#nothing quite like a nice new mug or a candle or socks

[aquarines]

i'm that person who genuinely wants novelty mugs, candles and socks for my birthday to the constant surprise of my friends and family (i'm 25 now)

[spencers-renaissance]

A Christmas Like This

Summary: Spencer has a very specific plan for their first Christmas in their new house, and it has to be absolutely perfect. Derek's going to do everything in his power to make his boyfriend as happy as possible, even if that means a house covered in garlands and a tree covered in animal skeletons...

Tags: tooth-rotting fluff, christmas fic, est relationship, snow, slow dancing, bathing together, sharing clothes, cuddling, neurodivergence, so much romance

Pairing: Derek x Spencer

Word Count: 2.9k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Spencer’s been impatiently counting down the days, much to Derek’s amusement, but the day is finally here: they’re decorating their house for Christmas. It feels particularly special this year because it’s their first year in the house Derek had painstakingly renovated and then surprised him with one random evening, and Spencer’s spent weeks thinking about how to make it just right, because it needs to be absolutely perfect and he simply won’t settle for anything less.

Which is how he finds himself anxiously pacing the living room, waiting for his boyfriend to return. He’d popped out earlier in the afternoon to pick up some last minute decorations at Spencer’s behest, but a flurry of snow had started to fall since, and Derek was taking a bit too long for his liking. He worries his lip as he tries to remember how wrapped up his boyfriend was and why on earth he walked into town and didn’t take the car. 

Eventually, though, he’s appeased as Derek bursts through the front door, bringing a gust of wind and a small dusting of snow in with him. “Didn’t quite expect that,” he chuckles as Spencer rushes to greet him and help him out of his soaked through coat. “Got the decorations you wanted, though.”

Spencer grins at his jovial attitude and leans up to plant a firm kiss on his lips. “That’s because you’re amazing,” he murmurs, pulling away only marginally before kissing him again. 

“Baby if that’s the greeting I get when I bring you goodies, I’m gonna spoil you rotten,” Derek says amusedly as he runs his cold hands up the sides of Spencer’s jumper, smiling at him fondly. 

“You already do,” he protests, pulling away from his hold and snatching the bag Derek’s holding to eagerly peer inside. “This is going to look incredible.” He looks back at Derek with excitement lighting up his eyes and he’s rewarded with a gentle kiss on the nose. 

“You are too damn adorable, you know that?”

“So you tell me,” Spencer says, his turn to look amused for a moment before snapping into action. “Right, we should get started!”

“Whoa, I hate to burst your bubble, pretty boy, but I’m soaked to the skin,” Derek says, following Spencer into the kitchen as he watches him empty all the bags and survey the decorations with analytical eyes. “I’m gonna take a bath first. Care to join me?” 

Spencer’s head snaps up at that. “What if it stops snowing while we’re in the bath?”

Derek shoots him a puzzled look. “Why… would that matter?”

“It’s perfect weather to put up the Christmas decorations while it’s snowing!” Spencer says, like it’s obvious. 

“Well,” Derek says diplomatically, “then the snow will have settled and you’ll actually be able to see the picturesque scenery without having to peer through a white haze.” It’s a pretty good answer. He’s got much better at it in the seven years they’ve been together.

Spencer pauses to think it over carefully. “You’re right,” he decides eventually, setting down the garland he was expecting and walking over to Derek. “You make us some hot chocolate and I’ll set it up.” He kisses him again before running up the stairs to the bathroom, making it as cosy as possible with candles and bath salts and bubbles. 

Derek’s only a few minutes behind him and the bath is almost full by the time he gets there, Spencer’s sitting submerged in the water as he concentrates on the taps, diligently adjusting the temperature every thirty seconds or so to get it just right. “Sorry to interrupt your tap watching,” he says, smile evident in his voice evn to Spencer as he refuses to look away from the flow of water.

He sets the hot chocolates down on the edge of the bathtub and strips off quickly, feeling the sweet relief at having the cold, damp clothing finally off his body. “Scooch up,” he tells Spencer, intending to squeeze in behind him. If nothing else, it finally manages to snatch his boyfriend’s attention from the taps. 

“No, Derek, I’m too big,” Spencer whines, as he always does when they bathe together. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, sweetheart,” Derek says, as he always replies to his boyfriend’s ridiculous argument. “We always manage to fit. Come on.” He finally gets Spencer to slide forwards a little, turning the water off at the same time, and he slides into the bath behind him. It takes them a few moments to get properly comfortable and Spencer almost elbows both mugs off the side of the bath at one point, but they finally settle into one another. 

Derek’s chest is cool against Spencer’s back but his skin soon warms as the contact with Spencer’s flush body and the hot water make themselves at home, nestling against him. “This is just what I needed,” Derek sighs as he sips his hot chocolate and settles further into the bath. “My baby in the bath with me and a nice warm drink.” 

Spencer blushes, as he always does. Not even seven years of relentless flirting and nicknames could drive out his instinctive reaction to praise, but he also knows Derek likes it. It’s funny to think how much they’ve changed over the last few years, how when they got together back on a case in Michigan in 2009, they would be here in their own house in 2016. Spencer’s filled out and isn’t the skinny little thing Derek fell in love with anymore, not that either of them mind, and Derek -- hardened from the many years of being in the FBI -- had told Spencer his plans to retire a few months ago. 

Everything around them has continued to mutate, their circumstances, surroundings, physical appearances, but they still love each other just as much as they have done for all these years. Relentlessly, consistently, unfailingly. 

Spencer heads straight for Derek’s drawers as soon as they get out of the bath, dressing himself in one of the warmest hoodies he can find. “What if I wanted to wear that?” Derek teases as he grabs a sweatshirt for himself. 

“Oh, please,” Spencer scoffs. “You’re not fooling anyone, Derek, I know you love seeing me in your clothes. You’d rather me wear it than you”

Derek grins widely, pulling the sweater over his head before wrapping Spencer in a close hug, softening when he feels him nestle his face into his neck. “You got me, I do love seeing my gorgeous boy in my clothes,” Derek admits, “but who could blame me?”

Spencer leans back slightly, still pressed against Derek and kisses him softly. “I love you,” he murmurs, and it’s almost shy in its naked vulnerability. 

“I love you more,” Derek insists, kissing him again and giving him one last squeeze before putting some space between them. “But I believe we have a house to decorate Dr Reid?” 

Spencer’s face lights up at that, and he hurries to pull on some PJ bottoms and a pair of odd socks on before grabbing Derek’s hand and pulling him downstairs. “I wrote it down because I need you to adhere to these very strict instructions,” Spencer says seriously, despite Derek’s small amused smile.

“Yes sir,” he says as he takes the paper, but he corrects himself at Spencer’s stern look. “I will follow it to the letter, baby, don’t worry.” Conceding is definitely worth the bright smile he gets in return. 

Spencer plays his specially curated Christmas playlist over the house speaker system as they get to work pinning the garlands and fairy lights and decorations handsewn by Penelope in their designated spots according to Spencer’s plan. Derek thinks it rather looks like Christmas has vomited over their house by the time they head to the tree, but his boyfriend looks so pleased with himself, and for the past seven years his own joy has followed one simple law: if Spencer’s happy, he’s happy. 

There’s just one tiny problem with that stipulation: he’s not sure he can quite stomach the ornaments Spencer’s chosen for the tree. “Spencer, baby, you know I love you,” he says slowly as he watches his boyfriend carefully unbox the decorations, “but we are not putting those on the tree.”

He’s somehow managed to find ornaments in the shape of animal skeletons, and he wants to decorate their Christmas tree with them. Derek feels a little lost. 

“But they’re anatomically correct animal skeletons ranging from a cricket’s exoskeleton to the bones of a horse,” Spencer protests, as if that will change Derek’s mind. 

“Exactly,” he replies. “The whole house is beautifully decorated with garlands and lights and colours and wreaths and you want to hang skeletons on the tree? The most important part of the Christmas decoration process?” 

“Yes,” Spencer says slowly, “I want to hang skeletons on the tree because it’s the most important part of the Christmas decoration process.”

Derek takes a deep breath in. “Okay, how about we put some fairy lights and tinsel on, hang some normal baubles and then you can put some of your skeletons on there, too?” It’s a compromise. He’s not exactly thrilled with the idea of staring at bones on his Christmas tree, but at least there’s a little bit of tradition mixed in there, too. 

Spencer’s a lot less uncompromising than he used to be, so after a few seconds and a sigh he coalesces. “Alright,” he agrees, “but I get to hang at least eight skeletons. Deal?” 

“Deal,” Derek sighs, smiling slightly at the absurdity of his boyfriend. God, he’s in love. 

With the Christmas tree hosting a small archeology exhibit among its branches and the house satisfactorily ready for the holidays, they head to the kitchen to make some dinner, both hungry from a busy day of hanging wreaths and plugging in fairy lights. And getting caught in a minor snowstorm, of course. Derek heads straight to the speaker and plugs his phone in, setting it to play Frank Sinatra’s Christmas album, needing a change of pace from the instrumental playlist they’ve been listening to all day. Spencer doesn’t complain though, he just smiles warmly at Derek, kissing him chastely before heading to the fridge to pull out the ingredients needed for a festive chicken dinner. 

“We’re making roast potatoes, right?” Derek checks as he pours them both a glass of wine, listening to the sultry voice of Frank Sinatra accompanied by Spencer’s disorganised rummage through the vegetable drawer. 

“Yep,” Spencer affirms with his head inside the fridge, eventually emerging with an armful of vegetable and meat, dumping them unceremoniously on the countertop before continuing his search through the kitchen cabinets. They’d moved into the house properly nearly five months ago, but they still haven’t figured out the best way to store food, and Derek was infamous for shoving the grocery shopping in the first cabinet he sees, leading to a rather disorganised system. 

He soon finds the right spices and cupboard ingredients for the traybake they’d made countless times before. Derek hands him the glass of wine as soon as he comes to stand next to him again, cradling his cheek with his hand, stroking his thumb over the ruddy flush on Spencer’s cheek. “I love you,” he says gently, looking deep into the warm honey of his eyes and leaning in for a soft kiss. 

Spencer’s blushing even more by the time he pulls back, and Derek can’t help but smile at the bashful nature of his boyfriend even after all these years. “I love you more,” Spencer promises, hand running gently down Derek’s muscled arm, appreciating the soft touch of the sweatshirt he’d pulled on earlier. 

“Not possible,” Derek grins, punctuating his words with another kiss to Spencer’s lips.

“Stop,” Spencer protests, wiggling out of his hold and turning to the food. “Stop being sappy. We have dinner to make.”

“Very important business,” Derek agrees, but acts the perfect sous chef as Spencer takes care of the vegetables and trimmings and puts him in charge of the chicken. They work quickly and the traybake is in the oven before they know it, leaving them sipping their wine as they lean against the counter, chatting idly. 

That is, until I’ve Got My Love to Keep Me Warm starts playing, bright music filling the kitchen as Derek sets his wine glass down, taking Spencer’s from his hand and setting it next to his before he takes his hand and pulls him into the middle of the kitchen.

“What are you doing, Derek?” Spencer giggles as Derek pulls him close and twirls him around the kitchen. 

“Shh. We’re dancing,” he whispers, smiling fondly at Spencer’s unabashed happiness. He told himself at the very beginning of their relationship that this was all he really needed to achieve in life; making Spencer happy would forever be enough for him. 

Off with my overcoat, off with my glove

Who needs an overcoat? I'm burning with love

Derek dips Spencer down, making him throw his head back in laughter. He holds him there for a second before lifting him back up and kissing him quickly before returning to a comfortable swaying movement, keeping them in time with the uptempo music. He sings along quietly as they look deep into one another’s eyes, continuing to dance around the dimly lit, decked out kitchen. 

What do I care how much it may storm?

I’ve got my love to keep me warm

As soon as they pause their dance, Spencer leans in and kisses him, hand moving from his shoulder to the side of his neck as he holds him closer. Derek kisses back just as eagerly as the music switches to the next song, deepening the kiss as he holds Spencer’s waist, caressing his sides gently, savouring the weight of his favourite person pressed up against him in the warmth of the kitchen. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than I am in this exact moment,” Spencer whispers earnestly as they pull away.

“Not even when I took you to Bali?” Derek teases, smiling fondly at the joy in his boyfriend’s eyes. 

“Shut up,” Spencer admonishes, but he’s smiling too when he leans back in for another kiss. 

They eat their dinner together on the sofa. The Christmas lights are twinkling on the tree in the corner of the living room and the decorations Penelope had gifted them brighten the whole room; Derek has to admit that despite the animal skeletons, the house looks beautiful. He’s not sure he could possibly feel more cosy than he is right now, tucking into a delicious traybake, cuddled up next to Spencer while Love Actually plays on the TV. 

As soon as their plates are cleared, Spencer predictably cuddles even closer, folding his body into the contours of Derek’s as they watch the intertwining stories of the film. It’s not long before they’re both tearing up at the emotional narrative, sharing a box of tissues between them. Usually it’s Derek who cries at the films they watch, but this particular one seems to be getting to Spencer more than normal: the love between Sarah and her mentally ill brother, Michael, has Spencer stifling sobs as he thinks about his mother. 

“Come here, baby,” Derek whispers, fairly tearful himself. He gently guides Spencer to lay down on the sofa with his head in Derek’s lap, and he cards his fingers through the curls he loves so much as they watch the rest of the film play out. 

As the credits start to roll, Spencer sits up properly, leaning his head against Derek’s shoulder. “That was a bit intense,” he chuckles.

“Have you seen it before?” 

“No, Penelope just recommended it to me,” Spencer replies, sniffling again.

“I can’t count the amount of times she’s forced me to sit through it,” Derek laughs. “I cry every time, to be honest.”

Spencer doesn’t reply, he just takes one of Derek’s hands sitting in his lap and fiddles gently with his fingers, tracing the outline, the veins, the contour. It’s a comforting little motion for both of them, a point of connection, something to focus on, shrinking the world that sometimes feels so big down to just two hands, one tracing the other. 

“Come on, baby,” Derek says after a few minutes, “let’s get up to bed.”

“I’m not tired yet,” he protests quietly, snuggling further into Derek’s side.

“Well you can read in bed,” Derek points out. “But I want to sleep. I’m not the young man I once was, you know.”

Spencer cranes his head up to meet Derek’s eyes. “You’re even sexier now,” Spencer says, and it’s so random that Derek can’t help the bark of laughter it elicits. 

“Well, I’m glad you think so,” he grins. 

“You didn’t call me baby,” Spencer pouts, rotating his body so he’s straddling Derek’s lap.

“I’m very sorry,” Derek says mock-sincerely, lifting a hand to brush a stray curl from Spencer’s forehead. “How can I make it up to you?”

“A letter of apology to management,” Spencer suggests.  

“Management being you, I’m guessing?” Derek smiles as he hums in affirmation. “Come on you, let’s head up to bed.”

Spencer grumbles the whole way about old men and going to sleep before 11pm, but it only serves to make Derek smile fondly, kissing him to shut him up as soon as they walk into the bedroom. They’re soon tucked up in bed, Christmas candles burning as fairy lights glow along their journey around the coving. Spencer starts on his new book, lit up dimly by the cosy lighting of the room,  while Derek settles down to sleep.

He can’t believe he has a Christmas like this to look forward to for the rest of his life.

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez @fuckshitupm8-deactivated3728 

[lihikainanea]

bill and tiger around christmas and she decides to spoil him big time. he even buys her a lingerie set that is more risqué than normal, leaving very little to the imagination, and he’s even blushing about it because this set was BOLD for our good dude. but she rewards him, definitely rewards him.

ohhhhhh god how I love this.

But like, sweet nani, how is it risqué? Like what’s different about it? Wait, don’t tell me. I think I know.

Alright so we know about Bill and his little Merida thing, and we also kind of know that maybe Bill’s tastes in lingerie kind of err more on the side of dainty, feminine, maybe a little innocent. And I don’t know what I prefer more--like, did Bill just suddenly get daring and see a set that was far more courageous, and decide to get it?

Possibly, but also, please bear with me for another thought.

Maybe tiger is feeling herself lately. Maybe she got a big promotion. Maybe she’s been working out more. Maybe its neither of those things but she’s just having a total me moment and homegirl is feeling so good. And maybe one weekend morning at breakfast, Bill is talking about what he feels like cooking for dinner tonight and he’s waxing poetic about the most perfect artichokes he saw at the market last weekend and tiger gives a non-committal shrug.

“Whatever you want bud, I won’t be here,” she says. Bill looks at her quizzically.

“You won’t?”

She stabs a potato, nudges her feet (which are in his lap) into his hand because they’re cold.

“Nope,” she says, “Three’s a crowd.”

“Three?” Bill is still confused. Tiger takes a sip of her coffee and looks at him over the rim of her mug.

“Scarlet’s in town tonight,” she says. Bill’s eyes widen in realization.

“Oh,” he stammers, and the pink hue rushing to his cheeks is unmistakable. “Oh. Oh, god. Oh god that’s--”

he’s stammering like an idiot, smirking to himself like a dork, and tiger can’t help the little taunting smile on her own face. Bill goes quiet but that dopey grin is still on his face for the entire day.

And tiger’s tastes border on feminine and girly too, but Scarlet? That bitch is cray. Ain’t nothing she won’t do. So tiger picks out something that is definitely a little more bold and risqué than something she would ever choose to wear. Maybe instead of lace and frills and pinks and whites this one is black. Just black. And in the place of lace, there’s....nothing. It’s more harsh, it’s more bold, it’s far more erotic. There’s a few buckles--nothing too hardcore, but definitely racy. There’s no corset, no frills--everything is cut at harsh angles and there ain’t much to it. Tiger had to initially conceal the blush on her own cheeks when she saw the crotchless panties, but to hell with it. Bill was hers, and damn if she didn’t want to own his ass sometimes.

