#it’s soooo frustrating

[dogthatlookshigh]

Any ways Frankenstein is 100% gonna use this as an excuse to stay instead of admitting to herself that she actually likes the lodgers and nearly completely isolating herself isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be 🙄

[signanothername]

Know when you were in the mood for an artwork but then you got interrupted by something that you needed to do but now the mood is gone and now it feels like a chore? That’s me rn

[daffi-990]

I swear I can only write in 300-500 word bursts atm 🥴

[jooahae]

i hate the way this show keeps cutting off long important convos only to put it in as a flashback scene for the characters to reflect on afterwards

[dulcesiabits]

vestigial structures.

summary: With a man like Sunday, it's always best to keep a certain distance. Still, what can you do when he tries to bridge the gap?

notes: 2.9k words, author notes, power play, boss/employee dynamic, mentions of injuries, very messy relationship

On the surface, Sunday is the perfect employer.

He’s strict and exacting about the most minute details, but his criticism is never personal. He’s fair with his employees, and the paychecks are never late and always generous. He’s agreeable and amiable, and knows all of his employees by name and occupation, his smile always pleasant when he stops to converse. 

Even if your coworkers grumble about his harsh demands or the late nights, their heads still perk up with the rare praise he throws out, like dogs to a bone. You have to admit that Sunday is smart in that way, knowing just when to push and pull with people. 

Yes, all your coworkers can say that because none of them work as closely with Sunday as you do. You’ve never given him room to complain about your conduct; you’re silent, loyal, and meticulous, all traits that Sunday prizes in his close staff. Maybe it helps that you’ve been here since the beginning, when Sunday was just getting his footing as head of the Family.

He keeps you close, which means you’ve had time to see the way he raises his hand to cover his smile in front of a terrified employee, the barely restrained tension in his lax body posture when he negotiates deals, how he lovingly moves around all the people in Penacony like chess pieces, watching them fall right where he wants them to without their knowing.

Sunday is like a beautiful dream: perfectly constructed and dazzling, but you know too much about what goes under the surface to buy into his sweet words and polite gestures, all the greasy wires and gears. 

Every movement is perfectly calculated. And as long as you play your part and fulfill the role he sets out for you, you can just cash in your paycheck at the end of the month and never have to worry about him beyond that.

It’s how you’ve survived so far with a man like him, after all. The perfect dance, a measured distance and precise footwork you’ve long since memorized: you know just how to skirt around all the little games Sunday likes to play without losing yourself.

“This is the paperwork for today,” Sunday says. You never talk in his office more than you need to; all chatter is whittled down to the necessities. “It’s the architectural plans for our recent expansion of the casino.”

“I’ll have it filled out by the end of the day,” you say, skimming through the file. Color-coded and carefully organized by priority: it’s nothing less than what you expect from him.

“There’s an upcoming meeting with a merchant group in a few days, too, for potential trade deals.”

“I’ll be in charge of that,” you say automatically. “You should focus on managing the projects in the Dreamscape. The expansion will take a majority of your attention.”

Sunday nods, steepling his fingers together, lost in some thought or another. You wait patiently in front of his desk, folders clutched to your chest, face impassive. It’s only another two hours before you can clock out.

His gaze flicks to you, sharp and assessing, but for what, you aren’t sure. You straighten, leveling your shoulders, returning his stare with a cool look of your own. 

“Is your work too much?” Sunday asks, voice even.

His words are unexpected, and your eyebrows furrow, just a fraction. Sunday catches it before you can school your expression, and you curse internally at the curve of his lips. What sort of trick is this? You don’t have any script for this unexpected turn of events.

What answer is he expecting from you? His halo gleams like a liquid sun behind him, and the gold fills your vision.

“It’s nothing that I’m not capable of handling,” you say, phrasing each word delicately, watching his expression. No change. “I’m honored to do this work for the prosperity of Penacony.”

Sunday nods, once. “I see.”

You smile at him, the practiced one you give clients. “Will that be all, sir? I don’t think you need to worry. I have proved myself before, have I not?”

Sunday stands from his seat, reaching his hand out to you. What the hell is he doing? Just when you think he’s going to cup your cheek, his hand drifts down and he brushes something off your shoulder. 

There’s something pinched in his fingers: a piece of gray thread.

