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professorkenobi · 4 years ago

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a catboy for christmas

Note: This is a big time jump forward in the stray catboy au, but you can read the last part here. And you can see adorable art for this snippet by the wonderful shatou here! Happy Holidays all!

For many years, Obi-Wan had dutifully broken out the ladder and strung up Christmas lights on his house every December. And, for many years, he’d opted against shopping for a tree, hauling it into his living room and decorating it, just for him to be the only person who’d enjoy it.

On the odd year that he had friends over during the holiday season, he’d break out the holly-trimmed dinnerware set from the storage bin in the garage, but that was about the extent of his indoor decorating.

He was always busy with the end of the semester anyway. To go to all of that effort just for himself was pointless.

But, with Anakin, it was different.

Halfway through the ordeal of stringing lights from the roof, Anakin came outside with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, still rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You were sleeping quite peacefully when I got up at seven.”

Anakin made a face. “Well, now that it’s a normal time to be awake I can help.”

Which was how Anakin ended up the one balancing on the top of the ladder, seemingly very much in his element, while Obi-Wan fed him the lights from the ground.

By the time they were finished, Obi-Wan’s hands were numb in his gloves and Anakin’s ears were stiff from the cold. So Obi-Wan went about making hot chocolate while Anakin started a fire, and Anakin roped him into watching not just Home Alone, but the sequels too (“How can this be the sequel, that isn’t even the same child,”—”Just trust me, okay, it’s really good!”—sigh).

He didn’t register exactly when he started rubbing his fingers over Anakin’s silky ears to warm them up, but he continued even after Anakin scooted closer and dropped his head onto his shoulder.

—

Obi-Wan asked around at work for the best Christmas tree farm in the area, so that weekend they bundled up and set about finding a tree to fit in the corner of the living room.

He’d been planning to pick out a tree alone, knowing Anakin was still struggling with venturing out into public, but as soon as he’d mentioned the trip Anakin had perked up and declared they should go right now, before all the good trees are taken!

Obi-Wan soon discovered out that by good trees, Anakin meant big trees.

“This one.”

“Anakin, that’s not going to fit.”

Anakin pointed at the tree with the axe in his hand. “But it’s the perfect tree! It smells the freshest.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. Smells the freshest, really...

The tree also happened to be ample enough to take up half their living room. But Obi-Wan ran a hand over the branches, checking for loose needles, and discovered that this was indeed the healthiest tree they’d seen so far. And if it was the one Anakin wanted…

“Alright then, looks like we found our tree.”

Anakin’s responding grin set off a delicate flutter in his chest.

The tree was almost too big to fit the racks on Obi-Wan’s sedan, but they somehow managed to secure it.

With Anakin taking charge of not only chopping the tree down, but also heaving its bulk through the front door, Obi-Wan couldn’t imagine not having Anakin with him for the task.

The realization that he couldn’t imagine ever not having Anakin with him again hit him like a snowball to the chest.

—

It got dark out so early at this time of year, but inside Obi-Wan’s little kitchen it was cozy and bright, filled with the spicy scent of baking gingerbread.

“Where’s the vanilla?”

“Middle shelf on the end.” He nodded in the general direction.

“Gotcha!” Jars clattered as Anakin rummaged through the cabinet. Obi-Wan set the last spoon in the dish drainer and wiped his hands on a towel.

He turned just in time to catch Anakin pouring vanilla straight into the mixer bowl.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to measure that?”

“Leave the science to me, old man.” Anakin cracked a sharp-toothed smile and started the mixer, mostly drowning out the jazz drifting from the speakers.

It was true that Obi-Wan wasn’t much of a baker. He was a fair cook, but tended to stick to the same rotation of dishes for his weekly meal planning. Anakin, on the other hand, was accomplished enough that he had a disquieting tendency to play fast and loose with the recipe.

It bothered Obi-Wan less than he would have thought. He couldn’t even bring himself to mind the mess. Not when it was created by Anakin flitting around the kitchen, getting a dusting of flour on his ears and everything else in the vicinity.

Obi-Wan busied himself drying dishes until the mixer powered down.

“Wanna lick?”

Anakin stood at his shoulder, holding out a beater absolutely drenched in white frosting. His other hand hovered underneath to catch any drips.

“Ah— tempting, but no thank you.”

“You sure?” Anakin shook the beater slightly, and a small glob fell onto his fingers. “It’s delicious.”

“It’s yours.”

He had been tempted. But forgoing something small to make Anakin happy felt the most natural thing in the world.

“Your loss!”

Anakin stuck the tip of the beater into his mouth and began enthusiastically licking up the frosting. Obi-Wan caught a flash of pink tongue twining between the wires and swallowed reflexively, heat rising to his cheeks.

He was dimly aware that he was staring, but he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. Not as Anakin began cleaning off his hands, seemingly unaware of the picture he made with one sticky finger after another disappearing between his full lips and more frosting smeared across his cheek.

“You have a little, er, by your mouth there,” he managed.

“Oh, thanks.” Anakin wiped at his face, missing by a mile. “Did I get it?”

Obi-Wan chuckled. “Not quite— here, let me.” He swiped at Anakin’s cheek with his thumb and, unthinkingly, brought it to his mouth.

The taste of vanilla and sugar burst saccharine on his tongue.

“You were right.”

Anakin blinked at him, wide-eyed. “A-about what?”

“It is delicious.”

—

He was straining to reach the top of the tree when Anakin walked in from the kitchen, the last bite of a cookie in his hand.

“Wait, let me do that!”

Anakin swiped the star from his hands with ease and went right up on his tip-toes. He had just the extra couple inches that were needed to place the star in the right spot, nestling it among the highest branches so it wouldn’t topple.

Then he turned to him, a wide grin dimpling his cheeks. “How’s that?”

The sight of Anakin, backlit by the tree’s sparkling lights, bundled in Obi-Wan’s biggest sweater with pale thighs bare above argyle socks, and smiling at him with open joy—it stole his breath, made him feel a little unsteady on his feet.

“It’s perfect.” He reached up to push a stray curl out of Anakin’s face, and his hand got playfully headbutted in return. “Thank you, dear.”

Anakin went pink at that, ducking his head and busying himself with rearranging the garland on the tree. Obi-Wan felt his cheeks go a touch warm as well. He hadn’t meant to say it so… affectionately.

Well. Maybe he had.

Anakin tucked in the end of the tinsel and stepped back, surveying the whole picture with arms crossed.

“Looks finished, to me. Whaddaya think?”

“I’ll have to defer to your expertise. I, ah, actually haven’t had a Christmas tree in many years,” Obi-Wan admitted.

Anakin frowned. “So do you not have people over for the holidays or whatever?”

“Not really.”

“Then, do you usually, I mean...” Anakin looked down, picking at a nonexistent ball of lint on his sweater. “Will you be going somewhere else for Christmas, then?”

“Anakin.” Obi-Wan took him softly by the elbow. Anakin’s eyes, twin pools brimming with reflected light, caught his and held. “I was hoping we could spend it together. If you’d like.”

Anakin’s mouth fell open in a soft o. “You mean that? Just the two of us?”

Obi-Wan’s grip slid down the back of Anakin’s arm, searching beneath his overlong sleeve for his hand. It was warm, and he squeezed it.

“Of course I mean it.”

“Then, yeah.” Anakin’s fingers curled around his and squeezed back. “I’d like that.”

—

On Christmas Eve, they cooked dinner together with a backdrop of snow falling outside the window, dusting the back deck in a fluffy layer of white.

While they ate, splitting a saucepan’s worth of mulled wine between them (“You don’t eat the orange slices, Anakin.”—“What? Why wouldn’t you?”—“...I suppose you’re right, that’s a silly rule,”) Obi-Wan’s thoughts naturally strayed to the blackberry brambles, to the frozen dirt, the swirling flurries.

He looked outside, into the darkness, and then turned to Anakin, his head of curls golden under the warm glow of the evening lights, talking heatedly about—something about peppermint bark—and he was filled with overwhelming gratitude that Anakin was here and not out there.

Anakin’s arms stopped their wild gesturing. “Why are you smiling?”

“No reason.” Obi-Wan raised his glass to hide his lips and found himself inadvertently smiling even wider. “I just like listening to you.”

“Oh.” He was rewarded with a tentative little smile in return.

They ended up on the couch, their glasses topped off, with the fire crackling and the Christmas tree lit up in all its glory.

Obi-Wan wasn’t even sure which movie they were watching, but Anakin seemed to enjoy it. For his part, the mulled wine had gone to his head a little. Perhaps he could rest his eyes, just for a moment...

When he opened them again, the credits had rolled and the fire was starting to burn low. Anakin's head was pillowed on his thigh, curls carelessly tossed across his face. His breath rose and fell softly and his ears twitched every few seconds with whatever dream he was having.

Obi-Wan smoothed a hand over them until they stilled. He hoped it was a happy dream.

He would have happily stayed there all night, but his leg was starting to fall asleep. Yes, it was definitely time for them to retire to bed, but he didn’t have it in him to wake Anakin, not when he was sleeping so soundly.

So, very carefully, he gathered Anakin into his arms and carried him up the stairs.

Anakin didn’t seem to rouse, not even when his foot accidentally bumped against the doorway, but he did snuffle in his sleep and curl in closer to his body, probably seeking out warmth.

Obi-Wan thought he might’ve heard him mumble something, right as he deposited him in bed, but he couldn’t make it out.

With Anakin’s face so relaxed and beautiful in his sleep, he couldn’t resist gently brushing his knuckles over the delicate cheekbone.

“Merry Christmas Eve, Anakin.”

—

The thump-thump-thump of hurried feet running down the stairs was Obi-Wan’s only warning before he had a gift-wrapped box thrust in front of his face.

“Merry Christmas,” Anakin declared, his eyes bright and excited under sleep-mussed curls.

“You didn’t—”

Anakin practically pushed the present into his chest. “Nuh-uh. You have to accept it. I worked hard on it.”

After a beat, Obi-Wan set his cup aside and took the offered present. He recognized the glossy candy canes as his own wrapping paper. Anakin must have sniffed out the bin hiding under the bed.

He’d also found the roll of red ribbon, and had tied it into a bow bigger than the box itself.

Obi-Wan set the box on the couch next to him. “I won’t open mine until you open yours.”

Anakin’s brow creased in earnest as he caught sight of the modest collection of packages under the tree. “Obi-Wan, this is too much. I can’t let you—mmph.”

Obi-Wan had brought up a hand to cover his mouth. “Not another word. They’re for you.”

Anakin tried to say something, making the hairs on Obi-Wan’s arm stand on end as soft lips brushed his palm. He quickly drew back.

“Fine,” Anakin frowned at him. “But it’s still ridiculous.”

Obi-Wan wagged a finger playfully. “If I hear any more complaints out of you, young man, I’ll start taking them back.”

“But I want them!” Anakin pouted at him, and he had to hide his smile behind his hand.

An almost overwhelming feeling of fondness swelled in Obi-Wan’s chest as he watched Anakin tear into his gifts. He amassed a small pile of mostly practical items— clothes and socks, warm and sturdy ones that wouldn’t go threadbare and leave him shivering. A set of products for his curly hair. A few hobby engineering volumes that came highly recommended by the countergirl at Obi-Wan’s favorite local bookstore.

Anakin saved the largest package for last. “What’s this, Obi-Wan?”

“Go on, open it.”

He tore away the paper and stared down at what it revealed.

“It’s a coffee maker,” Obi-Wan said. “I thought you must be tired of making do with a teapot every morning.”

Anakin just kept staring.

“It came very well rated, has all the functions, you can set it to start when you wake up and—” he realized he was rambling. “Is it alright?”

Finally looking up, Anakin smiled at him. For some strange reason, his eyes were shining, tears threatening to spill over. “It’s perfect, Obi-Wan. Thank you so much.”

He scooted closer and wrapped Obi-Wan in a tight embrace, his breath fanning warm on Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan returned the hug, rubbing soothing circles on Anakin’s back.

Far too soon, they pulled apart. Obi-Wan reached for his little present, beyond curious to see what Anakin had come up with.

Anakin looked to the side. “I’m sorry I couldn’t get more.”

“Shh, I didn’t expect anything.” Obi-Wan pulled at the bow and opened the box.

He traced his fingers over the smooth curves and contours of the wood in awe. “Anakin,” he breathed. “You... you made this?”

Anakin started wringing his tail in his lap, his eyes downcast. “It’s not much, but it’s… well I…”

Obi-Wan clutched the carving tight to his chest. “I love it. Thank you. Although…”

Anakin’s face fell instantly. Obi-Wan’s heart hammered a staccato beat even as he pulled the ribbon loose from the wrapping paper and brought it up around Anakin’s neck.

To their credit, his fingers only trembled a little as he carefully tied the ribbon into a loose bow around Anakin’s neck. Like a flamboyant necklace, or perhaps a, like a collar…

“You are worth more to me than any gift you could give me.”

The beautiful color that graced Anakin’s cheeks made taking the risk of saying out loud what he felt in his heart worth it. He wanted to say more, there was so much in his heart that was aching to be spilled, but before he could speak Anakin was leaning over to grab the Santa hat off the table and placing it on Obi-Wan’s head, the fuzzy brim nearly falling into his eyes.