And listen, Bill is fucking adorable that day. He keeps watching her with flitting eyes, waiting for it, wondering if she’ll just suddenly morph into Scarlet or if there’s like....a cue, or something, that he needs to pay attention to. Tiger thinks it’s hilarious. He blushes the whole day, only steals fleeting, shy glances at her, and it’s a real power trip for our girl.

But eventually, sometime before dinner but after she’s made him a drink, she stands up and stretches.

“Well,” she says, “Better get going.”

Bill shoots to his feet.

“Oh god,” he stutters, “Oh god it’s happening. Okay. Okay okay okay...”

And he turns suddenly, but then he realizes he’s not the one leaving so he’s just kind of...turning in circles, trying to figure out what to do. Tiger laughs.

“Bye bud,” she kisses him, “Have fun.”

And then she disappears into the bedroom. And about 20 minutes later--20 minutes of Bill pacing anxiously, wiping his hands on his jeans--she emerges. And holy fuck, Bill’s jaw hits the floor. She’s done up to the nines, deep crimson lipstick, in a get up that makes his throat run dry. She looks incredible, but she also just looks so...naughty.

“Hey there,” she purrs. Bill actually squeaks. Rooted to the spot, unblinking, he squeaks.

“H-H-...” he stutters, “Hello. Scarlet. Hi.”

Bill’s never quite seen anything like it. She looks fantastic, but he’s just...stunned. In the best way. This set is far more skimpy, far more daring, far more outrageous than anything she’s ever worn for him before, and anything he’s ever bought her. And it flares a side of him that he didn’t even know he had--he always just kind of gravitated towards more dainty, understated lingerie--but this? Oh, oh he really likes this.

And maybe that night, how daring she is with him, how incredible she looks--maybe it kind of piques his interest and has him discovering some new little pleasures of his own. So maybe one day out on a limb (ie: he’s totally shopping online for new lingerie sets for her), maybe he sees one that’s a bit more akin to what she wore for him that night. A bit more bold, more explicit. And his throat runs dry, his breath hitches at just the thought of her in it--so he buys it. Wraps it up real nice for her. And it takes him a solid few weeks to get up the courage--and hell maybe he doesn’t quite get the courage. Maybe on his way out to a boy’s night at the bar, he places the neatly wrapped gift on his bed where he knows she’ll find it, gives her a rushed kiss goodbye, and off he goes.

But I mean, the idiot. Because tiger waits up for him. She always waits up for him when he goes out for the night (and vice versa), because that’s just what they do. Both of them will camp out on the couch until the other one comes home, so that they can go to bed together (oh god, my heart). So when Bill stumbles in a tad buzzed, tiger rubs sleepily at her eyes and goes to greet him with a kiss.

“You’re a tad mischievous, aren’t you?” she mumbles against his lips with a smile. Bill blushes a little.

“Maybe,” he smirks, “I know it’s a little....bold.”

“It’s beautiful Billy, thank you,” she says, “Scarlet will love it.”

“Actually,” he clears his throat, fiddles a little with the hem of her (his) shirt, “I was kind of hoping that...my girl would wear it for me.”

His honesty, his vulnerability still knocks her socks off. He shifts his eyes timidly to hers, and god her whole heart could explode.

“Don’t get me wrong, Scarlet is great,” he stammers, “But she doesn’t hold a candle to you. It’s always you, kid.”

Bill’s a big dude, but the velocity with which tiger launches herself into his arms is enough to throw him off balance.

[tirednotflirting]

but we were something, don't you think so?

vaguely based on ‘the one’ by taylor swift and also my walk home on an afternoon in july last year

also i asked helen if my writing lashton card gets revoked if i write something sad. will report back on what she decides.

(i apologize now for the tense issues in this i am still Learning how to not do that but i think it’s pretty obvious what takes place in the present and what does not)

oh and here is the ao3 link !

It’s a blazing hot early afternoon in July when Luke sees Ashton for the first time in over a year. 

(It’s been 13 months and 12 days since he last saw Ashton. It was on a cooler day in early May and he had been wearing the blue sweater. The one that made the green in his eyes stand out more than normal. But Luke likes to pretend he doesn’t keep track of that so consistently.)

It had been a good morning. Luke opened at the office that day so he had the privilege of making the first pot of coffee, getting to experience the rich smell filling the space while he responded to emails and voicemails. He had a brief chat with his favorite mail delivery person about their plans for the weekend and the renovations happening in the bathroom down the hall. His boss assigned him a list of names to call to discuss their fall registration complications. The time passed quickly with the phone chatter and two cups of coffee out of his favorite mug.

His replacement for the afternoon shift showed up on time for once and he shouted his goodbyes out as he left the office. He was eager to get back to the apartment he shared with Calum so they could head to the store and grab drinks and snacks for the concert in the park they had decided to attend that night. Last time they had gone to the event just the three of them, he had let Michael and Calum do the drink run and they ended up deciding that Jello shots were to be the drink of choice and all of the families attending gave them disappointed looks the whole night.

Luke walks through campus, his t shirt sticking to him a bit in the heat, and catches up on the texts he had missed from his mom and brothers. He takes a moment to appreciate the serenity of his university campus when it’s all empty in the summer, the only other people around being the occasional professor or a local family taking a walk with sunhats and a stroller. 

He’s just gotten a text from Calum asking when he’ll be back at their apartment and Luke is responding with an estimated time of arrival, factoring in the time it should take for him to grab an iced coffee on the way, when he looks up once he reaches the street corner. He’s only meaning to check for cars and to see how many seconds are left before he can cross when he sees him. 

Luke didn’t expect the way his heart would drop straight into his stomach when he saw Ashton again. Didn’t expect the way the message on his phone (one important to respond to unless he wants to get plastered off of vodka and Jello in public again) would be completely dismissed when he saw the black curls of the man who had made him feel like everything. The way his fingers felt like they were on fire. 

He also never expected Ashton to lock eyes with him the first time they saw each other again. 

But oddly enough, he is.

Two things flood into Luke’s mind then. The first is that Ashton doesn’t look bad. He’s got his hands shoved into black jeans that aren’t at all appropriate for the current weather. His hair is longer than he had kept it in quite some time, tied back into a tiny bun that rests just above the tattoo at his neck that he had gotten junior year (Luke still remembers his hand being sore for a couple of days because of how tightly Ashton had gripped it while the gun buzzed along his tanned skin). And his calm gaze holds Luke’s in a way that he had only just recently stopped craving four times a day at least.

The second thing that comes to mind is a day from two years earlier, probably almost exactly two years (if it wouldn’t nearly physically pain him to see their happy, drunken smiles from that day, Luke would have thought later to look through his camera roll to check if he was right). 

*

Ashton had only officially asked Luke to be his boyfriend about a month prior, just after finals ended. It was the summer after Luke’s freshman year, the summer he started working his campus office job that allowed him a reason to stay in the city with his friends and his boyfriend. One of Calum’s older sister’s friends needed to rent out her room for the summer and Luke’s advisor had offered him the job. It was a perfect storm. 

After work one day in June, Luke headed back toward the student apartments to Ashton’s building, his smile lazy but bright as he headed into a weekend and his boyfriend’s home. It was still very new, his relationship with Ashton, but it felt very big, very important. If he wasn’t so high on his love for the curly haired philosophy major and the feeling of being in the city in the summer, he might have taken the time to think a bit more critically about what it meant to dive in so deep with someone so fast. But then he felt a breeze in the air and the sun shining on his face, and he figured that was something to worry about on another day. Things were really good.

He punches the door code at the front of the building and climbs the stairs two at a time up two floors. When he turns out of the stairwell, he grasps the handle to the first door on the right, left unlocked since he was expected that afternoon. 

“Honey, I’m home?” he calls out as he pulls at the laces on his Converse so he can leave them at the shoe rack before continuing into the cozy space. The coziness of the place felt a little odd for June, a candle that smelled like Christmas burning somewhere based on the mix of the smell of sugar cookies and pine that meets Luke’s nose as he hangs his backpack on his designated hook. But that was Ashton, always curating his spaces to feel what he wanted. During one of the first few times they had hung out the previous January, Ashton had insisted on popsicles. It was one of the things Luke felt himself already loving about him.

Luke frowns at the lack of response to his greeting and makes his way down the hall to the kitchen, his sock-covered feet sliding a bit on the wood floor. He turns into the kitchen and finds that the cookie smell had been due not to a candle but real life cookies that were cooling on a rack on the counter behind a headphone-clad Ashton. Luke laughs quietly to himself, wondering what the occasion was as he continues through the space and checks to make sure there’s nothing hot or sharp in his boyfriend’s hands before wrapping his arms around his waist. He lets his hands clasp together at his stomach and huffs out a giggle when he feels him jump with surprise.

Ashton uses his free hand not holding a spatula to pull his headphones off his head, hanging them from one of the cabinet handles. He leaves the utensil in the bowl and turns in Luke’s arms to face him, his arms wrapping around the blonde’s neck. “Hey you,” he beams, his arms tightening some to pull Luke closer to brush their lips together in greeting. Luke notes to himself that he must have been sampling his cookie dough from the sugar against his own lips now. “Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Seems like you were busy,” Luke smiles, moving one of his hands from Ashton’s back to gesture to the kitchen. 

Ashton lights up, his dimples deepening as he smiles. “Oh, yeah! Wanted snacks for the show tonight.”

A confused look drops to Luke’s face. “Didn’t remember that we bought tickets for something tonight? Where is it at?”

“We don’t have tickets for anything. There’s this free concert series at the park that I thought would make a wonderful Friday night date night and I am determined to continue wooing you. So I bought pink wine and I’m making cookies.”

Luke releases his arms from his waist then, moving to the side to dip his finger into the cookie dough to taste it. “Consider me wooed. That sounds lovely.”

He’s ushered out of the space to sit at the counter then so Ashton can continue working. He’s given a glass of lemonade and tells Ashton all about his day, about the students who came into the office for help with registration things and the dogs that he saw on his walk to campus. Luke gets Ashton to talk some about what they’re going to and it’s apparently Ashton’s favorite part of the summer. He goes into a story about a sweet dog and baby he got to meet when sharing a beer with some dad at one of the shows the previous summer.

“It’s funny because last summer it was my favorite thing to do with just me,” Ashton starts as he packs the cookies into plastic bags to put in a tote with the wine that he’s already poured into plastic bottles (glass wasn’t allowed at the park). “But I got the email about the set for tonight and I don’t know, I think it could be nice if this becomes our thing in the summer, you know?”

He turns up to look for a response from Luke and is met with the likely hilariously bright blush that Luke feels creeping up to paint across his cheeks and nose. He giggles to himself and raises his brows at the blonde as he packs some strawberries and cherries away to take with them as well. “I’ll take that as a good response to the idea then?”

Luke bites at his lip as he smiles. “That sounds incredible.”

They take the bus to the park. The sky is just dipping into golden hour as they dance their way to where the other attendees have their blankets set up for the evening. Luke makes Ashton stop his skipping for just a moment, claiming he needs him to stand still and smile for a lock screen picture, please. They find a good spot next to a group of women who brought their dogs and boxed wine and immediately start telling them how cute of a couple they are. Luke blushes fiercely as Ashton kisses his cheek, resulting in a chorus of squeals from their neighbors. They introduce themselves and the dogs and it’s really all something out of a film, Luke thinks.

They chat about work and summer courses some more and exchange stories from their younger years they have yet to share while sipping wine from plastic cups. Ashton lets Luke feed him cookies and they listen to the women tell stories from their many years of coming to the shows there. Luke sits between Ashton’s legs as they listen, gentle and thankful smiles on their faces, and Ashton reaches for one Luke’s hands, weaving their fingers together and resting them against Luke’s lap. 

The sun sets further and the music starts. They thank their new friends for the stories and smile respectfully, blushes on both of their faces hidden in the twilight when the women request invitations to their wedding. Ashton is stunned silent (a rare occurrence, really) so Luke makes sure to tell them he’ll add them to the guest list. 

It’s during the main set that Luke realizes he wants to live in this night for the rest of his life maybe. His back is against the chest of the first boy he’s ever loved, his body rising and falling just slightly with Ashton’s breathing and singing and laughter. The hazel eyed boy has one arm wrapped securely around Luke’s waist while the other lifts the water bottle of rose to his lips every so often. Luke finds that he feels so safe in that moment, like because of this night, nothing in the world could ever hurt him because he feels so high up in the air. He feels Ashton tilt his head some to place his lips against Luke’s neck, and he just never wants this to end.

Eventually it does though, of course. They fold up their blanket, smiles on their faces after the band closed with a cover of one of their favorite songs. Goodbyes and promises to meet up at the next show are made as their new friends wander off. Luke jokes that he’ll have to tell his mom about how easily the pair of them are able to make company with women like her friends. On the bus back to the apartment complex, Ashton sleepily leans against Luke and the blonde cards his fingers through his hair, smiling at the bright, fruity scent of Ashton’s cologne he keeps catching a whiff of. 

They stumble into the apartment, slightly tipsy off the wine and each other, only pausing to brush their teeth and change into something more comfortable to sleep in before falling into Ashton’s bed. They face each other and Luke kisses at Ashton’s laughter lines as their legs tangle together. 

“God,” Ashton bites his lip against a smile as he lifts a hand to cup Luke’s cheek, his thumb stroking across his cheekbone. “I have no idea what good I did to deserve you.”

“Glad we’re on the same page,” Luke sighs as he leans into the warm hand on his cheek. “I think I might love you. Is that okay?”

Before responding, Ashton lifts his chin slightly to press his lips to Luke’s forehead. They breathe in unison for a moment before he moves to look Luke in the eye. “Only if it’s okay that I might love you.”

Sleep finds them quickly after their (almost, maybe) confessions.

*

The memory fades out like a fog when Ashton’s eyes pull away from Luke’s when the signal changes for Ashton to cross the street taking him in the opposite direction. Luke finds himself unable to tell if he wants the black-haired boy to turn back to face him or not. He’s not sure which action would break his heart apart more. As he watches him walk into the crosswalk, he feels another memory, this one quite the opposite feeling to the first, start to creep into the edges of his brain but he finds himself able to push that one down (thankfully).

He takes a deep breath as he watches Ashton continue down the street, not once looking back to see if Luke is still looking at him. And when his own walk sign lights up, it takes Luke just a moment to get his feet to start moving again as one single thought fills his mind so many times it feels like it’s blocking his vision.

If one thing happened different, would everything be different today?

He crosses the street then and continues down in that direction, deciding to take just a slightly longer route so his feet don’t have to take any of the same path as his ex-lover. He sighs then but as he feels a somewhat nostalgic summer breeze cool his face, Luke pulls his phone out to text the group message to ask if they want to help him make sugar cookies to take along with them to the park.

(That night, for just a moment, he swears he sees Ashton again a few picnic blankets away, his head tucked into the neck of another boy with curly hair. But then the boy sits up to laugh at something the other has said and Luke realizes it isn’t his past love. But the odd sense of hopefulness he had felt for the couple when he thought it was Ashton tells him that maybe one day he’ll really feel okay.)

*

[maviemesregles]

Once I was an Eagle

Aaaaaand, I'm back! I know it's been bloody ages since the last update but I needed a break. I also had been busy with other ficlets so OIWAE was put on pause. But the story is back and I do hope you like this instalment. I really, really like this chapter.

I am absolutely horrible at answering the comments (which I'll fix, promise) but I do see each one of them! I LOVE reading what your thoughts are, whether you liked some moment or a particular turn of phrase, I appreciate it all. No matter if it's one word, emoji, or a big analysing comment. Thank you lovies for staying here with me. <3

Anne, you’re my gem  💜 @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​

Read on AO3

     Chapter I: The beginnings

Chapter II: Sassenach

Chapter III: Catharsis

Chapter IV: Lovestruck. Part I

Chapter V: Lovestruck. Part II

Chapter VI: Flecks of Sun

Chapter VII: Mince pies & baubles

                                           Chapter VIII: Home

Blood pounded in Claire’s ears muffling the music and the howling wind outside. Jamie’s face blurred as the tears gathered at the brink of her lower lashes. She inhaled deeply, blinking furiously to get rid of the swell of moisture in her eyes. Closing them Claire could feel Jamie moving towards her, gently touching her arm, voice concerned.

“Claire, was it too early? Did I-”

He could not finish his sentence because she dissolved into ugly crying. Clinging to him, gasping for air and in general being an awful mess.

“Shh, mo graidh. Shh. Tis alright.” His hands wrapped around Claire in a familiar way, thumb circling the tender skin at her nape softly.

“I.. I’m going to ruin your shirt.” Sniffing, voice muffled by his aforementioned shirt Claire leaned back to look at the mess she created. Her running nose and damp cheeks imprinted a mascara-black wet blot on green fabric. She could hear Jamie chuckle as he picked her up and sat down with Claire curled on his lap.

“I dinna care one bit about the shirt, lass.” Lips gently pressed a kiss to her forehead. Claire sighed though still gasping for air. The comfort of Jamie’s warmth made her body become limp.

“I’m not crying because I am sad,” Claire whispered, hand cupping the back of his head. “I... I’m crying because I’m happy, Jamie. Happy to live with you.”

Dropping a kiss on the bridge of her nose, he smiled.

“Aye. Me too, my Sassenach.”

* * *

It was the beginning of what seemed like an endless hunt for what would become a perfect flat for us. We spent about three weeks chasing an ideal place, checked at least ten flats scattered all over Edinburgh but none of them was quite what we were looking for (not far away from my work; with a park nearby to allow Jamie to go on his morning jogs. And it needed to have a large living room and be pet-friendly.)

Jamie (bare-chested, skin still flushed from the shower) was performing his magic by preparing the scrambled eggs I loved so much while I sat on the windowsill, feet in fuzzy socks propped up the wall. As I scrolled through rental ads on Jamie’s iPad I felt the pressure of upcoming headache from all this searching. And suddenly, there it was. The place that we were looking for.