“Make sure you’re following the dress code. You know I abhor messes and people who don’t follow the rules,” Sunday says pleasantly, but there’s frost under his tone. 

“I’ll be careful, sir,” you say.

Did something about your answer upset him? Is this an implicit threat? Or is he really just pissed about your supposedly sloppy attire, even though the rest of your uniform is starched and neat, just the way he likes it?

Well, it’s not your job to understand your boss’s mercurial moods. The less you associate or think about Sunday, the better.

Before you head out the door, Sunday calls out to you. “You’re one of my most valued employees. Make sure you keep up the good work. I’d like to work with you for as long as possible.”

The door shuts behind you, leaving you with one last glance of Sunday’s genial smile. But even with a layer of wood between you, you swear you can still feel his eyes on your back. 

Despite the strangeness of your meeting with Sunday, the next few days proceed as smoothly as clockwork. Sunday keeps your exchanges brief and professional, and you’re far too busy with your work to figure out the reasoning behind every action he takes.

At least everything is going well until you find yourself limping down the hallway, mumbling curses under your breath, a wound lacerating your calf. Luckily, there’s no one around to witness your humiliation, and you’ve managed to swap your ruined uniform with a spare you keep on hand. Sunday, as he so loves to remind you, abhors messes, and you can’t imagine what he’ll do if he discovers you’ve dirtied the hotel with your blood.

You lean against the wall, hissing, as pain shoots up your leg. Injuries on the job are inconvenient, more so when they’re caused by meetings gone wildly wrong. You should have expected it, working at Penacony as long as you have, but merchant groups pulling out their weapons when negotiations turn sour isn’t something you’re quite fond of dealing with.

At least you have no other injuries, despite having left the meeting room in shambles. The paperwork you’re going to need to fill out over this incident is going to be a pain in the ass, but as long as you get somewhere safe, you can dress your wounds and put the entire thing behind you.

Sharp steps echo down the hall in front of you, and you straighten instinctively. Out of the shadows steps your boss, the last person you want to see in a moment like this. You grit your teeth and put on a cordial smile, keeping your eyes to the floor, trying to keep your steps even. One foot in front of the other, even if your body protests at the exertion.

Sunday is the one man you can’t show weakness in front of.

The edges of his patent shoes stop right in front of you. “Good afternoon,” Sunday says pleasantly. “How did your meeting go?”

“There was an unexpected occurrence,” you say. “I’ll file a report about it later, but it’s been handled. Suffice to say, we won’t have any dealings with them.”

Sunday still doesn’t move, and you risk tilting your head up to gauge his mood. His hands are folded in front of him. You can’t make out the expression in his eyes. “How unfortunate.”

“If that’s all, sir, I’ll be–” Sunday’s hand shoots out and grabs your elbow the second you try to take a step around him.

“You’re limping,” he says softly, pleasantly, like a trap springing shut. His fingers dig through your suit fabric and into your skin. “What exactly happened?”

“I’ll tell you in the report. It’s nothing major.”

A short laugh escapes Sunday. “I don’t appreciate my employees lying to me.”

“I’m not lying,” you protest, a thread of annoyance working its way into your tone, a hairline fracture in your composure. “I just judged that something like this wasn’t worth reporting.”

Sunday’s hair tickles your face like feathers as he leans in close to you, his lips almost brushing your ear. He still hasn’t let you go. “You’re not the judge of what’s worth reporting. I am.”

“Sir–”

“You need medical attention,” he says, tugging your arm around his waist. You jerk back, but his grip is iron. “What are you doing? It’ll be easier on you if you can lean on me.”

“It’s inappropriate for me to touch you like this.”

“Proprietary has nothing on your wounds,” he says, and you reluctantly settle your arm around his waist, fingers loosely gripping the turn of his hip. He’s right, but you hate how it feels like you’re playing along with one of his ploys. But not even he could have predicted the outcome of the meeting, right? Sunday’s arm descends along your back, holding you steady as the two of you slowly move along the darkened hallway. 

You end up in a supply room just around the corner, out of sight from anyone and lit by the warm glow of lights above you. Stacks of crates and boxes line the shelves, but there’s a narrow table and a pair of chairs, one of which Sunday helps you settle into.

