#these are such first world problems it is ridiculous

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 1.5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: There is a little, annoying human trapped in this bay with him. And he's going to eat them. (Vil's POV)

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3]

There was a little, raggedy human staring up at him from the sand, and Vil had never felt so miserably persecuted in all his years.

The thing had been bound to him in a mess of ropes and frantic, bipedal flailing, and he’d honestly thought that it had drowned. Hoped that it had drowned. But no, apparently he couldn’t be quite so lucky. None of his pod’s raids had ever gone so terribly, and normally he was better able to keep his head about him. But it had been Epel’s first attempt at sneaking on board one of the grand, creaking, human vessels, and maybe he’d been a touch concerned about it. Like a fretting parent sending their guppy off to the deep for their first solo-swim. And perhaps he’d struck a bit too quick and sharp when he saw things headed South. Not taking the normal care he would to assess for traps, or weapons, or stupid humans and their equally stupid, fraying ropes.  

But none of that mattered. It was hardly a crime to want to protect your family. It had happened, that was the end of it. There was no changing things. And now he was here. In this cove. With that thing.

You pedaled backward in the sand like those two legs of yours hardly worked at all, and even though it looked like you were retreating (rightfully so, at least you were smart enough to realize this was a lost battle), Vil still bared his teeth in a challenge. Because he was angry, and sore, and at the moment you were the cause of every, single one of his problems in the world. He tossed his tail in the surf, splattering stinging bits of ice water into your face.

“Stop! Stop!” you squawked, wheeling away like he was dousing you in acid rain rather than a bit of pissy water warfare. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

“Of course you weren’t,” he spat. “From the looks of you, you don’t plan much of anything at all.”

You didn’t respond to his scathing insult, only kept scooting yourself back against the sand on legs that still apparently refused to work. Or maybe you’d simply forgotten about them. You seemed like you could be the type.

He ground his talons into the damp sand at his hips and felt the ridges of the fins along his spine prickling tight and painful, trying to puff out in a predatory display that they simply couldn’t because he was still bound in the godforsaken rope.

“I don’t know what your little plan was,” he hissed, “but you’ve done both of us a disservice. And while I’m sure you’re used to disappointment, I am not going to tolerate this.”

More silence. You looked—not confused, per se. But definitely not particularly keen on following his very justified rant against your person. Your gaze kept darting from his vicious glare, to his claws digging up the shoreline, and then to his lips. He could see your own mouth moving a bit alongside his, like you were trying to echo the shape of the insults flying off his tongue.

“Listen here, you fleshy rat,” he snapped, jabbing a black talon in your direction. “You’re going to tell me the course that your ridiculous ship had set so that I can return to my pod at once. Do you understand? And if you’re lucky, I won’t crawl my way up there to bite off your fingers one by one. How’s that sound?”

You blinked back at him with no comprehension, like his marvelous depiction of having your bones gnawed on for snacks just wasn’t a vivid enough picture.

The rage in his chest bubbled bright and hot, and the age-old magics in his veins zipped through his blood like a stroke of lightening.

Insolent brat.

Fine. He’d make you listen then.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you said, and oh, you were a nuisance. He was going to rip your nerves out from the depths of your useless, human limbs. Feast on your bones until the marrow had been picked clean and leave the scraps for the gulls—

He parted his lips and sang loud and sharp—letting that familiar lull roll off his tongue like the sweetest poison. His Call had always been the strongest in his pod, after all. That’s why it was his job to keep them safe, to ensure that no one was lost in a hunt that was meant to be so simple just because they couldn’t keep their purple-headed curiosity under wraps long enough to not to be caught—

Vil turned his sneer back your way, fully prepared to see you kowtowed before him with your nose buried in the sand. And—

You were just sitting there. Butt in the muck and just as wide-eyed and brainless as before. Staring back at him with a startled sort of expression on your face and nothing else. Normally there was a sort of tether between him and his victims. A call, an answer. Simple principles. And while he could never see the tangible net of his influence tightening around their brains, he could always sense it. Or at least something like it. But this time, there was just… nothing.

Vil snarled, swallowing around the spiky pinch of something in his gut that he refused to call panic, and canted his head back to sing louder.

The shallow dregs of the cove rippled at his hips with the force of it, and he could feel the swell of his influence curling out further and further. Digging its claws into anything and everything it could reach. He could feel one tether spooling out and grabbing after the other, feel the familiar pull of subservience from the very sea itself. And—

“I can’t hear you!”

Oh, you mocking piece of—

He widened his mouth until his jaw was creaking and his tongue was going numb from the sharp bursts of arcana snapping from throat.

“It’s not a challenge!” you wailed, hands cupped over your mouth to try and shout over his howling song. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

His mouth fell closed all at once, the Call cutting off so abruptly that the returning wave of snapping magics almost made his head spin. The power of it hung along his nerves like the zipping prickle of electric eels, and the water at his hips churned and bubbled.

“There,” you huffed, like someone who’d just been horribly inconvenienced by a gust of wind ruining their hair, rather than a human bearing the full weight of a siren’s fury. Brushing off some of the most powerful magics in the ocean like it was nothing worse than a bit of sand in your trousers. It was… unnerving. And it had something uneasy curdling in Vil’s stomach.

He dug his claws into the sand, fins flaring along his sides in a defensive display before he could help himself. Your eyes tracked the way the muck gave way beneath his talons and he watched your throat bob. Good. You should be afraid of him. Because he refused to be afraid of a human like you. No matter how the hair at his nape prickled or the fins at his ears pinned against the sides of his head.

