neonthewrite

[neonthewrite]

Shackled Forest

The next GT July prompts were Jewelry and Cursed, and though I started with just the first one in mind, it fits the second pretty well too, so I'll count it for both. Got a new concept for me to play around with, some new characters ... we all know I love a forest character.

Introducing Morrel. He's doing his best, but it's difficult.

~~~

The jewels hadn’t shown a sign of life in a long time.

Sometimes Morrel naively, stupidly, foolishly-optimistically thought that they’d finally fallen inert, all power sapped away into the atmosphere never to bother him again. But if that were the case, he’d be able to remove them. The thick wrist bangles, glittering with teal and blue gems, would unclasp and fall away while the choker with its enormous ruby at his throat would fly open and he’d be free of the weight at last.

But no. They stayed with him, more than a human’s weight in gold and a matching quantity of precious stones, heavy and lifeless, until that morning.

It began as a stirring dread in the back of his mind that he almost hadn’t recognized in the early hours. By sunrise, though, he couldn’t deny what it meant.

A human had found and donned the fourth and final piece of jewelry in the set. A ring, the band human-sized rather than giant, sporting a humble diamond little more than a fleck of glitter to his eyes. Despite its small, nondescript appearance, though, that ring meant only trouble for him.

He felt no compulsion, no drive towards the wearer of that ring, which meant that they didn’t know what they’d picked up. That was good. There was still time to figure something out. Time before they understood they had a giant bound to their whim, no matter what it may be. If they figured that out, Morrel would be stuck with them, and they with him, until they passed on or renounced the ring.

No wearer had cast off the ring before. He had no reason to believe this newcomer would either.

To that end, he rushed towards where he’d last seen that infernal ring. The height of a young tree himself, nearly thirty feet, he couldn’t do much sprinting on the forest floor without damaging everything in his path. Instead, Morrel skimmed over the canopy, his boots barely touching the crowns of the trees like a water skimmer barely touched the surface of a lake. To anyone on the ground below, he would be a passing wind and little more.

He tried not to think too hard about what he might need to do when he arrived. If he indeed found the ring near where he expected it: on the tiny, fragile hand of a human. He couldn’t touch the ring itself, thanks to his own accessories. He couldn’t harm someone who’d activated the power in the ring. For someone who didn’t know, though … Morrel had options. None of them were good.

The alternative couldn’t happen again. That ring had passed through generations of tiny human hands, leaving him at the command and mercy of tyrants and warmongers, pillars of greed and conquest alike. He’d never felt relief the likes of what he felt when the last king to wear that ring had fallen to a highwayman, his jewels and money taken away to be passed around among thieves. One of Morrel’s first actions taken with free will in centuries had been to terrorize a camp of bandits, to put his hands on a human before he could take up the ring.

A nondescript piece of jewelry was easily forgotten, tamped into the mud and ruin of that camp. No one remembered a ring over a gold-bedecked rampaging giant-of-the-woods, with skin like tree bark, long, bloody hands and sharp features, four narrow eyes glowing with the colors of sunset and a voice like a storm.

Morrel didn’t want to hurt anyone like he’d done then. He didn’t need to hurt anyone. He merely needed to separate them from the ring that would seal his fate.

Whatever human it was had some choice in the matter too.

At less than half a mile from where that camp had stood decades ago, Morrel slowed his dash, sinking into the woods with only a whisper of leaves against his skin and tattered clothes.

He couldn’t do much about the shining gold of his jewelry, but Morrel had at least switched out his old clothes, fine things in the colors of the kingdom he’d belonged to for so long. He wore rougher fabrics now, pieced together or bartered from the occasional passing hill-giant, in the greens and greys of the woods he called home. When he sank into the forest, it was like a new tree had sprouted there and began slinking between the trunks.

The dread in his core ebbed and flowed like a tide. Morrel couldn’t say whether his own anxiety or the actions of whoever had the ring did it. He could barely remember the first time that ring had fallen into human hands, how it had felt then. The freedom of before was a faraway dream, hazy and faded by centuries of subjugation. What he had now wasn’t even freedom, not with that threat constantly waiting.

The threat that, now, hung so close over him he practically felt its shadow.

