#I will reward whoever finds this for me with pictures of my cat

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Does anyone have that post where Dick tries and fails to corral a deaged Danny who is essentially a mini Constantine because I miss it more than life.

[writerfae]

The Knights of the Alder - Anastasia AU: Catching up

Synopsis: When Aiden was eight, he was found half-dead at the side of a road, with no memory of his past or who he really was. He has no idea that he's the prince of his country, whose family was killed in a riot.

Ten years later, he makes his way to the city, determined to find out about who he is and to find his family. His destination: Paris, where he hopes to find all the answers he is looking for. But getting to Paris isn't as easy as he thought and so he searches for help.

That's when he meets Talon and Maya, two con artists who want to find a boy that pretends to be the lost prince, so they can introduce him to the dead heir's husband in Paris, who promised a reward to whoever brings his brother in-law back to him.

Together the three make their way to Paris and their journey holds a lot of surprises.

For context: Now that Callan and Aiden finally found each other, they sit together to talk - and to remember

.♕.

Aiden laughed. “Did I drew that?”

He held up a picture drawn with crayons. It was probably supposed to portray a cat.

Or a pig, he couldn’t quite tell.

Callan nodded, amused. “A true artist for sure.”

Now they both laughed.

“I remember now, I think I drew it for Henry when you two went to Paris for the holidays.”

Paris, the place where Aiden always wanted to accompany his brothers too.

Paris, where they were right now, sitting in Callan’s guest room, exchanging stories and going through a box full of memories.

It held old child drawings, portraits and little trinkets.

Even some love letters that Callan snatched away immediately, cheeks colored red, as if he were still a teenager and Aiden a little kid that got his hands on something forbidden.

Aiden chuckled, putting aside the picture and started playing with his necklace again.

‘Stop playing around with that damn pendant of yours,’ a voice in his head gave its unwanted opinion.

Aiden ignored it and the stinging feeling in his heart that came with it.

“It is so strange,” he said. “I remember all of this, somehow. I remember them now, too, our family. How I loved them so much.

I feel almost guilty that I couldn’t remember them for so long.”

Callan smiled at him.

“Just because you didn’t remember, doesn’t mean you didn’t love them. They may have slipped your mind for a while, but never your heart.”

He nudged Aiden’s shoulder gently.

“Besides, you have me now, to help you remember. We’ll keep their memory alive together, you and me.”

Aiden smiled. He was so thankful that he got Callan now. It made him feel closer to his family, to home, to himself.

Even when the price he had to pay for this, the hurt caused by the very person that got him here - and left him bruised - still weighted on him (no matter how hard he tried to deny it).

He wouldn’t want to miss it.

Carefully he pulled a portrait out of the box.

It showed Henry and Callan and if Aiden had to guess based on the clothing, it must’ve been from the day of their wedding.

He sighed sadly as he realized that this might be the last portrait that was ever made of his brother, tracing the outline of his smiling face with his thumb.

Callan leaned over to look at the picture, eying it fondly.

“I love this portrait. I was so happy back then, I think I’ve never been as happy in my whole life as I was on that day.”

Aiden smiled.

He couldn’t quite remember that day, maybe because it was too close to that fatal night that he lost his memory at.

But he wished he could. It must’ve been a very happy day for all of them.

He could only imagine how much it must hurt for his brother in law to look back at it.

After all, Callan lost his husband only months later and with him the life that he’d known - and the one he had dreamt of.

Callan must’ve had quite similar thoughts, because his hand wandered to the necklace he wore, a traditional engagement necklace that was a gift from Henry.

He still wore it after all these years, just like his wedding band.

Callan noticed Aiden looking at the necklace and smiled. “Do you recognize it?”

He sniffed, so quiet Aiden almost didn’t hear.

“It used to be your mother’s. I never take it off. It makes me feel closer to him. To the way he used to make me feel.”

He let his hand fall into his lap. “No one ever made me feel this loved again.”

“Did you never remarry?” Aiden asked.

Callan shook his head. He leaned back in his seat, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to his chest.

“Henry was…” he looked up to the ceiling as he spoke.

“I have loved him since I was a boy. He was the love of my life. You only find someone like him once in your life.”

He looked at Aiden and smiled sadly.

“And once you did, no one else will ever be good enough for you. No one could ever take his place. Not in my life and especially not in my heart.”

Aiden nodded. “I think I understand. He was really someone special.”

It was all still a blur, but in the past days more and more memories resurfaced.

Memories of his brother, of how they used to play, how he read him bedtime stories, how he let him sleep in his bed after a nightmare.

He remembered how much he meant to him. And how much he missed him.

“He was,” Callan put his hand over Aiden’s own.

“And he loved you so dearly. Always made sure his baby brother was safe and happy. He let you get away with everything.”

Callan chuckled. “He could never stay mad at you for too long, even if you were a real brat sometimes.”

And then they were both laughing again and maybe also crying a little and Aiden felt a sense of familiarity wash over him.

This was how it used to be, way back.

The three of them laughing together, Henry and Callan letting Aiden tag along almost always, even though he was probably pretty annoying at times.

Because they had loved him.

“He has loved you a lot, too. I still remember it.”

Aiden thought back to the vision he had in the ballroom of the old palace, the one he knew for sure now was an old memory.

The two boys almost flying over the dance floor together, laughing and whispering.

How Henry had smiled, eyes bright and happy and so so fond.

“I remember hoping that some day I’ll find someone who will look at me like that... Who will love me like that.”

Against his will Aiden’s mind wandered to a certain person as he said those words.

Angry at himself he shoved those thoughts aside.

Talon had only used him for his own good. Whatever there was that he thought might grow between them, it was all a lie.

“Aiden?” Callan asked, breaking him out of his thoughts.

He looked at him, eyes full of worry, squeezing his hand.

“Are you alright?” Aiden blinked. Once, twice. Then he nodded.

“Yes, yes I’m alright. Just getting a bit nostalgic, I guess.” That wasn’t even a lie.

Callan didn’t seem to believe him, but he also didn’t pry. He just smiled, probably knowing what was on Aiden’s mind anyway.

“Me too,” he admitted. After a while he added

“Henry would be happy that we found each other again. They all would be. They would want us to not dwell too much on what is past and rather see what is ahead.”

He leaned over to hug Aiden and Aiden let him, closing his eyes. It felt warm and familiar and in that moment Aiden felt at home.

“I am glad that I have you back now,” Callan whispered.

“Me too,” Aiden whispered back.

Despite all that he had lost, he had finally found what he was looking for for so long: his family.

Remembering them, exchanging stories about them with Callan and knowing that he too had been looking for family, had been looking for him, made Aiden feel warm and content.

So he allowed himself to let his mind wander to Talon one more time, to silently thank him for giving this all back to him.

And in that moment, Aiden almost forgave him for breaking his heart.

Almost.

[bakubub]

favourite time of year

w/c: 1.2k

written for @kal0psi-a 's halloween collab

folding the sticky dough carefully, just as the recipe instructed, i try my best to ignore the itching in my nose in a feeble attempt to stay concentrated, but give up when it starts to irritate my eyes.

"eughh, because of you there's flour in my nose," i complain to my boyfriend, who has his chin hooked over my shoulder and very heavily leaning over me.

"hey, don't complain! have you seen my hair?" he asks, stretching his neck to show me. sure enough, his hair is more white than it is black. i rake my hand through it before he can say anything, my dough covered hands clumping his hair together as an avalanche of flour sprinkles all over my chest.

he screeches, jumping back from me and i quickly use this chance to start running, because based on previous incidents, there's a 90% chance he will chase me relentlessly.

his cough from across the kitchen halts my escape plan, "are you happy now? i have flour in my nose too," he complains.

i watch in amusement as a cloud of flour puffs around him in the shape of a mushroom as he sneezes heavily, looking quite literally like a cartoon character and quickly near him to snap a picture. this will do nicely for the autumn section in this year's album.

since we started dating, tetsuro and i have been taking photos of one another, which we organise into albums by year, separated by season. it started when he gave me an album on our first anniversary, now, 6 years later and married, putting together an album of the past year has become tradition. each season we do an activity that correlates with the vibe, and today, we're making pumpkin pie with halloween shape indents because really, what else comes to mind when you think of fall?

i laugh loudly at the photo i took, his face caught mid sneeze, and it seems to flick the switch deep within tetsuro that i thought i had flicked earlier, and his feline gaze snaps to mine, before lurching forward in an attempt to catch me. i move just in the nick of time and run to the other side of the bench. he chases me until we're playing cat and mouse around the bench like children, slowly stalking one another as the other makes it as though they're backtracking but running forward instead.

"give up, wicked witch!" he exclaims, putting his right hand on his heart and holding the other outwards as he closes his eyes, apparently overwhelmed with emotion, "it is i, prince tetsu-" in the midst of his theatrics, i move in for the kill. his need for dramatics is most definitely his achille's heel, i think as i stab him in the hip with my fingers, and he yelps, opening his eyes only to find the mouse catching the cat.

"and the wicked witch of fall wins!" i yell, jumping up and down, getting flour all over the hardwood floors.

"fine, this round goes to you. your reward? a magical kiss from your prince charming," he says, leaning in and halting my celebration.

"the prince kisses the witch? haven't heard this fairy-tale before," i mutter before he silences me by placing a soft but unhurried kiss on my lips. my hands automatically make their way around his neck, and i lean back slightly as his hands firmly hold my waist, providing protection and support even in a moment as miniscule as this. in the glow of the autumn sunset, painting our kitchen with a golden hue, with the man i love in front of me, everything is perfect. we break off, his forehead leaning on mine, neither of us moving away.

"this is our fairy-tale, with its own happy ending."

looking up, I'm met with his golden brown stare, the small specks of gold especially visible in this lighting, practically glowing. his white turtle neck hugging his form nicely, and his raven hair sprinkled with flour, i can't help but wonder if this is what we're going to be like in the future, when we've lived our lives, and grown old together; the only indication of our age being the salt and pepper hair, and the slightly more prominent lines around our eyes from spending a lifetime of smiling.

because that's how it would be, i think, to have tetsuro next to me for eternity, to smile and to laugh every day.

he has to kneel down considerably to reach my lips with his own, to rest his forehead on mine, but the look on his face and the emotion in his familiar, beautiful eyes reflect nothing but comfort and content, genuine even as he says stupid and cliché things. in a way, he’s promising me nothing but a life full of the music of our happiness.