“Well…” you said after a long moment, awkward and stiff. “I should get going, I suppose.”

And then you were stumbling your way to your feet to venture deeper into the crags of the small island. Vil smacked his tail against the surf, loud and sharp. A plaintive ‘good, begone,’ if ever there was one. But you didn’t even flinch, let alone turn around to witness his grand ‘fuck you.’ He wasn’t sure why he was expecting you to.

He watched you crawl your way up a mess of boulders and old shells, eyes narrowed and that same, unpleasant prickle running through his nerves. Once you were well and truly out of sight, he returned to his fins and started doing all he could to assess the damage. The sooner he could deal with this setback and set out into the depths of the ocean, the sooner he could return to his pod. And the sooner he’d be away from you, and all your strange, human ways.

.

.

You returned maybe an hour later, only a few minutes after he’d given up on trying to pick the horrid mess of twine from the wounds along his tail. His claws weren’t made for such delicate work, and the poisoned tips of them weren’t doing his shredded fins any favors.

He turned on you with a snarl that would have sent any other sentient creature scurrying for cover, fins pinned and canines on full display. But apparently you had less self-preservation than even the brainless, teeny, rock crabs burrowing hurriedly into the sand.    

“Hello,” you said. Like that was any way appropriate.

“Get lost,” he snarled.

You nodded back, simple and sage, and then pointed to the mess of your ropes twined along his fins.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

Vil sneered and surged forward to scrape his claws through the muck again, hoping his demonstration of what he would do to your face if you stepped near him was clear enough to get through your head.

“Touch me and you’ll be lucky if all I do is eat you.”

You blinked back, and he watched the way your eyes jumped across his expression. Trailed to his mouth, his brow, his teeth. Reading whatever you could see there. And then you shrugged again, unbothered by his spitting threats as before.

“Alright. Your loss, I suppose.”

There was a keenness to your gaze though, a sharp, pointed consideration that had his hackles rising all over again.

“If you think that you can be rid of me that easily, you’re solely mistaken,” he spat, smacking his fins into the shallows until the water was churning wild and angry. “This is all your fault, and whatever ridiculous plot you’re considering, I’ll gladly return it tenfold.”

Your face pinched like you had any right to be annoyed by this at all, and then promptly turned away from him like you’d lost all interest in his theatrics. You meandered around the shore, scooping up the battered remains of some of the fish that had stranded themselves during his failed Call. Then you sat yourself well away from the water’s edge and pulled a knife from your boot, running it along the fish’s scales and clearing out the muck.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly, making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so. Like that little blade of yours was supposed to be any sort of a threat. Perhaps he could use it to pick the leftover bits of you out of his teeth.

Vil turned up his nose and returned to carefully grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

“You’re an obnoxious brat,” he growled, wincing as his claws caught over a frayed patch of scales and began to bleed all over again. “And I’m going to drown you.”

Naturally, you did not respond.

.

.

The rope burned, and he knew he wasn’t helping himself. The twine of it was frayed, poor quality. And combined with the tacky, salt-sticky damp of the waves, it made the worst sort of web. Vil threw himself around in the shallows like a pup stuck in their first net. And he knew—knew—this wasn’t going to make things better. But the more he worked to free himself and the less progress he made, the angrier he got (Not afraid, angry. He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t).

A tight bit of fibers snagged along the delicate mesh of the fins at his hips and gave a shrieking riiip that had him collapsing into the sand bed with a bitten off noise that he refused to call a gasp. But Sevens, it did hurt. He pressed his face into the shallow pool of warm water beneath his chin and forced his breath to calm, to dig his claws into the grit beneath him rather than his own scales. Because this wasn’t working. And he—he needed to fix it. On his own. Because he was on his own. And he was going to manage, just like he always had.

There was a noise off on the shore—the tumbling of pebbles against stone as you shifted around in your little, makeshift hideaway. And he refused to look up to meet your gaze. Because surely you were staring. Humans were always so happy to watch his kind suffer, flailing about in their traps and bound in nets like a garish display. And he wasn’t going to give you the satisfaction of knowing he’d been seen like… like this.

So he forced himself to go still and silent, ignoring the pain biting into his sides like the teeth of a shark and the panicked, clawing thing in his gut that kept screaming that he was going to die here.

.

.

The next morning, you were wandering the shoreline, scrounging after the remains of various crabs from the day prior. Vil refused to look at you, and spent the time pointedly running his claws through the tangles in his hair and primping himself like he didn’t have a care in the world. Because if a stupid, lowly human fit for nothing but an after-dinner-snack could thrive in these circumstances, than surely he could do even better.

There was the soft, wet sounds of your footsteps behind him, and Vil turned on you with a roaring snarl—fins pinned and spines perked, defensive.

“What?” he snapped, beating his tail.

You awkwardly held up one your pickings—a round, red crab with fat claws.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…”

Vil fought the urge to gawk. Were you offering him one of—but why would you—

He bit through his surprise with another sneer. “Firstly, crabs are crustaceans, not fish. You’d think any self-respecting creature that spent their days on the ocean would know something as obvious as that. Secondly, why would you even think that I would share a meal with you? Even I didn’t think humans could be that stupid, but you’re certainly setting a new bar.”

Your mouth twitched at his very sharply enunciated ‘stupid’ and he fought a smirk.

