, “she looks feisty, and not in the fun way.” He shrugged apologetically, unlike his uncle, he had never intensively thought about what women’s lives had been like in the refugee settlements or in their absence during the quest; his mother had shielded him from the bitter truths as much as possible to keep his childhood and youth unblemished.
Hence, he only saw a dam who looked almost angry at being ushered forth in so dispassionate a manner; his thoughts were oriented towards the future and this lady’s mind and soul seemed veiled in the frayed raiment of a bitter past. From the archaic and simplistic garments on her back to the stubborn set of her full mouth, she radiated a hardness that did in no way correspond to his desire for rejuvenating growth in Erebor.
“She looks too pretty and too old to have wanted a husband and not found one,” Kíli agreed; he was a notorious charmer and would – one day – have his pick among the girls of the realm for, by the time he was called upon to find a wife, Thorin envisioned Erebor to be stable and thriving once more.
“Maybe she had other priorities,” he echoed his own previous thoughts absent-mindedly; he was enthralled by the gravitas of this stranger in whose eyes he read the echo of his own suffering, and he was strangely comforted by her calm gaze meeting his own unflinchingly.
With a shrug, Fíli waved the lady closer and dismissed the others; he did not yet have the courage to tell his mother and uncle that he had already found the woman his favour had settled on, mainly because he was afraid that they’d refuse and reject the truth of his soul in favour of a more advantageous match.
He would play this charade a little longer, he decided, maybe even pretend to be heartbroken in hopes that his misery would mellow their own hearts and minds so that they’d agree to let him court – and eventually marry – the young warrior dam whose riding skills and joyous laughter made his heart soar.
“You shall join us for dinner tomorrow,” Thorin declared imperiously before turning away abruptly when her stormy eyes settled on his countenance once more with a mix of shock and challenge.
Fíli had to ram his elbow into his brother’s side to keep him from looking to and fro between the quickly retreating silhouette of the king and the flabbergasted dam who – just a second too late – curtsied elegantly and retreated as well.
“Hmmm, that went rather swimmingly,” his mother commented in a tone that betrayed her own doubts in regards to what she had just witnessed.
“I guess so,” Fíli replied with another shrug and – the ordeal apparently over – he got up with a hasty explanation that he wanted to go out for a ride to clear his head; in truth, he was about to tackle the second torturous duty of the day: telling the one who held his heart that he – at least on the surface and for all eyes to see – was to court another dam he had no real interest in.
Thorin cursed himself; of course, he had seen that dam before when she and her friends walked around the courtyard, laughing in subdued, pealing voices, but he had never given her a second glance.
He had not sought a bride and he did not want to find one for himself now either, not really, but the mere idea that his foolhardy nephew might ruin her reputation by starting to court her only to lose interest midway angered him more than it should have.
Fíli was a good man, a good prince, and a good nephew; he had learned at Thorin’s elbow, and he would not bring disgrace upon his family.
That had ever been enough, so why did the king doubt him now?
Oh, but she was precious – gleaming and beautiful as a pearl in his eyes – and he didn’t want her to be handled carelessly.
There was but one solution to this dilemma; he would have to guide his nephew in this courtship as he had done with every other skill mastered by the young prince, yes, that was a perfectly reasonable and unselfish plan.
Despite the fatigue weighing heavily on his limbs and minds, Thorin started making a list right away, drawing on court gossip and his own limited experiences with the fairer sex as he chose appropriate pieces of poetry and entertaining activities that he’d chaperone personally…to make sure nothing went wrong.
Indeed, Fíli’s happiness and success were of the utmost importance.
As he lay in bed – too tired to write anymore but too mysteriously miserable to sleep – he almost believed himself.
So there's the beginning of this :D
I hope you've enjoyed this <3
-> Part 2
Taglist:
@laurfilijames, @fizzyxcustard, @linasofia, @myselfandfantasy, @legolasbadass, @midearthwritings, @guardianofrivendell, @mismaeve, @middleearthpixie
#request#IDNMT answers#fanfiction#hobbit#Thorin#thorin x OC#cyrano de bergerac#Fíli#arranged marriage#a dash of romeo and juliet
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Nyan-X-X: Happy International Cat Day~
A bit late, but Happy International Cat Day to everyone~! In honor of this occasion, please enjoy this...um...
I...don’t honestly know how to classify this. Ficlet, maybe?
Well, either way...enjoy! (=´∇｀=)
(Keeping it under a cut in case you want to scroll on by, and that’s okay too. Have a wonderful day~)
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*ding-a-ling*
Ah, welcome to the Themis Cat Cafe! Table for how many? Is this your first time here?
It is? Well, let me introduce you to some of our residents. They’re some of the best felines in town, nya~
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First, here is our youngest and most mischievous, Marius.
He is a Russian Blue of the highest pedigree, the only one of his kind in our humble store. I even have the documents to prove it!
Hm? How’d he end up here? Well...Marius’s previous owner was the head of the Pax group, you see. But since he had to move to Italy and couldn’t take him along, Mr. von Hagen decided to leave Marius in our care.
Strange, no? But, well...he and his brother used to frequent the cafe as children, as my predecessor liked to brag about. Maybe it was the memories, or maybe it was the coffee...but in any case, he seemed to be truly grateful to this place.
The place has certainly become all the brighter for it, though! Little Marius is quite the charmer. He has so many of our patrons cooing over him, no matter what he does. Even when he’s being a little menace.
You want an example? There was a time when Marius was really fascinated by a customer’s lipstick and wouldn’t stop swatting at it until it fell out of their hand. Guess what he did next?
Marius took the tube in his mouth and started scribbling all over the walls! Can you imagine? It took us a while to scrub everything clean, for sure. He certainly wasn’t happy we took down his masterpiece. But a few tummy rubs and everything was alright again. The customer didn’t really mind either, but I’m not sure if that was the effect of the purring or the constant headbutts.
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Want a companion a bit on the quieter side though? Then Vyn’s the one for you.
Vyn here is a Turkish Angora, definitely the most beautiful of our residents. But don’t tell the others that, ok? They get jealous when I compliment one in particular for some reason.
As for how he came into our care...he actually came here himself.
Now I know that sounds weird, but Vyn really did come right in through the front door and made himself at home. He used to belong to one of the founders of the Giannovyn Mental Health Research Center, the doctor of the two in this case.
Dr. Richter joked back then that it looked like Vyn was looking for another home, but given that the doctor left for Svart and never came back about a month after our conversation...I wouldn’t be surprised if that really was the case. He misses him dearly though, you can especially tell when his ears perk up when classical music is played over the speakers.
Is Vyn really that smart? Oh, for sure. He took to the schedules for feeding and such quicker than most of our residents here, he knows where to find our missing things often...he can even hold a conversation or two with you, meowing or hissing at the right moments.
Vyn here always tries to help us out in any way he can, sometimes to a very unusual extent, like that time he stayed perched on the tops of the shelves for a week when our CCTV was down. But he definitely has good intentions at the heart of it all.