"i love you, witch," he whispers, as if afraid to ruin the moment by speaking.

i kiss him again, before pulling out my secret weapon and dumping more flour over his head. "love you too, prince!" i screech as i run away. i hear his chuckles as he chases after me, muttering empty promises of revenge just as he did before, and every other time, and hopefully, if my luck holds out, every time after.

---

"okay, nod gonna lie, dis ith really goo-dh" i say, speaking with a mouth full of the pumpkin pie we finally got around to baking.

i watch him snap a photo of me, smiling through my full mouth, knowing full well i have pie all over my mouth and teeth.

“you’ve never looked better, babe,” he says, chuckling, before trying it himself, moaning through his full mouth, "oh mhy gohd." i roll my eyes as he continues, "baby, thth is fudding amathing," he says, taking another, and then another bite.

“slow it down, moron. you’re going to choke and the wicked witch is going to have to ruin her comfy position to give you the heimlich,” i say, my legs crossed on the carpeted floor with my feet nice and warm in my thick panda bear socks.

“how abouth we sthip straighd to the kith of life?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows with a mouth full of pie.

"how about you shuffle the cards, prince? i'll pick a movie," i suggest, or rather order, raising my brows. he salutes sarcastically as he sets down his plate and goes to get our worn out deck of uno cards.

"i thought you were a witch, not a princess," he mutters once he swallows his pie.

"actually, i married the prince so that legally makes me a princess. c'mon tetsuro," i say, pressing play on a random comedy to play in the background.

with the fireplace going under the television, and our pumpkin spice and cinnamon candles lit, the room is cozy, warm and calm.

that is until tetsuro yells his profanities about me placing a 2+ on his 4+.

"THAT'S NOT ALLOWED! YOU CAN ONLY PLACE A 4+ ON TOP OF A 4+"

"since WHEN?! THIS WASN'T THE RULE LAST WEEK!" i scream back, refusing to back down. i am not picking up four cards. "i would never cheat. unlike YOU," i accuse, shoving another fork full of the pie into my mouth in defiance.

he dramatically gasps shoving a fork full of pie into his own mouth, and glares at me. i glare right back, both of us wordlessly agreeing that whoever loses the staring competition loses the uno argument. ignoring the burning in my eyes, i keep my expression neutral as i watch the tears building up in tetsuro's lashline, his right eye twitching and turning slightly red.

"YES!" i scream as he blinks, wiping his eyes and sighing dramatically before beginning to pick up six cards, unable to come up with an excuse.

i laugh mercilessly and we continue the game, which i ended up winning after he picked up another 12 cards, flashing me the 'please have mercy on me' eyes every time he reached for the deck.

"you really are a wicked little witch aren't you?" he mutters as he gets up. i snort in response, eating the last of my pie.

"i wanna another slice," he announces. "you want?" nodding eagerly, i give him my plate.

"i want a slice with a bat," i call out, referring to the misshapen shapes we cut out on the top layer of the pie.

when he came back, he halted at the door as he silently watches me set up face masks and mani-pedi equipment on the coffee table, the entire pie tray with two forks, instead of two slices, in his hands. i raised my eyebrows, and he mirrors my expression towards my makeshift salon on the floor of our living room.

we both shrug and he comes and sits next to me, picking up a face mask packet and reading the description.

"ooh! aloe vera!"

that's how we ended up watching shitty comedies all night with white face masks on and stomachs stuffed with pie.

---

laying in bed my head resting on tetsuro's shoulder and my hand rhythmically stroking his hair, i bask in the feeling of comfort and my mind being stress free. shielded from the cold night with a million blankets and the massive man sleeping next to me, with my especially cold, numb feet tucked under his thigh, i match my breathing with his easily as i follow after him into a deep slumber.

because that's what the season of autumn is about, really. taking it easy after the adventurous months that were spring and summer, to rewind and become a home-bug again as the weather cools down. and these moments with tetsuro?

these moments are what makes this my favourite time of year.

ahhh this was so, so fun!! special thanks to @/kal0psi-a for organising this entire collab <3

[consumeconstantly]

Summer Photography (aka the thirst trap)

Summary: Marinette is forced to take pictures for Gabriel in order to pay for her summer graduation trip with her best friends from lycee. Adrien, her primary model, wants to avoid the summer heat and pulls in one very attractive bad-boy motorcycle man to be his replacement.

_______________________________________________________

July in Gotham comes with an almost rancid kind of heat.

The kind of heat that is impossible to banish unless the air conditioning is set to 65 degrees and there’s a dehumidifier in the room. The kind of heat that makes babies cry with discomfort and adults curse whenever they have to take a foot outside. The only age population that enjoys it are the teens. More precisely, the teens are more fans of being on summer vacation, rather than the sticky warmth, but they find ways to work with the heat, rather than against it. Some teens gather on apartment rooftops, taking in the rare, smoggy breeze with pleasure. Others frequent their local swimming pool, an ice cream parlor or convenience store. If they get really desperate, they take shelter in the library.

Should a teen be forced out onto the muggy sidewalks full of sweaty bodies, they drift towards parks or areas of ‘city beautification’ and find a tree to rest their weary bodies under. 

Of course, there are always exceptions to these norms. 

“Marinette,” Adrien groans, sweat on his brow. “Can we please do this not during peak heat?”

“No,” Marinette says. “Your father insisted on having pictures of a male model at precisely two in the afternoon, and it took me months to convince him to let us come on this trip, so we’re not going to do anything to jeopardize it.”

“It’s not like he can do anything now. We’re literally an ocean away.”

“Suck it up, sunshine,” Marinette swats her hand at a lazy fly, not bothering to look up from changing the lens on her camera. “Maybe I’d let you get away with a substitution. Gabriel didn’t specify that the person in the pictures had to be you, but we don’t know anyone in Gotham, and everyone we’ve come across so far isn’t exactly the friendly sort.”

Adrien flicks the collar of his t-shirt, desperately trying to generate some sort of a breeze so he doesn’t melt. “This is all Nino’s fault. He and Alya insisted on going to that couple’s show when he could have been out here, taking my place. If Luka were here, he wouldn’t have deserted me like that.”

“We all know of your and Luka’s undying love for one another, but he is busy touring. He’ll meet up with us in New York, though, and you can have your disgustingly sweet love-fest over there. Meanwhile, I’ll be forever alone.”

“Don’t put yourself down like that, Marinette. At least five people in each city we’ve gone to so far have tried to go on dates with you.”

She crinkles her nose and does a test shot, making sure the light setting works out. “Yeah, but they all reeked of desperation and alcohol. Plus, at least two of them were just looking for a person to cheat with.”

“No good,” Marinette says, frowning at the shadows the tree cast. “Gabriel won’t be happy with these kinds of photos. You’re going to have to move out of the shade.”

“No!” Adrien wails. “I refuse! It’s bad enough that you dragged me out here, but to make me go in the sun? You know I burn easily.”

“Yeah, yeah drama queen, but these photos aren’t going to take themselves, and I’m one hundred percent sure that you don’t want to have to do this twice. Which is what we’ll end up having to do if you don’t get your little butt out into the sun so we can take quality shots.”

Adrien whines before a motorcycle revs in the not so far distance. A very Chat Noir smile creeps onto his face. “I don’t think I will. I’ve just found my substitute.��

Marinette follows his gaze, then shrugs. “If you think you can convince him to substitute in, you’re free to go. But remember, it’s Gotham, and if you get jumped, I’m not going to help. It’s too hot for a fight.”

“You underestimate my charm.” Adrien says, already triumphant.

#

True to form, Adrien somehow manages to get motorcycle man over to her. 

“Not sure how Adrien convinced you to do this, but I guess he gets a free pass.” Marinette knows exactly what Adrien’s going to do with his free time. He’s gone on and on about Gotham’s Museum of Vigilantes, and to be quite frank, Marinette doesn’t want to get caught up in another one of Adrien’s rant sessions on the Bat Family. “Anyways, nice to meet you. I’m Marinette, and my awful boss has come of with the wonderfully creative idea of Summer Heat for a photoshoot in the summer.”

She has a bone to pick with Gabriel Agreste. More than one, actually. In fact, she’d say that out of the 206 (well, 207, if she counts the fracture she got in her left pinky toe after that last akuma battle that weirdly, still hasn’t healed) bones in her body, she’d pick a fight with Gabriel over at least 200 of them. The lack of originality is one thing, but she’s not sure how she feels about his blatant attempts to set her up with her son during this trip. Somehow, he still hasn’t grasped the fact that his son doesn’t swing her way despite having hundreds of pictures of being lovey-dovey with Luka all over the internet. In fact, maybe it’s because Adrien and Luka have that many pictures that Gabriel is trying to push for a heterosexual relationship. A lack of vision both for his photo shoots and for his company. Marinette doesn’t understand how she once looked up to this man.

“It’s no problem. I’ve got nothing better to do, anyways.” 

Marinette blinks, then reassesses the man in front of her. Not only does he have a sinfully attractive voice, but his visual appeal isn’t that bad, either. “It’s still nice of you to do this. Should be a pretty quick shoot. Five outfit changes and a few poses in each-- shouldn’t take any longer than an hour, hour and a half.”

She rummages through her bag, fishing out a stack of paper. “You’ll get paid for your time. $250 for the whole shoot, and if you want to keep one of the outfits, feel free.”

If she’s being completely honest, she thinks that Gabriel’s summer collection is a hot mess, and she doesn’t particularly want the burden of bringing back the disgusting articles of clothes back with her in her suitcase. Should motorcycle man not want any of them, she’ll send them back via express mail.

“Don’t need the money, but I’m trying to stay out for as long as I can. Any way you could make the shoot go on longer?”

“You want to stay out in this heat?” Marinette asks in disbelief, taking out a small bag of makeup to apply to his face. She motions for him to sit in the shade of the tree while she sees what she needs to cover up. 

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” Motorcycle man says.

“Like the owner of a custom Harley-Davidson is poor,” Marinette quips. Humming in approval after giving his features once over, she decides that foundation isn’t necessary, only concealer to cover up the dark circles and some old scars.“You have great skin.”

During their summer trip, Marinette has become makeup artist, photographer, public relations manager, and trip advisor. It’s a taxing job, but well worth the reward, which is an all-expense-paid graduation trip with her friends from lycee. Well, Nino and Alya had to pay, but between Nino’s part time DJ gigs and Alya’s ad revenue on the Ladyblog, it wasn’t hard for them to raise enough for the two month long, seven city, four country trip. 

“One of my siblings is insistent that we do our best to minimize the scarring. Don’t know what his deal is, it’s not like our faces are sellable commodities.”