He moves around the room with practiced familiarity, pulling a medical supply box from one of the shelves. He flicks it open, rummaging through the supplies. And then, Sunday kneels in front of you, his knees hitting the dusty ground, his hands outstretched towards you like a prayer.

But what can a man like him ever want from you? Only something you can never give.

“You don’t have to do this.”

His hands ghost along your leg, the fabric of your gray slacks creasing as Sunday slides them up to reveal the gash on your leg. It’s unthinkable, normally. Your boss is meticulous on the minute details of your uniform, and you’ve seen employees reprimanded for having their collars an inch too low. But here he is now, ruining the symmetry he values himself.

His gloved fingers skate along the skin of your calf, the pressure so light you almost can’t feel it, drawing your attention back to him. He cradles your ankle with one hand as he examines your wound. He’s still kneeling in front of you, his head ducked so low you can’t make out his expression, only the fringe of his eyelashes.

It’s wrong. It’s wrong to see Sunday like this, because even when he’s gentle, reverential and at your feet, you know the second you believe in him, you’ll lose. Submission and honesty from a man like him is never willingly given.

“I don’t have to, but it would only be right when you were hurt due to my carelessness,” Sunday says.

“It was my fault for not being careful. It has nothing to do with you,” you say. “Besides, this is unprofessional, considering our working relationship.”

His hand tightens on your ankle like a vice. “I’m not doing this as your employer.”

Sunday doesn’t look up once as he dabs disinfectant-soaked cotton along your wound. You hiss at the sting, as Sunday presses harder than you expect. The bandages that go around your calf are wrapped neatly, pulled tightly to the edge of pain. It feels like a chastisement, or a punishment, for the unwillingness of your earlier actions.

Your blood flecks Sunday’s gloves as he works, staining his pristine clothes. The two of you share a similar uniform, distinct from most of your other coworkers. The same dark vest, the same dove gray slacks and white suit jacket, the same golden enamels and blue accents. It’s almost like he’s trying to dress you up in his clothes, to mark you in some indelible way. 

You dig your nails into your palms until you think you can cut into your own skin. From the beginning, you’ve never been able to escape the games he’s always playing. 

Sunday still kneels on the floor, holding your ankle in his hand like a delicate bird. He pulls down the leg of your slacks himself, the fabric rustling as it covers the fresh bandages on your calf.

“Be more careful next time,” he says. 

Right now, while he’s still beneath you, you could reach out and tug his hair, grip his chin and make him look level at you, force him to kneel forever and press him into the ground. But even if you do, it’ll still feel like something Sunday has let happen. 

Penacony is a chessboard, and you’re just another piece in his hands.

“You said you’re not doing this as my employer. What are you doing this as?” you say, pushing back your chair, leaping up. Your leg moans in protest, but you ignore the searing pain to stand in front of Sunday.

“What do you think?” he says, his face serene. “You’re clever. I’m sure you know.”

You whirl your head in disgust, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

His eyes burn into your back as you go, watching you. Always watching you, because you can never escape his presence, the eyes he has all over this damn place.

When you stride into Sunday’s office the next day, the wound on your calf burns with every step you take. There hasn’t been enough time for it to heal. Your uniform, as always, is pristine, the slacks creased just so, the wrinkles nonexistent. 

Sunday barely looks up from his desk as you slide a folder in front of him. There’s a pen in his hand, poised above a sheaf of papers he thumbs through.

“You finished your report rather early,” he remarks. 

“That’s because it’s not a report. It’s my resignation.”

His grip on his pen tightens, enough so that you wonder if he’s going to break it. The tranquil expression on his face doesn’t change, but there’s a wrinkle in his facade. A twitch of his eyebrow, a slight turn of his mouth. Subtle signs of his unhappiness that only you can see. After all, you’ve known him long enough that he can’t hide from you, not completely.

“Is there something unsatisfactory about your current position?” he says evenly. “The pay, perhaps? The vacation days? The hours?”

“Those are all fine. I’ve just been thinking I need a change of pace,” you say lightly, tapping your fingers on his desk. His eyes track your every movement. 

“I’d hate to lose a valuable employee like yourself. You won’t find a better place to work than Penacony.”

“I know. You value Family above all else. But it makes me wonder what will happen if I’m not a part of yours.” You smile at him. His own smile tightens. You’ve never been so forward with him before, would never have risked it. You have no script for this, but neither does he. “This is a place where everyone’s dreams come true. But what’s your dream, Sunday?”