A stone-built ground floor house had a spacious kitchen and a huge living room adorned with an old fireplace. The ceilings were so high I thought there is no end to them. “Canna wait to hear yer voice inside these walls” Jamie smirked at me as we followed behind the agent chirping away about how great this flat is. “Whatever do you mean?” I quirked my brow at him. He leaned closer, whispering into my ear, his warm breath tickling the little hairs on my nape. “Weel, those sounds ye make when I-” Giggling, my elbow pressed into his ribs, stopping him before any dangerous and inappropriate (for the agent) revelations could occur.

Grand windows allowed the sun to slip into every little corner of the flat and made it breathe with light. There were two bedrooms with hardboard wooden floors and a small study fully equipped with bookshelves. French doors in the kitchen opened to a garden with a southern exposure was the last deciding straw for me. It had everything we needed. Adso would be welcome to live here, it was a fifteen minute drive from my work and there was a park just across the street. Although it was rather pricey, Jamie ignored my hissing remark “Almost four grand quid? Fucking insane,” and said that we should sign the rental agreement. I kissed him senseless allowing the feeling that this is us now, our own place fill me up.

The rental price had changed our plans a little bit. Forcing us to spend a couple of days moving small furniture and other possessions Jamie and I owned to our new accommodation by ourselves. At the end of it all, sweaty and tired, we sat on the boxes in the empty living room, watching the snowfall outside the huge windows.

“Are ye happy, Sassenach?” Jamie gently pulled me by the wrist to his side. My hands cradled his face as I stood up and found myself a prisoner between his thighs.

“Of course I am, James Fraser,” thumb caressing the apple of his cheeks I glanced around. “Only I have no idea how we are going to organize this mess.” It feels like between the two of us there are millions of boxes and bags, packages. I’ve brought the plants I owned (the only three I managed not to kill), a box full of uncle’s Lamb belongings, an enormous contemporary art painting Geillis got me for my 30th birthday two years ago. Adso had his belongings too, a scratching post, litter tray and his own little blanket. Adso himself was being babysat by Geillis while I and Jamie tried to sort out our moving. Jamie was currently sitting on a stash of my medical books destined for the study.

“We’ll manage, a nighean ” His hands patted my hips, bringing me closer. Planting a soft kiss on the washed fabric over my sternum, Jamie looked up. “We canna do more than our best.”

My stomach had the quite opposite opinion of doing our best and rumbled loudly.

“God, I’m starving” yawning I reached for the cellphone.

Later, full and warm with chicken ramen, curry with prawns and wok-fried greens we had just enough strength in us to unpack most of the carton boxes that said “Kitchen”. In that hour and a half, we managed to laugh, listen to Jamie’s Dire Straits playlist on his phone and argue over ridiculous things. Putting away a bitty family of my mugs and cups Jamie dropped my favourite mug Frank bought me a very long time ago and I never could get rid of it. It was massive and bright yellow, with Friends on it. It was my all-time binge-love TV show. It shattered in yellow pieces atop the counter and floor. I didn't mean to snap. But we both were bone-weary from a long day of moving back and forth, of a week packing before, exhausted from all the searching catching up with us. Suddenly I felt my chin quiver at the sight of my beloved, now broken mug.

“I’m sorry, Sassenach.” Jamie bit his lip, trying to reach me with his hand over the island counter but I shrugged away.

“Why are you so bloody clumsy, ” I mumbled, kneeling to pick up broken ceramic bits. Jamie rubbed his face, clearly wanting to say something, but instead he bent to help.

Annoyed just by him breathing next to me at that moment I dropped collected pieces straight into the bin. When he tried to sweep the floor from the dusty mug remains I snapped.

“Oh, please, just move away, or you’re going to break something else.”

I regretted the words right after I’ve said them but blood was already pounding in my ears and there was no way back.

“I said I’m sorry,” Jamie muttered, looking visibly irritated himself now. “It’s just a mug, I’ll buy ye a new one.”

The tension crackled with its force.

“I don’t want another bloody mug! ” I barked at him trying to busy myself opening a new box. “Frank gave it to me. It was my favourite one.”

Time seemed to stop for a second as Jamie slowly licked his lips looking me straight in the eyes.

“Frank?”

Unable to hold his gaze anymore I turned my back to him staring out of the window.

“Don’t you start playing a jealous boyfriend on me,” I grunted, telling myself to calm down. You know he doesn’t mean it bad.

He grumbled and I could hear him retreating to the living room.

“Why are ye bitching about it, Claire?” He hissed and I thought I could feel his words crawl inside me like a poisonous snake.

“What?” I followed him to the room (aka the mess) full of boxes.

“Nothing.”

“Repeat what you just said,” I demanded.

He didn’t. Instead, we spent the next hour in different rooms unpacking. Or pretending to. I wasn't able to do a proper job and stopped on one box. As the sweat cooled off on my skin and the urge to cry faded away I plodded down the hallway towards the bathroom. Passing the living room I caught a glimpse of Jamie placing my candles (that he hated) on top of the fireplace. The sight gave my heart a painful (and guilty) squeeze. Deciding that taking a shower, putting fresh PJs on and making us both a nice cup of tea would make both of us feel better.

I turned on the hot water. It was blissful and caused me to go limp. Engrossed as I was I did not hear Jamie come in. Shedding his clothes wordlessly, he stepped into the shower behind me. Cupping one breast, he dropped a kiss on my shoulder.

“I’m sorry I snapped, Claire. And I’m sorry for ye wee mug.”

Turning to face him, I nodded and kissed his jaw softly.

“I am sorry, Jamie. I was unreasonable and acted like a jerk.”

Our earlier argument was mended when his lips sealed on my neck, leaving me breathless. Moments later I cried out as I sagged against the tiled wall, him still inside me.

We slept on a makeshift bed that Jamie constructed from his mattress and two blankets just right in front of the fireplace. We laid, limbs entwined, among the boxes and bags, hands lazily tracing hills and valleys of each other bodies. “I love you,” I whispered before my mind drifted away into the realm of Morpheus.

* * *

Weeks later our flat finally started looking like somebody really lives here. With all our mismatched furniture, collection of books (mine mainly botany and poems, and Jamie’s classics and fantasy), with a horrid motorbike engine of Jamie’s (the one he used to drive in his uni days). No matter how much I asked him to throw that away he squealed like a girl protecting her virtue, not letting me come near that metal monstrosity. We agreed to put it away in the second bedroom which initially became a storage room.

One evening as I rocked my hips atop of him Jamie smirked that we marked each room in this flat. “ Aye, we did” I said mimicking him as I yanked my scrub top off over my head. Jamie made my body go limp against the shower tiles; he drew mewling sounds out of me on the kitchen table; my moans bounced off those high ceilings in the living room; his laboured breathing filled our bedroom and crawled up the walls. I gasped at the feeling of him in the storage room when Jamie announced his evident desire for a quickie; and he groaned “Oh, Claire” following his meandering Gaelic cursing as his hands tangled in my curls while I kneeled down unzipping his jeans.

Every time I showed up at work Geillis would never forget to ask me with a wink “So, my darling, how’s yer wee ginger? Loves ye well? I TOLD YE. Yer fucking glowing like a candle, Claire.”

Living with Jamie was a whole new experience. Now I had the luxury to wake up to his sleepy face and mussed curls every day. He would make the most miserable facial expression as I switch on the table lamp, grunting and burying himself under the layers of blanket. James Fraser was definitely not a morning person. “Five in the morning is torture,” he mumbled sleepily as I pressed a goodbye kiss to his forehead. “Normal people sleep at this time, ye ken. Go, save yer humans, Sassenach.” Squeezing my hand he turned to snooze immediately. But as soon as I got to work my phone would beep with his text message every morning “Have a great day, a nighean. Love ye.”

Any other morning I had a chance to stay in bed longer he’d wake me up with his hands, his mouth and his body molding into mine much like matching puzzle piece. I could not remember life without him anymore. Without his perfect morning coffee for me; without our banter or seriousness full talks in the darkness of the night, his hands on my hip, thumb carving the shape of my pelvic bone; without lazy evenings on the couch with Netflix and takeaway, my head resting on his chest, Jamie’s hand wrapped around my waist, and Adso curled on his lap.

Every day I had a pleasure of observing his fucking gorgeous post jog body. But like any other couple, we shared our bit of things that drove us crazy. Jamie had this annoying habit to turn the TV on so loud I had to scream like a banshee from the kitchen to get his attention. He also seemed to be very dedicated at the task of leaving the puddle of water on the bathroom floor after showering. I would not even want to mention his morning cologne spraying session that left a suffocating smell in the hallway. But, I myself was far from perfect. I had to endure him rolling his eyes at me and making disgusted faces as he plucked my hair out from the shower drain. Also, Jamie was patient with me and my attempts to cook and never protested eating ordered food. He would often volunteer for the task seeing me struggle with slimy spaghetti. But all those things did not matter as each night I fell asleep saying “I love you” lulled by his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek.

It had gotten to the point where I found that I could not live without him. So when Jamie had to leave to Inverness for three days I cursed at his business the whole day. Without him, I felt like the part of me was torn away and even Adso purring by my side couldn’t remedy the feeling. That’s why now I shamelessly found my place on Jamie’s lap, sparkling rosé in my hand. Our kitchen was filled with laughter, chats and instrumental indie playing from Google Home speaker Jenny and Ian gave us as a gift. The food was rich and tasty, the wine was pleasantly chill and Jamie’s left hand on my hip too much to handle. We haven’t made love for three days and I was positively flushed with desire. My skin was on fire - a mix of alcohol, laughter and Jamie.

“So, Claire, I do hope ye like yer wee rug?” Angus tried to wink at me sipping his red. I rolled my eyes and looked over my shoulder to have a look at his present again. It was a door rug in a bright green colour with a white cat on it that said: “Don’t forget to pet my pussy-cat”. He shoved it into my hands grinning. I was taken aback and did not know what to say. Meanwhile, Jamie broke into almost hysterical laughter, as I stood mouth agape. “Ye do have a cat, no?” Angus snorted and I only managed to nod as he welcomed himself inside our flat.

“Very thoughtful present,” I said, saluting my glass to Angus.

Untangling myself from Jamie’s embrace I excused myself to the bathroom. I washed my hands and caught sight of my face in the mirror. Cheeks pink coloured I splashed cold water on my face, feeling the drops run down my neck. Hair drawn back in a sweaty knot. When Jamie opens the door there is a trail of loud raucous laughter coming from the kitchen follows him.

“I’ll be right back,” I said thinking he came to get me. But the next moment the latch on the door clicked closed. His lips sought mine and he tasted of whisky leaving the burning sensation on my lips. His hands reached under my sweater, tracing the small of my back and then soft skin on my belly.

“I love them all, but I swear if they dinna leave soon, I’m going to have to kill all our guests” Jamie breathed out heavily as my hands fumbled with his belt, tugging at the stubborn zipper of the jeans. He cursed something in Gaelic that I did not understand when my fingers found his hot flesh.

“I might kill them myself,” I agreed, gently biting at his earlobe. My mouth fell open when Jamie snaked a hand between us, curling and tasting me with his fingers exactly right.  

“Christ, Claire” He muttered under his breath, fingers damp from his exploration. But our moment was rudely interrupted by Murtagh unceremoniously knocking on the door. “What are ye doing there, ye wee beasties? We need more booze.” Grunting in annoyance Jamie slid his belt back in and reached to pull my rolled sweater down. Kissing him chastely, we made it out back to our guests.

Over the next several days, we both were swirled into the routine business of life seeing each other mostly in the evenings. I’ve been extra busy at work and Jamie still had to finish important tasks at the brewery. Both of us exhausted, we barely managed to order takeaway, with me falling asleep on the couch as soon as the food was finished as a new episode of Peaky Blinders played. Jamie would carry me to the bedroom. He crept in beside me covering us both with a quilt. We would touch fingertips and sleep holding each other until the sun came uninvited, crawling inside the room. There was a silent agreement between us and the sex was at bay. There was a day when Jamie’s hands glided over my hips, finger drawing patterns at the panties waistband. Sleepily, I mumbled that I’m gross and disgusting and in need of a shower and shave. The other day I managed to pull off my sexiest face and slowly pull down my knickers I turned to find Jamie had fallen asleep soundly, mouth slightly agape. Chuckling, I picked my discarded underwear and slid under the blankets next to his starfish sprawled body.

Standing in the locker room at the hospital I’ve snapped a photo of myself. I turned myself provocatively displaying my ass to look as if I spent days in the gym (I did not of course) but nonetheless Jamie seemed more than fascinated by this body part of mine. Sending him the picture with capslock text “TONIGHT FRASER” I retreated back to work. All morning and lunch I spent thinking of the upcoming evening. Geillis took me out of my thoughts by grabbing my hand in the hallway.

“Claire, are ye alright?” Her eyes examined my face worriedly. “Ye look as pale as the wall behind ye.” I shook my head, reassuring her it’s nothing but a bit of nausea.

“I’m fine, Geil.” Running a palm over my clammy forehead I felt the imminent need to vomit. “It’s probably that sushi I had for lunch with Joe. I told him it did not look good.”

Giving me judgmental-mother look and shaking her head Geillis still made me sit down and close my eyes.

“Ye work too much, lass. Jamie needs to take ye on a holiday.”

The perspective of vacation sounded like an unreachable luxury at the moment but under Geillis’s superior look I agreed to go home earlier tonight. It started to rain hard outside when I crossed the threshold, dropping the bags of groceries down. Deciding that I might as well cook today instead of having takeaway again I strolled down the kitchen feeling slightly wamble and dizzy. After taking Pepto-Bismol and hoping it’ll help calm down my disgruntled stomach I opened a can of cat food, summoning Adso. But my cat was nowhere in sight. I’ve checked every nook and little corner, under the bed and couch. In the storage room as last time Jamie closed the cat in there by accident. My furry baby seemed to have vanished into thin air and I felt an oncoming wave of worry mixed with nausea. The open window in our bedroom hit me with a realisation. Eyes swelling with tears I dialled Jamie.

“Christ, Sassenach, I must have forgotten to close the damn window and the cheetie ran away.”

He promised to find him. I spent the evening googling stories of cats running away and cried some more thinking of my poor Adso alone in the cold rain, scared and hungry. I was sure I would not see my cat again. It was around midnight when the front door opened, Jamie’s footfalls startling me from my broken sleep on the couch. I rubbed my puffy eyelids as Jamie stepped inside the room.

His clothes were soaking wet, face painted with tiredness. But the smile on his lips was an encouraging sign. Unfolding his jacket Jamie stroked Adso’s grey ear who was nestled against his chest.

“Jamie! Oh, I can’t believe you did it.” I jumped up, taking Adso into my arms. He was wet and dirty, paws leaving marks on my skin. “Where did you find him?”

Taking off the jacket, Jamie leaned down to receive my kiss on his cheek.

"Here, you must be freezing cold." I reached for the bottle of whisky, pouring him a glass. When he gulped it down and his cheeks turn into baby-pink he told me.

“Ye’d never believe it. I spent hours just driving over the neighbourhood, mistaken at least three cats for him, but he was nowhere. And then I had an idea, it was crazy but possible.” Jamie ran his hands through his damp curls. “I drove to yer old place. And there he was, sitting in front of the door of yer old flat.”

“Oh, my poor baby,” Cradling Adso I reached for the towel I had just in case Jamie managed to bring him home. “Why did you run away, you silly?”

“I’m sorry, Claire. 'Twas my fault, I left the window open.” Jamie patted my thigh gently, looking guilty.

Lening in to kiss him, I traced his cheekbones with my fingers.

“You found him, Jamie. It’s all fine.”

* * *

Jamie woke to the sudden absence of Claire in the bed, her side of the blanket looking like a messy ball at the end of the bed. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. Glancing at the clock that showed three in the morning Jamie called out her name. When no response followed, he swung his legs down the bed, worry caused a cold feeling in his stomach as he walked to the bathroom.

“Sassenach, are ye al-” The words stuck in his throat seeing her small figure, curled on the floor next to the toilet. “Christ, Claire, what happened?” He kneeled down, cradling her head into his lap. His heart was pounding away in his ribcage, fear filling every fiber of his being. She looked pale as a paper sheet, sweaty curls stuck to her skin. Shaking her head weakly, she mumbled as quiet as he ever heard her “I’m okay.” But she was decidedly not okay. Her eyes closed then. Jamie picked her up, rushing to the car outside and mentally thanking all existing Gods that the hospital was just fifteen minutes away. Jamie was there in precisely seven minutes.

[alphawave-writes]

It only takes a (Christmas Eve) moment Sigma x Harold Winston

Synopsis: Siebren and Harold spend their first christmas eve as a couple together in Harold's apartment. For this pair of middle-aged men, that means ugly sweaters, movies, and a lot of kissing. 

This was done for @oldstupidtmplar, who wanted me to write a fluffy fic based on their Christmas art, which you can find here. I HIGHLY recommend checking them out. Their art is just beautiful, and has definitely inspired how I write these two.

Read it here, or find it on AO3. For more Sigma, check out my series 'The universe sings’. For more Sigma x Harold fluff, check out my other two fics here and here

-

If Siebren thought Horizon One’s Christmas decorations was excessive, Harold’s apartment was in a league of its own. A Christmas tree was adorned with the traditional ornaments and also various coloured paper chains—a remnant of Harold’s half-Chinese heritage. Wax candles had been lit and burnt away, leaving behind the lingering scent of gingerbread. If he peeked through the doorway, a basket of apples wrapped in colourful packaging paper lied in a tiny basket on Harold’s kitchen countertop, side by side with a variety of snacks and desserts. Fairy lights line the backwall of Harold’s living room, opposite a small couch and a TV.

On a table in the corner of the room, Siebren noticed a stack of books on zoology and animal biology. Next to them was a single framed photograph. Siebren remembered this picture. It was taken months ago back on Horizon One, less than a week before he and Harold were to head back to Earth. In the photo, Harold smiled toothily at the camera, two thumbs pointing up while Siebren himself smirked beside him, eyes scrunched up to give an expression that’s halfway between coy and smug.