“That’s where you’re wrong-- you’re pretty good looking and could easily go into modelling or acting if you wanted. So props to whoever your sibling is. And thank your genetics too.”

Motorcycle man snorts. “Not cut out for that lifestyle. I like more… adrenaline inducing jobs.”

Marinette almost-- almost laughs. The placement of the scars on his face do imply that he’s gotten in at least one or two knife fights before, and there’s a thin line on his neck that definitely looks like it hurt. Motorcycle man has definitely been in trouble before, but he’s also good enough to get himself out of it. She’s not going to bother asking what his job is. She doesn’t want to be an accessory to any of his crimes. “Action movies, then?” 

“Oh sweetheart, I make action movies look like a kid’s fist fight.”

“Wow, we have a bad boy on our hands, ladies and gentleman.” She finishes applying highlighter and sits back to admire her work. His jaw can cut glass. “Okay, Motorcycle Man, it’s time to take pictures. If you’re good, maybe I’ll draw the shoot out-- I’m not a fan of this humidity.”

Summer is better than winter, if only because she’s acquired a weird habit to almost hibernate when the temperature gets too cold. It’s easy for Marinette to shrug off the heat most days, even when her friends complain constantly.

“The name’s Jason.”

“I think I’ll stick with Motorcycle Man. Alliteration, you know? Now, one hand in your pocket, the other at your collar. Left leg out a little, like you’re ready to take a step-- perfect. Walk forwards a little, yeah, just like that.”

Jason is Adonis personified. The perfect package of cocky, arrogant, and bad boy. It doesn’t hurt that he’s well muscled either-- even Adrien doesn’t have thighs like that, and he spends hours as Chat Noir jumping from rooftop to rooftop. 

“You’re a natural,” Marinette praises. “Have you ever modeled before?”

“Not like this, but I’ve got my fair share of pictures on the internet.”

She’s going to regret asking this. But curiosity killed the cat, not the ladybug. “If not for modelling, then what for?”

“Oh, you know. This and that. A few odd jobs here and there.”

And if that doesn’t make Jason sound more like a criminal, she doesn’t know what will. Marinette decides that she definitely won’t bring up a day job, let alone a night job. 

“All right, next outfit.” She pushes a muscle tank top and light, ripped jeans into his hands.  “You can change in the public restroom, and if anything doesn’t fit, just let me know.”

He takes the outfit, but pauses at one of the other outfits she has in her bag. “Is that… leather and fur? For a shoot with the theme of summer heat?”

“I don’t call the shots, I’m just the poor lackey who has to make them look good. Trust me, if I were in charge of design, the only outfit that might still be in the bag is the one you’re holding right now.” Gabriel is definitely losing his touch. But hey, doing this weird intern summer program for him isn’t the worst thing she’s had to do in her life. It’s good to learn from other people’s mistakes, rather than making them herself. 

“Don’t worry. Crappy fashion isn’t going to scare me away. Have you seen some of Gotham’s villains?”

At that, she couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You’re talking Gotham villains? How about Paris?”

“Paris is some weird alternate dimension. It doesn’t count,” Jason protests. 

“I could say the same for Gotham. Really, why are there so many Robins? Can’t they come up with another name?”

“I almost wish I could argue with that.”

He comes out of the stall, and Marinette feels the summer heat. Jason, Motorcycle Man is ripped. Yeah, his thighs are probably some of the thickest she’s seen, but his biceps are to die for. She’s half tempted to ask for his workout regime, but she’s sure that somewhere he’ll casually throw in ‘beating up random people on the street’ or ‘punching people who piss him off.’ Those are just the kind of vibes that Jason gives off. 

“The arm holes are kinda tight.”

“I’m sure they are,” Marinette breathes, chest tight. Jason’s eyes smoulder. He knows exactly what he’s doing as he places an arm on the door frame and flexes. She thinks she can die happy, now.

They wrap up the shoot quickly. All of the clothes are promptly packaged up except for the tanktop and jeans.  

@jasonette-july-2k20

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For the other jasonette prompts i’ve written for so far, i think i’ll probably continue them eventually, so lmk if you want to be added to the tag list for that. pretty surprised these are getting such a good reception thank you guys for that ;)

[wickedlittleoz]

Can I request a little dustimer ficlet where mo comes out to dustfinger as ace?

thank you anon for this lovely ask!!! it's something i've been meaning to write for a while now because i do read mo as demi, probably, and obvi i'm ace myself, so this feels really special. hope you enjoy it!

it goes in my au, sorry hfksjcjd and it's kinda hurt/comfort/angst-with-a-happy-ending, so beware

With a sigh, he drops the brush in a cup with grey-ish water, along with a handful of other brushes he's used in this project. The front cover is finally done and just needs to dry now. He gives it a once over, proud of himself for how it turned out, and wipes his hand on an piece of cloth before turning off the table light, bathing the workroom in shadows.

* * *

The church bells go off in the main plaza. Mo counts the tolls to twelve. He doesn’t have to--his phone is on the table, just a couple inches from his hands. But he likes the feeling of doing things the old, analog way.

He knows the way around the room well enough to find the exit even in the dark, but Mo doesn't expect the strong arms suddenly winding around his middle while he works the door closed in the tiny hallway that leads to this back room. His first instinct is to elbow whoever is grabbing him from behind, until, just a split of second before he goes absolutely berserker, he recognizes the smell of powder in Dustfinger's hair.

"God, you scared me," he breathes, heart hammering in his ears.

Dustfinger chuckles and the sound is like crackling fire. "Sorry, darling." He presses a soft kiss to Mo's neck before, "It's late, I was worried."

"I wanted to get through this piece tonight... Guess I lost track of time," Mo explains and he turns around in Dustfinger's hug, but the man doesn't step back and now they're way too close, noses touching. Not a second passes before Dustfinger closes the distance with a kiss.

Mo accepts it gladly, this loving reward after a long day of work. And he would be satisfied to end it at that. Go back upstairs, have some late dinner, finally go to sleep. But Dustfinger’s hands are suddenly sliding up his back under the sweater, soft but warm fingertips crawling over his skin, and.

He can’t do it right now.

He just can't.

It’s been a long day. He’s tired. And as much as Mo enjoys some little loving action, right now he can’t bring himself to.

Gently, he pulls back from the kiss and takes Dustfinger’s hands, kisses his knuckles. “Some other time, maybe?”

Dustfinger blinks at him, confused and a little hurt, but nods after a moment and offers a smile that does nothing to liven up his eyes, and quietly follows Mo upstairs.

*

The Gender and Sexuality section of the bookshop is modest, but diverse. It doesn’t take long for Mo to find something about what’s called “asexuality”. An umbrella-term for several identities which experience sexual attraction in different ways than the expected (but unrealistic) norm.

Mo has long known of his attraction to men. Getting married at such a young age got in the way of some experimentation, however. Most he did was french-kiss his best-man the night before the wedding, drunk and giddy and way too out of his mind. Edward looks uncomfortable in every single picture taken at the wedding and he’s never once spoken to Mo since that day.

Which is to say, Dustfinger has been at the core of every single romantic and sexual experience he’s had with another man. And he loves that fire-eater, loves his mind and his body, loves them together... But he doesn't always love the sex.

No, to be more specific, he doesn't always want the sex.

And that's normal...right? For one to not always be in the right mood. Mo has a busy life nowadays, with the bookshop and two kids and the cat. If more often than not he's too tired to get on it, it... It's to be expected, no?

Except that Dustfinger never seems to be too tired. Except that, if it were for Dustfinger, he'd do it everyday, a couple times a day, even.

Except that Mo tears up a little when he reads about asexuality, thinks back to being the weird teen who never had hookups to brag about, who was a virgin until his very late teens, until he and Resa got together.

And he remembers that he could never think about Dustfinger like that for years, even as he was aware of his good looks, until they fell in love. And even now it's so easy for him to go without it, so easy to get lost in their affection that he forgets sex.

Something clicks and Mo cries by himself in the workroom at the back of the bookshop, and all he feels is relief.

*

"Kids are off to Elinor's for the weekend," is a soft purr as Dustfinger slides into bed and glues himself to Mo's back in one swift motion. "We got the place to ourselves."

Something cold takes over him, then, crawls all the way from his toes and up his legs to pool at his stomach, claw at his heart. Mo jerks up before he has the time to think or be nice about it.

"Dustfinger, uh..." His voice breaks. He hadn't realized that he was this close to tears, but now they threaten to spill and he has to stop and breathe.

"What the fuck, Silvertongue."

He turns around and, yeah, it's not pretty. Dustfinger looks mad and he has the right to be, Mo thinks, before he reminds himself that it's not his fault.

"I-"

"That's the second time you deny me in, like, a week," Dustfinger cuts him off, and there's an edge on his voice that has nothing to do with anger. He's hurt. "Is something going on?"

"No, I-" Mo wipes a tear away and something breaks in Dustfinger's resolve. He makes to move closer to Mo, hands stretched out to him, but stops before they can actually touch.

Mo takes his hands and sits back down, because he appreciates it. The offer. The support.

"There's something I've been meaning to tell you..." He starts and realizes that he doesn't know how to say any of this. "First of all, I love you and I--don't want you to think that that's changed."

"Are you breaking up with me?" Dustfinger whispers. His face is blank now. Eyes dead, a wall up and around his heart.

"No!" Mo shouts, loud and desperate enough to scare them both. He pulls Dustfinger's hand to his face and kisses his knuckles, his trademark move these days. "I've been... I've been reading about, uh, sexual attraction and identities lately, and, uh."

Dustfinger jumps to his feet. "Don't fucking tell me you're straight all of a sudden, Mortimer, because a week ago you had my dick in your fucking mouth and you fucking loved-"

"Would you let me finish!"

They're both shaking and breathing heavily. Mo wants to curl up and disappear. This is a side of Dustfinger he hasn't seen in a really long time, probably since the night Elinor told him to leave her house, all that time ago.

"I think." He clears his throat and somehow it gives him the strenght to go on, "No, I know. That I'm asexual."

There's a pause and Dustfinger looks down at him like Mo's the Sphinx and he can't figure out his puzzle. He tries to hold onto his pride, but it's hard with so much hurt and judgement in the eyes of the one person he looks to for support.

"What... Is that?" He asks at last.

Mo breathes, "It just means I don't crave sex like... Like you do." He pauses. Obviously it's not that simple, but does he want to go into the nitty-gritty right now? Dustfinger already despises him enough. "I love us and yes, I love your fucking dick in my fucking mouth, I just don't want it there all the fucking time."