“Oh. Know that one, do you?” he cooed, all mocking.

“Look, do you want it or not?” you snapped, irritated, and his fins flared up again—wide and defensive.

Vil crossed his arms on an exaggerated, pointed huff and turned in the other direction. A clear dismissal. “I’d rather starve.”

“Whatever,” you griped, voice canted sharp with your foul temper, and then there was a crack and a yelp.

Vil turned back to see you reeling away, hand over your mouth to catch a mix of blubbering, wincing curses and a shattered crab shell clenched between your fingers in the most obvious show of stupidity he’d perhaps ever seen. He burst out into laughter before he could help himself, and you stormed away with warm cheeks and pieces of jagged, red shell still clinging to the corners of your lips.

.

.

That night he fought the ropes even harder, ignoring the way they pulled, and tore, and dug into places that he knew they should not. And maybe it was self-destructive, stupid, but if he didn’t get himself free of this horrible mess his fins would never heal. He’d never be able to swim properly again. And he’d never be able to leave this cove, never return to his pod, his family. Never—

A shell walloped him in the back of the head and Vil turned with a shriek so vicious it nearly startled even him. Because there you were—the bane of his existence. Standing at the edge of the water with that ridiculous, deadpan look on your ridiculous face and already scrounging about in the sands like you were looking for something else to throw at him. He didn’t even know what he was screaming at that point, absolutely brought over the edge in rage, and pain, and fear, and it was all. your. faul—

Then something in your expression snapped and you were storming forward towards the surf—absolutely incensed.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you shrieked, stomping in the sand and nearly pinning the longer, trailing ends of his fins beneath your heels. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

“You trapped me!” he howled, outraged. “You were going to kill a member of my pod! Who’s barely out of his pup days! And he was my responsibility, and you were going to attack him!”

Magic zipped along his tongue, demanding that you kneel. Show your throat and be done with it. But when you just kept glaring back—absolutely stone-faced and seething with indignation—Vil forced himself to take a breath, and then another.

“Epel,” he spat, low and exaggerated. He saw your eyes flicker to his lips, trace the outline of the word. “Epel,” he said again, sharp and angry. And when your own mouth began to subconsciously follow the shape of it, he was off and running again. “He’s my responsibility. Epel. He—” Vil pointed at the pale, lavender creases at the base of his fins. “His hair is like this. You saw him. You spoke to him. And you were going to tie him up just like you did to me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sharp.

“That kid,” you said after a moment, lips twisting in a frown. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

“Epel,” Vil spat again, smacking his fins into the surf to douse you in a mess of seawater. “Not some kid. A pup. Barely of age. And you were going to—”

“You—” you hissed, scrubbing the salt from your eyes with the back of your hand. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. It splattered along Vil’s hips, barely a sprinkling in comparison to his own tidal waves. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

Vil snarled, and the twist of it left a bitter, rotten taste on his tongue. It wasn’t the same. It didn’t matter what you wanted, because you were just some human. Humans were vile, and cruel, and good for nothing but filling their bellies. And this was his family. So what if you claimed you were just standing up for your own brood? It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t.

So he turned back to dive into the shallows with as much force as his aching, crippled fins could manage. Sinking to the bottom of the cove in a huff of bubbles and clawing his way through the muck until he was well and truly hidden in the murky, sandy depths. He smacked his tail against the mess of pebbles and rocks until every creature beneath was scurrying for safety—fleeing outwith the flailing, destructive force of a Siren’s tantrum.

Was that why he was here, then? Bound and gagged on some hellhole of an island because of his own mistakes? Because you’d just been aligning yourself with the moral high ground he’d been riding this whole time? Saving your kin at the cost of your own, fragile skin. Dragged overboard to fight the monsters trying to devour your family whole. Ridiculous. He wasn’t going to let himself feel bad for the slighted prey in a hunt gone wrong. Sharks certainly didn’t regret the fish they chased, nor did the great black-and-white whales that pursued those sharks in turn. This was just the way of things, the circle of life. And he wasn’t going to feel guilty about the tight, protectivelook on your face as you shouted him down about defending your own pod at all.

.

.

You were curled up by the same rock the next morning, sleeping soundly against the rough hewn edge. It looked hideously uncomfortable, with your chin tucked up against your chest and your head pressed against half-a-dozen layered, jagged ridges. Vil had always heard that humans were used to luxury—soft, plush blankets made of foreign fabrics and great, stuffed squares of bedding that could put even the finest woven siren nests to shame. And there you were. Scrunched up with a shell clearly embedded in your cheek.

He frowned, fins rippling awkwardly at his sides where the majority were still knotted up in twine.

He needed to leave this cove. As soon as possible. And get away from… all of this.

It generally wasn’t considered the best of ideas to Call openly across the sea. Lone sirens were prime targets for all sorts of nasty scavengers. Human hunters, rival pods, even other rogues looking for a fight. It was dangerous to mark one’s position so openly, let alone in a manner that made it obvious of the less than stellar situation they had no doubt found themselves in. It was also a nasty toll to try and Call so far for so long, on himself and the environment around him. A screeching, horrible thing that he’d only heard a few times in all his years. It was a terrible idea for everyone involved, himself and his fellow castaway most of all. But, well, desperate times, and all that.

Besides, it wasn’t like you’d be able to hear it anyways.

So began his endless song.