Siebren only realized he had picked up the photograph when he heard footsteps behind him. He quickly replaced the photograph on the table as he turned around to face Harold. He was wearing what many university students called a ‘christmas dad’ outfit. His thick rimmed glasses matched horrendously well with his green Christmas sweater, where a caricature of a gorilla sat side by side of two snowmen.

Compared to his simple red sweater adorned with stars, Siebren looked almost fashionable. “I think you win the ugly sweater contest,” he smiled.

“Heaven forbid I look good on Christmas Eve,” Harold chuckled. His eyes glanced to the photograph, his laughter fading into a warm smile. “Like the picture?”

“The-the photo?” Siebren cleared his throat loudly, averting his gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Siebren, I know you saw it.” Harold grabbed the photo and gazed upon it fondly. Siebren stood behind Harold, looking down on the photo from Harold's shoulder. “You looked good,” Harold said.

“I look smug,” Siebren muttered.

“You look handsome." He placed the photo back, turned around, and stole a kiss from Siebren’s cheek. “This one turned out quite nicely, actually. I'm thinking of taking it to the shop and framing it.”

Siebren blushed. “Really? I-I mean, that’s not necessary. I wouldn’t want to impose.” He rubbed the back of his head.

“It's a good photo. We look cute.” Harold waved Siebren to follow him to the kitchen. “Come on over. I managed to find a store that sells stroopwafels here in Hong Kong. Probably not as great as your homemade ones, but they’ll do in a pinch, right?”

Siebren stared at the photo, his cheeks still pink. He didn’t have the guts to ask Harold why he went through the effort of printing and framing that particular photo. Sure, they were dating, but for less than a year. He didn’t think he had that much impact on Harold’s life—not enough to warrant a framed photo of his face in Harold’s home, at least. A man’s home is a sacred, special place, after all. A single photo on a man’s living room, when there were no other photos in sight, that was something significant.

“Siebren, come on. You said you’d make me your boozy eggnog.”

“C-coming,” Siebren stuttered before heading for the kitchen. His lips pursed. “And it’s called advocaat.”

It was clear from the spotlessness of Harold’s kitchen that the man didn’t cook often. The fridge had few edible food items, the pantry mostly consisted of non-perishables, and the pots and pans were a bit too spotless. Still, Harold’s kitchen was as organized as his desk, so it didn’t take long for Siebren to get the ingredients he needed: egg yolks, salt, sugar, brandy and vanilla extract. Harold watched from the opposite side of the kitchen island, chewing on a gingerbread biscuit. Siebren knew better than to ask Harold for help in the kitchen. 

As he cooked the ingredients in a pot, his eyes couldn’t help but drift to the lone hallway, where two doors sat. One was the apartment’s sole bathroom, and the other was Harold’s bedroom. The very same bedroom he was expected to sleep in tonight, within the covers of the bed, next to Harold’s sleeping form. A new wave of heat crept up his cheeks and down his chest.

It wasn’t a new thing for the two of them to sleep together, but that was all that ever occurred, never anything more. It was different back on Horizon One because they were on a space station where professionalism and thin doors were the standard, where sleeping side by side on the same bed is tantamount to scandal. That was as far as they allowed themselves to bend the rules, if not out of fear of losing their jobs then to protect the tentative peace of the moon base. But now he was here in Harold’s apartment, in Harold’s domain. Horizon One’s rules didn’t matter here. They could be as intimate as they wanted to. Trouble was, Siebren didn’t want to be more intimate. All he wanted to do tonight was curl up by Harold’s side and dream pleasant dreams. He wasn’t sure if Harold felt the same way now that they were back on Earth.

He filled various mugs with the bright orange advocaat mixture, being careful not to spill anything on the pristine kitchen countertop. Harold helped him put them into the fridge where they will refrigerate. Afterwards, they made themselves comfortable on Harold’s couch. Harold turned on the TV to a web streaming service before passing the remote to Siebren.

His eyes lingered on Siebren’s feet. “You know, you can take off your socks if you want, Siebren.”

“Really? Finally.” Overeagerly, Siebren whipped the socks off his feet and stuffed them into his pant pocket. By his side, Harold stifled a laugh. Siebren frowned. “What?”

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just so cute how excited you got over it,” Harold giggled.

“Bare feet promote better circulation for the legs.” Harold gave him a withering smile. Siebren added, with a pout, “My feet get sweaty.”

“There it is,” Harold laughed. His arm wrapped around Siebren’s neck.

Siebren’s response was to wrap his arm around Harold’s waist as he flicked through the meager listings. He wasn’t completely surprised that Harold’s taste largely seemed to compromise of Asian historical dramas, not that Siebren was a fan of them. Documentaries and sci-fi shows were more his thing. He clicked on search. “Any preference?”

“Nothing really.” Harold rested his head on Siebren’s shoulder. “Something simple with a nice story. Doesn’t necessarily have to be Christmas related.”

“I believe what you just told me is a preference,” Siebren smirked.

Harold rolled his eyes, amused. “Just pick the movie, tiger.”

Siebren’s eyes narrowed a little as he clicked in and out of a few movies, none of them satisfying his tastes. After a while, he clicked on a bunch of boxes in various different filters. The counter of available movies on the top left hand corner ticked down.

“Siebren, you’re not searching for a research paper. This is just a movie,” Harold laughed.

“But how else are we going to optimize our movie watching? By highlighting key words, sorting by genre, rating, and ranking, we shall theoretically get the perfect movie that will satisfy both our tastes. Observe.”

Millions of movies came down to just one. In the genre listing it’s titled as ‘vintage’ and ‘animated’. A rusted, cubical robot waved happily against the backdrop of what appeared to be another planet, the Earth glowing an ethereal blue in the distance. An old Disney film called 'Wall-E'.

The two men paused, looked at each other, and shrugged. Siebren pressed play on the remote, and the two of them curled up into each other, pressed so close that they could feel each other’s body heat. Harold is comfortable and warm in his arms, a welcoming distraction from the mysteries of the universe. 

The movie turned out to be surprisingly good fun, although perhaps not for the reasons intended by its creators. Harold was overanalyzing the movie’s themes as it relates to the Adam and Eve myth, while Siebren makes a game out of pointing out all the scientific errors within the movie. Harold kept his mouth shut when the plant was introduced, but became very vocal once the spaceship shot up into space.

“Aren't there sensors for this? Did they not refuel the spaceship?”

“I know,” Siebren laughed, amused to see Harold get so passionate. “And this is supposed to be for a scouting mission for a single robot.”

“I’m one person, and I've been in spaceships 5 times smaller than that. Why don’t I get a gigantic missile like that when I go up to space?”

“Maybe if you become a robot, you’ll get special treatment.”

Harold slapped his own forehead, snickering. “Heavens, no. I rather like being human.” He turned to Siebren, eyes low, his voice dripped with innuendo. “Some things you just can’t do as a robot.”

Siebren gulped loudly, keeping his face forward to the TV. Harold let it slide, sniggering to himself, quieting as his attention was inevitably drawn back to the movie.

The rest of the movie passed by in relative silence, the two of them only piping up if they saw something worth discussing. Still, even the scientific improbability of a colony of humans traveling the stars for thousands of years could not distract them from the love story that was core to the movie. Though the two robots never said a word, their love was as clear as day. In a strange way, it reminded Siebren so much of his romance with Harold. So much of their love was expressed through actions and song, not words. 

In the final moments of the movie, the main character robot had reverted to factory settings, removing the personality and autonomy that made it human. Siebren reached for Harold’s hand, the contact leaving electric sparks. He sucked in a breath, his eyes darting to the side. Harold brushed his hand on his jaw, pulling his head to face him. The two robots shared a tender kiss, their love restored, the Earth panned away to reveal the dirt and debris that floated outside its atmosphere, but Siebren didn’t see any of this. All he could see was his own image, reflected in Harold’s wanting eyes. ‘It only takes a moment’ from Hello, Dolly! echoed throughout the room as Harold ran his thumb over Siebren’s chin.

And that is all, that love’s about

And we’ll recall, when times runs out

Siebren’s eyes closed as he felt the hot breath hit his cheeks, calculated the estimated time of impact when lips crashed against lips. Harold looped his arms past his waist, pressing pause on the remote. The movie had been paused, but the lyricists still kept singing their love song in Siebren’s head, their voices the only thing Siebren can hear aside from his own heavy breaths.

That it only took a moment

To be loved

A whole life long

Siebren barely registered the faint scent of apples before lips—then tongue—pressed against his mouth with the impact of a meteor. His hands felt for Harold’s shoulders, bracing from the shudders of the aftershock. The string lights illuminated Harold in prismatic colours, his tongue a solar flare that burned Siebren from the inside out. Siebren’s mouth eagerly opened, flicking his tongue, desperate to mimic the very actions that threatened to unravel the very molecules that made up his body. He was at Harold’s mercy, intoxicated on Harold’s taste, trapped underneath Harold’s love.

Harold shifted beside him, lifting one leg so he could straddle Siebren. His smile was small but indulgent. His eyes twinkled like the stars. His hands trailed down to Siebren’s stomach, hovering over Siebren’s thick thighs, fingers twitching in anticipation. Whispers of Harold's lust hovered in the air, choking the once-clear air.

It's all too much for Siebren. Too much, too soon.

His eyes flew open, a hand pushing Harold away slightly. The distance between them widened by two centimetres, but it was enough to make Harold stop and take pause. Harold stared at him dumbly; clarity had yet to filter into his body.

“Siebren?” He whispered breathily. “Do you want to take this to the bedroom?”

“I…n-no, I…” He didn’t know what he wanted. He wanted this, this moment, this kiss, but no more than that. He wasn’t ready for what came next. He wasn’t sure if he would ever be ready.

“Siebren?” Harold repeated.

“Mijn Schatje, I…” Siebren sighed. “I’m…I’m sorry. I’m not ready for…” he pouted. “M-maybe I should find a hotel for tonight instead.”

“W-what? Why?”

“I know what you want. What you want to do to me, o-or what you want me to do to you, but I’m not ready. If you ask me to sleep with you, I’ll just lead you on and…well...” Siebren coughed loudly into his fist, his cheeks crimson in shame.

“Siebren, did you…I didn’t mean to…” Harold’s eyebrows scrunched together. He gazed down to where he sat on Siebren’s lap and took the glasses off his face, placing them on the side table beside the sofa. He ran a nervous hand through his hair, fingertips disappearing into chocolate brown strands. "I didn't mean to push you."

Silence hung between their bodies, thick and impenetrable. All they could do was stare at each other, trying to interpret meaning and emotion behind shimmering eyes.

Siebren ran a soft hand over Harold’s stubble, tracing a pattern of his own creation. Harold leaned into Siebren’s touch, his eyes flutter closed. Their heartbeats slowed down to the beat of the metronome. The tension slowly evaporated from their shoulders.

“I should have mentioned this earlier,” Siebren whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Harold shook his head. “Don’t apologise. You’ve got your limits, I understand. That won’t stop me from loving you.”

“I still want to continue this,” Siebren said. “The kissing, the touching. What we usually do.” He looked away bashfully. “Nothing more than that, if that's okay with you.”

Harold smiled, relieved. “I understand perfectly, my x­­īn gān.”

Siebren had never heard Harold use that particular nickname before, but he thought it must be important when Harold’s hands pressed on his chest and kissed him delicately on the lips. He kissed back eagerly, pulling Harold so close he could hear his heartbeat thumping in his chest. Fingers glide over Siebren's shoulders, relaxing him. Siebren hummed in pleasure. Yes, this was what he wanted.

They caressed each other, give and take, tracing over cheeks and necks and shoulders and arms. Harold tilted his head to the side, silent permission for Siebren to leave his mark on his skin. And Siebren took it, sucking lightly, just enough for Harold to sigh deeply. 

“Are you OK with this?” Siebren breathed into Harold’s skin.

Harold’s eyes fluttered, a lazy smile growing. “I’ll be happy with anything as long as it’s from you,” he said. He meant every word , and Siebren knew it. He let out a quiet smile, glad and relieved that he had such a kind, wonderful man by his side.

Arms snaked around Siebren’s neck, pressing kisses on his jaw. “Harold,” he sighed.

“Stay,” he pleaded. “It’s cold outside.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle quietly. “It’s 18 degrees outside. I’m already sweating in this sweater,” he said.

“Then I’ll be cold without you.” His lips nibbled Siebren’s Adam’s apple. “Stay with me tonight. Please.”

Siebren responded with a kiss to the bridge of Harold’s nose and a smile. Siebren allowed himself to be led out of the living room, past the kitchen and the lone hallway to Harold’s quaint little bedroom. He had very little time to admire the plain bookshelf and the twinkling lights of the Hong Kong skyline before Harold pulled him to the bed. A laugh escaped Siebren’s throat as Harold wrapped his arms around his body, pressing the two of them so close he could feel the rise and fall of Harold’s chest. They didn't stop touching and kissing each other. 

It's hours when their kisses became less passionate and more lazy, their sighs and groans tinted with sleep. Harold traced his thumb over Siebren’s cheekbone, his eyes half-lidded and fond. “Nǐ de yǎn jing hěn měi,” Harold sighed.

Siebren smiled sleepily. “What does that mean?”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes,” Harold responded.

Siebren blushed. “And what about the other one you said earlier? Xin Gan, I think it was?” He probably butchered the pronounciation.

“A secret," Harold giggled.

Siebren hummed quietly to himself, enjoying the melody of Harold's soft laughter. This was what he wanted, to be in Harold’s arms like this, to hear the song of Harold's life thumping in his chest, constant and even. “May I say something in Dutch to you?” He asked quietly.

“Go for it.”

“Ik hou van jou,” he said. “Mijn favoriete plekje is samen met jou zijn.”

“What does that mean?”

“A secret,” Siebren smirked.

Harold huffed, eliciting another quiet chuckle from Siebren. “I’ll find out one day,” Harold declared, his voice laced with mirth and joy. “Just you wait, I will take Dutch lessons, and I will find out what you're saying.”

“It’s good things, don't you worry, mijn schatje," he said. “Wonderful, magnificent things.”

They fell asleep like this, their limbs wrapped around the other, content smiles strewn across their face. Though Siebren was in Harold’s apartment, sleeping in Harold’s bed, he couldn’t help but feel like he had finally found a place he could call home. 

His dreams were short, and he forgot what happened in them when the morning rose, but he remembered that they were blissfully peaceful and pleasant. They pressed light kisses on each other's cheeks as they woke up, drank the advocaat Siebren made the night before from the fridge, and unwrapped the presents beneath Harold’s Christmas tree. Siebren got Harold a stuffed gorilla with glasses that bared more than a passing resemblance to Specimen 28. Harold in turn got him hot pink bamboo socks.

Siebren gave Harold a withering look. "Seriously?" he said, upon which the latter laughed.

Harold brought out a second gift hidden behind the couch—"the real present", he claimed. Siebren was careful to not rip the wrapping paper, revealing a simple but large cardboard box. Inside the box, nestled beneath the stuffing, was a framed photo. It’s a photo of the two of them—the very same photo that sat in the corner of Harold’s living room, in fact, only enlarged. The frame was painted bronze and adorned with classical architecture motifs, making the photo within seem more intimate.

"It was such a good photo I thought I should frame it," Harold said. He gazed fondly at the photo. "You really do look handsome here."

Now Siebren could see what Harold saw. As he gazed at his own, younger face, he didn’t look smug or cocky, as he initially thought. He looked like a man who was absolutely in love.

If he could glance at his reflection, he figured the same expression on the photo was stricken across his face.

Harold pecked Siebren on the cheek. His smile was warm and welcoming like the sunrise. “Merry Christmas, Siebren.”

“Merry Christmas,” Siebren smiled. He bit back a sniffle. Tears began to well up.

“Are you…are you crying?” Harold chuckled.

“N-no! It’s the Styrofoam you put in this box.” He cleared his throat excessively loud, a diversion to distract Harold while he blinked away the tears. “P-perhaps I need another cup of advocaat.”

“Oh, tiger, if only I knew the photo would get you so emotional," Harold laughed, louder than before. "You look so cute when you’re flustered.”

“I am not cute, Harold,” Siebren pouted, which only seemed to convince Harold even more that he was cute. The rest of the Christmas morning was Siebren trying (and failing) to explain to Harold why a middle-aged man of his stature and appearance could not be cute.