“Merry Christmas, Obi-Wan,” Anakin said softly, his eyes twinkling.

Joy bloomed in his chest. “Merry Christmas, Anakin.”

#stray catboy au #obikin

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unmaskedagain · 5 years ago

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Ladybug: A Young Avenger

Hey Everyone, I got prompt for a civil war ML crossover fic but I was really into Team Iron Man on Ao3 for longest of times and, after endgame, I kind of need some team fluff. So I tweaked the prompt. It’s still team Iron man; just… not the way you’d expect. (Also did anyone know else know that Penny’s last name was Rolling?)

It took Tony Stark all of five minutes to figure out Ladybug’s identity.

“Jarvis, buddy?” Tony called out.

“Yes, sir?”

“What’s up with teenagers and being bug-themed heroes wearing inappropriate costumes?”

The A.I took a moment before answering, “…I, for one, blame Vine.”

Tony sighed. First fifteen-year-old Peter Parker aka Spiderman. He took the kid on an as an intern the second he learned about Spiderman. Now fifteen-year-old Marinette Dupain-Cheng aka Ladybug.

He groaned.

What could he do? He needed help.

Captain America needed to be stopped. The Winter Solider needed to be taken down. Team Cap had gone too far.

It was war.

Getting Harley Keener, a mechanical mastermind to agree to be his intern was a bit like chewing nails but Tony always knew the kit would agree. Getting Peter Parker, a child genius with a bright future as a scientist, to agree to be his intern was a piece of cake. Honestly Tony could’ve asked for the kid’s soul in repayment and Peter would’ve asked if he wanted on a silver plate or if plastic was okay? Getting Riri Williams, an engineering prodigy to be his intern, was easy. Too easy; her mom practically threw her at him, all while making him swear into a recorder that he wouldn’t sue. No matter what. Introducing the kids to his labs made him feel like Willie Wonka hand-delivering the golden tickets.

They were all future scientists and engineers like Tony. They grew up worshiping at the altar of Stark Industries like ever future MIT graduate did.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng, on the other hand, was an entirely different beast who played an entirely different game. She was a fashion prodigy who had designed for stars like Jagged Stone and Clara Nightingale. She had interned for Style Queen Audrey Bourgeois, had her clothes walk the runway during Paris fashion week, and had a summer job that somehow lasted over a year, working for Miranda Priestly, the editor-in-Chief for Runway Magazine when the scary woman took over Paris: Runaway. Said job ended when Miranda when back to New York. Marinette only prayed to the fashion gods. So when Tony Stark, god of the nerds, showed up at her door, she only blinked once.

Said girl sat between her parents, with cool blue eyes glaring at him suspiciously. Luckily Tony was smart enough to bring Pepper with him.

Pepper Potts smiled at the family in front of her; two bakers and the daughter, who made the most delicious macarons that she ever tasted. “So you see, after Tony came across Marinette’s wonderful re-design sketch of his suit on her website, he was very impressed with her talent.”

“But to take Marinette on as an intern?” Sabine asked. “Excuse me, but Marinette has always leaned towards the arts than science.”

Tony gave the woman his best charming smile, “What is science if not another form of art. We both create, strive to better our talents, work to make names for ourselves; experiment and test out hypothesizes. Granted no one in my field ever created the disaster that was crocs.”

Marinette narrowed her eyes, “Didn’t your father help on the Manhattan Project?”

Silence.

Pepper cleared on her throat. “Tom, Sabine, before anyone agrees to anything I’d like to go over safety procedures in place. Would you mind stepping outside with me, I could use a bit of fresh air.”

Tony and Marinette just stared at each other as the three left the room. When the front door closed behind them, Marinette leaned forward, “What do you want?” Her patience had reached its end.

“Aren’t you being a little rude?” Tony smirked.

“Aren’t you a little old?” Marinette snapped back. “What do you want?”

“I want Ladybug’s help.”

Marinette flinched back in shock. Her heart raced in her chest. “How do you know?”

“I’m Tony Stark,” He shrugged easily, picking up a mint chocolate Macron. “I know everything.”

Marinette fought the fear racing through her, and steeled herself like Miranda and Audrey had taught her, “So Iron Man’s wanted Ladybug as an intern? So what does Iron Man get? What does Ladybug get? What does Tony get? And what does Marinette get?”

“You made clear distinctions,” Tony said approvingly, his business-side gearing up. “But I am Iron Man.” He said. “You come to New York for this spring break and for the summer. I get Ladybug’s help in handling a personal issue that has developed within the Avengers. Ladybug gets training from the Avengers. Marinette gets to add Stark Industries and a personal letter of recommendation from Tony Stark to her resume.”

“On the condition, that identities stay secret from the media,” Marinette crossed her arms. “I don’t suppose I can hide it from the rest Avengers for very long. And I get an additional letter of recommendation from Pepper Potts. Pepper takes my friend Chloe on as an intern; she’s the hero, Queen Bee. And only one who knows my identity, besides you. Also, I actually do get to help design your next suit. My expenses?”

Tony smirk widened. The girl knew how to cover her bases. She even wanted to have an Ally with her should things take a turn. “All paid for by me. First-class all the way. You and Chloe will stay in the Stark Tower on the same floor as the other interns.”

“Other young superheroes, you mean?” Marinette guessed, causing Tony’s eyes to twinkle in joy. “Spiderman, Iron Heart, and WarIron. Based on their sizes, I had guessed they were young; teenagers probably. Why didn’t you ask Chat Noir too? Or why aren’t you? Because you’re not, you would’ve mentioned it by now?”

“You mean the Agreste kid?” Tony said, not noticing Marinette’s eyes widen in surprise. “He’s not serious enough for me. I play games but he goes too far. Surprised you haven’t dumped him yet. Get a better partner.”

Marinette took a bit of a macron to get a moment to think. Adrien was Chat Noir. In retrospect, it made a lot of sense. Both were socially immature, and a bit naïve. Each had an idealistic view of things and didn’t let the real world break them of it. For example Adrien and his dealing with Lila’s lies. Chat Noir and Ladybug turning down his advances.

“Very well,” The bluenette finally agreed. “I agree to be your intern. Shall we discuss my salary now or later? Well, need to before I or my parents sign any contracts.”

It was Tony’s turn to narrow his eyes. Not one; not a single one of his interns: Harley, Peter, or Riri ever asked about how much they’d get paid. They’d all assumed it was an unpaid internship and was surprised when their contracts included a salary. “You’re a shark.”

Marinette hummed, “You should see me when there’s blood in the water.”

That was something Tony was looking forward to seeing.

The official paperwork was signed three days later; Marinette was officially a Stark intern. Due to go to Orientation for spring break in New York in a few weeks.

Those weeks flew by. She let Fu know she’d have to go back and forth for a few weeks. She didn’t bother telling anyone else. Her friendships in the class had dwindled dramatically. While most weren’t her outright enemies, her classmates tended to avoid her. If they couldn’t do that, they were beyond cold to her. It was Lila’s doing. She got her hooks into the class, who all wanted to tie themselves to the golden goose, and when it was clear that Lila and Marinette didn’t like each other, they picked sides. They chose their meal ticket over their lifelong friend.

Honestly, it made Marinette almost wish that Lila had lied about her instead; accused her of being a bully or something. Anything. Because at least then her ex-friends would have somewhat of a reason to be ex-friends. Even if it wasn’t a very good one. Instead, they were just bad friends all on their own.

Still, Marinette didn’t mourn their loss as she sat in the back of the class with Chloe on a Sunny Tuesday morning, and they were living for New York that Friday. She had a steadily rising career in Fashion. She had worked under Miranda Priestly and Audrey. From them, she learned it was best to drop fair-weather friends and how to spot wannabes, fame-seekers, and gold-diggers from three miles away.

She was happy with Chloe as her bestie. The girl had turned a new leaf and proven her loyalty to the point where Fu made her a permanent hero. And the Blond had been ecstatic when Pepper Potts had shown up at their door. She had hugged Marinette a full five minutes for getting her the internship. All while screaming with joy.

Both girls were excited to go. Though Marinette did encounter one downside. The night before, Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling; or as Marinette deemed them #RollingStone, called her. Or rather Penny did the talking. Jagged was trying to wrestle his newest jacket away from Fang’s teeth. Penny offered Marinette a chance to spend her spring break traveling around on tour with Jagged, as his personal stylist. Marinette had no choice but to turn the job down. She loved her honorary Uncle Jagged but she already signed the contract.

That morning Lila had spun another set of lies. The first was about helping Tony Stark fix his Iron man suit when she was traveling in America. The second was about the newest song Jagged Stone wrote about her. It was exhausting to listen to but the class hung on every word.

Bustier had just finished her first lesson of the day when she invited Alya to stand up.

The glasses-wearing girl grinned at the class, “So as everyone’s aware; there’s a class pool party is this Saturday; first day of spring break, baby!” The class cheered. “Everyone who’s invited should’ve gotten their invitation. Don’t want any drama,” She cast a cold look to the two girls at the back of the class. “Invite only. So no party crashers. Marinette, Chloe what are you doing this Saturday?” Alya smirked at her call out that the two girls weren’t invited; that they were the only ones who weren’t.

As if on cue, the classroom’s door burst opened and in walked Tony Stark, followed by a very apologetic looking Pepper, “Marinette; it’s time to go! Grab Pepper’s minion and let’s go.”

There were gasps from the class. Max sat up straight. Iron Man was in front of him, in his class, this was the best day of his life.

Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Tony?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

“I can’t go now!” Marinette explained. “I have class. We weren’t supposed to leave until Friday, remember.”

Tony waved her off, “Details. Spring Break starts now. Queenie, Mari; chop-chop! New York is waiting!”

Bustier decided to step in. She may not always be the best teacher but she refused to allow a strange man, even if that man was Tony Stark, to take away any of her students. “Mr. Stark, can I ask what you want Marinette and Chloe for?”

Thankfully, it was Pepper that answered as she closed back the classroom door, “They have been employed as interns for Stark Industries. They’ll be attending orientation during their spring break at Stark Tower.”

Max actually fell out of his seat. Because this couldn’t be happening. Stark industries rarely ever took high schoolers’ as interns. Tony Stark only chose the best of the best. How could Marinette land the job?

“Marinette’s my intern,” Tony grinned. “Blondie’s Pepper’s. Who else is gonna teach her how to rule the world.”

A slow smile spread across Chloe’s face, “With an iron fist.”

Tony pointed at her, “You scare me. Pepper get your intern!”

The other students were amazed. Marinette was Tony Stark’s intern. Chloe somehow got Pepper Pott's attention. What had they missed? Why didn’t Marinette tell them? How?

“That’s what we’ll be doing this Saturday, Alya,” Chloe drawled. “In New York, hanging with the Avengers.” Causing Alya to flush with anger. “We couldn’t come to your pool party even if we wanted to. Which we don’t.”

“He found my sketch of a potential Iron man suit design,” Marinette explained, continuing the story Tony had told her parents. “He loved it and offered me the job a few weeks ago.”

“Weeks?” Nino asked. “And you didn’t tell us? Dudette, not cool.”

Alix nodded, her arms crossed, “Yeah I thought we were friends!”

Marinette and Chloe just looked at them like they were stupid.

Alya put her hands on her hips, “Mr. Stark, why didn’t you ask Lila Rossi to be your intern? She helped you with your suit before. She’d be much better than Marinette!”

The girl in question face turned bright red, “This can’t be happening.” Lila muttered.

Tony looked honestly confused, “Lila? Who’s Lila? No one ever helped me with my suit except the kids I already got as interns.” He looked at Pepper. “Do I know a Lila Rossi?”

Pepper shook her head, and turned fierce eyes towards Lila, “Miss Rossi, please refrain from lying about Tony Stark and or Stark Industries. Or we will sue you on the grounds of defamation.”

Lila squeaked. Sue? She couldn’t be sued. Her mother would kill her if she got a lawsuit from Tony Stark.

It was the rest of the class’s turn to look confused.

However, before anyone could ask any follow-up questions, the classroom door burst opened again. Jagged Stone strutted in, followed by a very apologetic look Penny and happy Fang with, what looked to be, the arm of a leather jacket.

“Marinette!” Jagged yelled. “What’s this about you not coming on tour? I need my favorite stylist, love.

Marinette just sighed, “Did you kick the door open, Jagged?” Disapproval clear in her voice.

“…No?”

The bluenette just shook her head, “I have plans this Spring break. I’m sorry.”

“Plans?” Jagged whined. “What could be better spending your Spring Break with a Rock Star? You can even bring your Blonde. Penny could use an assistant!” He paused, finally noticing it wasn’t just kids. “The bloody hell is Tony Stark doing here?”

The two famous men eyed each other. The women they came with just looked so done with the world.

Tony crossed his arms, “I got custody of Marinette for Spring Break; you snooze, you lose.”

“What?!” Jagged hissed. “She’s my designer.”

“She’s my intern!”