He’d sing, and sing, and sing—feeling the ripples of it carrying across the surface of the water and shivering through the air. And then, after he’d worn his throat ragged, he’d pause. Just long enough to swallow around the sting and tilt his head to listen. His fins would flare out against the side of his head, and he’d wait. And then, when there was no answer to his Calling, he’d circle back and do it again. A part of him hoped there would be none. He’d taught his pod better than to do something so foolish—to put themselves at the mercy of all the monsters of the sea. And… if they didn’t answer, perhaps that just meant they were searching for him. Using his own, ridiculous harping to trace him down. And if not that, then at least that they were off somewhere safe. Somewhere far, and hidden.

He swam and sang until he was too exhausted for either. Bound fins a heavy, leaden weight at his hips and head barely cresting above the water.

When the sun set over the horizon, Vil let himself roll in alongside the surf to rest in the sand, boneless and sore. His eyes slipped shut with the encroaching darkness, too heavy to hold open at all. He hadn’t seen much of you today. Occasionally you’d wander down to the shoreline, head popping up over a cluster of rocks to shoot him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, but for the most part you’d stayed hidden away. Out of his hair, at least. Perhaps you’d finally learned what was good for you, and that keeping as far away from the beast lurking in the shallows was the only way you’d be getting out of this alive.

And then his eyes were snapping open to a field of stars overhead and the moon hanging fat and low in the sky like a fruit ripe for the plucking.

And there you were, hovering over him with that laughably small knife of yours.

Carefully and gently working the rope away from his tattered fins.

Your fingers were delicate, precise. Every time those woven fibers tugged in a way that could even begin to hurt, you were softening your touch and muttering reassurances under your breath. He wondered if you realized you were doing that at all—chattering quiet, rambling nonsense like a nervous tick. ‘Ack, don’t twitch so much, it’s just going to cut deeper,’ and ‘sorry! Sorry! I didn’t think that would move like that! Just—just stay still and it will all be done way faster and then you can swim off, and—’ You were exceptionally careful over the areas of rough, beaten scales along the dip of his tail, wincing in sympathy at the raw, raw skin there. The blade never strayed anywhere it wasn’t needed, and you never touched any part of him that wasn’t in an effort to work another tangle of knots free.

Vil kept himself perfectly still and his breaths even and deep. He watched you through the low, golden dip of his lashes, eyes tracking your fluttering hands and quiet mumblings.

The last of the rope fell away with a wet, heavy plap in the sand and when you sighed there was a smile in your voice.

“There,” you muttered, soft. “Now he can swim home again.”

He froze, startled, and something dropped low and tight in his gut.  

Because humans were cruel. Humans were food. Humans were nothing more than vermin crawling over the surface of his ocean in their hunkering, wooden vessels and finless feet. They didn’t deserve sympathy, or anything of that ilk. And—

Your gaze met his and the spark of horrified realization didn’t even manage to settle properly in your wide, wide eyes before he had you pinned in the sand.

It was easy—far too easy. Compared to him you were so small, so fragile. No heavy, bulk of muscle and scales to help keep you alive and fighting. Just fragile limbs and lungs that were good for nothing. He dug his claws into your shoulders and felt the warm prick of blood curl up beneath his talons—could see you wince with the first pinch of acrid poison sharpening the wound. He was going to rip you apart, just like he’d said he would. Even if you hadn’t been able to hear him, he’d show you. Because humans were vile, and no matter what you’d claimed, you didn’t deserve anything better than an end beneath the points of his fangs. Fuel for the journey back to his pod and nothing more.

‘There. Now he can swim home again.’

He reeled back, nose scrunching and teeth grinding in his jaw.

You were still beneath him, blinking up in shock but not fighting. Like being flipped onto your back had been startling out of principle, but not unexpected. Like the idea of dying at his claws was just something you’d been expecting from the get-go.

And yet—

‘Sorry! Sorry!’ you’d been rattling. ‘Ah, if you squirm it’s just going to hurt, you stupid, overgrown fish—'

Vil reared back with a snarl that had goosebumps racing all along your arms, and then he was diving back into the shallows—swiping the tip of his fins against your nose as he went in a sharp crack that he hoped would have you yelping and stumbling away from the ocean’s edge.

He paced along the edges of the bay, newly freed fins slowly uncurling in the lull of the tide. And he felt free. Sore, certainly, and aching in ways he never had before, but free.

When he popped his head back out of the water, you were sprawled out in the sand like a dying starfish, absolutely out of your mind and babbling nonsense about ‘captains’ and ‘collars’ under your breath.

‘Good,’ he harumphed, diving back into the shallows to twirl along his unbound tail. ‘Maybe that would teach you to stay out of the water.’

.

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[whatisshelties]

Once more, I am frustrated with attempting to compete in multiple sports. I also don't want/can't afford to trial every single weekend.

I am now looking at how many events I may want to do in the next...six months. It all depends on priorities/goals.

I'm like...do I want to qualify for NADAC Champs? You don't have to qualify to get in, but you're not guaranteed entry unless you qualify. I dunno if this is a realistic goal considering how I suspect Mud feels about the sport and how freaking stressed out about his body I would be ALL YEAR. Though it is NADAC and he will be a Skilled/Vet dog, so he can jump 12". There's only 2 runs a day over 4 days. I think Sunday there's only one now. Can I afford it? I might be able to write off some expenses if I were to get a vendor booth (which is likely.) Qualification for Elite is 100 pts in the current year in Regular and/or Chances. A Q is usually 10 points. Sometimes can be 5, sometimes can be more (but I'm not doing bonus boxes/lines with Mud, lol.) Pre-elite is 80 points, no more than 120 pts can come from Elite Qs in the dog's life.