That gets him a smile. Mo sighs in relief. Half a minute passes and Dustfinger finally (finally) sits back down next to him, lets Mo take his hands again.

"Is that all?" The fire-eater asks quietly.

Mo looks up to find his eyes; the wall is gone again. "That's... The short version."

Dustfinger nods a few times and then--Mo almost starts crying all over again--brings Mo's hands to his lips, kisses softly over his knuckles.

"You could've said something," he murmurs and there's an apology there, Mo can hear it coming. "I wouldn't have... Pressured. So much."

Warmth washes over him, radiating from his heart. He knows how lucky he is to have Dustfinger, but in moments like these he feels it so much stronger. Here's a man who loves him above and in spite of everything, who's ready to embrace all parts of him, even the ones that he may be a little too old to still be figuring out.

(And he'll find out in due time that there is no such thing, that you can never be too old to break free from societal norms and learn to love the parts of you that you've hidden for too long.)

His hands curl around Dustfinger's nape to pull him into a soft kiss. "I'm sorry if I scared you. I didn't know how to explain it, I'm--still learning."

Dustfinger shakes his head. "We'll figure it out, darling. Together. For now, how about some tea?"

He smiles and Mo can't help the silly grin that spreads across his face. He nods and Dustfinger gets up from the bed, presses a quick kiss to his forehead and makes it to the door.

He's already disappeared into the hallway, but his head pokes back inside a second later, and he calls, "Silvertongue. Just so you know. I'm proud of you."

And he leaves Mo to his happy tears.

[alexseanchai]

First lines of your last 20 fics!

Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favourite opening line. Then tag 10 of your favourite authors!

(or whoever wants to play, which is who I'm tagging; @rosethornewrites tagged me)

.

1) "Go, my faithful ones!" commanded Lady Luckless, directing her six excitable red-vested minions with an arm gesture.

—“The Epic Battle of Lady Luckless and Chat Carton“

2) "MARINETTE!"

—“choosing my confessions”

3) Ladybug is taking a beating from a half-sized Tiger-Posa.

—“just making my play” (from nine lives, snake’s eyes)

4) "Is that truly how she is remembered today?" asks a voice Marinette doesn't recognize, moments after she closes the apartment door behind her.

—“ghost of a chance“

5) Madame Alya Césaire 62 rue Nationale 75021 Paris

—“Administrivia”

6) Four bronze sculptures ring the fountain in Place des Vosges.

—“Quis Custōdiet Ipsōs Custōdēs?”

7) Chat Blanc is a simple cat with simple desires.

—“no little white lie”

8) Simeon's alarm rings at six hours.

—more like spears than hearts chapter 5: “the brass key slows its counter-clockwise revolution”

9) Tumblr post by ladyblog-official: image 1: A tweet by verified user Adrien Agreste @AdrienAgresteBrand reads: "Gabriel Agreste, S.A. is offering a reward of 1000 € to anyone offering information that leads to the arrest of this saboteur. agreste.mode/press/201…"

—“Pictures Of Last Night Ended Up Online” [accessible version] (from Friday (I’m In Love))

10) Adrien rolls out of bed two minutes before his alarm, dismisses it, and dashes into the bathroom.

—“(hide from) the thunder in a sky full of song”

11) "Yellow and black barricade tape means danger!" Sabrina tells Arashi, while two Grand Paris employees maneuver several borrowed queue poles into place around the bakery and ambulance.

—where the firelight fades chapter 17: “burning from all the goodbyes”

(btw check out @megs-ils beautiful art for this chapter! I cannot reblog it until it exists on Tumblr but it does at least already exist on Twitter and Instagram!)

12) The walls leap at Coralie: the poached pear remnants she's clearing fly onto the shoes of a departing guest.

—“an air of raillery”

13) lavieenrose: Marinette, are you up?

—“sing me to sleep”

14) The rocks shivered under him.

—Ain’t No Mountain High Enough chapter 2: “close to the sun in lonely lands”

15) Adrien flops face-first onto his bed and growls into his pillow; once the sound of Nathalie's heels has changed from staccato on the staircase to andante across the floor, he rolls over and tells Plagg, "I'm moving to Normandy to work on a dairy farm."

—“not cowed”

16) "Black cats have the hardest time finding homes," Chat Noir tells her with exaggerated mournfulness, looking up from the tablet he's angling away from her long enough to gauge her reaction.

—“click your heels three times”

17) Timetagger's vortex spits them out beside the long table at which Adrien is pushing around his plate the first meal Father has deigned in six months to join him for: a woman with an untidy black bun and dark red earrings who (never imply someone looks either fat or pregnant, Adrien remembers Maman teaching him, unless they admit to it themselves) is possibly smuggling a pumpkin under her oversized green tee, and the small child, equally dark-haired and bright-eyed, who wriggles out of the woman's arms, shrieks at their first glimpse of Father, and flees to climb trembling to Adrien's lap.

—“a stitch in time saves some number of lives”

18) The trick to crossing hot coals barefoot is not to run, for that will drive your foot deeper into the heat, nor to slow, for that will let the heat linger: instead walk briskly, so the path warms your feet without burning them.

—“red carpet”

19) What Ladybug and Chat Noir do not understand is that the power and fame they enjoy is due to Gabriel's generosity in making akuma battles loud and eye-catching: no admiration, no adulation accrues to superheroes who are not seen to combat grand supervillains.

—“taking stock”

20) Adrien runs his fingers down the cardigan (jet-black merino blend that was an absolute pleasure to knit), counting on his other hand, then gets partway through estimating stitches per row before visibly giving up: "How long did you spend on this?" he asks, tracing the details Marinette added with silver and gold embroidery thread.

—“sweater curse”

[airplanned]

Zelda Advent Calendar Story

Chapter 1...Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Link couldn't for the life of him make a budget work.  Just trying to get the income and expenses from this year to add up wasn't working, and he needed that to project the next year.  And since those weren't adding up, he was worried about the accuracy of the donor statements.  The only thing to do was push through the reconciliation to get the reports in order before he could do the things he desperately needed to do. 

The problem with this was that he'd caught up to just 15 months ago, and the reconciliation was getting harder.  More and more check stubs were missing.  The deposits made at the bank weren't matching the handwritten notes about offerings made each week.  He spent two hours trying to find thirty-five rupees in cash that seemed to have never made it to the bank.  Most likely, whoever whoever was counting money after the service made a mistake.  But it was an annoying one.  He had to make a new account called "Questionable" and put the 35 rupees there just to be able to move on to the next month.

Where it happened again.

He was frowning down at the bank statement with his notes on it when the High Priestess knocked on his door and stuck her head in.

"Oh good.  Do you know who counts the offerings each week?"

She gave him a confused look.  "Mr. Reede volunteers for that."

"He counts by himself?"

"Yes.  We can't find a second volunteer." 

"And when he's done, he puts everything straight in the lock box."

Her eyebrows furrowed, and her voice was sharp when she asked, "Why?"

"Oh no.  I'm not implying anything at all.  I want to understand how things work around here, and I can't make out some of his notes.  I want to talk to him next week and see if he can help me decipher them.  I'm want to make sure we're following best practices.  Can you make one of the interns sit with him from now on while he does it?  Just double check him.  He's not in trouble.  If you think he might be offended, you can blame it on me being a hard ass."

Her shoulders relaxed.  "Of course.  I was wondering if you were coming tonight.  You don't have to, of course!  But if you were, you might want to end your day early so you can go home and sleep a bit."

He looked down at his bank statement full of highlighted lines and check marks and big circles.  "I think I need to keep working.  Would it be okay if I only stayed for half the service?"

"Of course!  Most people leave by midnight anyway."  Her eyes fell to his desk.  He'd rewarded his progress by removing a bejeweled cat each time he accomplished something, and by now all the cats from the desk were in the cardboard box on the floor.  The desk was surprisingly clean and roomy now.  The only thing left on it besides the stack of files he was using for the reconciliation and a mason jar of pens and highlighters was the gold star from the High Priestess' headdress.

Oh no.  He probably shouldn't have claimed that as his own.

He cleared his throat.  "What about you?  Are you taking off early?"

She cracked a smile and tapped her fingertip to one of the star's spikes as if testing its sharpness.  "I'm going to nap in my office for a while."

He tried not to picture it.

"Well," she said.  "That was it really."

She hesitated a moment, and he struggled to find some topic of conversation to make her stay, to make her smile again.

"Do you know why we bought so many flowers last year in September?"

"What?" she asked.

He spun around the bank statement to show her the check for 600 rupees to a place called Stone Garden, then a check for 1300 rupees two weeks later.  "I have check stubs for them too, but not invoices."  He pulled them out of the stack to show her, but by the frown on her face, she had no idea. 

"We only buy flowers for Farore's Week in the summer.  And we get those from LonLon.  I've never heard of this place."

He took the page back from her.  "Maybe it's a landscaping thing.  I'll ask Dampe."

She rolled her eyes.  "Maybe he bought several trees."

Link snorted.

When she left, she left the star on his desk.

Chapter 19

[firelxdykatara]

Ok, I need to talk about Oblivio for a bit. Because reasons. Bear with me.

Anyway, there are a lot of episodes--individually and collectively as part of various narrative arcs--that I deeply, deeply enjoy from this show, but if I had to pick a favorite episode right now? Oblivio would win, hands down. I talked for a bit, during my liveblog, about how Marinette and Adrien, working together without their memories, was about as real as a relationship between them could possibly get, because it was the both of them in their true ‘faces’, since neither of them had the baggage of family and public expectations (adrien) or wildly intense crushes (marinette), and yet they still had the connection that has always drawn them together from the beginning of their relationship.

And I’ve talked a bunch, most notably during the origins two-parter, about how it’s tragically ironic that Marinette fell for Adrien and Adrien fell for Ladybug because Chat Noir is Adrien being his truest self, while for Marinette the Ladybug is a mask, a duty, and her truest self is her civilian identity. And one of the reasons, at the moment, that Marichat is my favorite ship within the Love Square (Adrienette is my endgame hope in concept, but for me Adrienette can only be fully realized once the walls come down, the reveal happens, and they realize where their true feelings have been leading them this whole time) is because it’s the only relationship where neither party is held up on a pedestal, making them on far more even footing than in any of the other combinations.

(Now, one could argue that they’re more or less equal in Ladrien too, since they’re both on pedestals in that ship, but any pedestal at all means the potential of falling and for me the more healthy ship is the one where everyone is grounded, so to speak.)