His jaw twitches at your casual address. “My dream? I wish to see Penacony prosper.”

It’s such a stock answer you could laugh. It’s what Sunday tells everyone, the picture perfect answer he can print in newspapers and feed to interviewers. 

“That’s a good answer.” You lean across his desk. “You know, I’ve always been fond of birds. But the best way to keep one by your side is to make it want to be there, don’t you think? Otherwise, when you open the cage, it’ll fly away. It has to go in the cage willingly.”

“A fascinating observation,” Sunday says. “But you simply shouldn’t open the cage door at all, if you want to keep it by your side. If you provide the bird with everything it wants, then there will be no reason for it to go.”

“Birds are capricious creatures.” You raise your hand, angling it towards the wings that flutter near his head. They tremble at your wandering fingers, but right before you can brush one of his gray feathers, you drop your hand and pick up your resignation file, waving it lazily in the air. “I mean, who knows what they want? Don’t you think maybe the bird tries to fly away because it wants its owner to chase it? It makes you wonder who’s really the one being caged here.”

“I’ve owned birds before. I think I can handle such a thing,” Sunday says sharply.

“I’m sure. You know, maybe my resignation is a little hasty. I think I could stand to stay for a while longer.” Under Sunday’s vigilant eye, you glide towards the door, pulling it open with one hand.

“You shouldn’t do such things in jest,” Sunday calls behind you. You turn to face him. The tension still hasn’t left his shoulders.

“It wasn’t a joke,” you say. “I just changed my mind, that’s all.”

This time, you don’t let your gaze drop away from him, even as the door slams shut between the two of you. The expression on his face, the simmering frustration, the restrained edges of his desire, the way Sunday looks as if he’s the one who’s been trapped— it’s the most beautiful he’s ever been.

You’re starting to understand why Sunday enjoys his little games, but it’s too bad for him. This chess board doesn’t just belong to him anymore.

[rosecandyart]

Alright, some time has passed. Side Order Pearl appreciation time.

I can't stress enough how much I missed Pearl and loved her in this DLC. This applies to Marina, too. I feel like I fell even harder for Pearl, I got reminded of all the qualities I love her for. Her impulsiveness, her supportiveness, her comedy, everything. Not to mention the adorable 2D art of her that I'm absolutely normal about (I'm not). I adored this DLC so much.

[stsebastiens]

carmy needs to get his shit wrecked properly this season. you don’t get to project ur weird perfection complex onto ur business partners & coworkers and then go “isn’t this what you wanted?” like ok 🤨 get fridged again idiot

[freitag1607]

annabeth's most formidable enemy

[bareums]

Gu Won + Getting Startled || King The Land

[stayatsam]

I'm back from the dead

4/11/23

[lightningcrashes]

KYLE GALLNER as ERIC FISHER Interrogation | 2020

[future--starter]

Saw a post on here (I think??) where someone said there should be a Lisa Frankenstein Skullector set, and I 100% AGREE, so I drew this 🤓

Watch Lisa Frankenstein!!!

[transmechanicus]

Really fucked up that two ppl can care about each other and make their best efforts to communicate and still end up hurting each other so badly they cannot stand to be in the same room.

[wuntrum]

bizarre to watch a horror film that came out this year that horror people seem to generally enjoy and one of the plot points of it being "yeah, the evil presence can't get into some people's minds. but autistic people? oh man, the evil just doesn't know WHAT to do in there, once its in there its trapped! just look at the way they move their hands, isn't that weird? that means the evil is in there!"

[heuffopla]

Living on your own is fun until you can't open the FUCKING BOTTLE.

[abirddogmoment]

A little bit about CKC pointing field trials (puppy stakes) in general for those who are interested in how they run.

CKC has its hunting dog events broken out pretty specifically. CKC is restrictive in which breeds can run which events (e.g., only CKC registered approved pointing breeds can run pointing tests, other breeds are excluded even if they technically could complete the exercises. Rory can only run pointing events, she couldn't do a retriever test or a spaniel test).

We also have a distinction in trials vs tests, as most other venues do.

Trials - you are competing against other people and being judged against a standard. You run in pairs. Top 4 dogs get placements, once you get enough points you get a field championship.