Which leads me to priorities/goals and having to choose between events. This month, I'm entered in two AKC trials. There's a NADAC trial and a scent work trial sandwiched between them. I was not planning to enter either of those events. BUT If I want to qualify for Champs, I probably should enter a day of the NADAC trial. I don't really feel like driving 1.5 hours to the shows 3 weekends in a row. I have made finishing Novice AKC agility titles a priority, since they've kind of got a time limit and are not as common as they used to be. I also will not run AKC on fake turf, which limits the trials available. Hopefully we'll knock this out in the two shows I am entered in.

The following weekend starts February and the sheltie club is hosting an agility trial. I kind of wanted to go volunteer and support the club offering more than conformation, even though I'm not a member yet (I've attended enough meetings to get approved, tho.) Then there are events the next THREE WEEKENDS. Junior Handler agility trial (NADAC) and carting and a scent work trial I'm not going to enter because they aren't offering all 4 elements each day are on one day. A NADAC trial the following weekend (good judges). The next weekend is a scent work trial that have considered entering.

There's a little bit of a breather after that in March...unless he doesn't finish his AKC titles in January. There's one of those the first weekend of the month. Mid-March there is a NADAC trial 1.5 hours away and then local trials start up the next weekend. However, the weekend of the local trial I have an art show thing (yay income), and the other day of that weekend is the first WCRL Rally trial. I'd really like to support that new venture, but like...if I want to go to Champs, I should go to the agility trial, right?

I had not really made any plans to compete in scent work until the dog club's local trial in April. Since I still wasn't sure what Mud's stomach would be doing. He seems to be tolerating trials ok again. Turns out "our" trial is the same weekend as a NADAC trial. Do I want to qualify for Champs? There's actually not much on my calendar for this month, just 2 things on the same weekend. Looks like ASCA trials start back up this month. Do I want to spend time/money on ASCA rally or agility?????

May actually doesn't appear to have any conflicting event weekends. Just stuff every weekend. Local NADAC trial, followed by a less local NADAC trial in a nice covered arena. I think Mud likes dirt surfaces, so would be fun to go to that. Then there's ASCA rally and obedience alternating over 4 days the next weekend. After that, there's a LOCAL!!! ORT!!! I will finally hand over the annual member fee for NACSW. (I still dislike that it is annual. I'm not even guaranteed to trial unless I make it my life to travel like come on.)

Then there's a local NADAC trial the next weekend in June. That's the last trial on the calendar right now that happens before the Champs qualification deadline in August.

If I entered every NADAC trial available starting in February (minus the one day of the art show), we would have 42 opportunities to get 8 or 10 Qs (depending on what levels I decided to enter and collect points in). If I don't enter the weekends we have things, we've got 30...if I enter both days of the shows I have to drive 1.5 hours for. That's 3 shows. So, if I only chose to enter one day of those three, and pick the day with maximum opportunities, I have 24. If I scale that back, and don't enter February because I decide to enter the JH trial or go to the carting show and enter scent work, so I'm not at dog events 3 weekends in a row, that's 20. Twenty-two if I enter the JH trial instead of just visiting the carting show.

What's tough about choosing scent work or agility at this point is like...I know Mud likes scent work better, but I don't really have goals for it? He's also in Advanced now and I'm not sure we are ready for Excellent yet, so I'd probably dink around in Advanced until I felt more confident about his skills at a trial. Since he doesn't even seem to really love trialing anyway. I don't know if more experience would help. Though scent work is one of those things we can just continue to plug away with since it's so low impact. Kind of like novice level obedience, lol.

#these are such first world problems it is ridiculous #i guess i should be grateful we take a break in the summer #so it's not like we're competing all year #but it does cram everything into a couple months #so idk if it's any better

[radmista]

My cat just ran outside while I was taking my dog out to the bathroom, refuses to come back while calling her and shaking food at her. Actively runs in the opposite direction. And ofc someone broke the laser pointer I keep on my keys so I can't trick her back into the apartment. I'm so pissed that shit broke off, all my other crappy keychains are still attached. The laser was how I got her back last time she escaped but she'd only taken a few steps out and I was able to snatch her.

And I'm not supposed to have her so I can't even notify the apartment complex a cat is missing 😐 guess she's an outdoor cat now :/

#she chose a really bad time to run away #i already searched and tried to get her back for an hour #I'm dead to the world after 3.5 straight weeks of 12-13 hour shifts #i feel bad not caring but she made her choice. she wants to go back to being a street cat 🤷🏽‍♀️ #she's spayed so i feel even less guilty if she doesn't come back bc shes not adding to the population problem #i'll miss her but if she doesnt want to be caught she wont be #the only reason she got picked off the street in the first place is bc she got stuck in an engine #any tips or tricks people suggest I've already tried them. shes not scared or lost. she actively does not want to come back #this cat is ridiculously food motivated and she still wouldn't come back as i shook the food bag and poured some in her bowl #if she comes back at all I'll be surprised #she's lived on the street she's not an indoor only princess cat who will realize it sucks outside. i know shes not gonna come back #I don't 'not care' really. honestly I'm furious she slipped out past me. #but atm i literally have 0 energy left. work has broken me. if she comes back hooray. if she doesn't wtf am I supposed to do #i don't have money for traps and if she doesn't want to be caught she won't #i just hope she sticks to residential areas :/ #i just don't know what else to really do if I've done everything i can in my power to get her back

[inthereellife]

Why do authors do this thing where they make a great hilarious wonderful delightful protagonist for the first book- and then never make that a character a POV character ever again for the rest of forever. Like-

The Locked Tomb Series by Tamsyn Muir

The Montague Siblings Series by Mackenzie Lee

The Queen’s Thief Series by Megan Whalen Turner

And I’m sure there’s more. But like…why do they do this?? 😭 I know they get disappointed when the following books gets less hype- once the POV character is revealed anyway- but surely they knew that was inevitable?