Stalking through the trees, the dread became sharper, more focused. He had never kept track of where exactly the ring had fallen—he never needed to. This clarity always grew when he came too close to it. Only bad things came from that little band of gold and his whole body knew it; if running as fast as he could in the opposite direction would help, he’d have abandoned it long ago.

A small voice mumbled up ahead—no, two voices. Morrel’s eyes narrowed and he crept even slower towards the sound, blending into the trees despite his bulk. His recent years of avoiding humans hadn’t been enough to forget how to read tone in a small voice; they were arguing over something. One of them was old and gruff, the other young and fresh. It was more than the simple kind of arguing between a willful youth and their elder.

Creeping close enough to parse the words but not enough for them to spot him easily between the trees, Morrel’s core chilled like winter.

“I’ve got a feeling about this thing. Why would we just give this away for what’s probably not enough money to solve our problems? There’s something magic in it, we just need—”

“What we need is money, you little idiot. Not flights of fancy and pretending the dirty jewelry you found in the woods is magic. Give it here!”

Foliage and twigs shuffled as the pair apparently chased each other a few steps. Not far—the older voice grunted in discomfort and the younger voice huffed defiantly. “It is magic. It resized to fit me as soon as I put it on. And I’m going to find out what it does!”

It was as good a cue as any. Morrel couldn’t allow the owner of that young, hopeful voice find out what the accursed ring did. He abandoned stealth for speed and surged forward, slipping past tree trunks like they were reeds in a pond, scraping away bark and low branches.

And then he was upon them.

He was fast, faster than his bulk might suggest. One long hand dropped to the older human where he stood, knocking him from his feet and pinning him harshly to the ground. Weak struggles met Morrel’s unforgiving palm, though he didn’t lean enough weight onto the man to give him more than bruises.

The other hand snatched at the other human where she stood on a boulder jutting out of the ground, surely the spot she planned to flaunt her spryness over her companion while she talked wistfully of magic and boons and happy tales. Morrel’s hand found her all the same, long fingers like steel coiling around her middle before she could flinch away. His thumb lengthened and sharpened as he hauled her off the stone, the point resting just a breath away from her throat. She stared at him with wide eyes, all bravado forgotten, while her companion shouted unintelligible things from where he was stuck on the ground. She didn’t even struggle, just stared at him with wide, terrified eyes.

It wouldn’t be the first time. With and without the influence of the jewels, Morrel’s hands had been bloodied. He could do this again.

She was so young.

Had that mattered last time?

He couldn’t remember the faces or the voices of the last humans he’d accosted. They had been bandits, humans living rough much like these two seemed to be. They were so so different from the humans dressed in fine things and living in constant luxury that had hurt him. But they had the same opportunity to hurt him anyway.

He couldn’t hurt a fully aware master of that ring, but even though she wore the grubby thing on her grubby finger, she hadn’t realized its potential yet. She knew it held magic, and that provided the wary dread at the back of Morrel’s mind, the knowledge that he could be captured again. Now was the only time to save himself, and he hesitated.

It needed to be done. He’d be protecting himself. Just one little motion of his hand and it would be over. Her fate was regrettable, but his own had to matter more to him.

But she stared up at him, so young and afraid, with eyes that couldn’t have taken in two decades of life.

“Close your eyes, young thing,” he said. He didn’t have a mouth, but his voice rumbled out of him all the same, and he was grateful it didn’t betray his hesitation. “Close your eyes. Look away. Whatever is easiest.”

It wasn’t the young human but the older one that responded. “No ... no! Take me instead, if you must take someone! We meant no disrespect or trespass!”

Morrel didn’t look away from the human in his hand, but his gaze softened. His lower set of eyes closed entirely. “No. Close your eyes, little thing.”

She shook her head, though a shiver diminished some of the sense of brave defiance. Her gaze flickered over him quickly, taking in a few details of his appearance, but she didn’t waver. “Y-you don’t actually want to hurt me, do you?”

Morrel’s eyes shifted to a slightly stormier color, some grey mixing in with the sunset hues. “I want to do what is necessary. If you will not accept what mercy I can offer, that is not—”

“No, that’s not it,” the girl said, her confidence growing while his dimmed. “I can—” she broke off into a laugh and finally looked away from his face down to her pinned arm, where one hand sported the faintest glint of gold. “I can feel what you actually want.”

Morrel froze.

Somewhere within him, a lock clicked into place.

His dread peaked and then drained away to nothing.