Tests - you are running alone and being judged against a standard for a qualifying/non-qualifying runs. 3 qualifying runs gets you a title.

We are currently running CKC pointing field trials.

CKC pointing trials have two main distinctions within them - puppy stakes and senior stakes. You can enter whichever stake you're ready for, with some exceptions (like age) - you don't have to run puppy stakes before running senior stakes.

Puppy stakes are a little lower pressure because they judge puppies' potential. Within puppy stakes, there are two main types of runs.

Open puppy stakes: any puppy *of eligible breed* between 6 and 18 months old. No birds hidden in the field, no gunshots on the course, 15-20 minutes running.

Derby stakes: any puppy of eligible breed between 6 and 27 months old. At least two birds hidden in the field, puppy needs to point birds if encountered, gunshots, 20-30 minutes.

We run open puppy for now. Here's how this goes:

We are randomly paired with another puppy and handler (this pairing is called a brace, the other handler and dog are our bracemates). We walk up to the start line together (usually the entrance to a big pasture) with our puppies on leash. Two judges (on ATV or horseback) give us a quick overview of the course we have to walk. The course is usually through a big open field with medium cover (think knee high grasses and shrubs, some wetlands, some hills but no forest) and typically avoids fencelines or roads. They tell us to release our dogs at the same time, so we let the dogs off leash and start walking (very fast, and I'm a fast walker to begin with). The course is usually huge, much bigger than we could possibly walk in 20 mins.

Usually the puppies play a little bit and then get to work. The judges are looking for puppies who can ignore the other dog and handler, judges, ATV, horses, and spectators, hunt independently, cover lots of ground (move fast and steady across the terrain while still sniffing), use the wind to follow scent, and respond to their handlers' directions. If the puppies want to play too much, the judges will ask the handlers to split up a little bit to encourage the puppies to work independently. Usually you stick within about 10m (25ft) of your bracemate. Puppies can range anywhere as long as they stay visible and ahead of their handlers. (Puppies are often about several hundred metres/yards away from their handlers depending on breed. Rory ranges about 50-100m in real life and about 75-300m in field trials. It is an exhilarating exercise in trust in my training.)

The judges follow behind us and then spectators can follow behind the judges, if they want. We have to keep up a very fast pace to encourage the puppies to cover as much ground as possible, not at a jog but pretty close.

In puppy stakes, you want to keep as quiet as you can. The judges are looking for instinct and basic potential, so you don't want to ruin that by giving your dog tons of directions. If your puppy follows directions, that suggests they need directions to function. If your dog ignores directions, that's unresponsive and also bad. Ideally you shouldn't say much during your run unless there's danger (if a deer runs out, you would recall your puppy) or evils (if your puppy is eating poop, you could recall or redirect). You are allowed to chat with your bracemate but you have to hustle fast so it's usually friendly but minimal.

One important piece of open puppy stakes is that there are no planted birds in the field! There may be wild birds, but it's unlikely. Many people "over train" their bird dog puppies on live birds, and then the puppies get really frustrated that there are no birds in the field after they search so hard. This causes puppies to slow down or give up entirely during their run, so this is something that judges look for. In real life hunting, there's no guarantee of birds so it's important that puppies can work through frustration without losing enthusiasm.

The judges kind of shout directions (go left, head for those trees) from behind to keep us on course. In the best courses, the judges make you walk a loop, but sometimes your time ends in the middle of a field. When your time is up, the judges will thank you and tell you to leash your dog. We recall our puppies and put them on leash and walk them back to our cars for water and snacks.

That's the whole run for open puppy! It's very low pressure. The puppies basically just follow their hearts and do what they were made to do.

Derby is extremely similar, except there are birds planted in the field. The puppies don't HAVE to find birds but obviously its preferable that they do. If they find birds, they must point (stop moving and stand still staring at the bird). They don't have to be steady to flush or shot (they can chase when the bird flies or when the gun goes off), and only blanks are shot in derby. The course is a little longer but everything else is the same.

In open puppy and derby stakes, the judges are just looking for potential. They want to know if your dog would be competitive in the senior stakes, so they're looking for lots of independence, lots of bird drive, lots of stamina, things like that. Because they're judging potential, younger puppies may be judged a little easier than older puppies.

I think that's the gist of puppy stakes in CKC pointing field trials! Send me a message if you have questions about our experience so far!