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Now this one...he is definitely a long-time fan favorite among our regulars. Artem, come say hello.
Artem is a fine example of a Maine Coon, isn’t he? You won’t find any cat gentler than him. The thing about him though, was that he was here back when it first opened and yet he isn’t officially one of ours.
His owner is someone with pretty unique circumstances. You know Chief Justice Wing’s son, that attorney with the 99% win rate? That’s Artem’s human...and it is that very detail that led Artem to staying with us almost full-time.
Mr. Wing is usually tied up in all manners of cases, local and international. Even if he supposedly has a partner in the firm now, I heard she’s about just as busy as he is. Even his parents are both so busy they can rarely catch a break these days. So that leaves him and the family with little time for Artem here...and that’s where we come in.
Artem stays with us six days in a week, from early morning to late at night. He was supposed to be kept in a separate room at first, since Mr. Wing mentioned he doesn’t really take well to crowds, even if they’re other cats. But one of our employees thought it would be better to have him out and about.
Turns out it was for the best. Artem’s been a calming influence on a lot of our more...hyperactive residents here, not to mention how our patrons love having him around. He’s definitely still keeping his distance for the most part, but he cares in his own shy way.
The fascination he has with water though...is definitely something none of us really understand. Maybe he was a swimmer in a past life?
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Now, if you’re actually more of a dog person, you and Luke will get along just fine.
Luke likes you already, I see! He’s plenty friendly, even for a typical Abyssinian. But be prepared, though! This little one will talk your ear off and run you ragged if you let him...he deserves it though, after all he’d been through.
The detective running Time’s Antiquities brought him here one rainy afternoon, both of them soaked to the bone. Detective Pearce mentioned how he found the poor guy on the streets of South Stellis, scratched up like crazy and looking like he would collapse at any given moment. Luke was immediately rushed to the vet, thank goodness. But...well..
Luke here is sick, you see. Not in the way he can get other cats sick, though, that much is true. But as for the specifics...Detective Pearce looked like he would break into pieces when we tried to press for more details. All he would say about the matter was that Luke really needed a loving place to stay, hopefully surrounded by other friends.
When I asked why he couldn’t take care of Luke himself, the detective just laughed and opened his fanny pack...there was a bird inside, would you believe? Said the poor guy would be crazy jealous of Luke! I wonder how that little bird is doing now...
In any case, Luke here seems to have adjusted splendidly. Always curious, running off to whatever corner of the cafe he feels holds secrets. He’ll sometimes even drag the other cats into his pace, usually either Marius or that new Colorpoint Shorthair we have...if I remember right, the owner calls her ‘Rosa’.
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Let’s see...who else do I...
*ding-a-ling*
Oh, please excuse me! A new customer’s just come in.
But please, feel free to stay as long as you like.
I’m sure our fur babies would definitely appreciate the company.
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END
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Thanks for making it to the end! I really hope you enjoyed this, and seeing how I think our LIs would be as lovable felines.
As always, dedicated to @babylulururu and @actualbird, inspirations and overall wonderful human beings~ （๑´ﻌ｀๑）
#tears of themis#tears of themis headcanons#tears of themis fanfic#marius von hagen#vyn richter#artem wing#luke pearce#tot marius#tot vyn#tot artem#tot luke#exhausted scribbles#happy international cat day
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After sort of Fortune converge to murdered hart
And pillow stairs on to walk … if
simplicity draperied
her spent I become near or
far; past land offer upward
its price of old, the way you
babble, scribble, me of
the lore of my side my mind, where
near it? The other—since
age is true it is no more, then
fades, in solemn grove, and
should vanish’d, and let me have been
worthless and destroy’d. A
love in vain! After sort of Fortune
converge to murdered
hart. By the same lay to holds, from
West is deferred. Their
highschoolboys’ barring Sects contemplation,
there is not thy heart
as twas the words she fell on me
when song was, and three score
years; and, in state-thing brain, swoon’d star,
entitled of the How;
Giving its too sweet dream, with
fascination yet, like a
system couples, woven in the
sable family’s death,
oppress’d with the princes, shall fauld
they gave us were not
his work. So threw their leave to entrance
hero—for what you
you wilt, as it alone, and in
masque-like an old pedigree
match’d and even the Belovéd
Head undergrown serene,
she pluck them not. Glimmering
a ding, Dear, to learne it
were stood, he had been worth white, empty
glasse: but when on an
empty head. And yet’ I said had
a heart as t were
radio come why men indeed: we
climb’d on his vision I
may gives a glistrings have know, sweet
the Eye love is the pigweed
cracking, clamour and robb’d me
with eternal love was
long, in his enterpreting for
judgment to move, my friend
to my fading doom. I swear no
whit less over these bereft,
and lick’d upon turns strange barges,
make and do not err.
#poetry#automatically generated text#Patrick Mooney#Markov chains#Markov chain length: 6#151 texts#ballad
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Joel Edgerton’s ‘The Gift’ Gives Us a Bully
“The Gift.” Image from RogerEbert.com. (From left to right: Rebecca Hall as Robyn, Jason Bateman as Simon, and Joel Edgerton as Gordo.
Eight years ago, actor Joel Edgerton released The Gift—his debut film as a writer-director. This disturbing film missed my radar, but thanks to a spot-on recommendation from a friend I finally saw it.
Disturbing may not be an evocative enough descriptor. The film’s events, enclosed in a tight hour-and-forty-eight minutes with fade-outs that feel like acts in a play and set in source music, deliver plenty to disturb. The Gift is among those films focused on human unfurling, which become a horror house of mirrors as you consider the work.
Even the trailer is layered. The skeletals of a stalker story led by Gordo (Joel Edgerton) shift, as the camera turns its focus on affable, handsome Simon (Jason Bateman) becoming something determinedly not charm or good looks. This switch, or uncovering, is the film’s epicenter. Jason Bateman’s Simon is the revelation of The Gift: He is a lifetime bully, and there is an expiration date on the reign of a bully in the world.
The film is tagged as a drama, mystery, and thriller; it lives in all of these categories, but queered.
The background to the drama: Simon and his wife, Robyn (a perfect Rebecca Hall), move from Chicago to Los Angeles. In Chicago, they live through Simon making a mess of their home[life] (an easily missed line Robyn delivers, as Simon tries to paint her as a pill-popping depressive responsible for the ill-will swing of their relationship), and an unspecified tragedy of losing a child. Then, they run into Gordo. The drama is not the instance of running into Gordo, whom Simon has not seen since high school, a 20 years or so timespan, nor the range of emotions Gordo’s gifts elicit in the couple, as they show up one day to the next at their doorstep. The drama is held in the amount of time it takes for the audience to perceive Gordo as some kind of a threat, only to realize that Simon is the threat.