The girl grinned wider. “I know what this ring does.”

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #morrel #forest spirit #gt #g/t #giant tiny #handheld #g/t handheld

[neonthewrite]

I don't know who needs to hear this but "borrower" isn't a catch-all term for a lil guy living in the walls. They are a species from a book series with specific lore on what they look like and how they operate.

#reblogging #just because

[neonthewrite]

I can't believe I forgot to ask this omg.

Does Bobby have any siblings or he just an only child like Jacob?? lol

Also, what does Chase's family usually do in the day, does Chase also bother Minnie a bunch, like at all?? >:^)

Bobby is an only child, yep. He's used to getting all the attention.

I haven't really given the Lisong parents specific jobs, but they're very busy most days. The kids are kind of trusted to take care of themselves a lot. Chase bothers Minnie like any healthy brother/sister relationship. He has to exasperate her, it's part of his job as the elder brother.

#bobby loran #jacob andris #chase lisong #minnie lisong

[neonthewrite]

hey, i think i can provide the hanzi for minnie's name. iirc you mentioned that minnie's name means bright halo in a post i can no longer find, so her name would very likely be 明霞.

if this comes off as rude, i am so sorry

Ooh, not rude at all! Thank you for looking into it! I'll definitely keep this one in mind whenever I go to put them all together. I've had more trouble with Lisong, though I know that's a name I didn't just make up (I knew a Lisong in school). This is the kind of thing that I want to make sure I research properly since I've not really worked with hanzi before and from what I can tell, sometimes they can have multiple possible configurations.

[neonthewrite]

How do you write Chase and Minnie's full names in Chinese?

I haven't got the hanzi or anything like that for their names, I probably should resolve that ...

Their family name is Lisong.

Chase’s given name is Qi shi or Qi-shi (which his parents decided to anglicize to Chase). So he's Lisong Qi-shi.

Minnie's given name is Mingxia. It was a little easier to get Minnie from that. She's Lisong Mingxia.

I have to acknowledge: anglicizing names is a tricky topic, and not everybody decides to do so when they move to the US/UK/etc. The reason I chose this option for these characters is their backstory: the family made a somewhat hasty decision to move to the US when the kids were under 10 years old, for health reasons. Their parents chose to give them nicknames that might help them fit in in a new school/environment where they were already playing catch up to learn English.

#character things #chase lisong #minnie lisong #chinese oc #names #anglicized names

[neonthewrite]

Eclipse over Wellwood

With the eclipse going on, I couldn’t help thinking about what the sprites of Wellwood might think if the sun turned black for a few minutes in the middle of the day. Since they don’t have much reason to know what orbits are, they definitely wouldn’t make the connection that it’s the moon getting in the way.

Wellwood was a heartbeat of nervous energy. Cerul stood on the balcony of the cottonwood tree after the last twitchy-winged, concerned mother had fluttered back to her home tree. At last it seemed the tide of endless questions (mostly the same one) had ended. The sky and the air itself took on a strange tint as the last of the black disk slid over the sun far above them.

He only hoped he’d given the right advice. By the currents of worry on the air, he wasn’t sure.

Keep reading

#reblog #since another eclipse has come around my neck of the woods

[neonthewrite]

#omg #i gotta tag this as #elias dawn

[neonthewrite]

reminder: g/t is not about trying to Get A Good Grade In Morality. g/t isn’t about making things palatable to others. you can use those fucked up ideas you have. you can draw that NSFW. not all g/t content has to be Ideologically and Morally Pure. you can do whatever you want actually. preferences and likes in fiction do not equal IRL values. fiction =/= reality. write that fucked up g/t shit

#about writing #i know this is specifically about gt #but we can apply this to any subgenre

[neonthewrite]

On March 20, 2014, @neonthebright and @creatorofuniverses started to write a story together... one that would eventually be titled A Little Bit of Trust. And from there on after, we couldn't be stopped! In the last 10 years, the Trust Multiverse has expanded to hold four complete (and frankly enormous) stories, numerable shorter tales, and an even higher number of AUs.

It's been an immense labor of love for the both of us, and we're so glad we get to share it with all of you. Thank you.

Full pictures under the cut!

#trust multiverse #adrian kennet #colfax hammond #<3 #i cannot stress enough that my writing wouldnt be where it is today without this multiverse

[neonthewrite]

The Office Fae

The next prompt was Tangled, and I ended up with a brand new character for this one. He's fun so far. I'm enjoying his very gremlin energy. I hope you all like him too!