Jagged glared, “I knew her first. By rights, I get custody.”

“I have a contract that says otherwise!” Tony taunted the Rock Star. “Her future is Stark Industries.”

“Her future is Rock and Roll!” Jagged yelled back.

Both men glared at each other.

“Pepper!”

“Penny!”

Both women groaned. How was this their lives? Why what was this their lives? What bus full of nuns and orphans did they rob in a past life?

Penny smiled, “Marinette means the world to us. I’m her honorary Aunt Penny,” She held out her hand for Pepper. “Jagged’s her honorary Uncle. We’ve known her for years. Contracts were already signed?”

Pepper nodded, “Tony doesn’t play when it comes to his interns. He won’t budge. Trust me; we’ve done this three other times. Marinette’s his kid now, all but legally.” For now, Pepper didn’t bother to add. Every now and then she found discovered a new set of adoption papers with one of the interns’ names on it; one time she found three sets for all three. Plus if Tony kept hinting any harder, May was going to gut him. “She’ll be in New York for Spring break and all of the summer.”

“Summer!” Jagged whined. “He gets custody for summer too! No!” he shook his head. “Not happening. Call our lawyers, Penny. We’re going to family court!”

Tony blew him a raspberry. Tony Stark blew Jagged Stone a raspberry. The class could only blink, trying to process what was happening.

Marinette just wanted the earth to open up and swallow her.

“Marinette already designed your clothes for the tour,” Penny tried to placate. “They’re amazing. We can call and skype if we need any additional tips. We have a concert in New York over spring break so we can go and see.” They didn’t. But Penny would be damned if she could have one booked within the hour. Anything to stop jagged from mention family court again. “Most of our summer is free too, we can visit Marinette whenever we want.”

Jagged huffed but didn’t say anything.

“Well not whenever you want,” Tony teased.

“Family court!” Jagged hissed.

“Tony!” Pepper said warningly. She was not going to let this going to court. No matter how lovely Marinette was. “Be nice.”

Tony pouted.

Marinette raised her hand, “You guys know that legally my parents still have custody of me, right?” There was no answer. “Right?!” Nothing.

The bluenette just sighed.

Alya took that moment to break in, “Jagged, don’t you want to say hi to Lila? She’s right here,” Alya pointed to her bestie. “Oh, can we listen to the songs you wrote for her? Can you tell us how she saved your cat from getting hit by a plane?”

The look Lila gave Alya could’ve killed a thousand men.

Jagged looked affronted, “Lila? Who’s Lila?” He looked at his fiancé. “Penny, do I know a Lila?”

“No!” Penny glared fiercely at Lila. “Jagged Stone has never written a song about an underage girl before. He has never owned a cat. What parents and airline would careless enough to allow a child to rush onto a runway for a pet? Refrain from spreading any further slander. Or we’ll hit you with a lawsuit so fast you’ll get whiplash.”

“I’m allergic to cats by the way,” Jagged told the class. “All fur actually. That’s why I got Fang here.” He pointed the crocodile who had made its way to Marinette for cuddles. “I’ve had him for twenty years. He’s the only pet I’ve had all that time.”

Marinette rolled her eyes and took the crocodile in her lap.

“Twenty years?” Kim’s eyebrows furrowed. “Whoa, that’s long that we’ve been alive.”

Nino glared at Lila, “Yeah it is.” He finally realized the girl was lying. Most of the class had in fact.

“Enough of this,” Tony waved. “Marinette, Chloe, time to go. Leave the dinosaur.”

Bustier took a deep breath, “No one is taking Marinette or Chloe anywhere. Until I get a note from their parents verifying that is. I’m going to have to ask you all to leave.”

Penny and Pepper nodded understandingly. Jagged and Tony just looked shocked.

“But I’m Tony Stark!”

“I’m Jagged Stone, love!”

Bustier just rolled her eyes and shooed them out of her class. It took some handling, and eventually, the women had to drag the guys out. The teacher shut the door with a sigh of relief. She brushed off the imaginary dirt on her clothes. “Marinette,” She called. “If you could tell any future visitors to wait until after school to pick you up, with a note from your parents that would be most helpful.”

“Sorry,” Marinette blushed, a deep dark red.

Bustier walked back to her desk before pausing. “Is that Crocodile still in my class, Marinette?”

“…Yes.”

“I think he’s here for the rest of the day,” Chloe shrugged. “Unless you want to invite Jagged back?”

Bustier paused. No. Never again. “No. No. Fang can stay for the day.”

When the lunch bell rang, Marinette found that it was easier to avoid her classmates' questions, as they were too busy yelling at Lila. It wasn’t long after that Ladybug had to take down Lila’s seventh akuma form.

Marinette and Chloe left that night to New York. Somehow he managed to convince their parents that missing three days of school to study in the most advanced building in the world was a good thing.

When they got to Stark Tower, they were given a quick tour. Then Pepper took Chloe to show her where she would be working. And Tony took Marinette the workshop where three other kids were already working.

The oldest one glanced at her and snorted, “God he kidnapped another one.” He was the tallest in the room with dark brown hair and a smirk on his face.

The other two snickered.

Tony looked affronted, “Oh please; your parental units practically threw you at me.

The younger looking boy smirked, “Aunt May threatened to shank you next time you took me out of school early.” He had light brown hair and big brown eyes

The genius pointed, “You tell Aunt Hottie to leave me alone.”

“HI, I’m Marinette!” She waved happily. “He keeps mentioning he has custody. And I’ve become moderately concerned.”

“And you should be,” The other girl in the room laughed. She was a pretty brown-skinned girl with black wild curls. “Name’s Riri.”

“Harley,” Said the first boy who spoke.

“Peter,” The other boy introduced.

Marinette nodded and eyes them, “WarIron,” The pointed at Harley. “Iron Heart,” Then at Riri. “Spiderman, right?” She pointed at Peter.

The three looked at Tony with questions in their eyes. Tony raised in hands in surrender, “Hey, I told her nothing.”

Harley eyed the new girl, “You’re from Paris, right?” She nodded. “Ladybug, I’m guessing.” Marinette blushed. “Welcome to the Young Avengers, I guess. Why’d he bring you in?”

Marinette shrugged, “He said to there was a personal problem happening with the Avengers. He wanted my help.”

The teen froze. Peter just shook his head, “You didn’t, Tony!”

Tony looked sheepish.

“What?” Marinette asked.

Riri rolled her eyes, “That personal problem? It’s called ManHunt.”

“I’m sorry?” Marinette asked. She was going to have to hunt a man?

“It’s a game,” Harley explained. “Team Iron Man versus team Cap. One team hunts the other in a sort of hide and seek type of thing and tries to capture as many members as they can. Last time we played it, Team Cap crushed Team Iron man. It’s why Tony brought us all in. Revenge.”

Said Man didn’t look one bit ashamed, “Rules were since Thor and the Big guy are gone I can bring in whoever I want to replace them.”

Marinette tossed up her hands, “You brought me here to play a game?” Unbelievable.

“No,” Tony said. “I brought you here to take out the Winter Soldier.”

“Say what now?”

“Welcome to orientation,” Was All Tony said to her question.

The kids trained together for a week; Chloe, a girl named MJ who was Pepper’s other interns, and a boy named Ned who was a tech intern, were brought in as well. When it turned out that Kagami was in New York City for a fencing tournament. Tony was happy to bring in the scary girl as well. (And somehow get her mother to agree to let her stay for Spring Break) He made practice stealth and learn hand signals. Tony drilled them on the Team Cap’s strengths and weaknesses. They reviewed videos of previous missions until they had everyone’s fighting style memorized. Tony went over body anatomy aka where the best place to hit them was. They memorized plans and scenarios to take out each specific member of Team Cap.

The teens spent a lot of time in the lab creating gadgets to use against the Avengers. Each one straight out of a spy movie.

As far as Tony was concerned this was War. And there would be no prisoners.

Team Cap consisted of Captain America, The Winter Soldier, Black Widow, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, The Falcon, Antman, along with several Shield employees which included Fury, Melinda May, and Coulson.

Team Iron man consisted of Ironman, War Machine, Vision, Maria Hill, The Wasp, Quicksilver, Daisy Johnson, and a bunch of names Stark employees: I.E the interns. (Black Panther refused to participate. Though he and sister would watch from Wakanda.)

Each team had a total of thirty players; no more, no less.

The game would take place at the compound. Anything area within the compound legal territory was free to use. The living room would be home base and were all ‘out’ people had to stay. Until they were freed. Or until every member of the hiding team was captured and then it was Game Over. Everyone could communicate with their own team using special mics; normally only taken out for missions. However, those imprisoned in the home base couldn’t communicate with their team.

On Saturday, just before sunset; the main superheroes of the avengers met up. Tony facing Steve. Rhodey glaring at Bucky. Vision versus Wanda. Hawkeye to QuickSilver. The wasp against Ant-Man and the Falcon.

Steve smiled, “Tony.”

“You ready for war, Cap?” Tony asked.

“Training exercise,” Steve corrected his husband. “I trust your team is ready.”

Tony smirked, “Oh you have no idea. Your little spies are already hiding in the shadows.”

“Like your team isn’t?”

The alarm went off.

Tony suited up, “You have 1000 seconds, Steve.” His helmet shut. “I’d get running.”

Steve rolled his eyes. His team split up, running into the growing shadows.

The game had started.

Marinette waited, hiding in the shadows on the roof. Her ladybug costume was all back with little red polka dots; mostly easy to move around body armor. This wasn’t her actually Ladybug suit; Tikki, while willing to create a new suit design, decided it wasn’t a good idea to involve magic. So Marinette designed herself a new suit, and Tony help her trick it out.

Tony had pointed out the all-good hiding spots located in the Compound. She was the overly large landing pad. She forced herself to stay completely still. Even when she saw the Falcon take flight with WarIron right on his tail.

The smallest of moments caught on the corner of her eye, the glint of metal. An arrow, she realized. She smiled. Hawkeye.

She watched the man take stock of the room, looking in every possible place a person could hide. Unfortunately for him, Marinette had a bit of luck on her side.

“All clear on the roof, Cap,” Clint said into his mic. “I’ll keep a lookout from up here.” There was silence as he listened to Cap’s orders. “Okay. Will do. Stay invisible, got it. Over and out.”

The second the conversation had ended, Marinette through a smoke bomb at his feet. Before Clint could even finish saying, “What the he-” Marinette was on the attack. Using the smoke to her advantage, she swung her yo-yo at Hawkeye’s feet. The String wrapped around his legs, tripping him. Five seconds later, Hawkeye was hogtied on the ground.

Marinette touched her mic, “Tweety Bird down. Bringing him to home base now!”

“Copy that, Ladybug,” Tony said. “Be careful.”

Clint looked up at his assailant; expecting to see Tony or the Wasp, any avenger. Instead what he saw, was a teen girl with a scary blue-eyed glare on his face, “Who are you?”

Marinette leaned down, “Your reckoning.” She hissed.

“What the fuck!” He said as he was thrown over the girl’s shoulder and carried to home base.

When Marinette got to home base, she saw Harley putting a rather put out Falcon on the ground, Spiderman with five webbed up shield agents, Chloe had brought in two, Kagami and Riri brought in six. MJ and Ned both brought in one random shield agent. Marinette tossed Hawkeye on the couch.

It had been twenty minutes, Clint knew by the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes since sunset and the game had started. And they had already lost just over half their team to a bunch of teenagers.

Clint couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had Tony unleashed on them.

“Foghorn Leghorn secure,” Harley said into his mic. “Tweety in his cage. The shadows are all accounted for.”

“I’m Tweety,” Clint told Sam.

Sam paused. “…Am I Foghorn Leghorn?”

“Wasp and Vision on their way with The Blue Fairy,” Tony’s voice rang their ears. “They’ll play guard dog. QuickSilver is down; Miss Tuffit got him. Seven minions gone; Captain Hook and his jolly crew got them. Over and out.”

“Queen Bee, MJ, guard the Home base until they get here,” Harley ordered. “Guy in the chair, Mj, back on monitor duty. Fulfill mission Top hat ASAP.” They nodded and left the room.

Top hat was important. The two were trying to hack into Team Cap’s communications, once they did; it was game over.

“The rest of you complete the assignment,” He told them.

Then all split up again. Vision and Wasp arrived with Scarlet witch just as they were leaving. All three avengers gave the kids confused looks as they left.

It would take Marinette another hour before she came across another member of Team Cap. And she didn’t so much as come across, as she did respond to Peter’s cry for help.

“Captain Sparkles!” Peter yelled in their earpiece. “Training yard. I’m trying to hold hi-No I won’t give you back your shield! Hurry! Over!”

“I’m around the corner,” Marinette hissed into the mic as she ran for the yard. When she arrived it was just in time to catch the shield that was flying at her face.

She held the shield tightly in her hand, feeling like Wonder Woman, as she stared down Captain America.

Steve looked at the young girl who had joined the fight, “My shield, miss?” He was aware that Spiderman had landed behind him.

Marinette smiled sweet. Then she launched the shield at him with such brute force, he was lifted off his feet. “The Name’s Ladybug.”