There is a lot we do not know about Gordo, sure — pedigree information, for example, where he lives, how he makes money, if he has any close relationships in his life. The film highlights the complexity of the past — what really, inarguably happened? — and subjective, by definition, partial, takes on those pasts. We learn high school-aged Simon and his friends made fun of Gordo, bullying him because they thought he was gay and fabricated a story about him being sexually assaulted by an older man. What we learn later is Gordo’s torment at the hand of this bullying and that Gordo’s father tried to kill him when he believed his son might be gay. These are facts: Neither Simon, his friend who co-led the bullying, nor Gordo, deny this is what happened. There is no mystery to the anguish and devastation Gordo experienced, nor to its genesis.
What is the mystery then, that is, the burrowed forehead, of the film? Well — take your pick.
How has Gordo lived his life since high school and kept himself alive? The National Library of Medicine reports on bullying being closely associated with suicide, a study that researches bullies, victims of bullying, those uninvolved, and bully-victims, those who bully and are bullied.
In one of Simon’s and Robyn’s clashes over Gordo — Robyn identifies with Gordo’s socially awkward manner because she, too, can be this way — where Robyn defends and Simon abhors him, Simon shrills that his father was cruel to him, but he survived and does not go around crying about it. Could Simon be a bully-victim?
When Simon’s exterior pulls back, his colleagues and wife see inside. He scribbles down the name of his competitor for a promotion, so he can send an email of lies about their background, ensuring he gets the promotion. That person tries to hurt Simon, exposing what he did, and Simon is fired. He goes to Gordo to apologize, unclear for what, and ends up bashing his face in, kicking his work supplies everywhere, and pinning him to the ground. Robyn learning about Simon’s high school past becomes Robyn learning about Simon at present; she and Gordo share the experience of being bullied by Simon. She gets pregnant again, and after she gives birth, she tells Simon in so many words their marriage is over. How did it take Robyn years to see Simon fully, which also means, how was Robyn living her life, so that she did not see?
The thrill of the film takes some from schadenfreude. At last, Gordo hits Simon, mentally and emotionally, where it hurts him the most. He has been filming the two of them at home and was alone there with Robyn after she fainted. He suggests he may have sexually assaulted her (and so the film’s end appeals to conventional intrigue, asking, who fathered Robyn’s child?). In the scene with Robyn unconscious, Gordo wears a monkey’s head mask, an animal that gives Simon the heebie-jeebies. This could be relief, in the form of payback delivered, for Gordo. Gordo quotes words Simon once said to him, about the power of putting “belief” in peoples’ heads.
Yet, the definition of a thriller is “a work of fiction or drama designed to hold the interest by the use of a high degree of intrigue, adventure, or suspense.” As I went on in my watching experience with The Gift, I realized I was not on the edge of my seat for resolution. Instead, as I watched, I grew sicker with my understanding of the fuller story — of Simon, of Robyn, of Gordo, and why they intersected each other exactly the way they did.
Is “doom” a film tag?
original publication at Fanfare here
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UPCOMING: Lenny Kaye, Cedar Sparks - Holiday Split 7" (11/24/2023)
La Societe ExpeditioBuy: Rough Trade
This upcoming release looks quite interesting, and sure has the pedigree to be fantastic. Lenny Kaye, guitarist, founding member of the Patti Smith Group, and curator of the touchstone compilation Nuggets series, contributes a new song, “Santa’s Knee,” as well as scribbles his name on the cover of this Rough Trade-exclusive 7″ release. The B-side is the only…
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I Tried Rescue Doodles, the New Service That Matches You with Your Ideal Pup Based on a Drawing You Submit
The program makes use of expert system to power its search, however I had not been sure it would certainly work. My drawing misbehaved. Real bad.
Strangely, this story is about a various type of doodle. Not this kind or this kind or this kind or this kind or– my God there are so many– this kind. Instead, this new solution concentrates on kids’s drawings (also known as doodles).
Released on Wednesday, the Rescue Doodles program from Pedigree takes youngsters’s illustrations of their ideal pet dogs as well as matches them to adoptable puppies in the area. The program utilizes artificial intelligence to evaluate the drawing prior to searching AdoptaPet.com to locate available, similar-looking pet dogs in the location.
” This program is distinct due to the fact that it takes a basic, day-to-day task for kids– scribbling– and transforms it into a fun method to include a new member to the family members,” Jean-Paul Jansen, vice head of state of marketing for Mars Petcare The United States and Canada, said in a press release.
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Some clown doodles
#i dunno why they have noodley legs but it looks neat#clown#clowns#clown oc#character design#clowns tw#clown tw#traditional art#pedigrees art#pedigrees scribbles
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THE END OF JURASSIC WORLD IS THE PERFECT ANALOGY FOR PEDIGREE VS CROSS BREEDS
Why?
At the end of Jurassic World *SPOILERS* the big bad dinosaur the Indomondous Rex -- A T-rex crossed with Velociraptors -- is up against... you guessed it, a T-Rex and 3 Velociraptors.
Which wins out?
The pedigrees.
Sure, I don’t have a problem with cross breed dogs and cats etc, but people paint them as a perfect mix of all the best bits of two breeds.
THE ENTIRE PROBLEM WITH THE INDOMONDOUS REX IS THAT THEY DIDN’T EXPECT WHAT THEY GOT.
And the same goes for when you cross two breeds of dog or two breeds of cat -- You MIGHT get all the best traits, or you MIGHT get all the worst ones. You just DO NOT KNOW.
With pedigrees you know what you get. As shown by Owen training the velociraptors in jurassic World, they are the labradors of dinosaurs (albeit a bit faster and with more teeth).
So yes, sometimes cross breeds are good, but pedigrees can win out too remember! You just have to know them well enough.
Sleepy rant over, Scribbs is going bed now... nighty night!
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Meet The Team Working On A Final Fantasy 9 Remake You’ll Never Get To Play
Final Fantasy 9: Memoria Project is a fan homage like nothing we've ever seen before. “It is no secret that fan projects get shut down all the time,” Dan Eder tells us about Final Fantasy 9: Memoria Project, a fan-driven love letter to the classic JRPG. It isn’t aiming to be a playable remake of the epic adventure though - instead, it’s an aesthetic homage to its timeless world and characters.
It’s somewhat anomalous in the world of community creations, but Eder wants to use this distinct identity to craft something truly special, even if many obstacles stand in the way of making it a reality. But the team keeps moving forward: “Without a doubt, some of the most frequent comments we get from naysayers is ‘have fun with it while it lasts’ or ‘cease and desist incoming’”, Eder explains. “People are understandably skeptical of the longevity potential of yet another passion project. The key difference is that, unlike those projects, Memoria is essentially an elaborate piece of fan art, nothing more - it will have no actual gameplay, will never be released to the public, and is nothing more than a ‘what-if’ scenario. [It’s] no different from any other fan-made piece of artwork. We have never, and will never, make a single dollar out of this project, and are basically doing this for the personal gratification of the fans.”