~~~

Life in an office building generally worked well for Simon, despite technically being a house fae. The rules could be fuzzy on that front, with so many humans coming and going every day. Sure, there wasn’t a singular family loving the place and cherishing their lives there, but a lot of humans from many families liked the building and their jobs there well enough to make the energy inviting. Something about flexible hours, good wages, and a solid benefits package made for a harmonious office with plenty of memories–some friendly, some dramatic, even some spicy memories.

Plus there was a vending machine. Simon came for the vibes originally, but he absolutely stayed for the vending machine. At a modest five and three quarter inches tall, he had easy access to a good variety of things in portions that lasted him days.

Another house fae rule he bent–it wasn’t precisely a bowl of cream left out for him specifically, but nobody could expect that these days. Keeping the vending machine stocked was close enough, and if the light bulbs and printer cartridges in the building all lasted longer than they should, well, Simon earned his keep. He probably saved them hundreds on the annual operations budget.

Work always slowed down around the end of winter, aside from some buzzing over in the accounting office. All the holiday parties were done and the potluck food all taken home from the break room fridges. Simon planned for it and handled it well, though things could get cold with the shorter hours and heat on less to make up for the emptier office.

To that end, Simon wintered in the ceiling of the server room. The servers, bulkier and taller than a human, stood clustered in a side room and were never turned off. Blinking lights of green and red and blue twinkled on each machine, colors filtering into the ceiling along with the ample warmth those hulking obelisks gave off.

With so much downtime, he found himself perched near an opening in the ceiling, a spot where the tile had broken off long ago, and watched the server lights flicker on the tangled mess of multicolored cables that ran between them. It was a game of his to trace each cable from end to end with his eyes, idly kicking his bare, grey-skinned feet (his skin had shifted to a tasteful, cool grey a few years ago after an office refresh had updated all the paint). Long, slender fingers absently braided silky hair the color of faded ballpoint ink while he scanned the cables with eyes reminiscent of the shocking, dreaded blue of a computer on its way out.

Most house fae took on colors in equal parts camouflage and defense. Simon would be tough to spot if he happened to be out in the open near a human, but if someone did see him, humans never liked seeing that blue. So his eyes would probably protect him.

Not that he ever intended to test that. As much as he liked his many many humans and their water cooler chatter, Simon was realistic. They wouldn’t like him much even if he shared their scale. All his features were a bit elongated, just enough to seem strange and other. He only wore flowing pants made of scrap fabric and he ate bugs sometimes. Humans would call him scary or freaky or any number of words they had for things they didn’t like, and if his eyes couldn’t scare them off he’d be in danger of a rolled up magazine or a dusty phone book.

He’d stayed hidden for a long time, and he anticipated many games of look-at-cables in his future, all without humans being a bother.

Of course, until they were a slight bother anyway. Simon paused his movements and tensed when the door opened abruptly. Light flooded in and he lost track of the cable he was tracing when he looked over, grateful for his higher vantage point and the human tendency to ignore background details.

Two figures stood there, one familiar and one not. One was Tom, a human whose limbs gangled a bit but whose middle had padded out after so many years in a desk job. His bald spot glowed with light from the hallway, and his rumpled t-shirt sported a band name Simon thought he recognized. From what Simon knew, Tom was every bit an IT master and a vital cog in keeping the office running smoothly. He didn’t have to dress any higher than casual.

The other human was a new face. A woman, probably younger than Tom by a couple decades. Her dark skin contrasted with his pale complexion. Her hair, coily and thick, grew longer atop her head though it was tapered close at the sides. She wore a smart blouse and slacks, which Simon immediately recognized as the sort of thing one wore to a job interview, or one’s first day at work.

Tom waved a hand at the servers whirring away in the room. “Servers in here. Probably not gonna need to be in here a ton, but y’know. If something needs a reset…”

The woman nodded and smiled faintly as she scanned the room. “What are the chances I can fix up some of those cables?”