Steve didn’t catch the shield in time and it bounced back to Spiderman.

Captain America glared at the two teenagers.

Then the fight was on.

Spiderman hits Steve with his shield, distracting him. The shield falling to the ground. Ladybug barges Captain America backwards. Steve shoulders her to the floor. Marinette lands on the ground; pain flaring across her shoulder. Spiderman punches Steve who just lifts him and slams him against the ground. Spiderman raises a fist but Steve twists it. A web shoots out of his hand, the sound of a small explosion fills the training yard.

Marinette takes the distraction to trip Captain America and jump up. As Steve falls to the ground, Marinette uses the electro-shooters that Riri made and shocks the dear life out of him. It wasn’t enough to bring him down but then Peter added in his own shocking web-shooters.

Yet Steve still looked ready for another round of their fight. Marinette quickly picked up the shield and slammed it across his head. Steve Rogers fell forward in a slump.

Spiderman webbed up with quick-drying cement.

Both teens breathed heavily; struggling to catch their breath, tense from the fight. Marinette could even find it in herself to unclench the shield.

“Captain Sparkles is down, over,” Marinette said into the Mic.

“We’re bringing him in, over,” Spiderman added.

There was a moment of silence.

“…What the fuck?” They heard War Machine say.

When Marinette walked in with the shield in one hand and helping Spiderman carry Cap with the other, the avengers present quietly lost their shit. Kagami nodded, where she stood over Fury who looked more pissed than ever before in his entire life. Chloe stood over Coulson, who just looked put out. MJ and Ned looked overly pleased. Their mission had been a success but it only lasted long enough to get Fury and Coulson. After that, Team Cap was smart enough to ditch the communications, figuring something was up.

“Who’s left?” Spiderman asked in the Mic. “Over.”

“Stoneheart,” Kagami answered bitterly, referring to Melinda May, into the Mic so the team could hear them. “She took out Daisy and got away. Hill is after her now.”

“Jon Snow and Miss Tuffit,” Chloe said referring to the Winter Soldier and Black Widow. “Iron Man and WarIron are after Small fry. War Machine has eyes on Miss Tuffet.”

“I’m closing in on Miss Tuffit, over.” War Machine said.

Marinette looked at her team, pressing on her mic, “Guy in Chair, Mj, I want you on Stoneheart’s tail. Spiderman go be back up for the War Machine. Iron Heart, meet me on the Location 12. Over.”

“What are you going to do, over?” Harley asked.

Marinette clenched the shield in her hands, “I’m going to go tell Jon Snow that Winter Is Over. Queen and Dragon with me. Over.”

The battle with the Winter Soldier was epic. The showdown happened in the gym. It turned out they weren’t hunting for the Winter Soldier, the Winter soldier was hunting for them. The second they walked into the gym, the doors closed behind them.

Bucky jumped down from the rafters. He stared at the girls. He had seen them fight. None of them fought with any ounce mercy but plenty of skill. But they were clearly just kids. Just Dames in over their heads. He’d go easy on them. “Shall we, Ladies?”

Ladybug, Queen Bee, Iron Heart, and Dragon shared a look before giggling.

The Winter Soldier only just barely stood a chance.

The girls laid Bucky gently on the floor on home base. He grunted and glared at them.

A few minutes later, Tony and Rhodey walked in with the Black Widow. The last of Team Cap.

Tony smirked, “Game over.”

Rhodey shook his head, “Record time; two hours and four-two minutes. Beats the last one by about seven hours and sixteen minutes.”

Then they debriefed. Video of the fights and footage was seemed was shown so everyone could see where they could improve. The image of tiny Ladybug clocking Captain America in their head with his own shield was rewinded and watched seven times.

Tony fell over laughing, “I’m putting on Youtube!”

“I will divorce you!” Steve snapped but couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

Once The random agents of shield and Stark industries left, Steve glared at Tony. His team had gotten demolished. In record time. “You brought in outside heroes, that’s not fair.”

“No,” Tony laughed. “I brought employees of Stark Industries as agreed upon. Everyone meet WarIron,” Harley lowered his helmet. “Iron Heart,” Riri lowered his, “You know Spiderman already,” Peter took of his mask and waved. “MJ, and Ned” Both teens nodded. “Ladybug,” Marinette took off her mask. “Queen Bee,” Chloe glared as she removed hers. “Dragon!” Kagami took off her black mask. “The interns. Otherwise known as the Young Avengers.”

“Oh, fuck you too Stark,” Clint complained. “Did you see what they did to poor Bucky. He’s the deadliest assassin in history, and I felt they went a little rough.”

Bucky nodded with a wince, “Can I have my arm back.”

Steve looked at the bluenette still holding his shield, with a charming smile.

Kagami glared. She held the metal arm like trophy. “Spoils of War.”

Marinette giggled.

Being a intern was going to be fun.

#ml fic #ml salt #adrien salt #marinette dupen chang #Marinette deserves better #Avengers #stony #tony stark #team iron man #peter parker

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phonaesthemes · 5 years ago

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a list of asks

@padawanyugi tagged me in this, but Tumblr decided to eat any notification that I got tagged, so I’m glad I saw it on my dash because I like filling these things out. Thanks for tagging me! I may have typed A Lot.

Favorites: What types of books do you enjoy? Tell about what you’ve read recently (Or maybe about a book you hated recently!)I like spec-fic and sci-fi, although less “hard” science fiction, and I also enjoy fantasy. I read a lot of YA even though I’m in my 30s just because it seems easy to find a story I want to read and I’m not usually in the mood for dense prose.

I’ve been rereading the Wheel of Time series since it’s getting an Amazon TV show; it was my first non-LOTR fantasy series and I love it to death, warts and all, although I love joking about the weak points with other people who’ve read it. I think the last other thing I read was A Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue, which was a queer YA historical fiction, and it was a lot of fun. I wish I’d had access to all these queer stories when I was an actual teenager, but better late than never.

What types of music do you like to listen to? Share five songs from your music library. I really do like a bit of everything, although I gravitate towards certain genres more often depending on the season or time of day, so I’m going to cheat and pick 5 per season. Summer for me is lots of peppy pop (pride playlists!), punk and rock and punk-adjacent stuff, just upbeat stuff in general. -Weekender, by The Royal They -Break My Heart, by Dua Lipa -Toutes les femmes savent danser, by Loud -Ruby Soho, by Rancid -Womanarchist, by Bad Cop, Bad Cop

In the fall, my inner goth kid craves darkwave, goth rock, dramatic folk, roots rock, and also anything that reminds me of Halloween. -Iuka, by the Secret Sisters -Bela Lugosi’s Dead, by Bauhaus -How’s It Gonna End, by Tom Waits -Under the Milky Way, by The Church -I Put a Spell on You, by Screamin’ Jay Hawkins I could go on about the Christmas music I like at length (Boney M’s Christmas album slaps, ngl) but I’ll just skip that and say that I listen to more classical and piano pieces in the winter. I’m terrible at remembering names, so artists only: -Ludovico Einaudi -Chopin -Debussy -Saint-Saëns -Dvořák And in spring I’m usually just depressed af and listen to whatever. -FML, by K.Flay -Weird Part of the Night, by Louis Cole -Juodaan Viinaa, by Korpiklaani -P.O.H.U.I., by Carla’s Dreams -Marryuna, by Baker Boy

Do you have a show or movie that you can just put on anytime and it’s your comfort? Definitely Star Trek. I’ve rewatched the various iterations (except TOS) so many times. Also Mean Girls and Bring It On, idk why.

Do you have a favorite dessert? Tiramisu or creme brulée! Or macarons. I don’t eat dessert really unless I’m at a restaurant.

Do you have a favorite cold drink? Sparkling water, hands down.

Do you have a favorite game? The hours I have put into the SIms in my lifetime is probably shameful, although I haven’t played in a while. Don’t Starve is another contender for hours played, but I am also really fond everything by Amanita Design

Do you have a favorite part of your self care/beauty/health routine? I haven’t been doing it much lately since I’ve been dealing with some uncertain health issues with my joints (actually have a rheumatologist appointment later today), but savasana after a long yoga workout is borderline ecstasy.

Do you have a favorite type of take-out food? Indian for sure.

What’s your favorite type of exercise/physical activity? I have a love-hate relationship with running. I don’t actually love it but I love how I feel after. I really enjoy yoga. I love playing in the water at the beach, bodyboarding and swimming.

Pick between: (you choose the context)

Cook or bake? (I love cooking A Lot)

Space or ocean? (Hard to pick, but I grew up by the ocean and it’s 100% my happy place)

Chocolate or vanilla?

City or suburb or rural? (I grew up in an isolated rural village and I miss the quiet and the slower pace of life, but I do not miss the lack of amenities and opportunities, or the smalltown gossip. I also don’t drive bc of epilepsy, so I’m fucked as far as transport in rural settings.)

Past or future?

Shower in the morning or evening?

Mac/Apple or PC/Android? (Linux in general!)

Sing or dance? (I don’t have an amazing voice but I can carry a tune without it being painful, and I love singing along with songs.)

Get up early or sleep in? (I actually love sleeping in but with two kids, early morning is my only time to myself, so I wake up before 6 most days AGGH.)

Shoes, socks, or bare feet? (Hate socks. I’m barefoot at home all year round.)

Marker, crayon, or pencil? Pen!

Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate? (Coffee in the morning, tea later on.)

Random questions:

Have you ever had any pets? (Had dogs and a cat as a kid, and as an adult I’ve had betta fish and cats, and I have a cat currently.)

What is your academic background/job field? I did my undergrad in linguistics, and I am currently a stay-at-home dad lol. I do freelance editing and transcription on the side. I don’t think I’ll ever work in my field bc I really don’t have the energy to go to grad school.

What’s something random that you’re into (even if you aren’t good at it)? I signed up for a Cape Breton step dancing class in university and I loved it.

Are you good at putting away your clean laundry right away? It depends on the day, but generally yes. Mine and everyone else’s. When I lived alone? Absolutely not.

What’s one of your pet peeves? Someone trying to have a conversation with me when they have the radio or TV on. I can’t follow what you’re saying if someone else is speaking! I hate having that stuff on as background noise in general.

What’s something you’re pretty good at? I’m a great cook.

What’s the most recent nice thing you bought for yourself? A new conditioner ig? lol

Can you sew? I can mend a small tear or sew on a button, but it’s been years since I did more than that.

What’s a chore you hate (or a chore you enjoy)? I hate vacuuming so much. So much. Maybe if I had a better vaccuum cleaner I wouldn’t mind it, but I just feel like I’m fighting with the stupid thing, getting caught up on its own cords, caught on furniture, can’t quiiiite reach a spot... HATE IT. I like shoveling snow sometimes, though.

Tell us a fun fact about yourself. I am 20 years older than my youngest sibling, and five minutes younger than my “oldest” sibling.

Never have I ever... Gone fishing, even though I’m from a fishing community.

What extracurriculars did/do you do in school? In high school, I played trumpet in band until the band got dissolved from lack of funding. I played soccer one year, was in a play another year. We had an art club for like a semester that I was in. In university the first time round, I did step dancing and intramural hide and seek Second time around, I was in the linguistics club to help with assignments. (We were very much encouraged to work in pairs or groups for a lot of different classes. The only thing was that you did need to list your group members on the assignment so the prof knew who you worked with. My first morphology class in particular, we had a whole homework club where a huge portion of the class got together to work through assignments and help each other understand, and the prof would quite often show up. </tangent>

Deeper questions:

How’s your quarantine/last few months been? The cabin fever was really bad before the weather warmed up. I struggle with seasonal depression every spring, and it’s gotten much worse since we moved to Edmonton because of how long the winters are. (Snow from September to May/June? Fucccck.) It’s frankly horrifying to look at what’s going on in the US, but even though we have far fewer cases here, I’m really anxious that we’ll see another wave soon. Otherwise, I think I’ve adjusted. Home-schooling, hand-sanitizing, social distancing, masks...All feels kind of normal now, which should maybe concern me.

What do you think of human nature/society/etc.? I am like the least philosophical person you will meet so I don’t think I really have many thoughts.

What’s something you are insecure about? Writing my L2 if a native speaker is gonna read it.

What do you think is the meaning of life/reason that humans exist in the universe? I don’t think there is one, and that doesn’t bother me.

Do you think you’re better (whatever that means to you) than you used to be? Definitely. My adolescence and early adulthood was rough. I was dealing with a lot of trauma, untreated bipolar disorder, and I self-harmed for a very long time. I could not imagine making it to 30, let alone being stable and happy. I actively avoided thinking about the future because it made me spiral. But I was lucky enough to get help, consistent help from a doctor I clicked with, and it made a world of difference. I think younger me would be disappointed at how mundane my life is, but I’m thrilled to be boring because boring means no life-upending mood episodes. I have a happy partnership and two delightful kids and I couldn’t ask for more.

What are your thoughts on religion? I’m not religious and my own experience being raised in the Catholic church was frankly traumatic, but I know that it’s a source of comfort and community for many others and I think that’s awesome for them.