[ill-skillsgard]

Damn Straight, Part 1 - Bill Skarsgård

Title: Damn Straight

Description: Past deceptions bring a young couple to Mirth Island, a place of natural beauty and the promise of inner healing. When one of them is introduced to a young man who lives on the island, their budding friendship threatens to destroy more than just fragile trust. Warning: 18+ sex/swearing/drug use/mentions of addiction and cheating

A/N: Here is the first part of my least popular Bill fic. I found this story particularly easy to write and it was definitely one of my favourite stories. I hope you enjoy it! There will be no author’s notes from here on out

She was doing the dishes and humming a tune that she always hummed whenever she got lost in her task at hand. I was sitting at the kitchen table with my laptop open, reading over a line of text that didn't come across to me quite right. With the kitchen sink running and her voice echoing through the kitchen, my logic and my patience got into a fist fight inside my head. I couldn't figure out what was wrong with the sentence and even if I wanted to, the house was full of distractions. I knew I could just put on my headset and listen to some calming music but I couldn't be bothered to get up from my chair. When the water stopped running I heard her footsteps padding all over the wood floor, cupboards opening and closing and the clinking of ceramic. She was putting the dry dishes away. Even that nudged my thought process further away from productivity. It wasn't her fault but I was about ready to take my work into the bedroom just to get some quiet. "So Vye, I was talking to Kat and she said she knows this amazing doctor who helped treat her mom's friend gambling addiction, pro bono. Maybe we could get her contact information and see about-" "No." I interrupted. Cici peered at me from the doorway leading into the kitchen, my coffee mug upside down in her grip. She stared at me with this haunted look of disappointment. I tried not to entertain it and kept my attention on my work. I heard the boards of the floor creak as she went back into the kitchen. It was quiet until she shrieked, her cry followed by the sound of something smashing violently against something else. I shot up from the table and ran into the kitchen to find her, a crumpled mess on the floor and shards of my favourite mug all over the ground. "Cici, what the fuck!?" I yelled. "My dad gave me that cup!" "What is your FUCKING deal!?" She cried hysterically at me, tears pouring down her flaming red cheeks. "What is YOUR fucking deal? You just broke my dad's cup! I don't have hardly a thing that belonged to him and you just fucking-" "Your dad this and your dad that! Yes, Vye, we all know your fucking dad is dead and about your daddy issues and how you're so fucked up about it but what about ME!? What about what YOU did to ME? You don't even seem to give a flying fuck about ME anymore! You don't even want to get fucking help because you don't give a shit about anything! Especially not me!" She slumped over and cried harder. I watched with wide eyes as she twisted her hands in her lap. The scars on her arms peeked out from underneath the gray cotton material of her college pullover. Her sobs filled the room and I suddenly forgot all about the cheap brown ceramic mug that I had inherited from my dad. "Cici... Jesus Christ. I'm sorry, okay?" "No, you're not." She whined, using her sleeve to wipe at her dribbling nose. "Yes, I am, goddamn it. Don't tell me how I feel. I hate it when you do that. I'm saying sorry because I am sorry." "If you were sorry you would be open to getting help. You would want to fix yourself." She said. I inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeling my heart rate start to climb down. I knelt down next to her, careful not to step on any shards of the broken cup. With my arm around her, she melted back into my chest, no doubt enjoying the feeling of closeness. It was no mystery that I felt an immeasurable amount of remorse for her and what had happened but she still liked to find ways to utilize that against me. Lately, she had been spreading it quite thin to cover her ass when she had these insane freak-outs and there was hardly a thing I could do about it. Nothing I did was right in her eyes. Nothing I did would convince her that I didn't hate her. In reality, I was suffocating in silence. I had an immense workload and Cici yapping at me like an untrained puppy for attention all the while I had a ghost looming over me that liked to whisper awful things in my ears at all hours of the day. It kept me up at night and tired me out during the day. She refused to acknowledge that I was underneath just as much, if not more stress than her. But that was the thing about Cici. She was the Queen of drama. Ever since we were young she liked to be the center of it all. If some kid got hurt on the playground and began to cry, Cici got hurt even worse and started to scream to make sure all eyes were on her and it worked the majority of the time. It was hard to ignore a screaming blond-haired blue-eyed girl. She knew how to work a crowd. The day she took it took it too far was a landmark in my world. I didn't think she had it in her to pull the ultimate distraction stunt but she did and she made me rue that day for now and forever. She liked to throw it in my face constantly like a net, making sure I was still entangled in my guilt, solidifying my never-ending debt to her. She continued to cry and I rocked her a little, shushing her and wrapping her up in my arms to help her calm down. "Okay... I'll start looking for help. I'll do some research on what support groups are available." She whipped around and looked at me, smiling through her tears. "Really?" "Yes. I will. " I replied. "Can I ask Kat about couples therapy?" "Maybe... You know I hate therapists." "Vye..." She whined again. "Okay, okay. Ask Kat. But I would really rather go to an open group or something." Cici's sadness turned into pure elation and she got up off her butt and threw her arms around me, only pulling back to plant a hard kiss on me, wetting me with her tear-stained cheeks. "Thank you Vye." Dejected, defeated once more and already regretting what I had agreed to, I hugged her back with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. ~*~ I opted to work from home on Friday. I woke up feeling weak, heavy and unwilling to get myself into the shower. I called my boss and told him that I couldn't make it in and luckily, he didn't seem to mind. I wasn't sure if it was because he felt bad for me or if he was just too busy with other things to care if I was present or not. I changed into a clean pair of underwear and socks but put on the same pajama pants and sweater that I had been wearing for the last two days. To say I didn't care about my appearance would be an understatement. Opening my laptop from the comfort of my bed, I began to work on my latest project. I figured if I could bang out six thousand words by lunch that would be a good enough accomplishment to allow myself to maybe leave the house to go get something to treat myself with. Maybe a cupcake from the cafe up the street or a sugary latte. Something to congratulate me on getting work done or just continuing to be alive in general. When I left the house I did manage to put on some publicly acceptable clothing. I was most certainly depressed but I still had a small shred of pride and I didn't want anyone I knew spotting me wearing pajamas in public. It was mostly the fear of ridicule that prompted me to do simple things like that. I ordered a double chocolate zucchini muffin and an Americano at the cafe, smiling when the male barista asked for my name. "Vye, like dye but with a V," I said to him, the spiel already a thousand times rehearsed in my head. "Cool... Vye. That's a nice name. What's that short for? Violet?" He asked as he spun a biodegradable paper cup in his massive hand. "Nope. My parents were just those people that gave their kid a one syllable name." I said with a playful shrug and a smirk. "Awesome." When I got my coffee it said 'Vie' on the side of the cup. Whatever. Nothing new there. I smiled at the guy again and took my cup to the table I had set up camp at. I pulled my hood over my head, opened my laptop, inserted some earbuds and started working away, periodically stopping to rip off a chunk of my muffin or to sip my coffee. It was nice just to be left alone and before I knew it, I had spent two hours in the cafe clicking away on my laptop like a mad woman. Satisfied with my word count, I decided that was all the work I needed to do for the day. For once, I actually felt like I had accomplished what I set out to do and that gave me more satisfaction than I had felt in a long time. My mood was elevated and when I got home Cici was already there, fluttering about like a bee, landing delicately on this thing and that, adjusting the placement of her candles, wiping the dust off the bookshelf and rearranging the throw pillows on the sofas. She was humming again and to me, it sounded like a song and not just mindless buzzing. When she saw me smiling she smiled too and tiptoed up to me to place a chaste kiss on my lips. "So I have some very good news for you. Well, it's for both of us, really." She claimed. "Oh yeah? What's that?" I prompted her. "So I talked to Kat..." I felt my heart skip a beat or two. "She said that there is this place that we can both go to, like a couples retreat." I sneered, much to Cici's admonishment. "No, no. It's not like how it sounds. It's this little resort and it's like a community of people that have these kinds of support circles on the beach." "I don't see how chanting 'Kumbaya' with a bunch of strangers would be helpful," I said, wary of what was to come next. She giggled, "Would you just listen? It's not just that. They have workshops for struggling couples, sex therapy, tantric sex practices and gurus. No doctors or anything. It's just a big open place where couples go to find healing and enlightenment." "Enlightenment? Sounds like a place with a lot of Kool-Aid." I tittered. "If you want, we can go talk to Kat to get a referral. I told her about you and us and how you don't want to lay on a couch and talk about your problems. She said this place is like a vacation and it's exclusive and beautiful and... You know, our kind of thing." "Hm... Sounds expensive." "Well, we have been saving a while for a vacation. Maybe this could be it. You do want to get better, don't you? And I want you to get better and this place sounds like a lot of fun." I bit the inside of my cheek, contemplating. "I don't know. I guess let's talk to Kat about it first." "Yay! We have a meeting with her tomorrow." I rolled my eyes. It was already beginning to sound like I had no choice in the matter anyway. When Cici took the reigns, I was forced to just sit back and allow her to run with whatever it was she had her mind set on. I didn't need another violent episode and I didn't want any more broken objects so I agreed to the meeting. Later that night while we were in bed, Cici rolled over and started to pull at me. I knew what that meant. Grimacing in the dark, I acted like I was already asleep. "Vye..." She whispered. I didn't reply so she nudged me even more. "Vye." "Hm?" She didn't say anything. She slipped her hand underneath my shirt and my body tensed up. "Cici, I am beyond tired." Pulling her hand away, she rolled over and huffed in frustration. I opened my eyes and looked over at her underneath the mounds of the blanket. Sighing, I rolled towards her and hooked my arm around her hip, pulling her little frame closer. "Sorry," I whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her hair, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. "When will we-" "I told you that I can't. Not for a little while longer." "Fine." I held my breath in anticipation for a bigger retaliation but it didn't come. For that, I was grateful. Fighting in bed was something I dreaded the most and luckily, she was not in the mood to continue. "I can't wait to talk to Kat tomorrow," she said slowly. "Yeah..." ~*~ We sat in Kat's waiting room for a few minutes after we arrived. It was a typical waiting room, lined with chairs and end tables stacked with old issued magazines. There was a bookshelf laden with encyclopedias and granite Komainu bookends that were no doubt brought over from Japan. The whole room had a Japenese-Hindu-Buddhist-theme to it, although Kat was anything but foreign. There was a little bonsai tree on the receptionist's desk and hand-painted pictures of paisleys and oms lining the walls. It was hard not to scoff at the conflict of culture. It was so 'white girl' that I couldn't keep my eyes from constantly rolling to the back of my head. When we entered Kat's office I saw the dreaded chaise lounge that I had been doing everything in my power to avoid. Luckily there were two seats in front of the desk that we could sit on like dignified people. Cici and Kat squealed at each other and hugged, expressing their shared contrition of not having seen each other in so long. I simply shook Kat's hand. We had all gone to the same schools so Kat was already well aware of all the history behind us. There was not a lot to explain but I felt like I was going to be forced to open up about some things that I hadn't quite given a spoken voice to yet. This was what I was trying to not do, the very thing that I hoped to avoid. "So, it goes without saying that you have the right of doctor and patient confidentiality. Whatever is said in this room will not leave these walls." The opening spiel was not as long and drawn out as I thought it would be. I attributed that to the fact that Cici had already been in contact with Kat for weeks prior to the meeting. I wouldn't have been surprised if Kat already knew every little detail of every tiny thing that had happened between us within the last few months. "So, Vye, I'm sure Cici has already told you about the resort. What are your thoughts? Do you have any questions?" I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat, Cici's eyes bored into me with excitement. I was sickened by how much pleasure she was getting from having finally sat me down in front of a doctor. I hated this and she knew it yet she was still practically bursting at the seams. "Yeah, I have questions. What is it? Cici told me some stuff but it sounds a little ambiguous to me." I began. "Well," Kat started, folding her hands in front of her in that proper doctor way. "The resort is called Mirth Island and it is exactly what it sounds like; an island resort for people that are in happy relationships that just want to explore new ways of being together." "Still, sounds pretty vague to me." "Shush," Cici hissed. "Let her talk." Kat smiled at Cici and then looked back at me. "Mirth Island has a lot of beneficial programs for couples that are experiencing troubles in their relationships. There is group counseling available which is just like any other support group except for it's on a beach and there are no judgments. I have a few friends from school that teach there as well." "Teach?" I pressed. "Yes, there are workshops for couples that want to experience a deeper connection. It's like a mixture of sex therapy and sexual education. There are actual practices as well." "Like... Sex practices?" "It's totally optional. Everything available there is completely optional. You are not obligated to attend any circles or sessions. Sometimes couples just go there to be get away and find enjoyment around other like-minded people. It's all very open and honest." "Sounds like a sex cult." "Vye..." Cici said warningly. "No, I'm curious." I stopped her. "Do people like... Fuck each other there? Is it all like open-relationship type people? Like a swingers getaway?" Kat smiled at the both of us. "Not quite. Although I am sure there are couples there that do engage in things like that but like I said, everything and everyone there is very open and accepting. You do not have to engage in anything that you do not want. You can simply go there just to reset the batteries but I do strongly recommend trying some of the circles. They can be very awakening." I sat back in my chair and took it all in. It did sound nice to go to a secluded island where I could relax. Cici seemed to think it was a great idea and if that made her quiet about me going to therapy then maybe it was something to consider. "They also have sex-addiction counseling," Kat not-so-casually brought up. I looked over at Cici who did what she could to avoid my stare. There it was. With that little revelation alone I knew that she had been talking to Kat about more than just my depression. "It's all very safe and loving and non-judgmental, I assure you, Vye. I really do feel like the both of you would benefit greatly from an experience like this." "I'll have to think about it for a little longer," I claimed. "What is there to think about?" Cici chimed immediately. "It's perfect! We have been saving for a vacation and what better way to spend the money than on something that might help the both of us? It sounds amazing to me." "I can write a referral for you two today if you want Vye." Crossing my arms, I sat in silence just to show that I was feeling a little ganged up on. In my mind, I already knew what I wanted but I relished the thought of Cici sitting there in suspense. For once, I had the upper hand and I didn't want to give it away so easily but the way her big blue eyes begged at me made it difficult to keep a straight face. "Fine. All right, I guess we'll go then." She gasped, looking back excitedly from me to Kat and back again. "Yes! Thank you, Kat! I can't wait. Aren't you excited, Vye? I can't wait!"

[home-working]

Let There Be Sunlight

Holy shit it’s 2019! What did you get up to in 2018? What were your achievements, your successes? (Tumblr, I see that you have quasi-upgraded your blogging platform so I can have proper post titles AND photo layouts, congrats! Except they don’t really work!!)

One thing I did was upgrade my workspace, cause holy fuck it was starting to get depressing having my desk in a dark corner.

Welcome to Homeworking HQ (Ditmas Park) 2.0! Now I get to push pixels beside my big, bright, plant-adorned window, which allows me to bathe in all the reflected sunlight I can take and more easily spy on the people across the street at all hours of the day. In addition to relocating my desk, I got rid of another shitty table I didn’t like/need and replaced it with something useful: colour-coordinated S-T-O-R-A-G-E!

Behold!

Since apparently I don’t know how to purchase anything that isn’t red, yellow or blue, I found this not-Bisley™ wheeled filing cabinet online and then filled it with shit to organize other-shit-that-was-cluttering-up-my-apartment. There is nothing quite as satisfying as hidden things unnecessarily matching other things that are also hidden!

The only other surface I now have to eat off/do anything at is this IKEA “kitchen island” which I mostly end up standing at if I have a guest over like some awkward personal bartender because I currently only have one tall stool:

December: back on the holiday caramel-making bullshit.

Anyways, so far, it’s been a success sitting 10 feet closer to a natural light source, measurable by the fact that I really actually enjoy sitting at my desk again.

Wow, I’m sitting beside a window! Ok!

But how else does one define success? Purchasing objects to improve your quality of life is one thing, but measuring success in your career and personal life is trickier.

Warning: the rest of this post is basically me practicing long winded/unfunny/unresearched existential thought diarrhea so feel free to maybe skip it!

When I was younger and still unsure of what direction my life would take post-art school, I knew that at least no matter what I ended up doing, I wanted to be successful at it, and loosely defined that “success” as being able to make a living from it (growing up in a financially unstable household, self-sustained monetary security was of high importance). I was very lucky that I fell into a creative line of work that I not only found enjoyable and challenging, but was able to turn into a relatively fruitful career.

But the thing with a low threshold of success is that as soon as you achieve it, you need to begin rescaling your definition of it to keep moving forward: you need to embrace AMBITION.

O, ambition! What highs! I remember in my late 20s working a full-time advertising job then coming home and joyfully working a number of assorted freelance jobs. I loved it! (My then-boyfriend hated it!) I was productive! I was building a portfolio! The future! and! amount! of! work! was! limitless!

But now I’m TIRED. Thinking about work makes me TIRED. Just seeing my phone display “January” made me TIRED. Last year when I had a temporary full-time gig, with a 1.5-hour daily commute, I got home and ate take-out sushi with 13 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy and ignored my freelance work and fell the fuck ASLEEP.

And still, despite a lack of energy (vitamin B and heme iron be damned), I feel guilty every minute of the day before 10pm that I’m not working on something. Even if all my client jobs are complete, I still feel like I should be taking advantage of that rare “free time” and work on a personal project (this post itself is a direct result of the joy/guilt from staying in on New Year’s Eve).

There’s the concept of a healthy work/life balance, but who has time for that? No minute can ever be wasted, because ambition is always perched on your shoulder whispering: you need to produce MORE THINGS; you need to work HERE, or teach THERE; you need to be on THIS WEBSITE, or THIS LIST, or in THIS GALLERY, or work with THIS STUDIO, and have THIS TITLE, or give THIS TALK… or you’re not really achieving success. Even if to outside eyes it might look like you’re doing pretty damn good, when you measure yourself next to your industry peers, you’re ultimately a smidgen above average, at best.

What’s sadly comforting is that achievement insecurity pervades almost everyone. A friend that I consider to be extremely successful (owning companies, property) once confided that their own family doesn’t see their achievements to be very worthwhile. Another friend, who puts so much work into running their own small business, is realizing the energy they’re pouring in is not resulting in a sustainable existence. Yet another friend, who seemed to have achieved the whole perfect job/house/marriage/dog combo, felt inadequate for having trouble conceiving.

So what if you’re not reaching the level of success you think you should have by now? Does yearning for more keep you moving forward, or just make you feel shitty? When do you abandon ambition? As my friend Amil Niazi recently commented on the Sheryl Sandberg concept of “leaning in”, when can we just give up and “lean out”?

What I’m realising is that what possibly makes the idea of abandoning success so difficult is that I, a single woman, don’t know what I’d replace it with. As 20-somethings unburdened with families to raise or households to maintain as earlier generations were, we were instead burdened by the freedom and expectation to become who we wanted as early as we could. And if we millennial women are not trying to live our most ambitiously fulfilling lives [on social media], do we even have an identity?!

If a woman chooses to forego ambition, there seems to be only one acceptable reason for that: motherhood. (She can have it all as well, but god forbid she have neither!) But I’m not sure I want that either, and so giving up success without starting a family means I will have to decide if I not only want to let myself but also society-at-large down.

Your 30s (ironically the decade that I’ve decided is about learning to not give a shit) seems to be the ultimate reality check; either you’ve already “made it”, or you need to embrace that you haven’t, probably aren’t going to, and are too damn tired to keep trying. Do we just need to give ourselves a break at this point? Re-evaluate our definition of success yet again, instead of abandoning it altogether? Maybe the better question is WHY I feel the need to measure my own success in the first place, when everyone’s definition is different anyways... someone’s definition might be having a baby and a white picket fence; mine should be managing to survive in New York without health insurance while self-employed.