She said it as a joke. Simon didn’t find it funny at all. Tom did. He laughed. “Now that I get someone to pass tasks like that along to, I imagine I can convince the bossman to let me schedule a maintenance day. Now, let’s get you some of your equipment…”

The door closed and the humans walked away, and Simon cared not at all for their conversation or the rest of the onboarding for this new IT interloper. She wanted to organize the cables, which simply would not do. Simon stalked back to his makeshift camp to get his pack.

This new hire was simply not a good fit, and he’d do what he could to stop her horrible plan.

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #simon the office fae #gt #g/t #giant tiny

[neonthewrite]

@nonbinary-octopus asked:

hello, I got a calendar notification that it's Oscar's birthday today. Happy Birthday to our beloved smol!

That is is!

Happy birthday, Oscar!

( Cute happy Oscar art by @creatorofuniverses )

#oscar #oscar the oc #one day I'll write a new birthday short for him

[neonthewrite]

So, I was (re)reading the Borrower Chase and Minnie series, and I got the idea to use a Dolldivine creator to try making them. When I finished...Well, I didn't mean to dress Chase like Merlin from the 2008 series, but he suited it! (Minnie had slight Ciri vibes.)

I had to look him up because it's been a minute since I've seen any Merlin, but... I can see it! A lil jacket, a lil scarf... being teeny can be chilly, the boi needs some layers on.

#chase lisong #borrower!chase #merlin 2008 adjacent

[neonthewrite]

Ducky Pajamas

The next GT July prompt was "Pajamas", and it only made me think of Oscar for some reason ... mostly that he deserves nice comfy jammies. So I decided to delve into an AU that @creatorofuniverses and I have mused about a lot but haven't written yet. This ought to give a short but sweet idea of the vibe of this as-yet-unwritten AU.

~~~

Oscar liked his pajamas.

He’d never really had pajamas before. He used to wear the same clothes he might wear on a supply run, dust and all, back before things changed. There were a lot of things he’d taken as normal that maybe weren’t. Not the way Sawyer talked about it. Things had changed a lot since he left the motel with a human of all people, but so far the changes were good.

He ate breakfast every day now, where before he’d skip it most mornings. He played with toys and drew with crayons the human had carved down to fit his small hands. He listened to nice music and had clean blankets that weren’t threadbare.

And he had pajamas. The fabric, soft and cozy against his skin, was light blue and dotted all over with yellow blobby shapes. Sawyer called the shapes “duckies”, and Oscar liked the word, even if he wasn’t sure the blobby shapes really were anything.

He sat on a nest of blankets a lot like the one he’d left behind and yet so much nicer, and traced a finger over one of the duckies. The “room” around him was actually a dresser drawer, one emptied of human things and filled instead with things for Oscar.

Change had always scared him. He’d cried the first few nights in his new room, a strange place far from all he’d ever known. But as he sat and traced the blobby yellow shape of a ducky on his nice warm pajamas, Oscar understood that some change was okay. Some change was good and warm and kind.

In the other room, a human moved about. That didn’t scare him like it used to, because he knew this human would be nice to him. Sawyer was getting ready for bed, too. And then he’d come read Oscar a story, another very new but very welcome tradition.

Oscar couldn’t wait to hear which story Sawyer picked.

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #oscar #oscar the oc #sawyer rodriguez #(mentioned) #adopt oscar 2.0 #a little more family #gt #g/t #giant tiny #trust multiverse

[neonthewrite]

Grey Landing (Part 10)

I have finished another GT July(2023) prompt! This time the prompt was "Memory". I don't remember what I had originally planned for this prompt when I started the challenge, but when I started planning it Isaac kept coming up. So we have more of Isaac's misadventures.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)

~~~

The food, simple but hearty, felt heavy and strange in Isaac’s hands, like he held edible gold. He wasted no more time tucking in to an unorthodox meal, tearing bites off the large crumbs of bread and cheese and trying not to picture the disapproval he’d get from his mum for it. She’d taught him manners for how to be a guest in someone else’s house. She’d given up trying to get him to use them at sea.

Considering his predicament, trapped in a giant bowl on a giant counter in a giant bloody house, Isaac considered himself still adrift. So he ate like a sailor. His body sang with relief.