Do you think that there are aliens out there? I think so, although I think that we may not even know what other kinds of life to look for and may not recognize it even if we find it.

What’s something that’s been on your mind recently? We’re moving cross-country in less than a month (driving, no less, nearly 5000 km) and I still have so much to do to get ready aosjdoajdoasijdoaijsd

#personal #long post #in which i ramble about myself a great deal #@padawanyugi

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wisteria-lodge · 5 years ago

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Highlighting important Holmes & Watson character beats (1/10)

I got an interesting question the other day, about the moments in the original Sherlock Holmes stories that are more about *character development* and *relationship building* than mystery solving. And honestly, it’s a cool exercise, reading the Conan Doyle stories and watching this one complex little relationship grow.

So here you go. For your reading pleasure: Holmes & Watson, the good stuff

~ A STUDY IN SCARLET ~

[Dr. John Watson is back from the war, his PTSD and $$ situation not looking so good. Watson’s old intern Stamford thinks he’s found him a roommate]

“We came here on business,” said Stamford, sitting down on a high three-legged stool, and pushing another one in my direction with his foot. “My friend here wants to take diggings, and as you were complaining that you could get no one to go halves with you, I thought that I had better bring you together.”

Sherlock Holmes seemed delighted at the idea of sharing his rooms with me. “I have my eye on a suite in Baker Street,” he said, “which would suit us down to the ground. You don’t mind the smell of strong tobacco, I hope?”

“I always smoke ‘ship’s’ myself,” I answered.

“That’s good enough. I generally have chemicals about, and occasionally do experiments. Would that annoy you?”

“By no means.”

“Let me see—what are my other shortcomings. I get in the dumps at times, and don’t open my mouth for days on end. You must not think I am sulky when I do that. Just let me alone, and I’ll soon be right. What have you to confess now? It’s just as well for two fellows to know the worst of one another before they begin to live together.”

I laughed at this cross-examination. “I keep a bull pup,” I said, “and I object to rows because my nerves are shaken, and I get up at all sorts of ungodly hours, and I am extremely lazy. I have another set of vices when I’m well, but those are the principal ones at present.”

“Do you include violin-playing in your category of rows?” he asked, anxiously.

“It depends on the player,” I answered. “A well-played violin is a treat for the gods—a badly-played one—”

“Oh, that’s all right,” he cried, with a merry laugh. “I think we may consider the thing as settled.”

The reader may set me down as a hopeless busybody, when I confess how much this man stimulated my curiosity, and how often I endeavored to break through the reticence which he showed on all that concerned himself. Before pronouncing judgment, however, be it remembered, how objectless was my life, and how little there was to engage my attention. My health forbade me from venturing out unless the weather was exceptionally genial, and I had no friends who would call upon me and break the monotony of my daily existence. Under these circumstances, I eagerly hailed the little mystery which hung around my companion, and spent much of my time in endeavoring to unravel it.

I see that I have alluded above to his powers upon the violin. These were very remarkable, but as eccentric as all his other accomplishments. That he could play pieces, and difficult pieces, I knew well, because at my request he has played me some of Mendelssohn’s Lieder, and other favorites. When left to himself, however, he would seldom produce any music or attempt any recognized air. Leaning back in his arm-chair of an evening, he would close his eyes and scrape carelessly at the fiddle (...) Sometimes the chords were sonorous and melancholy. Occasionally they were fantastic and cheerful. Clearly they reflected the thoughts which possessed him, but whether the music aided those thoughts, or whether the playing was simply the result of a whim or fancy was more than I could determine. I might have rebelled against these exasperating solos had it not been that he usually terminated them by playing in quick succession a whole series of my favorite airs as a slight compensation for the trial upon my patience.

[Holmes is a detective, Holmes shows off]

“[Your deduction] is simple enough as you explain it,” I said, smiling. “You remind me of Edgar Allen Poe’s Dupin. I had no idea that such individuals did exist outside of stories.”

Sherlock Holmes rose and lit his pipe. “No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Dupin,” he observed. “Now, in my opinion, Dupin was an inferior fellow (...) really very showy and superficial. He had some analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Poe appeared to imagine.”

“Have you read Gaboriau’s works?” I asked. “Does Lecoq come up to your idea of a detective?”

Sherlock Holmes sniffed sardonically. “Lecoq was a miserable bungler,” he said (...) “he had only one thing to recommend him, and that was his energy. That book made me positively ill. The question was how to identify an unknown prisoner. I could have done it in twenty-four hours. Lecoq took six months or so. It might be made a text-book for detectives to teach them what to avoid.”

I felt rather indignant at having two characters whom I had admired treated in this cavalier style. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. “This fellow may be very clever,” I said to myself, “but he is certainly very conceited.”

[Watson tags along, having “nothing better to do.”]

“You sum up the difficulties of the [case] succinctly and well,” [Holmes] said. “There is much that is still obscure, though I have quite made up my mind on the main facts. (...) I’m not going to tell you much more of the case, Doctor. You know a conjuror gets no credit when once he has explained his trick, and if I show you too much of my method of working, you will come to the conclusion that I am a very ordinary individual after all.”

“I shall never do that,” I answered; “you have brought detection as near an exact science as it ever will be brought in this world.”

My companion flushed up with pleasure at my words, and the earnest way in which I uttered them. I had already observed that he was as sensitive to flattery on the score of his art as any girl could be of her beauty.

[Holmes explains]

“You see the whole thing is a chain of logical sequences without a break or flaw.”

“It is wonderful!” I cried. “Your merits should be publicly recognized. You should publish an account of the case. If you won’t, I will for you.”

“You may do what you like, Doctor,” he answered.

~ THE SPECKLED BAND ~

It was early in April in the year ‘83 that I woke one morning to find Sherlock Holmes standing, fully dressed, by the side of my bed. He was a late riser, as a rule, and as the clock on the mantelpiece showed me that it was only a quarter-past seven, I blinked up at him in some surprise, and perhaps just a little resentment, for I was myself regular in my habits.

“Very sorry to knock you up, Watson,” said he, “but it’s the common lot this morning. Mrs. Hudson has been knocked up, she retorted upon me, and I on you.”

“What is it, then—a fire?”

“No; a client. It seems that a young lady has arrived in a considerable state of excitement, who insists upon seeing me. She is waiting now in the sitting-room. Now, when young ladies wander about the metropolis at this hour of the morning, and knock sleepy people up out of their beds, I presume that it is something very pressing which they have to communicate. Should it prove to be an interesting case, you would, I am sure, wish to follow it from the outset. I thought, at any rate, that I should call you and give you the chance.”

“My dear fellow, I would not miss it for anything.”

[waiting in the dark for the bad guy to enter]

“The least sound would be fatal to our plans.”

I nodded to show that I had heard.

“We must sit without light. He would see it through the ventilator.”

I nodded again. (...)

“Have your pistol ready in case we should need it. I will sit on the side of the bed, and you in that chair.”

I took out my revolver and laid it on the corner of the table.

Holmes had brought up a long thin cane, and this he placed upon the bed beside him.

[all is revealed]

The little which I had yet to learn of the case was told me by Sherlock Holmes as we travelled back next day.

“I had,” said he, “come to an entirely erroneous conclusion which shows, my dear Watson, how dangerous it always is to reason from insufficient data.”

~ THE RESIDENT PATIENT ~

It had been a close, rainy day in October. “Unhealthy weather, Watson,” said my friend. “But the evening has brought a breeze with it. What do you say to a ramble though London?”

I was weary of our little sitting room and gladly acquiesced. For three hours we strolled about together, watching the ever-changing kaleidoscope of life (...) Holmes’ characteristic talk, with its keen observance of detail and subtle power of inference, held me amused and enthralled.

[this time, their client is a doctor]

“Are you not the author of a monograph upon obscure nervous lesions?” I asked.

[Dr. Trevelyan’s] pale cheeks flushed with pleasure at hearing that his work was known to me.

“I so seldom hear of the work that I thought it was quite dead,” said he. “My publishers gave me a most discouraging account of its sale. You are yourself, I presume, a medical man?”

~ THE NOBLE BACHELOR ~

I had remained indoors all day, for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high autumnal winds, and the Jezail bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy-chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with a cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table and wondering lazily who my friend’s noble correspondent could be.

“Here is a very fashionable epistle,” I remarked as he entered. “Your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fish-monger and a tide-waiter.”

“Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety,” he answered, smiling, “and the humbler are usually the more interesting. This looks like one of those unwelcome social summonses which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie.”

[their new client is extremely posh]

“Good-day, Lord St. Simon,” said Holmes, rising and bowing. “Pray take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over.”

“A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr. Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society.”

“No, I am descending.”

“I beg pardon.”

“My last client of the sort was a king.”

[everything turns out well]

“Draw your chair up and hand me my violin, for the only problem we have still to solve is how to while away these bleak autumnal evenings.”

~ THE REGIATE SQUIRES ~

On referring to my notes, I see that it was upon the 14th of April that I received a telegram from Lyons which informed me that Holmes was lying ill in the Hotel Dulong. Within twenty-four hours I was in his sick-room, and was relieved to find that there was nothing formidable in his symptoms. Even his iron constitution, however, had broken down under the strain of an investigation which had extended over two months, during which period he had never worked less than fifteen hours a day, and had more than once, as he assured me, kept to his task for five days at a stretch.

Even the triumphant issue of his labors could not save him from reaction after so terrible an exertion, and at a time when Europe was ringing with his name and when his room was literally ankle-deep with congratulatory telegrams I found him a prey to the blackest depression. Even the knowledge that he had succeeded where the police of three countries had failed, and that he had outmaneuvered at every point the most accomplished swindler in Europe, was insufficient to rouse him from his nervous prostration.

Three days later we were back in Baker Street together; but it was evident that my friend would be much the better for a change, and the thought of a week of spring time in the country was full of attractions to me also. My old friend, Colonel Hayter, who had come under my professional care in Afghanistan, had now taken a house near Reigate in Surrey, and had frequently asked me to come down to him upon a visit. On the last occasion he had remarked that if my friend would only come with me he would be glad to extend his hospitality to him also. A little diplomacy was needed, but... [Holmes] fell in with my plans (...)

On the evening of our arrival we were sitting in the Colonel’s gun-room after dinner, Holmes stretched upon the sofa, while Hayter and I looked over his little armory of Eastern weapons.

[Colonel Hayter mentions some suspicious local burglaries]

Holmes grunted from the sofa. “The county police ought to make something of that,” said he; “why, it is surely obvious that—”

But I held up a warning finger.

“You are here for a rest, my dear fellow. For Heaven’s sake don’t get started on a new problem when your nerves are all in shreds.”

Holmes shrugged his shoulders with a glance of comic resignation towards the Colonel, and the talk drifted away into less dangerous channels. ~

[and thank you again @niche-pastiche for the excellent idea!]

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starryviolentine · 6 years ago

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Brody’s Diary (Revised Edition): Chapter 6

Part one of the “Pre-Apocalypse Adventures” Series

Chapter 1 ( here ) Chapter 2 ( here ) Chapter 3 ( here ) Chapter 4 ( here ) Chapter 5 ( here )

After Brody got called into the hallway, she didn’t come back for the rest of class. Now the lesson is over and, while the other students have all started to gather their things and leave the room, Violet looks over at Brody’s desk. A purple and a light blue pen lie next to her open notebook, and her backpack hangs by its straps on the back of her chair. Violet wonders if she should pack up her friend’s things for her, but the thought is short-lived as she suddenly feels a sharp pain between her shoulder blades.

Turning around to see where the poke came from, Violet comes face to face with a boy with messy brown hair, sneering at her and waving a wooden ruler in her face. “Hey there, Flower Girl.”

Violet recognizes this boy as one of the school bullies. Not wanting to get involved, she shoves her belongings into her backpack and tries to flee.

Although Violet’s feet are quick, the boy’s reflexes are quicker. He grabs her by the strap of her bag. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

The blonde freezes and looks around for help, but her teacher has stepped out of the room and most of her classmates have left, too.

The boy laughs. “No need to look so scared. I just wanna talk.”

“What do you want?” Violet tries to make herself sound tough, but it doesn’t work. Her voice squeaks out the latter half of the question.

“I saw what happened between you and Brody yesterday. Boy, was she pissed,” he says nastily. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Violet tells him, trying once again to pull away, but the boy’s grip tightens and she finds herself trapped.

“Bullshit! Did you not hear what she was saying? Are you deaf, too? Or just stupid?”

A few kids overhear the commotion and turn to watch.

“Brody can’t stand you!” The boy is smiling, thoroughly enjoying the attention. He also seems to be getting a thrill out of being so vile. “You better hang out with your other friends now, because she totally hates your guts.” Then he laughs loudly, mockingly, right in Violet’s face. “Oh, that’s right, you don’t have any!”

Violet just wants to leave. Her head feels hot and there’s a knot in her stomach. Although she’s trying her best to ignore the bully’s words, they’re starting to get to her. Some of the other kids are laughing at her now, too.

“What’s the matter, Flower Girl?” The boy forcefully shoves Violet’s bag towards her, causing her to stumble backwards and ram her back into the corner of the table. It hurts a lot, but Violet clenches her jaw and tries to ignore the pain. “Look at the poor, little flower. All alone. No friends.”