The genesis of Memoria Project dates all the way back to Eder’s younger years, with dreams of a potential FF9 remake entering his imagination soon after the original game’s launch. That’s no great surprise - millions still regard Final Fantasy 9 as the series’ finest hour. “While it's true that the project really started to pick up steam a few months ago, it wouldn't be a stretch to say I've been planning it since high school,” Eder explains. “I remember scribbling ‘FF9 remake’ on my notepad during classes and writing imaginary new features and battle system mechanics, starting online petitions to remake FF9 for the PS2, sketching drawings depicting scenes from the ‘FF9 sequel’ and whatnot. I could confidently say that my life would probably have been completely different had my older brother not borrowed this game from his friend in the summer of 2000.
“As a non-native English speaker who had never played an RPG up until that point, my first playthrough was a challenging experience to say the least, and I can honestly say that I understood literally nothing of what was going on the first time I finished the game (how I even managed to beat it is a mystery in and of itself). It didn't really matter to me though, since I was absolutely enamored with the incredible cast of characters, jaw-dropping FMV sequences, mesmerizing music, thrilling gameplay, and just the overall atmosphere and charm it exuded at every step. My unconditional love for this game persisted throughout my entire childhood and adult life, and it is one of the central reasons why I chose to become a 3D character artist in the video game industry. In short, this project is my way of thanking this game for everything it has done for me over the past 21 years.”
Eder’s passion for this game can be found across several industry professionals who grew up with games like this and wanted to replicate them, or create something entirely unique to live up to their brilliance. This is very much how Memoria Project found its feet, beginning life as a trivial side activity before blossoming into something infinitely more ambitious. It still has a long way to go, but there’s little urgency to reach the finish line, so the team can take their time and just enjoy the nostalgic indulgence of it all.
“Memoria actually started unofficially as a side project when I reached out to Colin Valek [of] Sucker Punch Studios in early 2020 after I came across his fanart of an environment from FF7,” Eder says. “I had already modeled Princess Garnet, and thought it could be a fun idea to combine our talents to reimagine the opening area of Alexandria. Initially, it was progressing at a snail's pace - we were slowly chipping away at it for over a year without making a lot of progress. While Colin continued modeling the buildings, I created another character - Vivi.”
This glacial pace received a resurgence of sorts in January when the Alexandria scene was finally complete, with Eder and company finally being able to see how much potential the project had if it was opened up to a larger range of creators. “When I posted that WIP screenshot, the response from fellow FF fans was overwhelmingly positive, more than we could have imagined,” Eder remembers. “Very quickly, other people from the gaming industry started reaching out - environment artists, animators, riggers, concept artists. That's when I decided to turn this side project into a full-fledged modern reimagining of the original game, while always making sure to emphasize the fact that this is a non-playable proof-of-concept, since we never have any intention of doing anything to violate Square Enix's copyright. Four months after officially announcing the project, we've grown from a couple of FF fanboys to a huge team of over 20 industry veterans working collaboratively to honor this masterpiece, fueled by our love and adoration for the source material.”
Now, the project has over 20 developers from Sucker Punch, Ubisoft, Rare, Unbroken Studios, and more all diving into this labour of love in their spare time, with composers and voice actors also contributing their talents to help make this glimpse into the world of Final Fantasy 9 worth celebrating. But Eder is aware of being overly enthusiastic, knowing that fan projects like this often doom themselves by undertaking something that isn’t feasible with so few resources.
“One of the most common traps for these kinds of fan projects is being overly ambitious,” Eder says. “Since all of us are actively working in the video game industry, we understand the importance of milestones, short term goals, and taking things one step at a time. For now, we are focusing our efforts on the opening sequence of the game, which mainly revolves around Vivi and his exploration of Alexandria. Where we go from here is still being discussed, but one thing I can say for sure is that Vivi will not be the only main character we're planning to include.” I’m told that Memoria is aiming to look indistinguishable - at least from a graphics perspective - from something you’d see in a triple-A blockbuster, and it seems the team has the pedigree to back that claim up.
Visuals are the entire point after all, since turning this project into a playable piece of media would require far more resources to create. By narrowing its focus, Memoria is able to deliver something special while also hopefully avoiding the ire of Square Enix. “The fact that this is a non-playable project definitely makes it easier for us to tailor the experience in a way that would truly allow the audience to be fully immersed in the world without having to worry about technical limitations,” Eder tells me. “Creating actual functional gameplay is a completely different ball game, one that we never had any intention of even discussing given the copyright limitations. This gives us a lot of leeway with how we are going to portray the world of Gaia in terms of character interaction, camera movement, [and] scene transitions. We have a lot of cool plans for the near future - please look forward to it!”
As for the sad truth of fan projects like this often being wiped from existence by publishers throwing out cease and desist letters, Eder is confident that Memoria occupies a niche where this won’t happen. It’s not a commercial or even playable product - it’s a piece of fan art, albeit an endlessly elaborate one. If the tides were to change, Eder believes companies should welcome the enthusiasm for experiences like this.
“If I were to be completely honest, I think it could be a potentially brilliant decision by Square Enix to do something wildly unexpected and invest in a project like this,” Eder states. “There's a considerable amount of hype, talent, motivation, and pure, unadulterated passion behind it. It's not something I would expect, but I think it could be incredibly helpful in regaining some of the trust and reverence that this legendary company was known for during its golden years.”
(source)
#final fantasy ix#memoria project#final fantasy 9#ffix: memoria project#article#news#interview#long post#very long post!
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Sly like a...? Part 12
[Full Masterlist]
Beta: n/a (at the moment)
Rating: All (Marked Chapters 18+)
Pairing: Hybrid!BTS x FailedHybrid!Reader
Genre: Hybrid au, fluff, action, adventure, angst, drama, a slice of life. Some marked chapters will contain mature/smut scenes, BUT they will not have any plot in those chaptrs and are 100% skippable without losing your place in the story.
Summary: Humans strive to be better, faster, and stronger by looking at animal DNA. Thus Hybrids are born. As the rise for designer and Pedigree Hybrids increase, so do the failed attempts. There is one species scientists are unsuccessful in creating, but, folklore says they have been here all along, hiding and blending in with the humans for many millennia. How clever they are.
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The pressure of the limbs draped over your form was causing you to overheat. It was maddening, the blankets and the boys sleeping soundly flanking your sides was your prison. On a normal day, you would lay in bed for at least an hour before begrudgingly completing your morning routine. So naturally, you needed to go to the bathroom.
There was hardly any resistance with the boys' limbs flopping back to their sides of the bed. You however had decided to climb over Jimin, he was your friend longer and he would understand. Swinging your leg of Jimin you began sliding over him until your foot touched the cool wooden floor. Stretching his body he gave you a hug, his eyes peering open as he tried to adjust to the light.
“Good morning,” his morning voice was deep and rattled in his chest and throat. He allowed you to slip from his embrace, grabbing for his phone from the bedside table.
“Sorry for waking you,” you smiled, fluffing his hair, enjoying teasing him whilst he was still so sleepy. He swatted your hand away, rubbing his ears in an effort to flatten his hair back in place around them.
A yawn took over as he spoke, making his question unnecessarily long, “where are you going?”