It forced him to think about when he last ate. He cast his mind back to a morning that felt normal, a coffee and breakfast before heading out with a bundle to be his lunch while he was out on the waves working for their next supper. That hadn’t been this morning. Had it been the day before? If he’d known a storm would break his ship and send him so far adrift, he’d have been more discerning with that precious bundle of rations, maybe the last lunch ever packed for him. Hell, he might have said something more to the people he passed on his way to the dock.

They probably all thought he’d been taken by the waves.

As with most things that might lead to heavy thoughts, Isaac pondered the memory only long enough to know he ought to shut it away again. A moment’s reprieve didn’t mean he had the time to break down just yet. Beyond the walls of his improvised jail cell, three giants sat at their dinner table, talking little but every casual word boomed.

He thought he’d finish up the offered food in his desperate hunger, but eventually the scale of things caught up to him. He pondered what remained of what he’d been given and wondered if they’d even be able to tell he had anything. His core was heavy and full, but he’d hardly made a dent. He set the ridiculous portions beside him and considered climbing out of the bowl before abruptly lying back with a huff. 

His eyes closed in spite of himself. He didn’t plan to sleep, but he would make himself as comfortable as he could. The giants could take their time as far as he was concerned‒

“Long we’ve tossed on the rolling main, now we’re safe ashore, Jack!

Don’t forget your old shipmate, faldee raldee raldee raldee rye-eye-o!”

He’s on a ship, a chorus of voices calling up as a hundred hands or more toil away. It’s all familiar. A grinning face, pale and mischievous, angles his way as the lyrics of their shanty always come back to the name.

“Long we’ve tossed on the rolling main, now we’re safe ashore, ‘Zac!”

While everyone else sings ‘Jack’, the nicest voice on board sings to Isaac alone and he knows he can belong‒

A jab to his side broke Isaac out of the unexpected dream. He flailed away from the offending feeling, a hazy memory of someone he might never see again clinging to his thoughts. A confused noise escaped him as he caught up to what had poked him.

A giant fingertip, large and callused and probably strong enough to crush his ribs by itself, lingered nearby. The attached hand loomed close in the bowl with him, with an equally giant arm extending overhead. Isaac’s brow furrowed as he stared up, again confronted with the scale of these giants. Clei stood over him, looking almost worried.

“Am not dead yet, lad,” Isaac told him. “Restin’ my eyes and slackin’ off, is all.”

Clei huffed and muttered in that language of theirs. “Crur cayg.” Apparently that was his warning, because that hand descended on him despite his noise of alarm. Once again Isaac found himself all too easily gathered up in a single hand, a fist curled around his middle and restricting his movements. He grimaced as vertigo gripped him just as securely when Clei lifted him out of the bowl and turned away from the counter at the same time.

The room whirled past him, barely-familiar shapes passing in and out of notice in the fast movements of a giant who didn’t seem to notice Isaac turning green. Thankfully they didn’t have that far to go, at least as far as Clei was concerned. A few steps later, Isaac found himself back on the giant table, scrambling to his feet after Clei set him down prone. The dishes from dinner were set aside along with the centerpiece, so Isaac found himself fully on the spot with giants looming and staring from three sides.

Clei still looked sheepish. Gufnad still looked annoyed. Trydi had her lips pursed in something like exasperation. Isaac, deciding not to let the silence draw out too long, held out his arms. “Am I on trial, then, my gracious hosts?”

Gufnad bristled, a lot like Isaac expected him to. He had a memory of more than one disciplinary hearing from his navy days, when just existing rankled an officer or two. Gufnad followed that pattern all too well.

Before the man could bark some indignant thing at him, though, Trydi shot him a look. “Gufnad. Dlad.” And then she sent Isaac a similar look, one that cowed some of his contrarian attitude despite himself. “Kaimu. Dlad.” She said more, quick syllables falling over each other and leaving Isaac in the dust, unable to pick up words in her rhythmic accent any better than he could before, though he realized partway through her question what their language reminded him of.

Isaac sighed. Some of the annoyance left his shoulders, but he still gestured vaguely at her. “I don’t understand you, lass. I don’t speak … Big Welsh. I don’t even speak normal Welsh. And for that, am sorry. We won’t get anywhere talking at each other like this, hmm?”

Clei finally chimed in, with the attitude of someone not used to speaking up to the others. He stammered a bit, and though Isaac tried to follow, he only heard one familiar sound among the rush: the giant used his name, once or twice, and Isaac had to hope he was vouching for him the best he could.