Authors should absolutely write what they want and I get that. But damn does it suck when the first book is like, the best meal you’ve ever had, and for the rest of the books you have to like, lick the plate for scraps of whatever’s left of your favorite thing from the first book.

(That’s not to say that there aren’t other good things about the following books. But there’s a lot of good books with good things in them. But each of the first books in the series above introduce such a fantastic protagonist that the readers fell in love with that character and- for me and a lot of other readers- those characters is what pushed those books from “good” to “favorites”. So like, yeah the following books may be good wonderfully written books, but when you take away what made Book 1 a favorite, its only natural that your reader’s investment is going to fade.)

EDIT: I failed to mention when I wrote this that I gave up on Harrow the Ninth early. This was apparently a Mistake because I’m being told that finishing the book might change my mind about including it in this list. So I’m gonna do that!

#sorry #I’m just bitter because these books were some of the most fun I’ve had reading #with characters that I just thoroughly enjoyed reading about the world through #And then the next books are all followed by a POV character who is Serious™️ (or at least sees themselves that way) #Like #if Book 1 got it’s acclaim due to its Witty Sometimes-Ridiculous Lovable Well-Intentioned Disaster Protagonist #why do they decide to immediately follow that up with Serious Protagonist Who Takes Things Seriously™️ #? #like #if your reader base that loved the first POV is naturally going to be less stoked about the second? #your reader base that loved the first pov is naturally going to be less stoked about the second? #okay I need to stop ranting now #especially because I barely remember how some of the 2nd books of these serieses even went #(which is demonstrates part of the problem there huh :/ ) #maybe I should give them another shot? #gideon the ninth #the gentlemans guide to vice and virtue #the queens thief #tggtvav #the locked tomb #the thief #the montague siblings #I speak #writing #spoilers in the notes

[smugraccoon137]

You know I know we all love to joke about the writing in Ouat because it has a lot of interesting decisions, but I will say that the pilot for the show is excellent and by far one of the best pilots I've ever seen

It is genuinely racking with emotion. And the characters are expiriencing loss that couldn't be further apart. From the almost unreal concept of true love and losing your love and family to evil. To the very hard reality of being a foster child in a world that doesn't give a shit about you. These feelings exist in worlds so completely removed from each other. So impossibly different. But the grieving is the same intensity.

It's hard not to be moved!

#I really love the pilot #I remember my sister showing me and my mom when I was a kid #I was probably like 12?? #And we were all so completely enthralled from the get go #The drama of course but more than that #the pain #The love lost right through your fingers #The feeling of being alone in the world #It's a ridiculous show with lots of problems #But the first season is one complete story and I love it very much #It makes you belive in love #And I think a lot of American media could use more of that #ouat #once upon a time #text #textpost

[bl00dw1tch]

the way i have absolutely no business being the way i am

#horse.txt #vent // #sort of. too high to be sad abt it im in anthropology mode and listening to music that makes me feel sexy so its fine yk #anyway i typed a whole bunch of other tags talking abt how and why i feel this way by going through a few of the events i can remember #from my childhood that Might explain why im so emotionally guarded and struggle to open up anymore. #bc i Wanted to say they all felt dumb and juvenile esp since ive actually like #made peace with most of the ppl who were involved with them #but the Anthropology mode was just tearing it all down as i typed it bc that Is just a ridiculous way to look at it no matter how you cut it #doesn't matter that nobody involved really Meant to deal that kind of harm and i dont need to hate or blame anyone in order to acknowledge #that it still just Happened. like thats a Memory already babe no do overs. #which is kind of just accidental therapy so sick. love that fir me genuinely! #but also yes theres the bitch part of me that still wants to discredit it bc acknowledging that it happened =/= Fixing My Issues #so im still at square one technically. ive just been pacing in circles on it for a while ig #EVEN WORSE that the Scale of my issues is so incredibly mundane compared to so many of the people i seem to meet. #sitting in bed crying abt not having friends for a few days in elementary school when other ppl have jojos bizarre adventure levels of Lore #i know im not technically invalid for feeling the way i do or anything but god. if it doesn't feel fucking Embarrassing to open up about😭 #its impossible NOT to feel stupid and sensitive for having these first world ass problems. And letting them hold me back #bc ppl not liking me for any reason makes me sooooooooo fucking scared So fucking scared its not even funny 😝 #at least. ppl in my Circles. im pretty ok about being assertive with randos #still some work to be done on it but its better than whatevers going on with my personal relationships rn #sincerely to my mutuals and loved ones who see this i swear to GOD i love you so so so fucking much and im so. im trying to figure out this #the stuff thats got me so distant and bad at keeping in touch. its a whole slew of feelings about how i see Myself--not yall #i double pinky promise cross my heart im extremely serious #thank you for being patient with me you mean more to me than im capable of putting into words right now #alright theres a shot of tears in the hollow of my collar bone time to wrap up this post #daily reminder that i love body hair. there's some honesty. #😎😎😎💪💪💪 #the Quaritch under the cut is just to make me feel better bc i love him and i think hes so pretty. hes like a security blanket