“I have to go to the toilet,” unable to delay any longer, you grabbed your phone and quietly scurried away. Inhaling softly as you walked the hall reassuring yourself all seven hybrids were present and healthy. It was strange how quickly you grew accustomed to the seven different scents in your environment.
Different hybrids predator and prey, feline and canine, and opposing males could exist in the same house in harmony seemed more like a pipe dream but here you were. Like some kind of mad genius the seven had very good temperaments and were developing relationships with one another. It was slow but you could see the fondness growing, each protective over each other and especially yourself.
Washing your hands you were reminded of your jump scare. Your eyes had been tired and you saw something that wasn’t really there. The fact it had shaken you so much was amusing. You definitely didn’t see anything this time. Dressing for the day wearing a mustard shirt Jimin had bought for you last Christmas that said Honey on the front. He had been working a lot back then, the two of you were separated for a long time. Jimin had been in an all-boys facility and you in an all-girls. But every Christmas he appeared and the two of you exchanged gifts. It wasn’t until you were older you realized he had been sneaking out to see you.
A passing thought about breakfast and coffee was interrupted by the vibration of your phone on the bathroom counter. Picking up the device you answered confused as to who would need to contact you so early.
“Hello, this is Y/n. How can I help you?” You answered professionally, hoping that it wasn’t any of the individuals who were funding your Hybrid experiment.
“Hey, Kit! It’s Felix. You want to go for coffee?” The voice felt like a family home, nostalgic. Felix was truly the closest person you had to a parent, he asked for your address and you texted it to him. Scribbling a quick note, you slipped on your shoes.
“Are you going out?” Taehyung asked curiously, he was wearing a pair of beige wide-leg pants and an olive green button-up with little flowers. If you had to sum up his style in a word you could use, vintage, or perhaps grandpa. He always looked so comfortable even if it did appear kind of old “Can I come too?”
“Uh… sure,” He grabbed his jacket and slipped his feet into his shoes while you added Taehyung’s name to the note. The two of you made your escape and climbed into the car waiting on the roadside.
Taehyung seemed to catch a familiar scent and frowned a growl bubbling in his chest. Felix snuck a side glance, the two of you lock eyes for a moment and he bit back a smirk. “My name is Felix, what is your name son?”
“Taehyung,” his voice was clipped. He was trying his hardest to be civil which you appreciated but were completely thrown that he would have any sort of ill will to your father figure.
“It has been a while, you have changed so much since I last saw you” He smiled, reaching over and patting your head gently. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are now, has anyone caught your interest?”
“Uh, I am mostly working these days so I am not really looking for anything with anyone. Seven hybrids are quite tiring.” you admitted, realizing that Taehyung was in the car you quickly added, “though they are all perfectly well behaved and I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”
“That is good, what about yourself?” He asked, pulling into a parking space outside a little cafe, the three of you exit the car. It was quiet and you were thankful, not wanting to deal with rush orders and loud and rude customers.
“I am good,” you answered without thinking too deeply.
“You smell like multiple young male hybrids, have any of them tried anything?” He said, his concern shining through in his tone. Eyeing Taehyung not so subtly who huffed crossing his arms.
“We are gentlemen and we wouldn’t do that to anyone?” Taehyung refuted, his gaze heated. You swear you caught sight of a pale white tail flicker behind Felix but you were all interrupted by a young waitress appearing at the end of the table.
“Are you all ready to order?” A woman spoke while scribbling the table number at the top of the page in the small order book.
“I will get a coffee and eggs and the fruit salad” Felix smiled, though you were ordering breakfast, it was closer to lunch by this point. Felix remembered all your favorite foods and took the liberty of ordering yours as well, “She will have the same”
“I will get a vanilla milkshake and this one with extra bacon,” his smile was excited at the prospect of food. He was such a sweet young man, you knew why Felix was worried but the boys were so sweet they wouldn’t ever think about hurting you. The conversation was light until the meals appeared.
“So, I came to talk about the other night,” he looked deadly serious and it made you feel like a child being scolded again, “we met up for a reason.”
“You said you didn’t go out,” Taehyung accused, looking hurt, a strip of bacon falling off his fork. Taehyung stood from his seat, pulling out his phone, “I am going to see grandpa”
“Do you want me to take you?” you grabbed his arm, he pulled his arm free, “I will call a cab out the front.”
“I didn’t go out?” You watched him through the window, baffled as to how Felix knew about your dream.
“The dream was real, I was there,” he assured you. This couldn’t be a coincidence the circumstances were too extreme. “I would like to tell you about yourself, help you find who you truly are”
“What do you mean?” you blinked slowly trying to piece things together. He stood up, removing a few bills from his wallet. “I am who I am, I don’t know what else there is to find out about myself.”
“It will be easier to show you than explain, so follow me,” he eyes sparkled as he spoke. You always knew he was up to no good when he wore that sly grin. You followed him to his car and buckled up, he drove you somewhere it took a few hours but you arrived in a creepy marketplace where he pulled over.
“I swear if we are just buying groceries I will hit you across the head” You glared and he took your arm and smiled wickedly.
“You are a scared kit aren’t you,” he seemed to enjoy teasing you but his face grew serious with a warning, “follow me and don’t let go of my arm for anything.”
He led you through alleyways in the market until you reached a dead end, he knocked on a garage door. He tilted his head up to the roof and waited, you looked up confused until you saw a head pop over the side of the roof above you. “What’s the password?”
“The password is, I pay the rent for this place so let me in” Felix called back and you felt a little sketchy, the door rolled open and you were led down the stairs to a basement your eyes stinging as they were straining to see. “Relax and let your eyes adjust”
He patted your arm and like he said your eyes adjusted and you entered the basement, the place had music playing and hybrids dancing in the low light there was a bar area. The bar smelt odd and yet so familiar, it was a scent you had experienced at various times of your life.
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Tags: @simplymemyself @lolsiiike @min2jeon @notruercolors @luvaffaire @grazysf @ella-mella @lustremyg @sonnymii @moments-of-melancholy @calling-dips-on-j-hope @jiminiessipabo @staerryminimini @afangirl91 @halfway-insane @ireallylikeyourwriting @lindsayjoy444 @lindsay1013 @bangtansleftnut @chimchoom @boba-tea1206 @leejongsukly433
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#bts#bangtan sonyeondan#castlebangtan#bts reactions#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts x reader#bts hybrid au#bts hybrids#bts x reader hybrid#bts fluff#bts smut#BTSsly#bts x reader fluff#bts x reader smut#bts series#kim namjoon#kim seokjin#min yoongi#jung hoseok#park jimin#kim taehyung#jeon jungkook#jin x reader#suga x reader#jhope x reader#namjoon x reader#jimin x reader#taehyung x reader#jungkook x reader
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There's a light at the end of the tunnel.
I'm into the final few paragraphs of the fic I've been working on for the last five months. There's a really good chance I might post the first chapter before the end of the weekend.
Which is today for me.
Here's a sneak preview:
Darcy pretended not to hear, instead excusing herself back to her office when the phone started to ring. Putting her coffee on her desk, she picked it up. “Dragon’s Lair Rescue and Rehabilitation, you’re speaking with Darcy. How may I help you?”