Adrien loves Ladybug, and I do believe he loves all of her--imperfections and all--but he definitely idolizes here to a degree. And I think that he’s at a point, with her, where he doesn’t see her flaws as flaws--there’ve been moments where she’s tested his limits, of course (see: the scene where he got upset with her for playing with his feelings after standing him up), but he bounces back remarkably quickly where she’s concerned, and I think that’s partly because in his eyes she can do no wrong, which isn’t exactly a healthy attitude on which to build a relationship.

Marinette, on the other hand, loves Adrien, and the pedestal she’s placed him on is one where she doesn’t even notice his flaws. It’s similar to the way Adrien views Ladybug, but it’s less hero-worship and more ‘he’s literally perfect and every time I look at him I start picturing our wedding and kids and what sort of hamster we’ll have��. Further, Marinette has had a harder time really connecting with Adrien than Chat ever had with Ladybug, because it took so long for her to even be able to string a coherent sentence together in his presence. Thus, a lot of her love has been the sort of ‘crushing from afar’ that is fairly common in intense high school infatuations (in my experience, at least) but, again, not a great foundation for a healthy relationship.

With Marichat, though, it’s just a girl and a boy with no expectations placed on each other’s shoulders. No one’s on a pedestal, so there’s no danger of falling, and neither of them sees the other through any sort of rose-tinted perfection--they can be real and open and honest with each other in a way that no other relationship in the love square can. Which is why Marinette and Chat slowly developing feelings for each other is one of the more rewarding facets of the big, tangled mess that is their whole relationship, and it makes it my favorite of the four.

At some point, of course, the Love Square is going to get a resolution--it needs one, and I don’t think for a second that they would have built three whole seasons on the foundation of four different relationships that exist between the same two people if they weren’t going to eventually follow through on it--and that is going to require a reveal of their secret identities as well as some pretty big realizations as to the true nature of their own feelings, and I think this has the best chance of happening with a Square Switch (by which I mean Marinette realizing her feelings for Chat and Adrien realizing his for Marinette), but what I love so much about Oblivio is that it gave us a look at what a fully realized relationship, a resolved Love Square, is going to look like.

And I know, I know how frustrating the reset was. I was right there sobbing and cursing the TV gods (or whoever is responsible for the show, whatever) when they kissed and then suddenly had no memory of why. (The kiss itself was fucking beautiful, though, and I’m glad that there is at least photographic evidence of it in canon, even if neither of them understand why it happened.) But the fact remains that we got a solid twenty minutes of pure Adrienette--the Love Square distilled down to its most basic components, Adrien and Marinette in love and still partners.

One of the things I’ve seen a bit of lately is the idea that revealing their secret identities and resolving the love square would be detrimental to their ability to work together. Desparado is cited for this, because Adrien spent months (it still hurts just thinking about it--he spent months, in five-minute increments, watching Ladybug die again and again and again, and he couldn’t save her even once in all that time) trying to prove he could be with Ladybug as Adrien, and it ended in abject failure. But that wasn’t because Adrien and Ladybug had feelings for each other. It was because Ladybug didn’t need just any partner--she needs Chat Noir to work most effectively.

While he was Aspik, Adrien couldn’t be as effective as Chat, and not just because he was far more used to Chat Noir’s powerset--but because with the snake miraculous, he was still Adrien, just Adrien-as-Aspik, and a huge part of why he couldn’t succeed was his need to prove himself to Ladybug which he just doesn’t have as Chat. He was viewing the entire situation through the lens of ‘if I can get Ladybug to love me as Adrien then maybe I’ll have a chance with her after all’. And he couldn’t be his best superhero self while that was the overriding concern in his mind.

In Oblivio, on the other hand, we see what it would be like if there were no walls, no pedestals, nothing but two superhero partners who just happened to be in love with each other. Notably, they had no real reason to believe they were a serious couple, the images were all fairly ambiguous and the footage they saw was not exactly couple-y banter--but I think they read into it far more than they would have if there wasn’t that underlying attraction and connection which they felt from the moment they woke up together in that elevator. And then there were lines like Adrien’s “I don’t need any memory to know I love that girl”, and he was fucking extra enough to build a whole ass suit out of cardboard (he drew the pockets on, he’s a fucking dork, i love him) so that he could fight by Marinette’s side even though his superpowered cat plushie hadn’t come back yet.

These two, believing they were in love with each other, worked together almost flawlessly. There wasn’t any sense that their feelings for each other impeded their efforts--in fact, it seemed more like it was because they believed in their relationship that they were able to find their groove so easily, and save the day where their selves-with-memories had failed. With all the memories and baggage they have, it’s going to be a very long road before they can reach that same level of synergy in a relationship, because they’re going to need that reveal and then resolve the other points of the Love Square before they can make any real progress in becoming the ultimate Battle Couple, but Oblivio showed us that it is very much possible--and, indeed, I think it showed us what their relationship is eventually going to be.

Furthermore, I don’t think it’s going to be as dangerous for them to be doing their superhero’ing while dating as some might think, because we already know that Chat is willing to sacrifice himself to save Ladybug (and does so on a regular basis--it’s a really good thing that just about nothing the villains do is actually lethal or can’t be fixed at the end with magic ladybugs), and there’s not a whole lot Ladybug wouldn’t do already to save Chat if he were in real danger, too. So I think that not only will resolving the Love Square give them a stronger friendship and relationship overall, but it will enable them to work even more effectively together, with the bonus being we’d get to see more real kisses and cuddles.

[mikes-on-prometheus]

Prompt: Virgil lost his cat. Patton is concerned and Logan does the only logical thing. Human au

based off of this post

Pairing: lamp

Word count: about 1,400

Read on Ao3

“But- Lolo, what if they never find their kitty? What if something happened to it?” Patton kept insisting. It had been at least half an hour since they had passed the poster and Patton with his big soft heart had immediately jumped onto it.

“They will probably be alright, Patton. Felines have a habit of wandering and returning to their home once they grow hungry or bored. Whoever distributed the posters might already have their cat back by now, the poster was from approximately four days ago.” Logan tried to reassure his boyfriend so he would finally - hopefully - focus on gathering all the groceries they needed.

“But- but Logan. What if the kitty got lost and now that there’s so much snow it doesn’t recognise the way home? What will happen to the poor baby?”

Logan sighed. It seemed, to him, that he would have to manage the groceries on his own. Roman could deal with Patton and his illogical love for cats once they got home.

Regardless of how annoyed he seemed, Logan still took a picture of the poster as Patton and him passed it on the way from the store to their car. If Patton really was that worried about the cat and its owner he would have to do the one and only logical thing. He would contact the owner of the runaway cat.

I lost my damn cat.

His name is Brendon but he only answers to Goblin because he’s an asshole but he’s my asshole and i love him and want him back.

50$ reward.

Text 202-555-0196

Once home Logan was abandoned to put away their purchases on his own while Patton greeted their other boyfriend, Roman, and told him all about the little black cat that was depicted on the poster.

While alone Logan took the opportunity to take action.

[202-555-0110] Salutations, I am looking to inquire whether or not you have found your feline companion again.

Logan did not have to wait long for an answer. It arrived within a few minutes of him sending the first message.

[202-555-0196] yeah i found him. the Bastard was at the shelter after being caught stealing some neighbour’s shoes

[202-555-0110] That is fortunate. I shall tell Patton. He saw the poster you had posted by the local store and worried for both you and your feline.

[202-555-0196] aw man that’s actually kinda nice of patton whoever they are tell them thanks from me plz? name’s virgil btw

[202-555-0110] Very well, Virgil. Seeing as I know your name and you know my boyfriend’s name I assume it is only polite to introduce myself. My name is Logan.

[202-555-0196] yeah. nice 2 meet you logan and thanks again

Logan deemed the conversation fairly over by that point and rejoined his boyfriends where they were cuddling on the living room couch with Patton in Roman’s lap.

“The person who distributed the posters has found their cat. Their name is Virgil and they would like to extend their thanks to you, Patton, for worrying about them and their cat.” He told them stiffly, making himself comfortable on the opposite end of the couch, pushing roman’s feet aside to make room for himself.

“What? Did you talk to them?” Roman asked at the same time that Patton let out a medium pitched squeal.

“Aww, it’s no problem! I’m just glad they have their kitty back! Can we talk to them too? I wanna make sure they’re okay.”

“Patton, there is no need to contact Virgil again, they have told me that they and their cat are alright.” Logan insisted but faltered.

Now, Logan has always been a serious, logical man. He did not do emotions. But in the face of Patton’s big sad eyes, even the most emotionless of men would crumble. And so did Logan.

“Fine! Alright! I will ask them if they are alright with talking to you.” He grumbled after resisting the puppy dog eyes for a whopping five seconds.

[202-555-0110] Apologies but Patton is insistent on double checking that you and your cat are alright. Will you be alright with talking to him?

[202-555-0196] yeah i guess? i mean- we’re fine so you can tell him that but it’s fine if he wants to know from me personally? so go ahead i guess?

Logan sighed and sent both of them the stranger’s number.

[202-555-0101] hi! This is patton, lo probably mentioned me, i just wanted to make sure you and your kitty are alright! I got really worried because of how cold it was

[202-555-0196] yeah we’re both fine. he was brought to the shelter by a neighbour before the snow set in

[202-555-0101] oh that’s great to hear! I just love cats a lot

What followed was not what Patton had expected. Admittedly, it startled him and Roman, who had been reading over his shoulder, a little bit.

What followed was a picture of a pale man with vibrant purple hair, holding a midnight black cat in his arm. The caption read

[202-555-0196] that’s us the day i got him back from the shelter he was brought to he was a bit peeved but not hurt in any way

Oh gosh they’re cute Patton thought and from the strangled noise Roman made he probably thought the same.

Logan made an inquisitive noise and leaned in to see what had his boyfriends so surprised. The stranger was admittedly… aesthetically pleasing, to say the least.

[202-555-0101] oh my gosh! That’s so cute! And aaah!!!! Look at the kitty cats lil toe beans!!!! He’s so adorable!

[202-555-0196] heh thanks this is one of the only good pics i have of him he never holds still long enough

“Can we keep them?” Patton burst out after a minute of staring at the picture again.

“Patton, they are a practical stranger and not a pet we could just keep. And we don’t even know if they would want to pursue a relationship, let alone with three men.”

“My darling, I think Logan might be right. No matter how handsome, we do not know anything about them.” Roman agreed, an unusual happenstance.

Patton pouted but nodded.