More kids are watching now, and some have even inched closer to get a better view. The boy roughly grabs Violet’s arm, and his whole hand wraps around her wrist. “Gross, look at you! You’re so scrawny.”

“Let go of me!” Violet shouts, twisting her arm out of his grasp.

“I know just what you need.” Smirking, the boy reaches into his backpack, pulling out a thermos. He raises it high into the air and waits until he has everyone’s attention. “Hey! Let’s water the flower so she can grow up big and strong!”

At the boy’s choice of words, Violet realizes what’s coming. But she’s a little too late. Before she can dodge out of the way, he opens fire and splashes the contents of the thermos right into her face. There are a few shocked gasps, but most of the kids around her erupt into laughter. The drenched girl sputters and wipes the cold liquid out of her eyes. She examines the wet streaks now all down her clothes and even her shoes. Thankfully, it appears to be plain water, nothing sticky or smelly.

Ms. Baker chooses that moment to return to the classroom, and she quickly spots the strange congregation of students in the back corner. “What’s going on over there?”

The teacher’s presence causes the students to quickly diffuse and go about their business as though nothing happened. Following suit, the boy grabs his things and shoots Violet one last rude face before darting out the door. “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

Violet doesn’t know what to do. Her teacher is looking in her direction, calling her name, and is slowly coming closer. She doesn’t want Ms. Baker to see her like this, not when Violet knows that she’s just going to ask questions and get more teachers involved. Keeping her eyes on the floor, Violet grabs her backpack and runs for the door. Her mind is foggy and she’s not sure where her legs are carrying her, but she doesn’t care.

Anywhere is better than here.

--------------------

Brody makes a stop at Ms. Baker’s classroom to pick up her things, but she almost slips and falls in the doorway. Catching herself just in time, Brody frowns and looks at the mysterious liquid on the floor. Somebody must have spilled their water bottle or something. She hopes it gets cleaned up before someone gets hurt. After quickly gathering her belongings, Brody continues to the science lab and peers through the door’s glass window. She doesn’t see Violet. Maybe she’s just not here yet.

Brody looks at her watch. Class starts in five minutes, which means she still has a little time to spare. Deciding to wait for Violet inside, Brody enters the classroom and looks around. Everyone’s chatting among themselves.

“Hi, Brody!” A girl with rainbow-colored braces grins and waves at her. “What are you doing here?”

Brody smiles and waves back. “Hi, Erin. Just looking for Vi. Have you seen her?”

“Oh, Violet?” Erin points to a table in the back of the classroom. “She’s lab partners with Louis. Maybe ask him?”

There’s an empty stool next to Louis which, Brody assumes, is Violet’s seat. Brody approaches the boy, who is sitting with his shoulders slumped and his head in his hands.

“Louis, do you know where Vi is?” asks Brody.

Louis lifts his head to look at Brody, then shrugs. “No, but if you see her, can you please tell her to come to class? I really don’t wanna cut open an eyeball by myself.” He shivers at the thought and makes a face.

“An eyeball?”

“Yeah, a cow eyeball. Mr. Stanley showed us a video of how to do it, and there was this black stuff that oozed out. It was so disgusting.” Louis shakes his head. “Violet is good with this kind of stuff. Not me.”

More and more students are starting to take their seats, and Brody checks her watch again. Three minutes left. If she doesn’t leave now, she’s not going to make it to her own class on time. She’s going to have to have to wait until later to talk to Violet. “I gotta go. If Vi comes, can you tell her I need to talk to her?”

Louis gives a halfhearted thumbs-up. “Sure, if I’m still alive.”

Brody reluctantly heads to her next class, but there are so many thoughts racing through her head that she’s in no state to concentrate. She loves learning, so time spent in class always seems to fly by. But not today. Her brain obsesses over her need to apologize to Violet and her body is on edge. During the mid-morning break and again during lunch, Brody searches for her friend. She even returns to the dormitory before her afternoon classes to see if Violet’s there, but their room is empty.

The worst part of the day is when Brody returns to class after lunch. Violet’s supposed to be in both of her afternoon classes. Instead, Brody is forced to look at an empty desk and chair for the longest two hours of her life. The minutes drag on for what feels like forever, and Brody can’t stop thinking about Violet. Why isn’t she coming to class? Is she okay? Where is she?

The girl worries and worries.

And worries.

Finally, the dismissal bell rings and Brody has never jumped out of her seat so fast. She takes off running—this time not even caring that she’s breaking the rules—through the art center, cutting through the lower school building, and into the dormitory. Brody leaps up the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping over the last step, and stumbles into her bedroom.

Therissa is sitting in front of her desktop vanity mirror, reapplying her lip gloss, when Brody loudly bursts through the door. The teen jumps and whips her head around. “Fuck, Brody! What’s wrong with you?”

“Th… Therissa…!” Brody pants, “have you… seen Vi?”

“Uhh, no,” Therissa replies, raising an eyebrow at her roommate, whose cheeks are bright red and forehead is shiny with sweat. The girl is hunched over, breathing heavily, looking like she just ran a marathon. “So, you guys finally made up?”

“No… We… I haven’t… seen her all day! She wasn’t… at lunch… or in class! Sh-she…”

Not only is Brody completely out of breath from her sprint through the campus, but she’s also starting to get worked up over the situation with Violet. It’s getting harder for the girl to catch her breath. An all-too-familiar feeling of panic settles over Brody. Her heartbeat suddenly becomes ten times louder and she can hear it pounding in her ears. Her lungs stop working and she’s suffocating. Brody tries to suck in as much air as she can with each of her jagged gasps, but her chest is too tight and the oxygen just isn’t getting in.

“I… can’t… V-Vi… She…”

Brody’s fingers and toes are tingling. She tries to move towards her bed but her legs give out. Therissa curses under her breath and jumps up, catching Brody before she hits the floor.

“All right. Okay. Let’s sit down.”

Therissa helps her roommate to her bed and sits her on the edge of the mattress. It’s been so long since Brody has had one of her anxiety attacks. The teen crosses her fingers that she still remembers what to do. Brody clutches at her chest with a shaky hand and opens her mouth as though she wants to say something, but nothing comes out besides more hysterical gasps for air.

“Hey, look at me,” Therissa says calmly but firmly, bending over so that she’s at eye level with her roommate. Brody’s glassy eyes meet hers. “You’re going to be fine.”

Therissa gets into a more comfortable position, kneeling on the floor in front of Brody. “Deep breaths. From here.” The teenager rests one of her hands lightly on the younger girl’s stomach as a reminder for her to breathe using her diaphragm. “Match me. Nice and slow. Ready?” She demonstrates a few deep breaths so that Brody can follow along.

“In.” Therissa lifts her free hand into the air as she inhales to help Brody visualize a slow, deep breath. After holding the breath for a few seconds, Therissa exhales and lowers her hand. “And out.”

The first few breaths are difficult for Brody, and as much as she tries to make them as smooth and effortless as Therissa’s, they still come out ragged and uneven. But the teen praises her anyway, telling her that she’s doing good. That alone comforts Brody and she doesn’t feel as afraid. Eventually, her heart rate returns to normal and it’s much easier to breathe. Therissa was right. She’s going to be okay.

With Brody finally starting to calm down, Therissa tries to lighten the mood. “See? You were just winded. Did you, like, run all the way up the stairs or something?”

Brody doesn’t answer, still focusing on her breathing.

Therissa pushes herself to her feet and takes a seat next to her roommate. “Anyway, what were you saying about Violet?”

“I don’t know where she is,” Brody answers, now able to speak in complete sentences again. “The last time I saw her was this morning. I didn’t see her at lunch, and she didn’t come to our last two classes!”

“Sounds like she’s just skipping again.”

“No, Therissa, I’m telling you,” Brody insists, “she’s gone. I think… I think she’s mad at me. I was really, really awful to her yesterday. What if she never comes back and it’s all my fault?”

“Brody, chill,” Therissa says before realizing those aren’t the words she should be using with someone who just came out of an anxiety attack. “I mean, I’m sure she’s around somewhere. She’ll be back.”

“But when?” cries Brody, clearly still upset and worried.

“Look, she’s got to come back to the room to sleep, right? We’ll be here when she gets back.” Therissa does her best to keep Brody’s stress levels down. She nudges the girl lightly with her elbow. “Don’t beat yourself up over it, either.”

Brody scoots until she’s sitting against the wall with her knees to her chest. “Will you wait for her with me?”

Before Therissa can reply, there’s a knock at the door. The teen furrows her brows and clicks her tongue in slight annoyance. She’s got her hands full with Brody and doesn’t really have time to deal with whoever’s outside. She begrudgingly gets to her feet to see who it is.

“What do you want?” Therissa asks impatiently as she yanks the door open, expecting the visitor to be Justin or some other kid. Instead, she finds two faculty members—a man and a woman both clad in matching vests—standing in the doorway. “Oh, shit. My bad.”

The man chooses to ignore Therissa’s language and greets her with a curt nod. “Ms. Lannister. Please pardon the intrusion, but may we come in?”

Therissa says nothing, but steps aside to let the adults into the small bedroom. The woman shuts the door behind them. Crossing her arms, the teen plops herself back down next to Brody and silently watches them.

The man notices the other girl sitting on the bed and nods towards her as well. “Ms. Burress.”

For a few uncomfortable moments, the two girls watch as the adults move their eyes slowly and meticulously across every inch of their room as though investigating a crime scene. The man leans over and scans underneath both bunk beds, and the woman crosses the floors to the closet.

“May I?” she asks, one hand on the sliding door.

Therissa rolls her eyes. “Whatever.”

The woman opens the closet cautiously, almost as if expecting some kind of monster to jump out. Finding nothing out of the ordinary, she turns back around. She and the man exchange glances and mutter a few words to one another under their breaths.

Something clammy touches Therissa’s arm and the teen feels Brody wiggle closer to her. Without tearing her glare away from the adults, she unfolds her arms and allows Brody to slip her hand into one of hers. Wanting an explanation as to what’s going on, Therissa breaks the silence. “So, like, are you guys gonna tell us why you’re here, or...?”

Mumbling one last thing to the man, who nods in response, the woman turns toward the girls and clears her throat. “We don’t want to alarm you, but we came to ask if either of you know anything regarding Ms. Gideon’s whereabouts.”

Therissa looks to her side and watches all the color drain from Brody’s face. Even though she knows it probably won’t do much good, she gives the younger girl’s hand a squeeze to remind her that she’s not alone. Violet may be Brody’s friend, but she’s Therissa’s roommate, too. Whatever’s going on, they’re going to have to get through it together.

#twdg brody #twdg violet #brody twdg #violet twdg #twdg #the walking dead game #fanfic #my art #where in the world is violet #brody's diary

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electronicstudentwerewolfstuff · 4 years ago

Text

Loredana Bourceanu, Modex Software Lead – ‘In partnership we trust: our motto regarding the future and necessity for data protection’

Next in the “We are Modex” series of interviews with our tech team is the energetic and high spirited Loredana Bourceanu. An avid traveler, book connoisseur, and amateur baker, Loredana will share with us glimpses from her personal life, highlighting the experiences that helped shape her as a person, hobbies, passions, and of course, her work as Software Lead at Modex.

Tell us a bit about yourself, who is Loredana Bourceanu? Share with us some of the experiences that helped shape you into the person you are today.

I believe that most good things in life were born out of negative experiences. It’s difficult to quantify exactly the range of experiences that help shape us as individuals because we are so different from one another, but for me, it’s when we are taken out of our comfort zone when we are experiencing that sensation of incertitude mixed with a tiny bit of anxiety.

Of course, I’m not actively searching for bad experiences, but when they are unavoidable, I try to manage the situation calmly and tactfully. I am also the type of person that treats people equally. I’m convinced that you can learn something from anyone if you just take a brief moment to listen to what they have to say.

Let’s talk about books. Do you have any particular book or authors that you enjoy reading accompanied by a hot cup of tea on a cold and gloomy autumn day?

I’m very “moody” when it comes to reading, as well as the music I listen to. I lean more towards psychology, personal development books, or financial education books, but this doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy fiction or history. I am currently reading two books in parallel, one of them “When Nietzsche Wept” goes very well with the “hot cup of tea on a cold and gloomy autumn day” scenario. The other one is “The Art of Negotiation” by Chris Voss. As I said, I like to mix things up.

Care to share with us some of your hobbies and passions? What do you enjoy doing when you aren’t developing the next big tech solution?

I really like to travel around the world to discover and experience new places and cultures, alas this year everyone’s plans were turned upside down by the critical global situation we’re in. But I didn’t let this discourage me as I tried to take advantage of the good aspects of working from home so I geared up and relocated a couple of weeks to the mountainside in a pretty remote village. It was a beautiful and interesting experience.

Regarding my hobbies, I’m an active person that likes to do sports, beach volley being my favourite. I could play that game from dawn till dusk. I also enjoy dancing to the rhythm of good music. Oh, and baking all sorts of sweets, especially getting rid of evidence once they’re done.