“Hey, yeah. Hi, Darcy. Um, this is Scott Lang, from the New Hope Shelter in Santa Rosa."
"Hey, Scott. What can I do for you?"
"Uh, well I hate to impose and I know we haven’t met yet but I’m kinda desperate here.”
“I’m listening.”
“Okay, yeah, so we’re trying to find temporary placements for a whole bunch of dragons seized in a raid last night. I was told you might have room, so I was wondering if you could take some of them?”
“Sure,” Darcy said, “but just so you know, we only take the little household dragonets at the moment - if you need somewhere to take noble dragons I can give you numbers.”
“No, no. Just the littles ones,” Scott said hastily. “Just the little guys.”
“Alright then. So, what am I looking at?” Darcy asked, grabbing a pen out of the holder and pulling her desk pad around so she could scribble down the information.
“Well, there’s a huge variety and it kinda depends on how many you think you can take. Uh, a lot of them were grouped in cages and have bonded so we’d rather not separate groups if we don’t have to. The biggest bonded group I have is seven but I’ve got groups of all sizes,” Scott said.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to take some,” Darcy replied, busily making notes on the pad. “Are they common domestics or are we looking at specials?”
“Mostly commons,” Scott said, “but there’s also some papered pedigrees - we’ve got several miniature California Spangleds, some Egyptian Plumes, a few Yellow Savannah’s, a couple of those tiny Ladyfingers, and one of unknown breed.”
“...Savannah...Ladyfinger," Darcy muttered, scribbling the words down. "Okay. Look, I’m actually about to do the rounds with my head caretaker so I’ll check with him to see how many nests we have free - oh, actually, can they go into a shared habitat with our current residents?"
"Probably- hang on."
The phone rustled and she heard Scott talking to someone in the background.
"Um, Hope says that should be fine. However many you can take, even if it’s only one or two would be awesome."
Darcy scrawled another note and nodded.
"Alright, I'll call you back with a number in about half an hour then, okay?”
“Thanks, Darcy. They’re still getting their vet checks at the moment, but we’ll be wanting to get them settled as soon as we can.”
“Got it. I’ll be as quick as I can. Bye.”
#darcy lewis#bucky barnes#wintershock#here be dragons#fic sneak peek#everyone's involved with dragons#modern au#no powers au#dragon au#big dragons#little dragons#look I just love dragons okay
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hounded (1/?) | The Magnus Archives
A/N: After a long absence, here I am writing TMA fic again! This was originally intended to be posted on my 18th birthday, since it’s fluffy and cute and the total opposite of what you associate with turning 18, but I lost track of time, so it’s coming out now. This fic, also crossposted on my AO3, is a gift for dundee998, who I won’t tag here to avoid annoying them, as well as the Jonah Server; I love all of you guys’ fics, and now that I’m 18, wish I could join you. Alas, I am socially awkward and haven't asked. On AO3, this fic is rated T for period-typical drinking, swearing, and mild sexual references; there’s nothing explicit, and the worst it gets is making out and “sexy tennis” (you’ll see). Other than that, please enjoy!
Summary: Barnabas Bennett adopts a dog. That dog just so happens to be of the Flesh. Shenanigans ensue.
--
Barnabas Bennett is standing in Jonah’s doorway with a dog in his arms.
Not just any dog, either; the thing is enormous, wider than the door frame itself, and Jonah briefly wonders how Barnabas is managing to carry it before he refocuses his thoughts.
“Barnabas,” he begins, then shakes his head. “You’ve got-” he tries again. After a few more failed attempts at starting a conversation, he gestures broadly to the two of them. “Dog. In your arms. Why?”
“Well, I could hardly just leave him on the street, Jonah!”
“You’re attempting to bring a street mongrel into my house?” Jonah says, and, true to what he’s said, Barnabas is in fact trying to maneuver himself to fit the massive beast through Jonah’s door.
“Jonah, it’s pouring outside! I’m already soaked through, and- oh, angel, would you move over?”
Despite Jonah’s protests, Barnabas manages to get through the door, and, as he makes his way towards the parlor room, the dog’s wagging tail catches Jonah across the face, smearing him the same mixture of mud and slush that Barnabas is now tracking across his nice, clean rug.
Jonah screeches.
Barnabas quickly pivots to see what the matter is, and when he sees Jonah, he can’t help but cackle at the sight of prim, proper, perfectly made up Jonah hurriedly wiping the mixture off his face with his shirtsleeve, cursing about how some got into his mouth, goddamn you, Barnabas! When he’s finally gotten enough off his face to be able to see properly, he shoots Barnabas a scowl.
“Do not laugh.”
“But, love-”
“ Barnabas.”
“I mean- it’s all over your face , love!”
“And now it’s all over my floor, and- BARNABAS FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DO NOT PUT THAT THING DOWN ON MY CHAIR-”
But Barnabas has already happily seated the dog on Jonah’s parlor chair, divesting himself of his coat to help dry the mutt off.
For as many social graces as Barnabas has burned into his memory, animals have always been a weak point for him, whether it was hatching chickens in his dormitory at university, or falling asleep beside one of Mordechai’s horses, or, as he is doing now, completely ruining Jonah’s furniture for the sake of a dog he collected off the street. If Jonah weren’t so absolutely furious, he might be endeared. Barnabas’ coat is absolutely disgusting by the time he’s dried the dog off a good amount, allowing Jonah to get a better look at the thing.
He surmises it might be the matted fur and mud streaks, but the dog doesn’t look like any he’s ever seen before; he’d called it a mongrel before, but now, he’s not sure if that even applies; instead of a mix of two pedigrees, the thing is more a mildly horrifying jumble of features from every breed: the stockiness of a Great Dane covered by the loose skin of a Neapolitan, which, in turn, is covered by the thick fur of a Saint Bernard, the drooping ears of a bloodhound somehow cut into the points of a Paisley, and though he’s not a full devotee of the Eye yet, Jonah’s been getting better at sensing the presence of other Entities, and…
This dog reeks of Viscera, of the Flesh.
(Well, it reeks in general, but one might not know that given how adoringly Barnabas is cooing at it).
Jonah takes a step closer, and the dog bares its teeth; its warning growl is low, bone-rattling; it thrums through his small frame and makes his teeth ache.
“Now, Kibble,” Barnabas scolds, though there’s no disdain in his voice, “we don’t rumble at our friends.”
Jonah takes another step. The dog--Kibble, apparently--rumbles again, angrier, more protective.
“Kibble, really…”
“Barnabas,” Jonah cuts off the other man’s sentence at the knees. “Would you mind...keeping an eye on that thing? I...have a bit of reading to do that I meant to get to earlier, before you. Well.”
“Yes, of course.” As Jonah starts off to his study, Barnabas asks: “Would you mind if I bathed him here? He’s...well. Quite filthy.”
“Yes,” Jonah says, “just don’t use my bathroom. Use the ground floor bath.”