[202-555-0101] hey you seem like a really nice person, would you wanna meet with my boyfriends and me for coffee or something to become friends?

“Just cuz we can’t ask them to join us doesn’t mean i can’t make them our friend.”

[202-555-0196] uhm dunno I’m actually a really anxious guy don’t know how well meeting complete strangers would go over. we could keep talking over text for now maybe

[202-555-0101] of course! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything, I’m told I’m just a little over excited sometimes. And i would love to keep talking to you!

“Are you sure this is necessary, Virgil?”

“Yes Logan it is necessary. Brendon has escaped his coop once and was gone for days. I’m not risking it again. And besides, I don’t want him to go barging into nature and destroy the balance of the ecosystem.” Virgil insisted.

Once so shy to even talk to them he now seemed to have none of those fears. To be fair, it had been well over a year since they had ‘met’ but still.

They had kept talking over the phone for weeks before Virgil felt secure enough to meet them at a local coffee shop. Their friendship had evolved well and quickly and a few months later Patton, supported by Logan and Roman, had asked Virgil to join their relationship.

The man had been nervous but declared himself willing to try.

And all that was in the past now.

Virgil had just finished bringing all his boxes into their now shared home and Logan had begun assembling the 'cat coop’ as it was referred to. It was a simple safety measure to keep Virgil’s cat from running away or killing the local wildlife while still allowing for time outside of the house. Even Logan had to agree that it was a brilliant idea.

They eventually gave up on the coop for the time being, seeing as it was growing dark quickly.

The evening found the four of them cuddled up on the couch, tired out and content in each other’s embrace and there they stayed for the rest of the night, warm and loved and loving.

Taglist: @emthetimelady @ilovereadingandilovebreathing @stormcrawler75 @treehouseart

[purplesurveys]

389

Do you prefer hardly toasted at all or burnt toast? Leaning towards burnt but not completely. What time do you have to be out of bed by on a typical day? I have morning classes throughout the week, so for this semester I have to get up byyy 7:30 to take a shower, then I start driving by 8 to get to my 9 AM class. Other sems were kinder and allowed me to sleep in. When was the last time you cleaned your bedroom? Last Tuesday. My dad’s coming home tomorrow so I threw out whatever I didn’t need anymore so he doesn’t get greeted by a messy bedroom. In real life do you laugh like 'haha,' 'hehe' or something else? I don’t take note of my laugh but I’m sure it sounds like a high-pitched haha. Do you know anyone who says things like 'lol' in real life? Yeah much of the crowd here pronounces ‘lol’ the way it’s spelled.

Do you have any unusual skills? I could but I don’t exactly know what counts as unusual lmao. Do you have any bug bites right now? No, I don’t get a lot of those. Is there anything annoying you at the moment? Mmm nope, I think I’m good. Who's your favourite person? My girlfriend.

Are you more of a cat or dog person? DOG. I can’t stand cats. Like I will defend cats and feed them and care for them, but I cannot stand their attitudes. Do you like to look at other peoples' houses? Tbh, yeah. They’re interesting to look at and it’s also a nice source of inspiration for when I’m thinking of how to style my own house in the future. Are there any chores you actually enjoy doing? No, unless I’m in a mental breakdown and want to focus on chores to feel better, in which case I like folding laundry. What's the weirdest compliment you've ever received? I don’t really store compliments in my memory haha so I’m all blanked out. Do you remember all those rhymes like 'i before e except after c?' I know that rule but we were never explicitly taught rhymes about it. When did you last have an 'Oh, I get it now!' moment? Maybe in the last week when I did my readings on WWII and the Cold War? I’m currently taking an international relations class and the readings for it have revealed more things about both of those wars than the total amount of things taught to me for 14 years in my last school. Would you say you're more witty or childish about jokes? I can be both. Do you get on with boys or girls better? Girls. I don’t understand guys; all of the ones I know are rowdy, pushy, and don’t shy around with inappropriate humor and my patience is too short for all three of these things. Do people often confide in you? Do you like it? Pretty often, seeing as people view me as the ‘mom’ in friend groups. I like it; it shows they trust me and that’s really the most rewarding thing. Who is someone you really admire? Probably one of my professors who taught me comm theory for one semester. Do you prefer piano or guitar music? Piano. I hate acoustic songs. Do you like helium balloons? Uhhhh sure? I don’t have much of an opinion on balloons. Have your parents ever suspected something untrue about you? YES and it drives me MAD. There was one time I must’ve stepped on a cigarette butt and it must’ve fallen out from the bottom of my shoe when I got in my car to drive. My dad cleans my car after a few days and lo and behold, he sees the cigarette butt and his mind immediately went to “Robyn smokes.” I got so mad and told him I was willing to let him smell me and my breath and whatever just to prove that I don’t smoke and have no plans to. He still brings it up every now and then and it’s so annoying. Fuck whoever threw that butt on the ground. Do you have any fears that seem weird to others? Watching commercials at night. No one knows about that fear of mine other than Gab precisely because people will find me weird and’ll interrogate me nonstop about it. Have you ever wished you'd been born someplace else? I think about that sometimes. What do you think about videogames? They’re cool, and video game developers deserve tons of respect. Are there any forms of Art you personally find pointless? No, art is a body of work and the moment an artist gives their work meaning, then it’s never pointless. What would you, or do you, study at college? I study journalism, I’m hating every second of it. Are you tired right now? I am, but I have an exam on Friday so I have to study thrice as intense as I already do. Have you ever had, or wanted, a pet ferret? No, I never wanted anything other than a dog. Is there anything you find undeserving of the hype it received? Lots of TV shows and movies. Do you think it's better to label yourself than be labelled? It’s best to not rely on labels. What's something you do a lot? Drive. Are you currently on any other websites? Nope, just on Tumblr. I wanted to take one survey before I start studying. Are you good at using Photoshop? Sisssss I don’t even have it on my laptop. I never want to touch that program.

What were you last embarrassed about? I drove my girlfriend’s sister from school to their house, but her sister never informed us that she was bringing a battalion of friends with her. I have a really small car and they were five in all, and they squished themselves in the back and I felt super bad about it. Are there any clothing items you really want but can't find? I’ve never had that problem before. Have you ever been told you naturally tilt your head a certain way? No, cos I don’t? Or at least I don’t think I do it to a point that it’s noticeable. What does your dream house look like? Square, white, big windows. Do you wear a lot of make-up? I never wear any makeup. When was the last time you laughed at someone? Yesterday, when Kate tried to sing in the car. Do you have any projects on the go right now? Nah, just want to focus on acads for now. What's a habit you find gross? Spitting and smoking. I couldn’t pick; the two are equally low. Would you rather have a Poloroid or a Lomo camera? I don’t mind either. When was the last time you were jealous? Last night. Do you, or did you, really look forward to when you can finally move away? I am looking forward. Are you the one who holds everyone's bags at theme parks while they ride? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA the attack on this one. Uhh yes, I get motion sickness and I faint easily, and I quickly learned that rides are not for me so I always hold my friends’ bags. What's the worst tattoo you've ever seen? Faces are particularly bad. I also hate tattoos in cursive. What's your favourite name ever? Olivia has been a winner in the last couple of years, but ‘ever’ is kind of a bold statement which I have no answer to. Are you a hat person? I never wear hats. When was the last time you were totally grossed out? Kate used an eyelash curler in a MOVING vehicle. I can’t stand the idea of using products that require you to go near your eye, so I was squeaming beside her. Have you ever forgotten how to do something simple? It happens to the best of us. Are you ever jealous when you see couples or friends together? No, because I have a girlfriend and I have friends. Has anyone ever approached you in the street and asked to take your picture? No. Have you ever disliked something just because most people liked it? Hahahaha it can happen. That’s what happened to me with Game of Thrones. Does anything hurt on you right now? Not at the moment. What song's stuck in your head? 214 by Rivermaya, then covered by Bamboo, then covered by JM de Guzman hahahaha. Do you ever look at people and think 'Why do they have a kid?’ It’s not so much ‘Why do they have a kid?’ but more of ‘Why are they a parent.’ Did anyone ever tell you that earwigs crawl into your ear while you sleep? I don’t think so.

[ee-vvaa]

Munday Meme

Rules: Answer the twenty questions and then tag twenty people you want to get to know better!

Tagged by @kiruuuuu

Name: Eva

Zodiac Sign: Gemini

Height: 157cm (5.1ft)

Languages Spoken: English, Vietnamese

Nationality: Australian

Favourite Fruit: Strawberry, apple, green mango (sour kind) and watermelon

Favourite Scent: Fruity and floral I suppose? I just like whatever smells nice xD

Favourite Colour: Purple, blue, teal

Favourite Animal: Dogs, cats, snakes, birds and turtles :D

Coffee, Tea, or Hot Chocolate: Tea all the way

Favourite Fictional Characters: *sweats profusely* I… I have so many, oh gosh umm…. Blitz (R6S - I adore all of them but this man was the reason I started liking R6S), Lavi (D.Gray Man), Garrus (Mass Effect – a friend introduced me to him), Fenris (Dragon Age – again, friend introduced), Notcu & Prompto (FFXV) and there’s more to the list but this is to name a few OTL

Dream Trip: Honestly, I just want to travel everywhere!

When Was Your Blog Created: Okay, I had to do a bit of detective work because I don’t remember and oh boyyy, I’m slightly astonished. Blog was created March 2015 but I’ve never used it until 2017/2018 haha

Last Movie Seen: Pixar: Coco (2017)

Songs You’ve Had On Repeat:  Bloodstone – Guy Sebastian, Rogue Rouge album – Amber Liu

Favourite Candy: As long as it doesn’t contain any mint, you can literally use any candies against me. I’m a loser for sweets

Favourite Holiday: All holidays because they’re always fun and I get to spend time with friends and families

Random Fact About You 1: I enjoy putting Ikea furniture together, or anything that’s similar. I find it to not just fun but relaxing and quite rewarding. I don’t read the manual but go off by picture, it’s weird but that’s how I work and will only read when necessary. If you need someone to put furniture together, hit me up  

Random Fact About You 2: I despise slugs, or more like I’m petrify of them. So long story short is that I stepped on one when I was a child (thank god for socks though!) and have been frighten ever since. I now tip-toe, flash my phone light and make unnecessary detour to avoid them.

Random Fact About You 3: I used to dance, well do dance covers with my friends, back in high school. It was a lot of fun and a good way of putting exercises in during breaks from frying my brain with homework. We stopped when VCE ate up majority of our time and then university kicked in. I don’t think I can dance anymore without breaking something or injuring myself – I am a hazard to myself.