When Clei finally tapered off, Isaac watched him for a beat, then looked to the other two expectantly. “Only good stories, I hope,” he said, again only to prevent an awkward silence.

Gufnad’s frown didn’t waver. “Trydi, crur bid wal nei̯fitblei̯nd.” Isaac narrowed his eyes. He recognized the word that Gufnad had called him before, and he could only assume it was some kind of insult. Neigh-vit-blind yourself, you stubborn bastard.

Trydi winced faintly and glanced between Gufnad and Clei, and occasionally even Isaac. As head of the household, apparently the tie breaking vote fell to her. Isaac didn’t get a vote at all, not that that surprised him either. All he could do was stand there in the middle of a giant table and hope the outcome favored him.

Finally, she sighed and tilted her head towards Clei. “Bid tars. Clei, yulubus grag. Gaog, wif gwut hust.”

Isaac still didn’t understand them, but the grin that broke over Clei’s nervous face and the resigned eyeroll from Gufnad told him enough. He sighed; two giants on his side wasn’t bad at all, and having the lady of the house giving him any measure of a chance was worth a lot. His shoulders unwound some tension and he once again held his hands together in front of himself, nodding at her. “Trydi. Thank you.”

She didn’t smile at him, not exactly, but her lips twitched in bemusement. “Rayfn, kaimu.”

~~~

@not-a-space-alien

@amenarae

@starskichild

#gtjuly #gtjuly2023 #mywriting #gt #g/t #giant tiny #g/t handheld #handheld #trapped #giant sailor #language barrier #isaac grey #clei cefniad #trydi #gufnad #food #giant food #'big welsh' as a descriptor of their language really tickles me #also thanks everyone for your patience

[neonthewrite]

Ready to Mingle

The day really snuck up on me. I decided to do one of my writing prompts for the year with a Valentine’s theme, and this is the result. Jacob, as ace as can be, giving a pep talk to his best buddy on the day of dates and hearts and all that sappy stuff. The start of it came from a prompt, which I’ll put in bold, and the rest is mine.

“Just let me have like three seconds to pretend everything is okay before we go back in there.”

Jacob raised his eyebrows and wrestled a bemused smirk from his face. “Seriously, dude? It’s just some cheesey dance.”

Chase shot him an exasperated look. Of the two of them, he seemed better prepared for the event. His suit was crisp and he’d actually put some effort into styling his sleek black hair. By contrast, Jacob had a nice button-up shirt, some slacks, and he’d done his hair in the same style he always did. Chase was ready to charm people, by the looks of things.

It was odd to see him so unnerved about a social event. If Bobby wasn’t spending the whole time with his girlfriend, he’d have already started giving him shit over this.

Jacob was tempted, but instead he clapped his small friend on the back. “Come on, Chase,” he encouraged. “There’s free food in there. That’s like specifically for the people who showed up without dates. Eat your loneliness.”

Chase sent him one more put-upon look, and then glanced at the doors back into the gym. The hallway was decorated with signs and streamers in red, pink, and white, all pointing towards that big echo chamber. Their school didn’t have many dance events like this, but everyone always went to them.

What else was there to do?

“Come on, man,” Chase muttered. “This is easy for you. You get to just go ‘nah’ to the whole date thing and go have fun.”

Jacob rolled his eyes. “You know, bi or not, you could just do that, too. You don’t have to have a date.”

Chase huffed and stood up straight. Next to Jacob, he barely even reached a shoulder, but his usual confidence returned in small bursts all the same. Chase was the kind of person who could talk his way into (or out of) anything. Or, most anything. He’d asked a handful of people to go to the event with him, but they’d all paired up already.

“They better be good and ready for me, then,” he said, almost more to himself, but Jacob laughed along with him. When he opened the door again, the music and talking all but burst out into the hall, welcoming them back to the party.

Chase’s grin was already back in place. “Who’s ready to mingle?”

#valentine reblog

[neonthewrite]

More outfit prompts using this outfit meme!

@neonthebright asked for Oscar in D1. He's adorbs, look at him, so fashion.

Send me a character and an outfit!

#oscar #oscar the oc

[neonthewrite]

Day 9 – Fan Art

Little did Jacob know, he'd caught a stand-up comedian in his kitchen.

From @neonthewrite's story:

#reblog #for the day crowd