[chaotictomtom]

pourquoi vivre (ma gourde en metal fuit de nulle part sans raison je vais crever de déshydratation c'est bon au revoir tout le monde o7 )

#vrmt au bout du bout je bois en général 3 gourde d'eau par jour jusqu'à 5 des fois. là jvais faire commeeent #bouteille en plastique NON caca boudin gaspillage de plastique + ça donne un goût dégueu #pourquoi acheter eau quand on a la chance d'avoir de l'eau au robinet potable #vrmt head in hands. world first problem à mes yeux ça me chamboule trop c'est ridicule #des HEURES que instinctivement je vais reach pour ma gourde sur mon bureau MAIS Y'A R :((( JE MEUUUURS DE SOIF JE MEUUUUURS #tomtom_is_rambling #tomtom_communique #tomtom décède asséché comme bob et patrick dans le film

[zippityzap]

Dang it, I have three discount codes for a website but they only let you use one per order

#it’s such a first world problem but I’m not happy #I wanted to get this thing for ridiculously cheap not slightly cheap #zippy speaks

[zukkaoru]

i hate you slow wifi i hate you at&t i hate you living in the middle of nowhere i hate you house not close enough to the road i hate you xfinity i hate you wifi hotspot that’s out of data for the month i hate you long gifsets on tumblr that take eighty seven years to load

#this is such a first world problem sorry for complaining #i just think it’s ridiculous that we have the ‘fastest wifi possible from at&t’ but it still SUCKS #and my parents tried switching to a different provider but they were like ‘yeah sorry your address does Not exist lol’ #like #okay guess we’ll just use data and the wifi hotspot from the school my dads works at that blocks stuff bc it’s school wifi #anyway #also the tumblr gifset thing isn’t @ any specific person reblogging long gifsets #those just take literally forever to load and 97% of the time i want to just keep scrolling #but that has to load before tumblr will load any other pictures 🙃 #hello grace here

[alynnl]

I'm living the life of a perpetually distracted, but otherwise functional person.

I don't think I'm neurotypical but I have no idea what type of ND I am.

#Lynn speaks #actually neurodivergent #with the distractions it's mostly with my hobbies #I pick up fic ideas and put them down #I pick up books and also put them down and go weeks without reading before picking them up #I have like 4 different video games I'm playing #lord I cannot FOCUS #But I can do my work tasks and home chores just fine #it's ridiculous really #do I need to start putting my media consumption on a schedule?? #sigh #first world problems

[spill-that-anxietea]

So I finally started Peaky Blinders, and boy oh fucking boy is the brainrot settling in

#I’m not surprised? #like I knew I would like it #I’ve just been avoiding it for so long #and I now have a sneaking suspicion that the first season is going to be a comfort watch for me #there aren’t many movies or shows that I will sit and rewatch and rewatch #but I’m about to start season 5 #and I just keep thinking about how I want to go back to that first season #like it’s been consistently good and entertaining #though I’m gonna be honest it’s starting to get a little far fetched and ridiculous #but I don’t fucking care I love these characters too much to care about how unrealistic it’s become #but I do miss the simplicity of season one #I love when it’s just our little family in the garrison #small scale gang war problems #and I miss Freddie #and I miss Danny #god I’m having such a good time rn #I fear for what will happen when I finish this show and my brain is forced to occupy time in the real world #it’s gonna be rough for real lmao #peaky blinders #cillian murphy #tommy shelby

[brainrotdotorg]

MY FUCKING CAR DELIVERY WAS DELAYED FOR A FUCKING SECOND TIME CARVANA COUNT YOUR FUCKING DAYS!!!!!!!!

#first world problems. it’s really fine #I’m just irritated I set my alarm to wake up from the 8 am to 11 am drop off and right at 10 they were like #oh no…… we can’t get you your car….. sowwy………… #why do I need to resign my contract afterwards that shit is ridiculous. whatever: whatever! #I’ll get it in a week whatever………..

[insideshewantsrevenge]

.

#big fan of china right now #usa is absolutely fucking ridiculous #the fuck is wrong with you #first world problems

[communistkenobi]

prefacing this post by saying that I am a big enjoyer of “this site has poor reading comprehension” jokes on here, but I think there needs to be better and more precise language about this sort of thing that isn’t bound up in like, the ability to parse text, which is always going to be tied to class and ability. I’m not saying every joke about this site not being able to read is classist/ableist, and I don’t think anyone is making any grand ideological proclamations when dunking on a stupid reply to their post, but the backing behind that kind of joke is, ultimately, “haha you’re an adult that can’t read.”

And aside from some potentially troubling baggage, I don’t even think that’s what’s going on in the first place! I think the more precise (but admittedly less catchy) term for “poor reading comprehension” is something along the lines of chronic incuriosity, or a rigid adherence to normative thinking. if you see a post saying, for example, women shouldn’t have to wear makeup to be viewed as human beings, and the comments are filled with “actually you can just wear some winged eyeliner and foundation it’s not that hard to wear makeup and also women love makeup stop gatekeeping,” what is happening is not a failure to comprehend the text in front of them. these responses are not made in ignorance, as in, they are not the result of a failure to understand the sentence they just read. these responses stem from a refusal to challenge base assumptions, and reacting emotionally to the mental dissonance this causes (probably something along the lines of “I think of myself as progressive but this person is challenging something I like doing and this threatens my weak political instincts”). These people are rejecting the opportunity to analyse the habits and behaviours they previously assumed to be non-political (eg, wearing makeup), and then externalising that rejection as a defence mechanism. That is not a failure to read a sentence, that is a demand to be intellectually coddled, which is very different.