 I tag whoever wanna do it :D

[celebratorypenguin]

Fic: Don’t Cry, Young Lovers (4/4)

FiNALLY finished!

"Well, for starters, you need to get off of the bed."

Of all the things John might have said to him, Paul hadn't expected this. The sense of panic started in him again, short-circuiting his brain and making his heart beat far, far too quickly. He jumped up and turned away, hoping to hide the flush of humiliation that was burning his cheeks.

John wanted him gone. He needed to pack. He needed to figure out how to hitchhike to Calais and still have enough money for the ferry back. And how in the hell would he get back to Liverpool, all alone?

Alone. Oh, God, alone.

With trembling hands, Paul moved John's wine bottles off his suitcase and prepared to turn it over. The shuddering became so violent that he ended up knocking the case over onto his own foot. He let out an undignified yelp of pain, then completely disgraced himself by standing still with his face buried in his hands as he unsuccessfully fought back sobs.

"No, no, you git. C'mere." John was by his side, wrapping a bath towel around his shaking arms. "I just meant you were dripping all over the bed. Calm down, Paulie, it's okay, it's okay." Paul felt like an idiot: the luckiest, best-loved idiot on Earth. He half-fell into John's waiting arms.

"Wet things. Off. Now." John said into Paul's ear. He gave Paul a playful shove in the chest. "If you catch your death, I'll never hear the end of it."

Paul, nearly boneless with overjoyed delerium, allowed John to undress him like a doll. John had to kneel in order to get the waterlogged leather trousers down Paul's slim legs. His fingers hesitated at the waistband of Paul's underpants, and his expression was almost shy. Paul mouthed "yes" at him.

John took off the last of Paul's clothing, sat back on his heels and gazed up at him. "Good God, you're a work of art," he whispered.

"It's not as if we haven't seen each other naked before," Paul commented, finally noticing that John was also nude.

"It didn't MATTER, before." John tugged at Paul's hands until they were kneeling in front of one another, their hands still joined, staring into each other's eyes in wonder. "I was so scared when you ran off," John said, so softly that Paul had to strain to hear it.

"I'm sorry," Paul murmured. "I was scared, too. I didn't...I didn't know, or I hadn't let myself think about it. Once I realized, though, I had to come back, I had to find you."

John nodded. Never taking his gaze from Paul's face, he slid one hand up Paul's chest to the long column of his throat, then to his chin, finally resting on his cheek. John usually just took what he wanted, but now he was asking, and Paul's heart overflowed with delight.

Paul leaned forward, twisted his fingers in John's hair, and kissed him with all the hungry ferocity of his nineteen years.

When they parted, astonished and a little out of breath, Paul realized that he had managed to render John Lennon speechless. John was simply staring at him, his beautiful eyes radiant with an inner light, and Paul fell in love with him again a hundred more times.

Emboldened, Paul stood up and held out his hand to John. John turned Paul's hand over and kissed the back of it, then let Paul help him up and lead him to the bed. They lay down facing one another, pulling the bedspread into a cozy tent, and pressed themselves together as tightly as they could. John's inquisitive fingers, so much stronger and firmer than any girl's had ever been, mapped every inch of Paul's flesh. In return, Paul, intoxicated with pure bliss, kissed and caressed John's familiar-yet-alien body until he could no longer tell where his soul ended and John's began.

All too soon, Paul felt the telltale signs of orgasm building up inside him. Gasping, his back arching uncontrollably, he pulled away just enough to turn his face toward the pillow. Even when they were young boys "having a wank" at someone's house, even when he was with a girlfriend, he had never been able to let anyone see his face at that most intimate, vulnerable moment.

John bent over him, stroking a strand of sweat-dampened hair from Paul's forehead. "You don't need to hide from me, Paulie," he crooned.

Paul let out a thin, apologetic cry but couldn't bring himself to move.

"Please, Paul," John implored, his voice cracking with unrestrained emotion. "I need to see your eyes, baby. Please."

Somehow, Paul forced himself to turn back over and look at John. The adoration he saw in his face, the way John's sharp features softened with love for him, sent him over the edge, wailing John's name over and over.

John followed, uncharacteristically quiet, with only the long, grateful sigh of someone whose eternal patience had finally been rewarded.

Bewildering, giddy moments passed that Paul was too dazed to heed. Eventually, when they had tidied themselves up with John's undershirt, they wrapped their arms and legs together into a human lovers' knot with Paul's head tucked under John's chin.

When he was able to catch his breath and formulate a thought, Paul kissed the underside of John's jaw and asked, "How long have you known?"

John hummed, and Paul could feel the vibrations of his Adam's apple. "I'm not sure. It was always somewhere behind me, like the background of a painting that you don't notice at first. I think I really understood it when you and Pete got deported. Seeing you hauled away, having you torn away from me like that... that must've been when I finally knew how far gone I was." He tightened his arms around Paul, who nestled closer. "What about you?"

"Maybe it was that first day at the fete, listening to you screw up the lyrics to 'Come and Go With Me.' I knew right away that you desperately needed me," Paul said, enjoying the sound of John's chuckle. "It's funny - I've always tried so hard to get your approval, but I didn't know why, really, until you told me you loved me. Then it was suddenly so clear that I couldn't handle it."

Kissing the top of Paul's head, John murmured, "We're quite a pair of clueless lads, but at least we have one another." He moved around restlessly for a moment. "Are you sleepy?"

The question surprised Paul, who had to think for a moment. "No, weirdly enough. You?"

"Too wired to sleep." John sat up and dragged Paul upright. He kissed the bridge of Paul's nose and grinned. "Let's go for a walk."

"It's the middle of the night," Paul protested, but at the sight of John's exaggerated pout he shook his head, laughing. "All right, but if we get rumbled I'm hiding behind you."

Dressing took a while longer than normal, interrupted for kisses and whispered promises of future carnal delights. Eventually they were ready - Paul was relieved to be in fresh, dry clothes - and they took to the Parisian streets.

Dawn was just beginning to break when they found themselves in a coin-operated photo booth in a touristy area. It was silly and overpriced, but John shoved Paul behind the curtain and giggled like a schoolboy when he put the coins into the slot. They leaned against each other, two young men with their whole lives in front of them, and relished the closeness.

Paul shifted from foot to foot, blowing on his hands, as they waited for the strip of pictures to emerge. When it did, John put on his glasses and inspected each frame.

"Oh, God, my HAIR!" whined Paul.

"I think you're dead gorgeous," was John's answer. He tore the bottom picture off and handed the rest to Paul. "Let's take this to Sylvie's, okay?"

Paul was a little embarrassed, given the state she'd last seen him in, but he agreed, and the two of them headed to the cafe. It wasn't open yet, but Paul dragged John around the back and tested the rear door. Sure enough, the latch was unlocked, so Paul lifted it and let John - and Debussy - into the kitchen. He took a pen off of the little table and wrote: "To Sylvie, from John Lennon and Paul McCartney, with our love" on the picture while John played with the cat.

Smiling, Paul tucked the photo into the handle of the refrigerator. "Ready?" he asked John.

John gave Debussy a tickle under the chin, then followed Paul back outside. They headed for the Champs-Élysées, where they used Paul's camera to take photos of each other at the Arc de Triomphe until the film ran out. Paul rewound it and was preparing to take the canister out of the back of the camera when a familiar man caught his attention. "Hey!" he said, nudging John. "I think that's Jurgen over there."

"Can't be," John said, handing Paul a fresh roll of film.

"You wouldn't recognize ME from that distance without your spectacles, son, so put 'em on and see if I'm right." Paul reloaded the camera while John grudgingly set his glasses on his nose.

"I'll be damned! I had no idea he'd be in Paris, did you?"

"None. Let's catch up to him." Paul pocketed the camera and reached for John's hand. "C'mon, Johnny - come and go with me!"

***

February, 1981

AIR Studio, Montserrat

It was definitely a scotch and Rodgers-and-Hammerstein kind of night.

Paul had resumed work on "Tug of War," and it was going both brilliantly and horribly at the same time. Brilliantly, because he was finally in a place where singing didn't make him want to curl up in a ball and weep, and horribly because everyone was being ridiculously kind to him all of the time.

He would have preferred that people tell him off when he was making a mistake, or have the gumption to say something like "No, I don't want to have dinner tonight because I've made other plans." Hell, he thought, he'd be happy if someone would just tell him a fucking joke.

But half of the world's most famous songwriting team was gone, no one wanted to tell Paul a joke, and the only thing he wanted to hear was music by some other team, one with a happier ending than his own. To that end, he had the soundtrack to "The King and I" on the turntable, and Gertrude Lawrence was beginning to sing.

Hello, young lovers, whoever you are, I hope your troubles are few. All my good wishes go with you tonight; I've been in love once, too.  

This might turn into a multiple-scotch night, Paul thought. He stood up, glass in hand, and went to the table where mail had been piled up, forwarded from the London offices by his staff.

Be brave, young lovers, and follow your star, Be brave and faithful and true. Cling very close to each other tonight, I've been in love like you.

Maybe Sondheim or Weill would have been a better choice. Demon barbers or Macks-with-knives would have caused less pain.

Paul tried to distract himself by faffing with a pile of fan mail. One airmail envelope, postmarked from Paris, caught his eye. It was stiffened with cardboard, indicating some kind of enclosure. Paul slit the envelope with his thumbnail and a small, yellowing photograph fluttered into his lap: Paul and John leaning against one another in a photo booth in Paris, twenty years ago.

I know how it feels to have wings on your heels And to fly down the street in a trance. You fly down a street on a chance that you'll meet, And you meet--not really by chance.

"Christ," Paul muttered, taking a long swallow of scotch. He picked the picture up carefully by the edges. Their inscription to Sylvie was slightly faded but still legible. He turned the stiff paper over and saw something written in fresh ink. The words, in spidery, feminine handwriting, were: "He loved you so, sheyn eyngel."

Don't cry, young lovers, whatever you do. Don't cry because I'm alone. All of my memories are happy tonight-- I've had a love of my own. I've had a love of my own, like yours. I've had a love of my own.  

Paul kissed the photo, the ghost of John's face cool and dry against his lips. Carefully, mindful of its fragility, Paul tucked the picture into his shirt pocket and raised his glass in a silent toast.