Me, exemplifying the self-satisfaction that comes with writing about yourself on social media while simultaneously exhibiting how my apartment has been reorganized.

I was recently told by an older friend that your 40s is about learning to love yourself. So I guess I’ve got 4 more years of trying to “make it” before I can officially give up and force myself to be happy with (or at least acknowledge) what I’ve achieved thus far, and worry about nothing more. Looking forward to that menial office job and craft room in the sky!

Colophon sweater & socks: UNIQLO; toque: Army & Navy; sweatpants: Alternative Apparel; mug: some print-on-demand company; glasses: Steven Alan clearance; plants: IKEA & Home Depot; couchy thing & kitchen island: IKEA; stool: Target; status candle: Diptyque; filing cabinet: Walmart.com; wall poster: Grilli Type; everything nice: probably MoMA Design Store deep discount; caramel recipe: David Lebovitz; optional subtitle: “Or, How I Never Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Hustle”; most horrifying thing I remember from a dream last night: Kylie Jenner; most stupefying thing to waste time image searching: Kylie Jenner’s teenage face transformation; best thing to snog as the clock strikes midnight when home alone on NYE: duty-free booze

[autumn-in-phandom]

“Did Dan get TOO TAN?”

(Sept 19th 2017 Dan liveshow timestamps)  

0:03 After an awkward pause and salute: “Hello cyber friends” (instant regret and reflection)

0:29 (Dear god, don’t grab your laptop by the screen like that Dan.)

0:44 Grimace #1

1:06 No Dan, you do not look *atol* different. That tweet, title and pic are all just clickbait.

1:10 (Bronze my ass.)

1:19 Hitting us with that meme.

1:25 (Didn’t need to be in your face thanks. Teasing angles?)

1:36 “Never say Trumpy ever again, in any circumstance.”

1:45 Lovely pores and freckles.

2:00 Obviously everyone subscribes to YouTubers for their freckle content.

2:30 Livestreams are “a mistake” because of the chat clinging on to one thing and spamming it.

2:40 No probing or questioning at airport, big grin.

3:01 “The broadband is terrible but the 4G is great.” Okay…

3:17 “The toasty Dan experience”, orangish filter.

3:26 Double rhyme: “I guess that’s a rhyme, yeah that’s fine” (okay it’s a slant rhyme)

3:47 “Buttered crumpet Daniel.”

4:02 “Went to an island in the Mediterranean.” (This is exactly the answer I expected and quite frankly the only one he should give.)

4:09 “Literally did nothing for about six days, it was great.”

4:15 ‘I am Pilgrim’ book recommended by his mum.

4:30 Tricked into reading 900 page book.

5:00 Holiday was incredibly relaxing.

5:10 “Ordeal” getting there, delayed flight, three hours “traumatizing”

5:22 “Haha long boye” “literally, shins driving into my chest, bleeding” alright hyperbolic humor Dan. “Tough.”

5:38 “Violated” on flight by guy’s elbows, “no respect for personal space”, “fully leaning into me”, “didn’t even care”, “honestly an icon for all of us.” (Was it Phil?)

6:03 3 am, old driver, mini bus, cliff roads, did pre-ritual preparing for death.

7:00 “So much yogurt”, doesn’t know why.

7:05 “Assaggetti” tweet, we can shame him, “has the worst sense of humor in the world”, check it out and unsubscribe, doesn’t remember the language (Italian), apologizes, “constantly problematic”.

7:55 “Got that D from the S up above” (vitamin D, or Phil…)

8:16 Phil came on the holiday in case anyone didn’t know.

8:18 “He went from like glass to pale ivory, which is good”, “Phil is someome who erupts in freckles whenever he goes outside, so it’s hard to tell if he tans or if your eyes are just kinda like drawing the dots between the space all the freckles are, if you know what I’m saying.” (Wow, I… I’d like to think you mean what I know, but I’m not sure. Wow.)

8:37 Someone in the chat: “Nice Ursa Major on that cheek boy”. Turn, pose, laugh.

8:41 “The Bigger Dipper of my self esteem.”

8:53 Good day: watched Bake Off and answered emails, “thrilling”.

9:13 Tumblr likes, fan art, “beautiful to celebrate the great people.”

9:43 “The internet is not here”, laughs, sighs, apologizes.

9:55 Some peer pressure advice.

10:25 Had to check what his video title is.

10:35 I don’t know why he bothers to ask if we watched either.

10:55 Accept that he does things by his British calendar.

11:11 Why he didn’t he talk about uni stories when it was happening. Ashamed? Yeah, processing turmoil at the time.

11:55 Now shares traumatizing, terrifying, shameful, embarrassing stories straight away.

12:15 Rowing club guy AU… (not what I was thinking)

12:46 Laundry story: Phil was nice, Dan didn’t ask, *literally* ordered a cab, turned up with suitcase, Phil assumed he dropped out and was moving in, “I’ve had a day and I’m going to wash my socks in your washing machine.”

13:13 “If you struggle to function as a person-” (I really wish he had finished this sentence)

13:15 Asda sponsor for crying in the cheese aisle?

13:23 Pasta burn shaming (were you just never in the kitchen with your mum Dan?)

13:36 Dropping laptop so much recently.

14:00 Never taught cooking, laundry, accounting.

14:18 “No one told me shit!” (in Dan’s face again).

14:33 “What happens when I’m 23?! How do I do a tax?!”

14:54 It was ravioli (pretty sure the instructions mentioned water Dan…)

15:15 Thick as in stupid, not thicc fat booty.

15:30 “Look Fatima, we all have different life experiences, okay?” (lol)

15:36 “Ravioli ravioli, give me the death I deserveioli.” Relates.

15:45 Rihanna livestream, forehead fetishist? Wouldn’t mind if anyone leaves for that.  

16:08 Not up on BTS, DNA.

16:33 Shames Eden for “let me see that pastussy” comment, “leave.”

16:45 “Love on the Brain”. He really loves Rihanna, amazing, blessing, doesn’t give a shit, casual, informal, etc. “Bitch Better Have My Money.”

17:25 Is sure BTS video with be “pure and beautiful”, expects “softly applied eyeshadow and very fluffy hair”, he’s sure he’ll enjoy.

17:38 Maybe new gaming video/livestream tomorrow.

17:45 Overcooked, ironic kitchen fire, foreshadowing.

18:08 Wasn’t sure if he should get into Chinese guy story again, but he has to.

18:13 Deep breath: “It was 4 am, I’d been you know, well hydrated that evening, but I decided I needed another drink” go into the kitchen, everyone else was asleep, guy had a whole chicken, with neck and feet, fine but surprising, tiniest pair of white y-fronts, hacked head off and made eye contact, just couldn’t, usually would awaken some kink in him…

19:39 Pool pic, shout out to friend, no consent, relaxing, absorbing sun like a lizard, *basking*, fell asleep, lucky it was a pool and he didn’t drift out to sea, sun stroke vid reference, “the bad tan”.

21:08 People saying “trying to be cute”, the double chins (really?!)

21:21 The least Dan-like photo.

21:33 Thought it would ruin his Instagram aesthetic.

22:10 Lack of other content: relaxing, reading,

22:24 Took a couple other photos, sunset selfie, “no one’s going to take a photo of me” (what the hell happened to your personal photographer?) but then people came (please post, please!)

23:40 Bake off is his life, “Noel Feilding is a national treasure”, caramel was torture while hungry, faves are Liam and not!Val (what did he whisper about Liam? Really wanted him to be…?)

24:30 *Maybe* Halloween Baking, they don’t think that far ahead about anything.

24:48 Phil’s role in Dan’s video, mugging scene took nine takes, afraid to punch him. Outtakes please!

26:03 (grimace #2) “Hello Grandma, my name is Daniel, I’m a wholesome person, that’s a very great influence”

26:16 Wachowski films

26:23 Dan floating in donut plushies would be very challenging.

26:33 Dan flips a bit at the idea that’s it’s weird to like people who don’t know who you are. Uses Ed Sheeran as example.

26:55 Scrolls past person who said they feel better when they have a dream about Dan and Phil.

27:17 Cared more about YouTube than university socializing and class, Pom Bear Massacre reference, made Tumblr account.

29:09 Chapped lips, season changed the moment he stepped off the plane.

29:42 “Okay Universe, I know I can be a bit of a downer, sometimes.”

29:51 Haley Barry Storm powers

30:08 Yes the furry blanket comes out, polyester, sad pimp, Marks & Spencer.

31:06 Ready for everything seasonal, autumnal Yankee Candle range, not haute, but fun themes.

31:31 Frisbee laptop across the room on to the bed, missed.

31:46 Candle haul, yes it is content we need right now!

32:26 Furry invasion on Splatoon, scaley, yiffing proposition, “this is a family game”, not shaming just concerned for kids, though it is hentai-esque…

33:27 Sonic: 2010 reminiscing, formatting of boxes.

34:04 Was stupid side kick, Phil being good, Dan trying to be helpful, actual just a cheerleader, Phil was disgusting, doesn’t know if Phil even knew what he was saying (of course he did).

34:38 Didn’t know uni vid was trending

34:52 Reflection (I think that’s the piano nook)

35:00 Weird because of swearing, someone at YT didn’t watch the vid, “Ah, keep doing that, don’t watch my videos, just know that I’m a good person…”

35:25 “I make great friendly content.” (grimace #3)

35:30 Explains why trending isn’t automatic. Yes, think of the children.

36:05 “But hey, I’m not bad, everything’s fine”.

36:45 “People of all genders do and don’t wear makeup”.

37:10 (I’m pretty sure that the no candles with birds is because of the fumes.)

37:25 What is with the nose touching when confirming Spooky Week? “Next video (nose touch) soon, don’t worry”…?

38:28 “Fans of everything are annoying, that’s just what happens when people are enthusiastic about stuff.”

39:19 Dan doesn’t get annoyed by different fandoms. Says more about the people being annoyed, part of their own insecurity, their lack of community, togetherness, celebration, shared experiences, jealous or sad, or maybe everyone just everyone’s annoying.

39:56 Dream Daddy: so dangerous saying Dilddy. Dan likes Damien, great taste, immaculate presentation, probably not Dilddy’s romantic soulmate.

40:31 Dan is in like ten fandoms (makes a face).

40:45 Chat: “Will Phil become a furry, what’s your fursona?” Dan: “Is it time to go?”

40:55 Has never thought about it, promises he’ll get on it soon, he knows what the internet wants from him.

41:31 Chat full of fursona suggestions. He’s going to start crying.

41:52 “A llama fucking hell.” “Look at the time.”

42:01 Going to go into a (not disturbing) hole later looking into axoltl fur suits.

42:24 Elf on a shelf meme, was going to post a Dan one, “old meme!” (Still don’t need to be up in your face Daniel.)

43:27 Really wants to go see IT, needs to see Mother.

44:04 Shut up! American Horror Story, makes him happy. Loves Sarah Paulson (is his life), feels represented by a lesbian with anxiety. Evan Peters is great, looks gross, or great depending.

45:25 His fursona should be a big bear, I agree. What a reaction.

45:46 Left comb on holiday, looks like a bush.

46:13 (grimace #4 at group chat names.)

46:20 “What is wrong with all of you?”

46:22 Glosses over diet ask. Indeed.

46:26 “Don’t call me Uncle Dan when we’re talking about fursonas.”

46:36 “If you live in Australia vote for marriage equality, we don’t need to have this conversation.” “Come on, come on Australia, sort your shit out.”

47:03 Going to “innocently Google things that are fine”.

47:22 “Me and Phil would love to come to Russia”.

47:27 Limitations of TATINOF.

47:44 Watch uni vid: “Don’t take it too seriously. Remember that most of the time I’m just trying to be funny, and if you ever want like my real feelings or opinions, just think about whatever the opposite of what I’m saying is, and that’s usually how to get to the sincere heart of whatever Dan’s talking about.”

48:13 “Stay calm, ask some senpais for some life advice and think carefully about what your fursona should be.”

[rheaamyett]

RECAPITULATION, VOL. 1 OF 12

 The first five weeks. 

{January 2nd-5th of February} 

For the past five #artstew52 weeks I’ve been watching artists love on each other without thought or hesitation. It’s like, I know we care for others and all but I know sometimes it’s hard to find a way to tell them or give back, especially online. You guys are beyond willing to care about each other’s work and you have also emboldened me to keep cranking out the prompts and effort for the Art Stew.  

It started as a project for myself and @alyssa.kinde ! Two people. Alyssa already tends to create content quickly and I thought she would be a good one for motivating me and holding me accountable. 

When I’ve done these projects in the past they tend to fizzle around five weeks (we’re at five weeks now so we’ll see) ;) but on a whim I decided to DM all the artists I could think of that I already had a bit of a connection with. Even in that one night when I sent out the proposal EVERYONE responded they were interested!  

SINCE then the support for the stew has been happily simmering and bubbling and boiling… (I love these stew metaphors—sometime we need to make punny t-shirts.)

So I guess what I’m trying to say is I have two things on my heart especially.

1. I’m very appreciative of everyones passion for this project so far and for everyone that is supporting as observers.

2. I find myself feeling warm and fuzzy and smiling everyday that I read your comments on each others contributions. I want your ways to rub off on me and I think it’s more likely that will happen if I stay surrounded by all of your stewy hearts.

Okay, now for a recap.

WEEK ONE—A WORD FOR 2017

There were so many words floating around. I think most everyone was feeling positive or trying to think of a word that would double as a resolution. (Everything in bold is a link to the art piece.) :

Dino-mite, flourish, pursue, fight, rooster (year of the rooster), do, grace, can, determination, heal, patience, love, wild, wellness, possible, journey, spark, faith, bravery, passion, abundance, self-belief.. one Steward’s word was vision and he designed a 3D art piece that resembled an eye. (I think it was so brilliant we probably didn’t catch it right away.) Another Steward said their word was despair which I found so hilarious and humorous in it’s honesty and contrast to the others.

Art by: @alyssa.kinde (Core Artist), She articulated it best for the Art Stew, “The prompt for this week was "a word for 2017″. A word I had already chosen for this year was - adventure - the project came together nicely and I think it does have "the spirit of adventure." Happy New Year everyone! Have lots of adventures!” See all of Alyssa’s contributions here: #alyssastew52

WEEK TWO—SNUG

Week two I believe was my personal favorite because we had enough time to really focus on the prompt and on each other. The prompt kicked off the Art Stew community in all the snugly ways (and I mean all of them.) 

For example: 

Art by: @kristentillmandesign (Core Artist), “It's week 2 of #artstew52 and this week's prompt is "snug". I thought of cozy socks, cuddly babies and such, but I couldn't get this ink elephant vision out of my head!” See all of Kristen’s contributions here: ktartstew52

@mich.elle.imagery however interpreted the other side of snug for us very nicely, “Cozy socks, wool blankets, candles and oversize sweaters encompass all of these things. Beyond that though, after full days of getting out of my comfort zone, I also believe it's a feeling to come back to at the end of the day as a way to recharge before starting the next day of adventure.” (I’m seeing an adventure theme here.) See Michelle’s photo for snug here.

WEEK THREE—EVERGREEN

This week was jam packed with simplicity and beauty. Exactly like @ariellebacon ‘s piece here and this written piece below:

Prose by: @a_hilst (Writer), “The woods always smell of burning, a strangely comforting smell, that smell of dying trees. I walk under a gray sky, sticks snapping under my brown boots, the ones I wore in the snow when I carried his tiny body, warm and safe in mine. I stare at the dull green of the pine trees, vivid against the brown trunks and exposed branches. I catch a whiff of smoke again. Two things never say enough: fire and death. Isn’t that the proverb?”

One of my personal favorite aspects of the Art Stew are the writers and this particular style of writing stood out to me. I love bits of writing that end in a question. So well done Ashly. Read the rest of this beautifully chokey piece here.

WEEK FOUR—LUNAR

I thought everyone loved the moon but I overheard one Steward, @kristentillmandesign (nudge, nudge) saying she was utterly uninspired by the “annoyingly boring white blob”. We all have that blob in our life don’t we and yet after Kristen focused on it a bit this is what she concluded, 

“Upon further thought, I realized that perhaps I dislike said blob because she asks me daily "What did you accomplish today?" and most days, my honest answer is "not enough." But maybe I'm hearing the wrong question. Perhaps she's asking "Were you loved and did you love today?", to which I can joyfully respond "yes!"—See Kristen’s not so uninspiring blob here.

Photo by: @hellozorzi (Photographer, I’m guessing she’s a writer too.), “Last week's word for #artstew52 was LUNAR and I couldn't get the right shot anywhere. Not the sliver of the waxing moon, or the opalescent colors, or a photo of my Moon Spells. Nothing was 'it'. And today driving back from my school site, I could have kept trucking ahead in the snow back to Amherst, or taken a right and pulled into the Bookmill. I took the right, shook my boots off before entering the tiny cafe there, and saw @magknowlia's hair from the back-- neck craned into a book of modern poetry. When you see exactly the person you wanted to see and didn't even know it and they have a window seat view of the snow-- get a mug of coffee and join them. Because between us saying how we'll never actually read The Federalist and how we both have eerily similar hidden dreams-- she raised her hand to her chin and THERE IT WAS: the 🌙  I had been looking for. Found you, little Luna.”

WEEK FIVE—A FAVORITE BOOK

Last but not in the slightest least! This week the word torture was tossed around so much you would have thought that we weren’t having the best Art Stewy week of all! 

I’m going to list all of the favorite books here so we can add them to our “to read” lists. Click on the name in bold to see more info on the book and contributions for the week.

HARRY POTTER (series)—@jennapaddey (pictured below), @klaing_, @bertillustration, and myself.