Again, I’m sure people are already aware of this. I enjoy being a hater, and having people constantly swarm your posts with ridiculous and hysterical replies is incredibly frustrating (speaking from a lot of personal experience here lol). This is also not me saying you have to do the coddling and explain to them that they’re being ideologically incurious about the world, you don’t have an obligation to do any of that. but I think framing a person’s failure to be curious about their own biases as “they don’t know how to read” situates the problem as an issue of ignorance or lack of technical skill, instead of the much more prevalent problem of people refusing to be challenged or reconsider things in their life they didn’t think about before. Calling these kinds of people ignorant is just letting them off easy

#um. idk what to tag this #effortpost #< need to go back and tag my serious posts with that but I’ll do it later

[anxiousangerball]

Do you want to know what ridiculous little thing I would pay a little extra for?

Riding alone in the elevator as I head up to work.

(I'd also consider paying extra to ride in a silent subway car. No talking. No one playing their preferred music or watching the tiktoks without headphones. Just a silent mass of humanity in their own little worlds and no one bothering anyone else.)

#Ridiculous #First world problem #chronic shyness #I try to be unapproachable but in the nicest way possible #I want to be alone now

[crypticminx]

Telling Felix Catton you’re pregnant <333

Felix Catton (Saltburn) x fem! Reader headcanons xo

AN: hiiii these are some headcanons I made :p im too lazy to proofread Dx if you enjoy lmk if you want part 2! Blink twice and you’ll miss the smut xx

- first of all, your relationship started out as a one night stand situation because for the love of God Felix cannot keep a woman or anyone around for more than a few months—weeks even.

- You, however, were a different situation. He saw other people, you saw other people, but the two of you always kept each other locked in the back of both of your heads. Wether you needed him as a very exciting stress reliever or he needed you to release any ounce of frustration he had, the two of you were just a simple phone call away. And not just drunk booty calls.

- The feeling of his broad shoulders pressed against your frame as he would effortlessly lift you up and pin you to the wall, whispering sweet melodies into your ears as he thrusted with all of his might to make you feel good—no, more than good. He’d never admit it, but for a girl like you, he’d give you everything, even if meant he’d have nothing. “Such a good girl,” he’d purr, feeling you melt under the sound—and for a better word, control of his asserting voice

- The two of you lovebirds were loud, extremely noisy and often torturous for the other students near your dorm, who were either trying to cram for exams or focus on non-sexual activities. You would moan without a care in the world and especially when you felt him release his seed in you for the first time, which you could only assume wasn’t planned nor talked about between the two of you. It felt too sweet, and so pure with how he breathlessly smiled at your sweaty, blushing face after the deed was done. Said smile being enough to make you fall into his little trap and roll back over into another intense round of sex

- With Felix, it was like walking on a dream that never seemed to end. You could be careless, indiscreet and whatever the hell you wanted to be. he provided you with a sense of being free from the real world and wholeheartedly invited you deep into the unrealistic life of Felix Catton.

- That dream, the very one that appeared to be endless, came crashing down. What ruined it? Two little pink lines.

- With an eyebrow piercing that adults despised, a stunning model-like body, and a reputation for tossing girls around like they were paper planes; Felix was fuck buddy material, not father material.

- Sure, he has enough money to knock you up ten times and make sure every child would be provided for, but you were you. Yes, you came from wealth but not the type of catton wealth that would probably leave a child with a ridiculously expensive live-in nanny as if it was nothing. Knowing how your parents felt, there was no way in hell they would be supportive and even just the simple thought of them meeting Felix made you cringe to the point of triggering your morning sickness again.

- You would avoid Felix like the plague you read about in your boring history textbooks and on the rare occurrence you ran into him heading out on his bike or going for a well deserved drink, you would bolt as if you had to run for your life. Facing him was just the beginning of your problems

- So when you finally mustered the courage to tell him and unfortunately for you, it had to be at the university’s sleazy lounge pub, Felix was there in all his glory and sat in his usual spot. Farleigh seemed more interested in drinking than caring about what was being said, a group of girls were scattered around the boys and obnoxiously fake laughed at whatever Felix said, and there was that new guy whose name you couldn’t remember to save your life. Oliver? You thought it was, but that clearly didn’t matter anymore. The only thing that mattered was you and Felix.

- Felix nearly chokes on his drink seeing you walk towards him, your head down and your tail between your legs. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

- You ask him to talk immediately, ignoring how content he looks. How his solemn eyes instantly sparked with life again and his bored expression turned into a relish of happiness. He was thrilled.

- “I’m pregnant.”

- He stares blankly at you, seeing you tear up as if you just admitted something horrible

- A baby? And a baby with you? Nothing about that was horrible. In fact, he often pictured a future with you, even if it seemed insane.

- i he’s not angry. In fact his thick brows soften and somehow in the midst of all the chaos of noise surrounding the two of you, his words are very clear.

- “I’m glad it’s with you.”

#jacob elordi #saltburn #felix catton smut #felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #saltburn 2023