--
After scrubbing his face for an extended amount of time (even after several washes, he can still feel the mud caking his cheeks), Jonah has secluded himself in a small nook in his study, thumbing through A Treatise On The Powers And Their Domains, Smirke’s most recent compendium on the occult. Despite being less than a month old, the tome looks rather worse for wear; Jonah has never been the most tidy of men, and, in addition to dog-earing pages and scribbling in their margins, he’s got an awful habit of leaving books in the worst places: face down on a desk, face down on the floor, face down...anywhere, really.
When he finally finds the section regarding the Flesh, he rereads it a fair few times. He’s recalled that the Flesh most often manifests itself in animals, but, being the “youngest” of the Fears, is scarcely documented, and, as such, the book is of only superficial assistance.
With a loud huff, he shuts the book, and tosses it somewhere, making a note to write to Smirke about this in the near future as he rubs his temples...and promptly discovers a dried patch of mud he’s missed.
When he tells an elated Barnabas that yes, they can keep the dog in his estate, he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that this whole ordeal will be worth it.
#the magnus archives#magnus archives#magpod#tma#the magnus archives fic#magnus archives fic#magpod fic#tma fic#regency bastards#regency bastards fic#jonah magnus#barnabas bennett#fluff#humor#my fic#hounded fic#tma tag
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# 3,628
Sonic Youth: “Santa Doesn’t Cop Out On Dope” (1996, 2018)
What was once released on the Geffen label’s Just Say Noel! holiday compilation (1996), Sonic Youth’s weirded-out Christmas carol recently became its’ own stand-alone downloadable single and is popular in its’ own right. It’s their cover of Martin Mull’s gentler, kinder, inclusive observatory (’72) of Santa Claus and his crew of elves’ having no time getting high in order to make toys for all good boys and girls around the world. Sonic Youth, rather, turns it all into a fried fuzzy scribble that only their art-rock pedigree can make with odd guitar tunings and sizzling feedback. They make a sloppy mess, all right, whilst still delivering the original mission statement for us to save the stash for ourselves to enjoy. If only Mull had the thought to go balls-out and squeal it to end his take like Thurston did. That would’ve been something.
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Mel’s.
The blonde’s studio apartment is tucked upon a high floor in an overpriced complex of condos in queens, with a view of the water. The walls are slowly falling apart, the pipes freeze ever winder and the buildings frequently have its water shut off. while it wasn’t a penthouse suite it worked well for now. In the meantime she could dream of a penthouse suite overlooking central park with ceiling to floor windows and marble floors.
But here she was a failed actress, commuting from queens to hell's kitchen everyday for fifty cent tips, working at Mel’s diner trying to make ends meet. She quickly found herself escorting to help pad her pockets. It wasn’t always sex, sometimes the bachelors of Manhattan simply needed a pretty girl on their arm for the night and Posey happened to be available.
Over time she began to hate herself. The little ten year old girl from Louisiana wouldn’t approve of who she’s become. When she ran away from home at 17, she had dreams of becoming the next Glenn Close or Sally Field. She worked every dead end job she could find while going to every audition she could, working tirelessly to become a star. After a weekend in Vegas with her friends Posey began dating Eric Rogers, a man who’s only form of communication happened to be his fists.
She was twenty-six when she packed up her bags and her dreams and headed towards New York City. While she wanted to make an honest living while in New York, it seemed that working as a waitress at Mel’s diner wouldn’t be enough to pay the bills and escorting helped balance her books.
She could feel the self loathing building up inside of her, every time she was stripped of her clothes laying naked on a bed. It didn’t matter to Posey what she was called, escort, hooker, prostitute, call girl. At the end of the day she was nothing but a common whore and there was nothing redeeming about selling her body.
She lives paycheck to paycheck and any extra money from escorting generally ends up being spent at a designer store. She dates men of a particular status, thus, shes’s required to, at all times, look like a trophy wife. The richest men in New York would drop thousands to have her for only a few hours when they could easily have hand picked anyone in the tri-state and yet they paid for her. Exerting their power over her with money and sex. She could be bought.
Even as she manages to scrape by, she has a few thousand dollars squirreled away. Accumulating some sort of savings, though she wasn't sure what she was saving for. California was no longer an option after spending more than ten years chasing a dream she would never see through and going home to Louisiana was unimaginable.
She’s soaked from head to toe, leaving against a brick wall; cigarette pressed to rosey pink lips. Thunderous claps of thunder make her heart beat anxiously.
“Posey! I’m not payin’ ya to smoke all day.”
The blonde rolled her eyes, Richard Fisk was the owner of Mel’s diner and also Posey’s pimp. His voice echoes through the back alley way. A quarter to 6 in the morning and there was nobody to be seen. Mel’s wasn’t known for a world famous breakfast or even a decent cup of coffee. Most of the patronage were drunks after leaving the bars in the dead of night. Their daytime customers weren’t any better, most reeked of bourbon and street meat.
As Posey walked through the back of the restaurant she tossed her coat near the lockers and slid her phone into the confines of her white apron. She’s wearing a form fitting short baby pink dress, a requirement for all Mel’s diner employee’s. As she rounds the corner of the counter, her eyes land on a man who sticks out like a sore thumb.
He looks like he walked out of page six, a suit, tie and one of those douchebag quiff haircuts, his locks are undeniably lush and dark. He doesn’t belong in this diner. With a smile on her face she approaches the table.
“I’ll be right with ya.” She smiles, softly. Their eyes meet and she turns towards Martha.
Martha Grove, a 60 year old woman who has worked at Mel’s since the place had been constructed in the 80s. “He’s cute,” She says, winking. She’s always the first to want to set Posey up with a man.
“Have you seen him before?”
She shrugs her shoulder and heads towards the table. The diner’s empty as he sits in the booth alone.
“What can I get for you?” A smile grows from a grin, pulling at the corner of her lips. The tip of her pen patiently tapping the notebook in hand.
“Are you an option?”
Her face burns flush with crimson red hues, her heart seemingly skips a bead. The grip on her pen tightens and his dark eyes pulling her into his gaze, she’s helpless to avoid eye contact. As she gazes into his eyes she can’t help but feel like she knows him. Judging by the way he’s dressed, he’s probably graced the pages of Forbes magazine.
“I’ll have a coffee and some waffles, and one of those fruit bowls.”
She forgoes writing down his order. “Comin’ right up.”
Martha heads towards the kitchen to prepare the order while Posey pours his coffee. He’s hit her like a freight train. Nobody of his pedigree would ever be caught dead walking into the Mel’s diner. As she walks towards his table she can feel his eyes on her, she sets the coffee down.
“Can I get you anything else?”
“Care to sit and talk?”
Her eyes narrow in his direction before she can decline his request he speaks again.
“I feel like waffles and coffee go better with conversation. And I have heard once or twice that the customer is always right. Therefore you would be rude for denying my request.”
She can feel her face shift, a smile overcoming her stern features. She softens ever so slightly, every word he speaks is filled with confidence and perhaps a hit of arrogance. His eyes move from her chestnut hues to her name tag.