ANNE OF THE ISLAND—@ariellebacon

WHEN BREATH BECOMES AIR—@mich.elle.imagery

WINNIE THE POOH (original)—@lipstickandgelato

PRIDE & PREJUDICE—@wilkinsonsophie1

THE LORD OF THE RINGS (trilogy)—@ranilynreed

ST. LUCY’S HOME FOR GIRLS RAISED BY WOLVES—@emilyh_art

THE HUNGER GAMES (trilogy)—@opallonia

CORALINE—@coreycatkins

THE SNOW GOOSE—@alyssa.kinde

CAN’T YOU SLEEP LITTLE BEAR—@teathoughts

JANE EYRE

THE HELP

HEARTLESS

THE BOOK THIEF @gracie_eyre ‘s top four (cuz she couldn’t pick just one) ;)

THE BLUE CASTLE—@a_hilst

ANY HUMAN HEART—@thewordfairy

THE TWO PRINCESSES OF BAMARRE - @teaganolivia

THE LITTLE PRINCE - @lacelit 

NEVERWHERE - @themythicalphoenix

@blackberry​square picked her freshly made gardening book and if I had a garden that would be my treasure book too. (Click her name to see.)

EDIT: To be continued... the week isn’t quite over.

There is your list! If you want, treat yourself to one of these books for your own personal #newbookday and share what you decide on in the #artstew52 tagging the person that inspired it.

Art by: @jennapaddey (Core and Digital Artist), “I mean, come on. It's not really a surprise is it? I definitely have a long list of favourite books, but I've read the Harry Potter series more than any other, it was definitely a huge part of growing up and i love it deeply. So here's a wee little Harry heading off to Hogwarts.”

The highlight of the whole month for me was the presence of @opallonia! If you ever need her she’s probably already in the comments telling you all the things she likes about you and your work. She has helped me keep this stew cooking all month. I’ve made so many new friends and I bet Appolonia is ALREADY one of yours. So, I’ll leave you with a piece of Appolonia’s awe-inspiring awesomeness...

A video posted by ｐｏｐｓ (@opallonia) on Jan 19, 2017 at 2:08am PST

SO! How’s that for our first Recapitulation? I’ll post one for every month of the Art Stew because really, there is so much goodness to stew in here.

If you want, send me your feedback and thoughts by clicking the tab under the Art Stew Header that says “Comments & Good Conversation”.

[travelteatv]

Spending more time at home recently means I’ve been doing some well needed tidying up and inevitably discovering items & souvenirs that I hadn’t seen/thought about in a little while.

I’ve also been eating my way through the cupboards and coming across tea/foods which I had been ‘saving for a special occasion’. I’m not sure what the intended significant event was in my head but now feels about right to eat whatever I’ve been ‘saving’.

All this led me to think how lovely it is to have travel memories with me at home and how crazy it is that one taste of something or a look at a photograph, can send you right back to a specific moment.

In the same vain, now feels as good a time as ever to run through a few of my favourite objects/consumable items that take me back:

Prints

I’ve had to cut back on this a bit (I can’t fit any more on my walls without looking like a hoarder) but generally whenever I go on a trip, my souvenir of choice is a print. I love having an artistic take on a place I’ve visited up on the wall – it always brings back nice memories and also, makes my house that bit more fun.

It’s especially nice at present, as staring at the same four walls for a while can be a bit depressing, but these prints make it somewhat easier (I have an embarrassing amount more than this so I just picked a select few. I have a bit of a problem.)

  Cream of Earl Grey Tea

Bought while living in Toronto, I became obsessed with this tea and for a while it was almost all I drank (apart from beer, of course)

I even wrote a post about how much I liked it.

Once back in the UK, I cut back a bit but only because I only had one pouch of it left. Until, my best friend came back from Canada and knowing me very well, also brought some of this tea back for my birthday.

It’s the dreamiest earl grey and I’m still excited every time I make a cup.

Shenandoah Mug

Before print buying, mugs were my choice of souvenir… Until they became a bit difficult to store. I still have a fair few I got from various trips and it’s especially nice when I have guests (of course I do not at present in lockdown), to talk about the places in question. If there’s ever an awkward silence, it’s an easy conversation filler at least!

This mug in particular always makes me laugh because I bought it (funnily enough) while in Shenandoah, on a road trip. This trip took me all round the Great Smoky Mountains, Chicago/Nashville etc, then Toronto/Montreal and then Banff/Lake Louise.

When I was in Banff, I then bought another mug but of ‘Banff National Park’. Both these mugs were then safely wrapped up and carefully transported back to the UK in my suitcase…

It was only when I got back home, that I realised both this mug and my Banff mug had the exact same background: same trees, same bear in the meadow, everything. I don’t know how that ended up happening – if one copied the other or if someone had intended to use the same design, but it made me laugh having mugs from completely different countries with the exact same image on. They probably thought no one would ever realise, I mean who is going to be buying two very similar mugs from two very different places?

This idiot, that’s who.

Photo Albums

Perhaps this goes without saying but photos are the easiest way to bring back great memories of a trip – this is why I love printing out my photos and putting them into albums.

I even take some photos digitally and some manually, so that we still get the excitement of getting photos printed and seeing how they came out! Some of the best pictures I have were actually taken on my SLR.

Not everyone I know likes to keep photo albums, as they prefer to keep them digitally, but for me there’s nothing like sitting down and going through all the photos with a cup of tea. I also like to imagine my friends and I looking back at them in years to come, reading the captions and remembering whatever it was we got up to in “2015, all those years ago!”

Local Beers

What’s that? You didn’t think I could be any more of an East London stereotype? Sadly, you are wrong – I am the epitome of London hipsterness at this point.

I love trying new beers when I’m abroad (my god do I miss Canadian ales) and if I can (if I don’t have just a carry on), I always try to bring a couple of these back so I can pretend I’m still there. Then, if we like the bottle, once we’ve drank the beer we put a candlestick in the top and melt wax onto them.

These ones were bought in Budapest and I’m not sure how much longer I can hold out not drinking them…

On The Road by Jack Kerouac

There’s a few books I’ve read on the road – ‘ A Walk in The Woods’ by Bill Bryson, ‘Travels with Charley’ by John Steinbeck and ‘The Geography of Bliss’ by Eric Weiner, amongst others, but On The Road sticks in my head more than others.

I took it with me on my first big trip – ‘Trek America’, travelling from New York to San Francisco in a van, camping across the country, with a group of strangers. It was my first taste of real travel and since then, I’ve caught the bug.

That trip, with the addition of Kerouac’s words while travelling across America myself really was something special and whenever I see it on my shelf, I feel vivid memories of different places I read the book – at a campsite by the Grand Canyon, sat on a rock while eating lunch in Yosemite and in the picture below, during a rainstorm in New Mexico.

Bum Bum Cream

No, weirdly, this doesn’t remind me of Brazil – it actually reminds me of living in Toronto.

I first smelled this cream while in a Sephora and became obsessed with the scent.

It’s quite expensive, so I didn’t ever buy it for myself – instead it was gifted to me as a (very nice) christmas present.

It still feels like a luxury whenever I use it and brings back memories of all the times I stared wistfully at it in the shop, knowing I shouldn’t buy it for myself.

  Rosen’s Cinnamon Bun Spread

This stuff is the absolute bomb – since a trip to Stockholm a few years back, I’ve been a bit of a cinnamon bun addict and go out of my way to visit Scandi cafe’s for some fika whenever I can.

Rosen’s in Toronto, is known for it’s incredible cinnamon buns and its so lovely to be able to take a piece of that home with you through this spread (seeing as I still haven’t mastered how to make physical buns myself).

  Algonquin Socks

As I have Raynaud’s syndrome, my fingers and toes often really struggle in the cold, turning white/blue and becoming painful. This is something I probably should have thought about when moving to Canada over their FREEZING COLD (I mean -10/15) winters.

This became especially apparently when my friend and I went hiking in Algonquin Park and I had to buy these socks in the gift shop and then wear three pairs of socks on the trail to keep my feet warm. It was -15 and we hiked for hours on a snowy trail but it was the most incredible experience. Yes, there was a moment when we both took our gloves off to eat and nearly cried because our hands were so cold, but instead of crying, we laughed and carried on.

View this post on Instagram

I’ve always found the “favourite place” question tough because I’m lucky enough to look back on so many places with fond memories. What I will say is that the fondest of these always have the same thing in common – great people. This picture for example, was not taken by a tree / roaming bear. It was taken by my best friend, hiking partner and all round great guy (not bear) @hamiltongjones. Thinking back to this ridiculous hike we undertook in Algonquin Park, in -15, where we packed cupcakes for lunch and didn’t bring a useful trail map… It could have been hideous. But instead it was one of the best hikes I’ve ever done. Yes there were times we were both so cold that we felt like crying but did we? No, we laughed instead and got our bums round the trail. It’s people, not places that make things so great and I’m glad to say I know some good’uns. ——— #Algonquin #Ontario #Snow #Canada #Favouriteplace #Favouritepeople #Peoplenotplaces #Smowgram #Wintergram #Forest #ProvincialPark #Canadagram #Ontariogram #Timeouttoronto #Torontolife #Travelgram #Hiking #Hikinggram #Fjallraven #Sunny #Sunnygram #Wednesday

A post shared by Abi – TravelTeaTv (@travelteatv) on Apr 10, 2019 at 5:04am PDT

Decorative Items

Turns out it isn’t just prints and mugs I hoard, it’s also candles/candle holders. The pink jug with dried flowers in was from a beautiful shop in Paris and the little wonky house was from Copenhagen. Honestly though, I have so many bits and pieces like this that bring me so much joy.

My boyfriend and I are due to move into our own flat soon and I cannot wait to fill it with all these wonderful items; scents and memories.

  Is there anything in particular in your house that brings back good memories for you?

Stay safe.

Abi

X

@travelteatv 

Travel at Home Spending more time at home recently means I've been doing some well needed tidying up and inevitably discovering items & souvenirs that I hadn't seen/thought about in a little while.

[daddyslittlejuliet]

Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog

The post Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog by Elizabeth Anderson Lopez appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Dogs are adorable. And while nothing beats seeing a precious pup in person, we love to capture those moments on camera, both for ourselves and to show off to others. But photos that are blurry or crop off your dog’s head aren’t that cute. When it comes to getting great pics, use the L.E.M.O.N. aid — Location, Enthusiasm, Movement, Opportunity and Nope (We’re Done).

Choose the right location

Don’t forget the first step to a successful photo shoot is the location. Photography ©Bark at the Moom Pet Photography.

Just as in real estate, location is a big deal when getting the right photos. And that means the location of the dog, your location in relation to the dog and keeping an eye out for the clutter that is an unwelcome tenant in your image.

Shooting in a nicely lit environment is a great place to start. Instead of shooting your dog out on the beach with strong sun, professional photographer of 15 years David Capron recommends going into the shade or inside the house. “Sit your dog next to a window that has incidental light coming in, and shoot there,” he says.

David, owner of Dogma Pet Portraits in Costa Mesa, California, also recommends getting down to your dog’s height so the camera is at eye level. Of course, depending on how tall your dog is, this might mean spending a significant amount of time on the floor or ground, so dress accordingly.

Take a look around the room before you start shooting. Specifically, watch your backgrounds, advises Milla Chappell, a professional photographer of 10 years and owner of Real Happy Dogs based in New York City. “You don’t want a plant growing out of your dog’s head or garbage in the background of your favorite photo.”

Make it fun

Use treats to keep the photo shoot fun for your dog. Photography ©Bark at the Moom Pet Photography.

Perhaps the most important part of photographing your dog is to make it fun. If you’re enthusiastic, that can help your dog feel the same way. If you aren’t, your dog will react accordingly.

“Don’t stress your dog out,” Milla says. “My style of photography is very unposed and natural, and I believe it’s important to let dogs be dogs during photo sessions. When I scroll through Instagram, I often see photos of dogs who look stressed and uncomfortable because their owner forced a certain photo, and I want to advise people to avoid this. Let your dog’s joy guide your photography, and the result will be much more authentic.”

The right attitude shows up in the finished product. “The most engaging images are those that show the emotional connection between dogs and their people,” Milla adds. “Photograph your dog with the people he loves most, and don’t forget to get in front of the camera sometimes, too!”

David uses people as well, even if they don’t always appear in the final photos. “If you can, arrange for a human to be in the first couple of shots, so the dog understands that we are all OK with having a black box with the tube on the front pointed at them and it’s not going to hurt in any way.”

In David’s experience in the studio, he takes it slow and provides a prime incentive to boost a dog’s enthusiasm in a new place. “They know that it’s a cool place where unlimited treats from strangers magically appear for no good reason,” he says.

Get moving

Portrait shots are great, no question. But catching your dog in motion can be quite compelling. And it doesn’t have to be an elaborate action shot. There’s a reason why the Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover is ranked No. 2 on Billboard’s Top 50 Album Covers of All Time. While a photo of your dog walking across the street may never achieve icon status, it can still make for a photo potentially more interesting than your dog at rest.

And even if your dog is posed, movement on your part can maximize results. “If you are photographing your dog on the ground with a toy, for example, get on the ground with her to shoot it first, then photograph the same scene from right above and then from far away,” Milla recommends. “Sometimes the most interesting photo is the angle you didn’t expect.”

There are ways you can help make those interesting angles happen. “Compose the photo to give your dog room to look or move into the frame,” Milla says. “When we view photos, we subconsciously look toward the space that the subject is moving or looking, so as a photographer you can use this concept to your advantage.” She adds that steering the viewer’s gaze can help deepen the emotional response to a photo and make it more meaningful.

If you have a particularly rambunctious dog, getting her on the move before the photo shoot might be just the trick you need. “’A tired dog is a happy dog’ as the quote goes, so a long walk or a morning at play group just to get a little of the puppy out of them generally works,” David suggests.

Where you don’t want movement is with the camera itself, of course. If you have trouble with a steady hand, consider a tripod for stability. You can even get one for your cell phone — some are less than $10.

Make it happen

Portrait shots are a classic way to capture a photo. Try shooting your dog in motion for a change. Photography ©Bark at the Moon Photography.

There are several easy ways to make the most of a photo shoot. One of them is having an assistant who can wrangle your dog, leaving you to focus on the opportunities that present themselves, which may be fleeting. To that end, David recommends using quantity to get quality.

“A great expression might only last a millisecond. Good luck trying to predict when that millisecond might happen. The more images you’ve shot, the more chance you have of capturing it.” Treats are a great way to get your dog to look where you want, making it more likely to get that eye contact in the shot.

“Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at directing their attention, not that it’s a particularly magical technique,” David says. “Most dogs will watch where you hold a treat with the efficiency of a military grade missile tracking system.”

Nope (we’re done)

Finally, if you or your dog is getting frustrated, or you have a time crunch, it’s time to say nope, we’re done for the day. End on a high note with a treat and some pettings so your dog associates your Ansel Adams imitation as something that’s fun and worth looking forward to.

Whether you’re taking photos while out and about or looking for that perfect portrait, have fun with the experience. And don’t get too hung up on what you’re using. “I mostly use my cell phone for taking photos of my dog and family,” Milla says. “The ‘real’ camera only comes out for special occasions.”

Turn photos into something

Size matters when dealing with your photographs. Photography ©Azure-Dragon | Getty Images.

Now that you have some great photos, what should you do with them? Below are some of the many items beyond holiday cards you can personalize with your pup’s pic to keep for yourself or give to others. But first, some guidelines on matching the photo to the medium for maximum impact.

Size matters. If you’re putting a photo on something fairly small, like a mug, make sure your dog’s face takes up most of the photo. This isn’t the place to use that panoramic shot of Buster at the beach.

Busy isn’t best. Notice backgrounds, and crop in on your dog if necessary. Don’t waste valuable space showcasing the TV in the background or your dinner plate on the coffee table.

Follow their eye. If you’re laying out something like a card or calendar, place the image so your dog isn’t “looking off the page.”

Shutterfly, Vistaprint, Minted and Costco’s Photo Center are among the great places to order items with your pet’s portrait — for practically every room in your house.

Accessories:  Cell phone covers, tote bags

Apparel :  T-shirts, hats and socks (yep, even socks!)

Décor: Blankets, candles, magnets, pictures in all sizes on glass, metal or canvas, pillows, photo books — in memoriam, from grand-dog to grandma, Fido’s first birthday, etc.

Household items: Calendars, mugs, tea towels, coasters

Know your camera

Dogma Pet Portraits is a company located in Costa Mesa, California. Photography Courtesy Courtesy David Capron | Dogma Pet Portraits.

While cameras are still the gold standard for photography, many people use mobile devices to take photos. Beyond the L.E.M.O.N. aid guidelines, David Capron of Dogma shares some technical aspects to photographing your dogs that can help make those photos, well, picture perfect.

You don’t need to be an expert, but know your camera or device as well as you can, David says. “Say, for an iPhone, know how to turn off your flash and how to shoot on burst mode.” For example, “You can easily fix that devil dog red eye thing by turning off your flash,” he adds.

“For someone shooting outdoors for fun, you can get great pictures with a starter mirrorless or DSLR camera kit from any of the manufacturers for $500,” David says. “But really, great images do not depend on the equipment, just the eye of the photographer taking them.”

Don’t forget about editing programs that can help after the fact. David uses PhotoShop Elements on his computer and the Snapseed app on his mobile phone. “They all have algorithms that will help brighten, sharpen and bring out extra details,” he says, adding that they can be particularly helpful if you have an all-black dog.

Finally, there’s one last technicality to be mindful of — a legal one. If you have a professional photo shoot done, the photographer owns the legal copyright to those images unless you get specific permission in your contract.

For example, “A customer is not entitled to buy a 5 x 7 image from us, copy it and blow it up to a 30 x 40 canvas (it would also look terrible, but it’s a no-no),” David says. If Dogma does release digital images for personal, not commercial, use, the understanding is that the buyer can do anything they like with those images. Dogma will also provide a release should any lab require it before they’ll print anything if requested. Find out what any professional photographer’s policy is on this before you book your photo shoot.

Thumbnail: Photography ©svetikd | Getty Images.

About the author

Elizabeth Anderson Lopez is an award-winning writer based in Lake Forest, California. She and her husband have quite the menagerie, including a rescued English Bull Terrier named Maybelene.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

Read more about dogs and media on Dogster.com:

How to Take the Best Photo of Your Dog for National Dog Day

Want to Take Better Pictures of Your Pup? Dog Photographers Share Tips

Ask Frank: How Do I Get My Humans to Take Better Pictures of Me?