***

End

***

[thesoulofinnocence]

Flickering Flame Of Brann

Lycan stood on his apartment’s balcony, a water bottle resting on the railing as he looked out at Kyoto. The hound let out a quiet sigh as he thought about how he had changed these past few months. It wasn’t even a year ago that he was usually drinking his liver into forced regeneration. Drowning it in every alcohol imaginable and trying to find a way to die. If you were to tell him then that he’d quit drinking and be moderately happy now, well he’d just be pissed that he was still alive months from then.

“Damn. To think me being shit with warping would set me down this weird ass path. Meet one girl who makes me smile and everything just.. gets better. No booze in my apartment, a picture of her on my side table, I’ve got a cat and I even called my hunters my pack.”

The last bit made the hound just sigh again.

“God I can’t believe I did that. Bunch of idiots will either try to embarrass me about it or take it way too seriously. I mean no problem with taking it to heart but if they start saluting or howling at me I’m gonna start breaking legs and necks. Also its just weird, why did I say that, literally none of them are my offspring. Its not really a pack at this point, just a group of fuckers that are under my command. I guess its just a fake pack.”

The hound grabbed hold of his water bottle and raised it to his lips to take a sip. Staring up at the sky as he did and then letting out a quiet gasp for air when the bottle moved away. Screwing on it’s cap and then placing it back on the railing.

“I hope I get to start my own real pack one day. With...”

Before he could finish his sentence Lycan’s phone rang, odd considering he felt no hunter in distress. Still he swiped to answer and raised the phone to his ear, moving to lean his back against the railing.

“Hello, this is Najimi.”

“Head Hunter! I’m glad my call got through, I didn’t know if I’d have a good connection.”

He recognized the voice immediately, it was the hunter who confronted him the other day. The one who’s brother-in-law was killed because of the leak at their company.

“What is it, are you alright? I don’t get the feeling any of you hunters are in danger.”

“I’m fine sir, I am on a job but I’ve yet to run into poachers of any kind. I just wanted to contact you about something I found. The job I’m on was a request by a beach village, small but the island they live on is infested with some type of flying beasts. Unknown to me, and I told the village elder and they said they have many books on the beasts in the village library that could help me.”

“What do the beasts look like?”

“Huh? Oh. Uh. Black, wide wings and birdlike but with scales and spit acid. But-”

“They’re Krows. A type of draconid, weak alone but they always travel in large flocks. Keep an eye out because there is always one waiting to attack from behind. It’ll swoop do-”

“Sir! Thats not why I called, I’ve already gained a lot of information on them from the village library. I want to tell you about what else I found while looking through all the books. Between two large ones was a very small book, written in a language I cannot seem to recognize. However, inside there are many pictures of canines. Ones that stand on two legs, and can turn into bone.”

Najimi leaned up off his railing.

“Are you saying you found a book about my species in some random beach village?”

“I asked the village elder about it and they said that the book has been here for hundreds of years. Nobody in the village wrote it though, he says one day it was just found on the beach sitting in the water. Since none could translate it they placed it in their library until someone who could came along.”

“The water, and hundreds of years? Great. Means its falling apart isn’t it ..”

“No sir. Its in perfect condition. Not even a single tear on a page or a worn binding. It wasn’t just placed on the beach either, the elder says it was brought by the tide. Some type of very strong magic is protecting the book, Najimi. Keeping it from being damaged in any way. I’ve never seen anything like it but whoever wrote this book wanted it to be invulnerable. Not only that, my guess is they wanted it to be taken somewhere else by the water.”

“Why?”

“How else would an invulnerable book end up in the ocean? Anyway, I talked to the elder and they said I’m free to take the book once I’m done with my work sir. It won’t even take a full day with what I’ve learned about Krows, I’ll have it in your hands within the night.”

“Can you send me a picture of the book’s cover? Maybe I can take it to Innocence and he can start looking for the language. Or, well. Shit no do not let Innocence know about this. I’ll start searching myself. Just send the picture. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded properly if this is a good find.”

“Thank you, Head Hunter Najimi. I’ll send one right away.”

Lycan hung up and within a few moments he received a new picture message. He held his phone horizontally and clicked to open it, seeing only for a moment the strange language. His eyes saw it as a jumble of symbols which made absolutely no sense.. until a few seconds passed and they adjusted. The hound fell silent as he held his phone and stared at the writing on the book’s cover.

“Brann.”

Written clear as day to him, Lycan understood this language he had never seen before. The words all over the cover were twisted a moment after his eyes landed on them and he could tell his brain was translating them. What was once symbols was just now words in the English language as it was the easiest for his brain to comprehend.

The book’s title was rather simple.

Brann, The Hound of Chaos.

Under it, the author’s name.

Ryx Sulurtongue.

Lycan focused closely on these words, the names and title and as he did he felt his head start to burn. Stabbing pains suddenly broke out all over his brain and he let out a howl of pain. Dropping his phone onto the ground and shooting his hands to the sides of his head. A loud hiss escaping him as the pain quickly brought him to his knees. He felt his eyes burn as if his flames were melting them from their sockets. Another howl escaping him, as memories forcefully forgotten were disturbed.

Not full ones, just flashes.

Flashes of claws made of flame, bone melting away, and a cliff that dropped off into a flowing river. The hound could have tried to explore these thoughts, but as they flashed through he rejected them. Pressing both hands against his skull and growling, with no future exploration the pain came to a sudden stop. Lycan panted against his balcony’s floor and looked to his phone. When it fell from his grip the photo was minimized, so the hound just locked his phone and placed it into his pocket.

After taking a moment to recover, he got back onto his feet and the first new thought in his head?

I’m scared of that book now.

[thegraduationproject]

Chunky Progress

Here we are again. After ages. But, fear not. It’s been a productive delay. A lot has happened since the last time I wrote here. I last came here nearly a month ago! The toolkit has made good progress, and work has started on the spatial side of things. Serious talks took place on the toolkit front, and although I don’t recall most of the finer details (worry not, its all in the notebook!), we now have a plan and a set of things to accomplish. There were a lot of discussions on why should we even have the toolkit in the first place. The very word itself is questionable. The word ‘toolkit’ has a very snobbish connotation, per se. It is alienating, and cold. I myself have never felt like using the ‘tools’ from a toolkit. It feels too formal, too constructed. So why bother making a toolkit when I myself won’t feel like using one. The gold standard for any toolkit is its level of usability. If it is well used, then its a good one. If the makers themselves never feel like using it, then why would anyone else? Hence, we’ve decided to ‘rebrand’ the toolkit into a handbook. A ‘handbook’ is a friendlier word. It feels a lot more open, and a lot less formal. Like any instruction manual, a handbook is a handy guide that endears itself to whoever wishes to consult it. It rewards those who wish to put in the effort to learn from it. A handbook feels a lot friendlier because it guides, and does not solely provide exercises for its reader to undergo. A handbook with a good narrative puts the reader at ease and allows them to access the information with no pre conceived thoughts or pressures.

Straight away, just by renaming the toolkit to a handbook, the approach toward making it also changes. I feel a lot more relaxed and confident about what I’m attempting to do. The expectation of making the end-all of all collaborative tools and exercises is lifted and I can focus on creating a manual that helps and guides collaborations, and not something that simply exists to test such a partnership. This was not a spur of the moment change. We went through a few iterations before settling on this. Admittedly it was a quick change in direction borne from a week of discussions, but there is a bread trail left behind to track this.  At first I was assembling tools, and then mapping out all parts of the process of collaboration, to try and find some connections. We realised that it was too tool heavy and felt dictative and abruptly direct. At the same time, I was browsing through a book called _______ that helped anyone get started on becoming an entrepreneur. It had no tools or exercises, but it did have plenty of tips, and case studies that helped the reader understand the challenges of starting a business. It never questioned or tried to challenge the reader, but tried to solve their doubts and help them comprehend what all is needed.

Now that the approach has changed, we sat down and made a new plan of action. First off, without delay, we had to start collecting our case studies. The list is being drawn up as we speak, and we are also figuring out the interview method/process. We’re planning to do some 3D modelling of the interviewees and figure out a line of questioning. Every interview has to be unique to the person I’ll be interviewing, so a lot of homework in in order.

That sort of not so neatly leads me on to the next project: the spatial output. The crowning glory of my time here which will enable me to get a degree. The project so far seems exciting. We’ll be working in Virtual Reality, which is an exiting new medium which I think will eventually consume humanity. Probably. Or perhaps not. But it will still be a Very Big Thing. As of now I’m collecting assets for this virtual world. The really good bit about collecting assets is that I get to zip around Goa on a little black scooter with my helmet and sunglasses. It involves disappearing down rabbit holes and looking for beautiful things around me. I get to decide my heading at will, and I often do. The goal of my task is to get lost and find things that aren’t found often in the Goan landscape. My task is to document and take pictures of things that I see around me. The act of photogrammetry combines a few of my favourite things. Driving, travelling, photography, beautiful things, and a certain degree of calculation. My job is to drive around, find beautiful houses and things, click as many images as is efficiently possible, (akin to a crime investigator) and then drive to the next place and do the same thing. Then, I come back to the studio, load up all the images onto a piece of software that creates 3D models out of what I’ve gone out and clicked. It’s witchcraft, and it’s far too easy sometimes. But it can go terribly wrong at times. I’ve had to trespass on private property to capture a house that I really feel like I want to include in my projects. Sometimes I bust a gut and sweat my soul out documenting a house just to find that the software is unable to process the images into something remotely three dimensional. Sometimes the model that is formed in the end is so close to perfect, but a certain distinctive feature of the building glitches out. But thats how it goes sometimes and you simply have to accept that. For every model that comes out decently well, for barely any effort on my part, is worth a few models going haywire. In-fact, the the skewed, and glitches out aesthetic of these models will probably be used to form the overall look of the virtual world which we will create. We will celebrate and bask in the glory of all that is imperfect. It’s not due to laziness either. Of course, we don’t have enough time to ensure that we have clean and crisp 3D assets, but also the fact that every other 3D virtual experience seems to have clean models. It’s boring. The glitches in virtual reality matrix give a very interesting look and feel to the whole world. It’s probably what tripping on acid feels like. <- Something in that thought there I reckon. So while that happens, I will also have to figure out a narrative, which I should be working on right now incidentally.

So far thats what has been going on. It’s not a whole chunk of progress, but its certainly reduced the projected time it will take to complete the project.  So far, it’s only been two months into officially speaking. Now I have four more months to complete everything, deliver two products and then compile everything into a comprehensive publication of proof, submit it and pass my jury.  It’s still a tight deadline, but thats how it is. Oh and alongside I will have to prepare for CAT exams if I have to have a good future. Simple really.