Was becoming a programmer your first career choice? Also, what sparked your interest in programming?

I’m the type of person that has an analytic way of thinking. Since I can remember, I have always gravitated towards exact sciences like mathematics, chemistry, and physics. During the last years of high school, I already set my mind to attend a college with an engineering profile, and I think I made a wise choice, considering the current context. I enrolled at the Faculty of Automatic Control and Computer Science from the Polytechnic University of Bucharest. It was during my time there that I caught a taste for programming: as results slowly started to accumulate, I delved deeper into the topic, wanting to learn more.

The market demand for programmers has always far exceeded the number of available professionals. Today, a large segment of the workforce is working from the comfort of their homes. Many see this as an opportunity to develop new skills, and programming seems to be a top choice. Do you have any advice for people that want to take their first steps into this domain, but aren’t quite sure where to begin, or what to focus on?

I have a younger sister who has just finished high school. She is not attracted by this field of work, but many of her colleagues want to have a career in IT. Some of them are already passionate, others dream of becoming programmers. This industry offers many opportunities, the demand for specialists is still high, it all depends on the person, how much effort he or she is willing to put. It also depends on their ambition on how much they truly wish to succeed.

For me, it was easier because I had guidance during my time in college, after that, I had time to perfect my craft during the various programming jobs I had over the years. If you wish to be self-taught, I think it’s best to take a moment and do some research, ask yourself what is it you are trying to achieve. You need to test the waters first to find something that matches your abilities and inclinations and more importantly, something you will enjoy doing. There is a lot of information on the Internet, you can find the answer to almost every question or problem you encounter.

Can you describe how the pandemic has reshaped the development process and the general workflow at Modex? What were the biggest challenges posed by moving “the office” to your living room? What is Modex’s strategy regarding working remotely?

I think we have adapted very well to the new way of working, we have daily meetings, and sometimes we also have meetings just for socializing with each other, where we chat, tell jokes and so on. It’s basically what we would do during our lunch breaks back when things were normal. Overall, our daily work was not affected, on the contrary, I think that our work life is progressing very well from home.

I consider social interaction an essential element of our work lives but realistically speaking, currently, there is no other option than to work from home. But once the pandemic situation is over, I believe that organizing a big night out with everyone from work is a must, especially considering the fact that we have new colleagues that I haven’t yet had the pleasure to meet in person.

You have been with Modex since the company’s early days. Can you talk about your experience at Modex, how the company has grown over the years, and how the internal dynamics evolved as the team got bigger and bigger?

True, I have been in the company for quite some time. Now that I look back, there have been a lot of fast-paced changes during my time here. One thing is certain, it’s not going to stop here. Things have evolved remarkably well, considering the fact that the whole team has grown a lot over the past years. This was made possible by our colleagues who have proved themselves as true professionals that quickly adapted to the company’s requirements. I also believe that teamwork is an asset of all our colleagues, we constantly help each other out and collaborate very well when the need arises.

As one of the key members of the development team, you got the opportunity to work on multiple projects. Please describe your favourite project and some of the challenges you needed to overcome during the development process.

That’s a difficult question. I can’t choose a favourite project, I don’t want to upset anyone (laughs slowly). All the projects I worked on were important and I treated them with the utmost care and responsibility. As I have already pointed out, I’m an analytic person, so I always try to successfully complete all my tasks, regardless if they are work-related or personal. Life is full of unexpected challenges, it’s important to have the right attitude and mindset to successfully overcome them.

Blockchain is touted as a game-changing technology that will have deep ramifications across the enterprise and business sectors. How is Modex BCDB going to fit in the current blockchain paradigm?

Modex BCDB is a product with a wide range of features that are beneficial across a wide range of sectors of the business sphere: we can talk about healthcare, legal or governmental institutions and we would only scratch the surface of the areas where our product can be integrated. To an outsider, it may seem that we are overestimating the capabilities of our solution, but the fact of the matter is that the blockchain database layer we provide can complement and enhance the security of applications that utilize database engines. This is because Modex BCDB was designed to empower businesses by guaranteeing data immutability, integrity, and security.

“In partnership we trust” – that is our motto in the tech industry regarding the future and the necessity for data protection in the digital world of tomorrow.

Modex is well known in the tech community for the numerous workshops and tech events it organizes. You have often been an active presence in these events as a mentor. What is it like to attend these large-scale events as a representative of a tech company? Do you often scout for new talent during these workshops?

Indeed, I participated in several workshops; the last one took place during the pandemic. Of course we needed to adapt to the times we are currently living in, so it was an online workshop. My goal at these workshops is to get participants, who are mostly students, to leave with some information at the end: information about blockchain as a technology and its benefits, as well as a general overview of the Modex BCDB product. I enjoy this role, because at one moment I was thinking of becoming a teacher. This way I get to experience a more didactic approach to technology and programming.

The post Loredana Bourceanu, Modex Software Lead – ‘In partnership we trust: our motto regarding the future and necessity for data protection’ appeared first on Modex.

#blockchain #initial coin offering #token sale #crypto #renewable

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gaysianthirdspace · 7 years ago

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Follower Friday: karlcalv

Follower Fridays is a series of profiles highlighting members of Gaysian Third Space to showcase the diversity of gaysians in the Community. This week’s featured member is @karlcalv.

Who are you?

Hi my name is Karl! I'm 23, I like scary movies and mint mojitos.

Where are you from?

I'm originally from the Philippines. My family moved to San Diego, CA when I was really young, and it's become the place where I call home.

What do you do?

I work at a restaurant in SD called Eclipse Chocolate Bar and Bistro. We specialize in making different chocolates and confections, which we make and package by hand. We also have a fully operational restaurant. All this happens under one roof. I'm the pastry lead here, and I'm in charge of managing the pastry staff, as well as producing baked goods, sauces, frozen desserts, custom cake orders, etc. For fun I like to read, watch movies, go to the beach, and go to different farmers markets in SD. My friends and I like to go to escape rooms, and play board games. I also collect enamel pins! My collection has gotten kind of out of hand...haha! #TreatYoSelf

What are you passionate about?

Food. I like to cook but I love to bake. After high school I had no idea what to do. I tried so many different things until one summer semester I took a cooking class. I fell in love. I went to culinary school to get a degree in the culinary arts. One of the classes I was required to take was a baking class. When I took the class, I realized how much I love baking. So after I graduated and got my degree in culinary arts, I went back to school and got another degree in baking and pastry. Baking is where food meets art and science. Cooking is fun, but baking feels so natural to me. Without food, I don't know what I'd be doing with my life. Also, fun fact: if I didn't pursue a career in baking, I was totally prepared to pursue butchery. I wanted to be a butcher. I was really good at it. It's really weird thinking about how I wanted to be a baker, filleting fish, breaking down animals, etc. I traded in my cleaver and filet knife for a life of sugar, spice, and everything nice.

What is your dream job (real or fantasy)?

When I was growing up, my favorite game was Harvest Moon. It's basically a farming simulation/RPG. I loved it so much I wanted to be a farmer, haha! Unfortunately I'm really bad with plants.

Now, in the future, I would love to own my own cafe or bakery. It's hard work but I'm ready for it. I would love to create a comfortable space where people can come to relax, and eat all the desserts I love to make. Something open late at night because I don't think San Diego has many options for good food late at night. Most importantly I just want to own a space where people can come and make memories, because I've made so many memories in this industry.

If you could change the world with one idea, what would it be?

I don't know about one idea changing the world, but there are a few that things I like to keep in mind in my life. Take it easy, keep it positive, cut out negativity, and most importantly K.I.S.S. (keep it simple stupid)

Any personal plugs?

Follow me on instagram! (karlcalv)

#gaysianthirdspace #followerfriday #gaysian

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doctorwhonews · 7 years ago

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Shada (DVD/Blu-Ray/Steelbook)