The post Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog by Elizabeth Anderson Lopez appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[buynewsoul]

Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog

The post Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog by Elizabeth Anderson Lopez appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Dogs are adorable. And while nothing beats seeing a precious pup in person, we love to capture those moments on camera, both for ourselves and to show off to others. But photos that are blurry or crop off your dog’s head aren’t that cute. When it comes to getting great pics, use the L.E.M.O.N. aid — Location, Enthusiasm, Movement, Opportunity and Nope (We’re Done).

Choose the right location

Don’t forget the first step to a successful photo shoot is the location. Photography ©Bark at the Moom Pet Photography.

Just as in real estate, location is a big deal when getting the right photos. And that means the location of the dog, your location in relation to the dog and keeping an eye out for the clutter that is an unwelcome tenant in your image.

Shooting in a nicely lit environment is a great place to start. Instead of shooting your dog out on the beach with strong sun, professional photographer of 15 years David Capron recommends going into the shade or inside the house. “Sit your dog next to a window that has incidental light coming in, and shoot there,” he says.

David, owner of Dogma Pet Portraits in Costa Mesa, California, also recommends getting down to your dog’s height so the camera is at eye level. Of course, depending on how tall your dog is, this might mean spending a significant amount of time on the floor or ground, so dress accordingly.

Take a look around the room before you start shooting. Specifically, watch your backgrounds, advises Milla Chappell, a professional photographer of 10 years and owner of Real Happy Dogs based in New York City. “You don’t want a plant growing out of your dog’s head or garbage in the background of your favorite photo.”

Make it fun

Use treats to keep the photo shoot fun for your dog. Photography ©Bark at the Moom Pet Photography.

Perhaps the most important part of photographing your dog is to make it fun. If you’re enthusiastic, that can help your dog feel the same way. If you aren’t, your dog will react accordingly.

“Don’t stress your dog out,” Milla says. “My style of photography is very unposed and natural, and I believe it’s important to let dogs be dogs during photo sessions. When I scroll through Instagram, I often see photos of dogs who look stressed and uncomfortable because their owner forced a certain photo, and I want to advise people to avoid this. Let your dog’s joy guide your photography, and the result will be much more authentic.”

The right attitude shows up in the finished product. “The most engaging images are those that show the emotional connection between dogs and their people,” Milla adds. “Photograph your dog with the people he loves most, and don’t forget to get in front of the camera sometimes, too!”

David uses people as well, even if they don’t always appear in the final photos. “If you can, arrange for a human to be in the first couple of shots, so the dog understands that we are all OK with having a black box with the tube on the front pointed at them and it’s not going to hurt in any way.”

In David’s experience in the studio, he takes it slow and provides a prime incentive to boost a dog’s enthusiasm in a new place. “They know that it’s a cool place where unlimited treats from strangers magically appear for no good reason,” he says.

Get moving

Portrait shots are great, no question. But catching your dog in motion can be quite compelling. And it doesn’t have to be an elaborate action shot. There’s a reason why the Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover is ranked No. 2 on Billboard’s Top 50 Album Covers of All Time. While a photo of your dog walking across the street may never achieve icon status, it can still make for a photo potentially more interesting than your dog at rest.

And even if your dog is posed, movement on your part can maximize results. “If you are photographing your dog on the ground with a toy, for example, get on the ground with her to shoot it first, then photograph the same scene from right above and then from far away,” Milla recommends. “Sometimes the most interesting photo is the angle you didn’t expect.”

There are ways you can help make those interesting angles happen. “Compose the photo to give your dog room to look or move into the frame,” Milla says. “When we view photos, we subconsciously look toward the space that the subject is moving or looking, so as a photographer you can use this concept to your advantage.” She adds that steering the viewer’s gaze can help deepen the emotional response to a photo and make it more meaningful.

If you have a particularly rambunctious dog, getting her on the move before the photo shoot might be just the trick you need. “’A tired dog is a happy dog’ as the quote goes, so a long walk or a morning at play group just to get a little of the puppy out of them generally works,” David suggests.

Where you don’t want movement is with the camera itself, of course. If you have trouble with a steady hand, consider a tripod for stability. You can even get one for your cell phone — some are less than $10.

Make it happen

Portrait shots are a classic way to capture a photo. Try shooting your dog in motion for a change. Photography ©Bark at the Moon Photography.

There are several easy ways to make the most of a photo shoot. One of them is having an assistant who can wrangle your dog, leaving you to focus on the opportunities that present themselves, which may be fleeting. To that end, David recommends using quantity to get quality.

“A great expression might only last a millisecond. Good luck trying to predict when that millisecond might happen. The more images you’ve shot, the more chance you have of capturing it.” Treats are a great way to get your dog to look where you want, making it more likely to get that eye contact in the shot.

“Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at directing their attention, not that it’s a particularly magical technique,” David says. “Most dogs will watch where you hold a treat with the efficiency of a military grade missile tracking system.”

Nope (we’re done)

Finally, if you or your dog is getting frustrated, or you have a time crunch, it’s time to say nope, we’re done for the day. End on a high note with a treat and some pettings so your dog associates your Ansel Adams imitation as something that’s fun and worth looking forward to.

Whether you’re taking photos while out and about or looking for that perfect portrait, have fun with the experience. And don’t get too hung up on what you’re using. “I mostly use my cell phone for taking photos of my dog and family,” Milla says. “The ‘real’ camera only comes out for special occasions.”

Turn photos into something

Size matters when dealing with your photographs. Photography ©Azure-Dragon | Getty Images.

Now that you have some great photos, what should you do with them? Below are some of the many items beyond holiday cards you can personalize with your pup’s pic to keep for yourself or give to others. But first, some guidelines on matching the photo to the medium for maximum impact.

Size matters. If you’re putting a photo on something fairly small, like a mug, make sure your dog’s face takes up most of the photo. This isn’t the place to use that panoramic shot of Buster at the beach.

Busy isn’t best. Notice backgrounds, and crop in on your dog if necessary. Don’t waste valuable space showcasing the TV in the background or your dinner plate on the coffee table.

Follow their eye. If you’re laying out something like a card or calendar, place the image so your dog isn’t “looking off the page.”

Shutterfly, Vistaprint, Minted and Costco’s Photo Center are among the great places to order items with your pet’s portrait — for practically every room in your house.

Accessories:  Cell phone covers, tote bags

Apparel :  T-shirts, hats and socks (yep, even socks!)

Décor: Blankets, candles, magnets, pictures in all sizes on glass, metal or canvas, pillows, photo books — in memoriam, from grand-dog to grandma, Fido’s first birthday, etc.

Household items: Calendars, mugs, tea towels, coasters

Know your camera

Dogma Pet Portraits is a company located in Costa Mesa, California. Photography Courtesy Courtesy David Capron | Dogma Pet Portraits.

While cameras are still the gold standard for photography, many people use mobile devices to take photos. Beyond the L.E.M.O.N. aid guidelines, David Capron of Dogma shares some technical aspects to photographing your dogs that can help make those photos, well, picture perfect.

You don’t need to be an expert, but know your camera or device as well as you can, David says. “Say, for an iPhone, know how to turn off your flash and how to shoot on burst mode.” For example, “You can easily fix that devil dog red eye thing by turning off your flash,” he adds.

“For someone shooting outdoors for fun, you can get great pictures with a starter mirrorless or DSLR camera kit from any of the manufacturers for $500,” David says. “But really, great images do not depend on the equipment, just the eye of the photographer taking them.”

Don’t forget about editing programs that can help after the fact. David uses PhotoShop Elements on his computer and the Snapseed app on his mobile phone. “They all have algorithms that will help brighten, sharpen and bring out extra details,” he says, adding that they can be particularly helpful if you have an all-black dog.

Finally, there’s one last technicality to be mindful of — a legal one. If you have a professional photo shoot done, the photographer owns the legal copyright to those images unless you get specific permission in your contract.

For example, “A customer is not entitled to buy a 5 x 7 image from us, copy it and blow it up to a 30 x 40 canvas (it would also look terrible, but it’s a no-no),” David says. If Dogma does release digital images for personal, not commercial, use, the understanding is that the buyer can do anything they like with those images. Dogma will also provide a release should any lab require it before they’ll print anything if requested. Find out what any professional photographer’s policy is on this before you book your photo shoot.

Thumbnail: Photography ©svetikd | Getty Images.

About the author

Elizabeth Anderson Lopez is an award-winning writer based in Lake Forest, California. She and her husband have quite the menagerie, including a rescued English Bull Terrier named Maybelene.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

Read more about dogs and media on Dogster.com:

How to Take the Best Photo of Your Dog for National Dog Day

Want to Take Better Pictures of Your Pup? Dog Photographers Share Tips

Ask Frank: How Do I Get My Humans to Take Better Pictures of Me?

The post Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog by Elizabeth Anderson Lopez appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

[jeffreyrwelch]

Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog

The post Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog by Elizabeth Anderson Lopez appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.

Dogs are adorable. And while nothing beats seeing a precious pup in person, we love to capture those moments on camera, both for ourselves and to show off to others. But photos that are blurry or crop off your dog’s head aren’t that cute. When it comes to getting great pics, use the L.E.M.O.N. aid — Location, Enthusiasm, Movement, Opportunity and Nope (We’re Done).

Choose the right location

Don’t forget the first step to a successful photo shoot is the location. Photography ©Bark at the Moom Pet Photography.

Just as in real estate, location is a big deal when getting the right photos. And that means the location of the dog, your location in relation to the dog and keeping an eye out for the clutter that is an unwelcome tenant in your image.

Shooting in a nicely lit environment is a great place to start. Instead of shooting your dog out on the beach with strong sun, professional photographer of 15 years David Capron recommends going into the shade or inside the house. “Sit your dog next to a window that has incidental light coming in, and shoot there,” he says.

David, owner of Dogma Pet Portraits in Costa Mesa, California, also recommends getting down to your dog’s height so the camera is at eye level. Of course, depending on how tall your dog is, this might mean spending a significant amount of time on the floor or ground, so dress accordingly.

Take a look around the room before you start shooting. Specifically, watch your backgrounds, advises Milla Chappell, a professional photographer of 10 years and owner of Real Happy Dogs based in New York City. “You don’t want a plant growing out of your dog’s head or garbage in the background of your favorite photo.”

Make it fun

Use treats to keep the photo shoot fun for your dog. Photography ©Bark at the Moom Pet Photography.

Perhaps the most important part of photographing your dog is to make it fun. If you’re enthusiastic, that can help your dog feel the same way. If you aren’t, your dog will react accordingly.

“Don’t stress your dog out,” Milla says. “My style of photography is very unposed and natural, and I believe it’s important to let dogs be dogs during photo sessions. When I scroll through Instagram, I often see photos of dogs who look stressed and uncomfortable because their owner forced a certain photo, and I want to advise people to avoid this. Let your dog’s joy guide your photography, and the result will be much more authentic.”

The right attitude shows up in the finished product. “The most engaging images are those that show the emotional connection between dogs and their people,” Milla adds. “Photograph your dog with the people he loves most, and don’t forget to get in front of the camera sometimes, too!”

David uses people as well, even if they don’t always appear in the final photos. “If you can, arrange for a human to be in the first couple of shots, so the dog understands that we are all OK with having a black box with the tube on the front pointed at them and it’s not going to hurt in any way.”

In David’s experience in the studio, he takes it slow and provides a prime incentive to boost a dog’s enthusiasm in a new place. “They know that it’s a cool place where unlimited treats from strangers magically appear for no good reason,” he says.

Get moving

Portrait shots are great, no question. But catching your dog in motion can be quite compelling. And it doesn’t have to be an elaborate action shot. There’s a reason why the Beatles’ Abbey Road album cover is ranked No. 2 on Billboard’s Top 50 Album Covers of All Time. While a photo of your dog walking across the street may never achieve icon status, it can still make for a photo potentially more interesting than your dog at rest.

And even if your dog is posed, movement on your part can maximize results. “If you are photographing your dog on the ground with a toy, for example, get on the ground with her to shoot it first, then photograph the same scene from right above and then from far away,” Milla recommends. “Sometimes the most interesting photo is the angle you didn’t expect.”

There are ways you can help make those interesting angles happen. “Compose the photo to give your dog room to look or move into the frame,” Milla says. “When we view photos, we subconsciously look toward the space that the subject is moving or looking, so as a photographer you can use this concept to your advantage.” She adds that steering the viewer’s gaze can help deepen the emotional response to a photo and make it more meaningful.

If you have a particularly rambunctious dog, getting her on the move before the photo shoot might be just the trick you need. “’A tired dog is a happy dog’ as the quote goes, so a long walk or a morning at play group just to get a little of the puppy out of them generally works,” David suggests.

Where you don’t want movement is with the camera itself, of course. If you have trouble with a steady hand, consider a tripod for stability. You can even get one for your cell phone — some are less than $10.

Make it happen

Portrait shots are a classic way to capture a photo. Try shooting your dog in motion for a change. Photography ©Bark at the Moon Photography.

There are several easy ways to make the most of a photo shoot. One of them is having an assistant who can wrangle your dog, leaving you to focus on the opportunities that present themselves, which may be fleeting. To that end, David recommends using quantity to get quality.

“A great expression might only last a millisecond. Good luck trying to predict when that millisecond might happen. The more images you’ve shot, the more chance you have of capturing it.” Treats are a great way to get your dog to look where you want, making it more likely to get that eye contact in the shot.

“Over the years I’ve gotten pretty good at directing their attention, not that it’s a particularly magical technique,” David says. “Most dogs will watch where you hold a treat with the efficiency of a military grade missile tracking system.”

Nope (we’re done)

Finally, if you or your dog is getting frustrated, or you have a time crunch, it’s time to say nope, we’re done for the day. End on a high note with a treat and some pettings so your dog associates your Ansel Adams imitation as something that’s fun and worth looking forward to.

Whether you’re taking photos while out and about or looking for that perfect portrait, have fun with the experience. And don’t get too hung up on what you’re using. “I mostly use my cell phone for taking photos of my dog and family,” Milla says. “The ‘real’ camera only comes out for special occasions.”

Turn photos into something

Size matters when dealing with your photographs. Photography ©Azure-Dragon | Getty Images.

Now that you have some great photos, what should you do with them? Below are some of the many items beyond holiday cards you can personalize with your pup’s pic to keep for yourself or give to others. But first, some guidelines on matching the photo to the medium for maximum impact.

Size matters. If you’re putting a photo on something fairly small, like a mug, make sure your dog’s face takes up most of the photo. This isn’t the place to use that panoramic shot of Buster at the beach.

Busy isn’t best. Notice backgrounds, and crop in on your dog if necessary. Don’t waste valuable space showcasing the TV in the background or your dinner plate on the coffee table.

Follow their eye. If you’re laying out something like a card or calendar, place the image so your dog isn’t “looking off the page.”

Shutterfly, Vistaprint, Minted and Costco’s Photo Center are among the great places to order items with your pet’s portrait — for practically every room in your house.

Accessories:  Cell phone covers, tote bags

Apparel :  T-shirts, hats and socks (yep, even socks!)

Décor: Blankets, candles, magnets, pictures in all sizes on glass, metal or canvas, pillows, photo books — in memoriam, from grand-dog to grandma, Fido’s first birthday, etc.

Household items: Calendars, mugs, tea towels, coasters

Know your camera

Dogma Pet Portraits is a company located in Costa Mesa, California. Photography Courtesy Courtesy David Capron | Dogma Pet Portraits.

While cameras are still the gold standard for photography, many people use mobile devices to take photos. Beyond the L.E.M.O.N. aid guidelines, David Capron of Dogma shares some technical aspects to photographing your dogs that can help make those photos, well, picture perfect.

You don’t need to be an expert, but know your camera or device as well as you can, David says. “Say, for an iPhone, know how to turn off your flash and how to shoot on burst mode.” For example, “You can easily fix that devil dog red eye thing by turning off your flash,” he adds.

“For someone shooting outdoors for fun, you can get great pictures with a starter mirrorless or DSLR camera kit from any of the manufacturers for $500,” David says. “But really, great images do not depend on the equipment, just the eye of the photographer taking them.”

Don’t forget about editing programs that can help after the fact. David uses PhotoShop Elements on his computer and the Snapseed app on his mobile phone. “They all have algorithms that will help brighten, sharpen and bring out extra details,” he says, adding that they can be particularly helpful if you have an all-black dog.

Finally, there’s one last technicality to be mindful of — a legal one. If you have a professional photo shoot done, the photographer owns the legal copyright to those images unless you get specific permission in your contract.

For example, “A customer is not entitled to buy a 5 x 7 image from us, copy it and blow it up to a 30 x 40 canvas (it would also look terrible, but it’s a no-no),” David says. If Dogma does release digital images for personal, not commercial, use, the understanding is that the buyer can do anything they like with those images. Dogma will also provide a release should any lab require it before they’ll print anything if requested. Find out what any professional photographer’s policy is on this before you book your photo shoot.

Thumbnail: Photography ©svetikd | Getty Images.

About the author

Elizabeth Anderson Lopez is an award-winning writer based in Lake Forest, California. She and her husband have quite the menagerie, including a rescued English Bull Terrier named Maybelene.

Editor’s note: This article first appeared in Dogster magazine. Have you seen the new Dogster print magazine in stores? Or in the waiting room of your vet’s office? Subscribe now to get Dogster magazine delivered straight to you!

Read more about dogs and media on Dogster.com:

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The post Tips on How to Take the Ultimate Pictures of Your Dog by Elizabeth Anderson Lopez appeared first on Dogster. Copying over entire articles infringes on copyright laws. You may not be aware of it, but all of these articles were assigned, contracted and paid for, so they aren’t considered public domain. However, we appreciate that you like the article and would love it if you continued sharing just the first paragraph of an article, then linking out to the rest of the piece on Dogster.com.