“Posey, I’m james.”
“What brings you here?” She questions, “You don’t look like you… you know belong on this side of the city.”
“I heard the waffles here were great.” His laugh, forces a smile on her face. “I was passing by and figured I could eat before going into the office… What’s a pretty girl like you doing working here?”
There’s a genuine laugh that radiates from her, again, her cheeks betray her as the burn a rosey shade of red. How could she answer that question without giving her life story to some stranger?
“Posey! Order ready.” Saved by the bell. Posey rises from the booth.
“I shall be back with your food, James.”
As she grabs the plate, the door rings several times and the diner continues to fill with patrons. A piece of her was disappointed, most morning she would pray for customers but today she was simply happy sitting in James’ company.
“Here you go, if you need anything else, just let me know.”
Posey hurries towards the other tables making her rounds as the minutes pass by. In moments of quiet her eyes wander towards James’s table. He’s content reading the morning paper, sipping his coffee and enjoying his plate of waffles.
James can’t help but take note of the waitress, Posey. He lacks the focus on his newspaper, the thoughts of the blonde filling his head, he can’t help but feel drawn to her. The prettiest girl he’s seen since his breakup with his ex, Sophie. As he finishes his coffee, he pulls out a hundred dollar bill and a business card.
James Hawthorne of Hawthorne industries. He scribbles his number on the back of the card. ‘call me sometime’. He only hopes he isn’t being too forward. The card and the money are left on the table as he heads back into the streets of New York.
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Genealogy
Malroth fingered the pages of the book on the table, eyeing the loose papers sticking out. Ursa had usually been so careful not to leave it somewhere where he could look at it. Even having it strapped to her back barely kept him away, this was so easy he almost thought she meant to do it.
The images that caught his eye weren’t the sketches and blueprints he was used to seeing. These were... not her style. Her brother had occasionally drawn in her book next to a project the two were working on together, but this wasn’t his style either.
It was the old scrap of paper on top of the pile that he planned to question her about. It was yellow, spotted with dark stains. The edge of it was rippled and rough, evidence to the fact it was torn away from the seams of a book. On the page were portraits, sat together in pairs. He knew from the last names they were family. The lines on the paper looked exactly like the pedigree charts Ursa had made for the dogs and cats living on the island.
Click
The door to Ursa’s room pulled open. She stepped out, froze, and her eyes widened at the sight of Malroth grinning impishly at her, page still in hand, book wide open.
At least he never tried to hide what he was doing, but he could try not to be so smug about it.
“Where’d you get this?”
“Put it down.”
“Torn straight from a book, eh? Didja steal it?”
“I did not! Give it here!”
She made a grab for it. He lifted it above his head, away from her grasp. “Here I am thinking you’re such a goody-two-shoes and here's proof that you might have hope yet!”
“Dude, you can tease me all you want about it but just please put it down.”
He brought it down to her level again as he raised his eyebrow. She took the other end, expecting him to drop his half. One soft tug and she knew he wasn’t quite done yet.
“Why’s it so important to you? It doesn’t fit with the rest of your scribbles.”
He recognized the glint of excitement in her eyes. She dropped her end and went to the rest of the loose papers in her book. After sorting through them for a moment, he watched her lay them out end to end, making the lines match up with each other. She turned and gestured for the sheet still in his fingers. Now curious, he handed it to her. Carefully, she rested it at the top.
“So it is a family!” Malroth leaned over her shoulder, looking over all the portraits now connected.
Ursa moved to the side, giving him a better view. She was almost beaming. “Mine and Ayal’s. See?” Her finger went to the bottom paper. The two pictures were clearly cut away from something else and pasted in place. They looked like two builders, but they were drawn with crayons and in a much simpler style.
His eyes narrowed as his gaze followed the lines above the twins. The couple (professionally drawn) above did bear a striking resemblance to them... he couldn’t say why, but he didn’t like them. “These are your parents?”
“Mh-hm.”
“Are they still...” Ah, shoot. He shouldn’t ask this. “Y’know, around in your world?”
Her usual goofy smile stayed on her lips, but he learned to watch her eyes instead. That glint of excitement they had faded.
She looked at the paper for a moment before shrugging. “Honestly... I have no idea. They just up and left one day when we were still little.”
“Wait, hold on. They left you?” Well now his not liking them was justified. “But what about all that talk about parents and kids you and me had? You said that parents take care of their kids until they’re about eighteen-”
He stopped himself. Her smile had faded to a sad smirk. “Yeah, that’s how it should be, but I guess I forgot to mention that some people make really bad parents.”
His ears pinned back as he looked to the papers again. “Why do you keep this then?” If your parents were so bad why bother with the rest of them?
Her hand went to the first paper. “Because of these two!” She pointed to the two at the top of the family tree.
“Rudolfa and Drayce, my great-great-great-great-great-great grandparents. Y’know how some of the villagers we have living here talk about a builder who saved the land of Alefgard? One of these two was that builder. Though some people suspect it was both of them.”
“So your ancestors are also some big shot builder’s eh? Well, that’s no surprise! For you two to be as good as you are you’d have to have gotten it from somewhere.”
Ursa’s smile grew again, much to Malroths relief. “Their daughter definitely made sure not to let the gift fade away in her time, and then their daughter's children, and their children's children after that. Almost lost it at my parents, they didn’t think it to be the most worthwhile thing. Luckily they left this in their library where my brother and I got a hold of it.”
Malroth’s ear flicked. His builders were the spitting image of the ancient heroes, more so than their own parents. It didn’t surprise him that she was so drawn to the two. “This whole having ancestors thing must be pretty nice. If it made you set your mind on something it must be pretty important. Rubiss knows I’ve tried the same with you.”
A grin spread across her face. “Don’t count yourself out yet. These two saved their world, and now that you have too maybe you’ll manage to convince me of something someday.”
“Someday? That’s all you’ll give me is a ‘someday’?” He nudged his elbow into her side.
“Sure, someday. But not someday soon.”
“Okay, smart aleck! I think I'll convince you of something right now just to prove you wrong!”
She took a few steps back as she stuck out her tongue at the red-eyed man. “Sure you can oh Mighty God of Destruction.”
“That’s Mr. Great and Mighty God of Destruction to you.” He had to force his frown to stay in place when she started giggling. In a way, he appreciated that she knew when he wasn’t being completely serious, but at the same time, he didn’t know where she got the nerve to laugh at him. He was supposed to be the one teasing her.
Oh, that reminded him.
“Wait, you said this was in your parents' library? As in not yours?” His hands went to his hips as he saw her smug look drop and a red color cover her cheeks. “You did steal it you little punk.”
“They weren’t using it...”
“It's still stealing.” He grinned. “Don’t you ever lie to me again.”
Since it’s my birthday I thought I’d give you guys a little something ;). I think I’ll just write little one-shots like this and compile them into something of a story. Some might be more serious if I get the right inspiration but for the most part they’ll probably be silly and/or fluffy.
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