Latest Review: Shada Written by: Douglas Adams Directed by: Pennant Roberts, Charles Norton Produced by: Graham Williams Cast Tom Baker (The Doctor), Lalla Ward (Romana), David Brierly (K9), Christopher Neame (Skagra), Daniel Hill (Chris Parsons), Denis Carey (Professor Chronotis), Victoria Burgoyne (Clare Knightley), Gerald Campion (Wilkin), Shirley Dixon (Ship), Derek Pollitt (Caldera), James Coombes (voice of the Kraags), John Hallet (Police Constable), David Strong (Man in Car) Cover Art: Lee Binding (DVD, Blu-Ray), Adrian Salmon (Steelbook) Originally Released: November 2017 Shada Reborn Quite possibly a record-breaking candidate for the longest filming period for a single script, Shada bridges two millennia – from 1979 to 2017 – and represents a heroic effort to finally plug one of the most egregious gaps in the Doctor Who canon. In a way, Shada mirrors the antagonist of that other great Douglas Adams story, City of Death. Just as Scaraoth is shattered into dozens of versions of himself across the centuries, the industrial action that stymied the original production of the serial saw it fractured into a number of variants and doppelgangers. Most famously, Adams decided the root concepts and ideas behind his final Doctor Who script were too good to waste and they found their way into his Doctorless novel Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency. In 1992, a rough edit of the surviving footage was patched together with exposition from Tom Baker and some unsympathetic synthesizer music. Later again, an animated incarnation saw Paul McGann’s Eighth Doctor reunite with Romana and K9 and a new supporting cast to cure a nagging feeling of something undone in Cambridge 1979. But this Shada is very much the real deal. The entire surviving cast have been reunited to record the missing dialogue, the missing sequences have been animated where appropriate, though brand new models and have constructed and filmed by the Model Unit to act as inserts in the live action scenes, and a brand new score by Mark Ayers is constructed like an act of musical archaeology to recreate the instruments, methods and style of 1970s legend Dudley Simpson. It can never by Shada as it would have been, but it by far lays the strongest claim to being the definitive article. As with any such project, the team had to make creative decisions and not everyone will agree with all of them. For instance, with Denis Carey (Professor Chronotis) and David Brierly (K9) having died since their original contribution a couple of minor scenes requiring them are left unanimated, while others have their presence reduced to lines which could be reproduced from other recordings of the actors. While some no doubt may have preferred soundalikes to be used to make as complete a version as possible, it’s a sensitive decision and highlights that, in fact, the missing moments were largely padding anyway. Similarly, but much more controversially, is the decision to assemble Shada as a 138 minute film rather than as six episodes. (It even has - steady yourself - a pre-titles sequence). This will go against every instinct of many long term fans, still sore from VHS cassettes of hacked down stories and the fight to get episodic releases. But in this case it seems to work. Watched in one sitting it makes for a breezy, fun, adventure – yet the way the story is paced would have seen the episodic version with a curiously uneventful Part One and a number of extremely undramatic cliffhangers (only the midway point would have given us something as genuinely brilliant as “Dead men require no oxygen”). For me, the only genuinely poor decision is to seize on the existence of the original K9 prop, some original wall panels from the 1979 set, and the surviving (bottom) half of an original Kraag monster costume to recreate a few shots of K9 fighting a Kraag. I appreciate the sentiment behind it, but the fact the surviving bit of set to squeeze them into is so small, and the Kraag only visible from the waist down, makes for a weirdly, and unintentionally silly, looking moment that takes you out of the flow of the story more than the switches to animation do. Few would argue, though against the decision to bring in Martin Gergharty and Adrian Salmon to do design work for the animation. Not only are they brilliant in their own right, creating clear lined, loyal yet character-filled, interpretations of the cast in warm, friendly colours, it also helps smooth over the slightly stilted, flash style – the characters may not feel like they have a full range of human movement, but the presence of Gergharty’s art, so familiar to the readership of Doctor Who Magazine, makes it feel almost like panels from the beloved DWM comic strip brought to life. Shada Reviewed But has all this effort simply been an ultimate exercise in obsessive, fannish, completeness? Are we seeing the resurrection of a poor story just because it’s there to be done, or the completion of a classic in its own right? In short – is Shada actually any good? As it happens, Shada is brilliant jewel to add to Doctor Who’s crown if one, like all the most spectacular diamonds, not without its flaws. One the wittiest of Who scripts, and certainly with one of the most fascinating premises, at six parts it’s basically City of Death with extra portions. Famously, one of the script’s biggest critics is its own author – written, as it was, at a point when Douglas Adams was juggling several different projects and deadlines and pouring his greatest effort into his own personal work rather than Doctor Who. Considering that a billion years from now, stuck in the glovebox of an interplanetary roadster, the fruits of that rival project may be the last sign of the human race’s existence, it would be churlish to complain about that but still, Adams is being ungenerous about the serial. In almost every way, this is the fullest encapsulation of the latter half Tom Baker years. Tom himself exudes the same sort of relaxed charm, peppered with moments of total nonsense that marked City of Death while Lalla Ward has never seemed more possessed of an unearthly beauty. All of their scenes together are a joy and something as simple as them going boating, or visiting an old friend in his rooms for tea is all stuff I could watch hours of, even without any alien menaces showing up. And the alien menace that does show up is stupendous – possibly the most unbelievable thing about the whole story is the revelation on the commentary track that the people in the background of Cambridge genuinely ignored Christopher Neame in his outrageous hat and slowing silver cape as if he was an everyday sight. But the massively fun campness of Neame’s character Skagra is balanced by the imaginative and typically Adamsian plot the villain has hatched. Skagra is unusually preoccupied with the heat death of the universe in several billion years’ time and obsessed with stopping it. Like solving the central question of Life, the Universe, and Everything the main stumbling block to finding the answer is processing power – so he’s going to absorb every mind in the universe into one great gestalt entity, so that every being in creation is simply a conduit for finding a way to save it without the petty distractions of life. In a way, it’s Douglas Adams inventing cloud computing thirty years early and typical of the scientific verve and imagination he brought to everything he wrote. (Tellingly, a year later his replacement would also craft a story about forestalling the heat death of the universe but, while propounding the superiority of ‘hard science’, would solve it by inventing some space wizards who use magic words to make it go away).There are undoubtedly flaws, mostly as we race towards the end with the mounting sense of a script with the ink still wet and no time for afterthought or final drafts. Chris Parsons is probably the best of the solid young everymen Doctor Who has ever featured, and pitched perfectly by Daniel Hall, yet despite early episodes spending more time of introducing and building on his character, he gets lost in the shuffle of the climax. There’s even a dramatic scene of Chris making a vital deduction and racing out to save the day, only for Adams to be plainly unable to think of anything to give him to do once he gets there (a problem Gareth Roberts ingeniously solved in his 2012 novelization but which, presumably for purity’s sake, the producers here don’t take the opportunity to steal). Meanwhile, the Kraag outfits are really quite poor, even for the era that gave us the Nimon and the Mandrel, and a lot of the location film work in Cambridge feels rather loose and in need of a tighter edit.Yet, there’s an inescapable magic to Shada that goes well beyond its status as a mythical ‘lost’ story, and had it been completed in 1979 it would still have been regarded as one of the highpoints of Season Seventeen. Extras This release comes with a full set of extras the complement the story perfectly. A commentary orchestrated by the unsinkable Toby Hadoke on less funding than the bus fare into town sees him interview Neame and Hall about their experiences during filming, and Gergharty and animator Ann Marie Walsh about the pressures and effort involved in creating the project against incredibly tight deadlines. Taken Out of Time interviews many of the those involved in front of and behind the cameras on the original production to build a picture of exactly how it came to abandoned in the first place. Strike! Strike! Strike! uses contributions from those involved in industrial relations at the time to help explain exactly how the unions of 1970s television came to be so powerful, and give a potted history of their rise and fall through the lens of how industrial action had impacted Doctor Who over the decades both negatively (when it was at the BBC) and positively (when it was arch rival ITV left showing blank screens opposite the Doctor’s adventures). Both of these are proper, half hour documentaries that tell a story of their own almost as compelling as Shada itself. There’s also fascinating Studio Sesssions - 1979, showing the working methods of the cast and crew in-studio as the cameras roll between takes. Most fun of all is are the Dialogue Sessions – in which we get to see Tom Baker and Daniel Hall record their contributions for the animation, with all Tom’s uproarious ad libs and suggestions for improvements to the script intact. The extras are rounded out with the video of the Model Unit filming of Skagra’s space station and ship, as well as the TARDIS model, new footage taken of Daniel Hall and Tom Baker’s stand-in as reference for animation, photo galleries, as well as the obligatory Now and Then tour of what the Cambridge locatoins look like three decades on. ROM content even includes a full set of scripts, storyboards, and the 1979 Doctor Who Annual (if, rather bizarrely, packed as 56 separate image files).The Steelbook release goes even further to try and lay claim to the definitive Shada package – with a third disc containing the 1992 reconstruction and the 2003 Paul McGann web animation adaptation (remastered for viewing on TV screens rather than computer monitors). About the only thing not included is the novelization. Presentation and Packaging The DVD version has a slightly astonishing error where the coding that tells a television to display it as 16:9 or 4:3 is messed up – meaning that if watched on a 4:3 television the image will appear in the centre of the screen, with black bars on all sides – top, bottom, left and right. On a modern 16:9 television it displays the picture correctly (with bars on left and right as this is archive television intended as 4:3) but even then some resolution is lost as the image is basically being blown up to fit. That said, you’d be hard pressed to actually notice the lower resolution on viewing the DVD and it probably still looks better than it would have done on the average 1970s domestic television. All the same it’s disappointing to see such hard work by so many involved obviously handed off to someone much less fastidious at the eleventh hour for authoring the DVDs. It should be stressed, however, that the Blu-Ray and Steelbook don’t share this flaw so, if it’s going to bother you, those are the routes to take. The cover art, some may remember, was the cause of a bit of a social media flap last year when Clayton Hickman’s distinctive and unusual scarf patterned cover was ditched at the comparative last minute. In the final result, Lee Binding’s replacement is… fine, if a little bland and stilted seeming, probably as a result of the tight deadlines under which it was done. Strangely, a vestige of Hickman’s original design lingers on in the insert booklet. “Bland” is not something anyone could accuse the Steelbook art of. Undoubtedly DWM’s most marmite love-him-or-hate-him artists, Adrian Salmon provides a cover piece in his distinctive, angular, impressionistic style. Personally, I love him. A thread long dangling frustratingly at the corner of Doctor Who history, Shada is reborn by a massive and dedicated effort by a hugely talented team to reveal it as an all time classic mix of Douglas Adams’ trademark whimsy and intelligence. Handsomely accompanied by a great set of extras and marred only by some inexplicable technical sloppiness, this is a must for any collection. But one, perhaps, to get on Blu-Ray if possible. http://reviews.doctorwhonews.net/2018/02/shada_dvd_blu_ray_steelbook.html?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

#BBC Worldwide #DVD #Blu-Ray #Steelbook #Fourth Doctor

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ntrending · 6 years ago

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Why San Francisco's sour dough tastes so good

New Post has been published on https://nexcraft.co/why-san-franciscos-sour-dough-tastes-so-good/

Why San Francisco's sour dough tastes so good

It’s easy to get a rise out of a local TV news crew. Especially in a slo-mo state capital like California’s. So it was on September 6, 2007, when KCRA’s LiveCopter 3 hovered over a Sacramento parking lot, at 8:23 a.m., beaming images of a slow-moving red van, tailed by a black-and-white police cruiser. As soon as the van pulled over, a man in a white baker’s cap popped out. Instead of making a run for it, which is how you expect these things to play out, he labored up to a reporter’s microphone, arms weighed down by bread dough. “It’s about 40 pounds,” he said. A crowd of bystanders cheered.

The Boudin Bakery in San Francisco, the city’s oldest and one of the best-known purveyors of its famous sourdough bread, was delivering a key piece of its history to its newest outpost. Since 1849, the bakery has relied on a bacteria-and-yeast-rich “starter”—a small amount of dough that bakers regularly “feed” by adding flour and water—to breed the living organisms that make the bread rise and give sourdough its tang. Properly cared for, a starter can birth billions of chewy loaves across decades and even centuries.

The predominant bacteria in sourdough is called Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis. It’s a species that produces lactic and acetic acids, which give sourdough its distinctive and nominal flavor. For decades, foodies believed, as did Boudin’s bakers and others, that the city’s fog and temperate climate helped foster these microorganisms. As it turns out, they may come from insects.

In July 2017, baker Ian Lowe responded to a bit of news that revealed an unusual connection between bugs and bread, and that had attracted his community of sourdough devotees: “It’s time bug shit got its due,” he told his more than 28,000 Instagram followers.

Each year, some 50 or so bakers from around the world visit Lowe at his Apiece bakery in Launceston, Tasmania, to study his sourdough-baking techniques. Lowe—who has read extensively in plant breeding, microbiology, milling science, and oven thermodynamics, and taught himself basic chemistry, biochemistry, and molecular biology, to better understand the microbiome of his favorite food—posts his exacting recipes in a public Dropbox file for all to share. That week in July, Lowe had read a newly published microbiology paper that showed, more than 40 years after scientists identified L. sanfranciscensis in sourdough, that the bacteria live inside insects that inhabit wheat fields and grain storehouses. It makes sense that bacteria that can thrive in the fermenting plant material “would be something that’s part of the ecology of the grain,” Lowe says. They must all share regional origins and thrive in a temperate range—between 65 and 80 degrees Fahrenheit. Although as a nonscientist Lowe had no way to prove it, his studies and his life’s work had led him to reason that the insects’ guts must be perfect vectors for the necessary microorganisms of fermentation.

These insects have been eating the grain humans put aside for millennia. Now it seems they may have played a culinary role in feeding our ancestors. Thousands of years ago, Neolithic cultures planted fields of wild wheat, such as einkorn and emmer, then crushed their grains and mixed them into water to make a porridge. Some baked it on hot stones as flatbread. No one knows where it happened, but around 6,000 years ago, a careless cook must have left porridge out overnight and noticed the next day that it had bubbled up. Fermentation! Stuck in an oven, it plumped and produced what we now know as chewy, aromatic, and life-sustaining bread.

Who knows if this Ur-bread was sourdough, but eventually that genus of daily carb spread through the Middle East and Europe, becoming a nutritious staple for much of Western civilization. The process was simple. Start with flour and water. Let it ferment for a few days, regularly adding more flour and water and keeping the mixture warm enough to allow the wild yeasts and lactobacilli on the grain to do their job—bubbling with gas and thickening. Then add a chunk of this starter to a dough of more flour and water, let it sit for several hours, then pop it in the oven and bake to goodness.

RELATED: How to make a sourdough starter—and keep it alive

No one could actually account for the mysterious internal reactions of starter until the mid-19th century, when Louis Pasteur determined that yeast was a microscopic living chemist that turned sugar into alcohol and gas. That soon led to the invention of concentrated baker’s yeast, which trimmed the labor-intensive bread-making process from days to mere hours. It also yielded a monoculture fermentation of dough, with less biochemical and nutrient diversity. That ushered in the flavorless, mass-produced product that sits on supermarket shelves today, full of dozens of multisyllabic thickeners and additives. In Europe, Old World bread-making practices, which require specialized skill and patience, endured even amid the onslaught of the quick-fix, packaged stuff. But starting around the 1990s, the artisanal movement in the United States saw chefs rejecting baker’s yeast and commencing an obsession with sourdough and the live starter required to make it.

Even so, among bakers and researchers who study food, “the origin of sourdough microorganisms is somewhat of a mystery,” says Anne Madden, a postdoctoral researcher at North Carolina State University who calls herself a microbial strategist. Madden and her supervisor, ecologist Rob Dunn, are part of a global yet small club of researchers trying to solve the mystery. Their Sourdough Project has collected more than 550 specimens of live starter from around the world—some of them handed down through generations—in an attempt to catalog the microorganisms that populate them.

The first to try to crack the mystery of San Francisco sourdough were T. Frank Sugihara and Leo Kline, a pair of microbiologists working in the Bay Area in the 1970s for the U.S. Department of Agriculture. At the time, bakers swore that no one in the country could reproduce the tangy food more than 50 miles away from the city, and that starters transplanted to other places would rise but usually lose their sour flavor. In their landmark studies, the pair found that yeast and a bacteria that would later be dubbed Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis, after the city known for sourdough, worked together to make dough rise and taste good.

A sourdough starter is an ecology primed for these two complementary players, with lactobacilli outnumbering yeast 100 to 1. Enzymes inside the flour break starch into the malt sugar known as maltose. But sourdough yeast cannot metabolize maltose. It snacks on other sugars in the dough instead, cutting them down to make simpler variants such as fructose and glucose, and porting them into the fermentation pathways that extract energy. When they’re done, what’s left over is a tiny scrap of ethanol and the carbon dioxide that puts rise in your dough. Meanwhile, lactobacilli chow down on the maltose and release flavorful acids as waste.

In sourdough, yeast and lactobacilli work as a team. But nobody knew where lactobacilli came from. Bakers didn’t add the stuff, and other foods that used the same ingredients lacked its distinctive flavor element. Scientists began looking for and finding it in starter doughs in Germany, France, and Italy—all places with a rich sourdough history. Many people, including microbiologists, believed it came from bakers’ hands. But Claudia Picozzi, an assistant professor at the University of Milan, was working on an alternative idea.

Up to that point, says Picozzi, “no one was able to detect the microorganisms in the grain or flours” used for making sourdough. Then one of her colleagues thought of insects. Or, rather, their guts. “Several lactic-acid bacteria and yeasts have intestinal origin,” says Picozzi, explaining her thinking. “And since many insects live on cereal grains and infest flours for baked products, we thought we probably could trace the origin.”

So she and some colleagues set about scooping the poop of several species (among them the charmingly named confused flour beetle) that infest grain and flour stores. After sequencing the DNA inside the pests’ poop, they published their findings in the Journal of Applied Microbiology with the helpful title: “Insect frass in stored cereal products as a potential source of Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis for sourdough ecosystem.” It turns out, there’s lots of bacteria in bug poo. The researchers found more than 130 species. Lactobacilli made up only 0.36 percent of that total. But the most common was Lactobacillus sanfranciscensis.