#a big COOL screaming dog with a beautiful design of course

[amygdalae]

People being horny for vicar amelia will always he so funny to me sorry. Yeah i think her design is super cool looking but also she just looks like a big borzoi with hands to me lmao

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Emp-Ire “The King.”

“I am starting to think that the oracle was screwing with us.”

“Silence!” One of the men barked, clapping Ramirez across the back of the head with an open palm. Ramirez jerked forward with a grunt of pain, and seeing that, Adam was having the sudden, sneaking suspicion that…. Everything wasn’t what it seemed to be.

At first, the whole thing had screamed of elaborate tourism. Let the tourists show up and think they are going on some cool quest, and then make them overpay to meet with some lady who was just super high, but the way these men were acting…

Adam was beginning to agree with Ramirez.

If their adventure as Sheriff’s deputies had been real then wasn’t there all the likelihood that this was real as well? Just because you show up to someplace exotic doesn't mean it was designed like that to amuse you. He wouldn’t take a hop and a skip over to Japan and just assume that the different customs there were an elaborate ploy to get money off of tourists….

Well maybe on Earth that sort of thing could totally happen, but looking at these men…. Their physiques, their clothing,their weapons, and the very real, point of their spears, he was becoming aware that maybe they had stumbled on something a lot more serious than they had first thought.

Shit.

He seemed to have a habit of doing things like that.

He glanced around at the small contingent of men who walked with them. As he had noticed before each and every one of them was absolutely shredded, not necessarily in the bodybuilder kind of way, but in a way that made it clear these guys never skipped leg day, arm, day or cardio. 

Adam and Ramirez were no slouches; by comparison, both of them hitting the gym at least five times a week for an hour at least, but in comparison?

And of course they didn’t hide it either. 

Each of the men carried a massive circular shield and spears taller than they were. They had on sandals with greaves and simple leather wraps, most of them were bare chested, though their commanding officer wore a breastplate, all of them wore helmets.

“Laconia!” 

His sudden exclamation startled the man as well as Ramirez, 

“Shit, I just realized why that sounded familiar.”

One of the men turned to look at his commanding officer, “I do not think they are Athenians, sir.” He glanced back at Adam, “Too dumb.”

The other men laughed at his expense. Adam frowned, “Sorry my knowledge of ancient greek geographical locations isn’t up to snuff.”

He was silenced with another slap to the head, and with his ears ringing and one eye fuzzy, he finally accepted that this was, in fact, not a joke. Somehow, for some reason that dumbass oracle had sent them out to get potentially sacrificed by a group of Neospartans, and he doubted they were going to be able to sue for damages.

It took almost the whole day to make it to “Sparta” itself, though he became aware of their approaching closeness when small dwellings began appearing on the edge of fields. It was only when he figured out that Spartans needed to eat too that he realized not ALL of them were going to be big buff badasses. Of course, that was until he saw the farmer pulling the plow, who was in fact Hercules’s cousin on his father Zeus’s side.

Okay so maybe things were a bit different.

He was under the impression back during the age of real Sparta, a lot of spartan citizens were just normal people and it was only a select few who were turned into warriors. Women, while they had some rights than in other places, were still expected to stay home and take care of things while the men were off at war. She had to be strong, but that was only because she was expected to raise spartan sons, or something like that. He couldn’t remember exactly how that sort of thing worked, he wasn’t a historian. For all he knew Spartan women were just as shredded as the men.

A truth that seemed apparent for thee spartans because, as they made it to the next little farming house, a woman turned to look at them and damn it was like the Amazons met the spartans. She wasn’t particularly tall by anyone’s standards, but she looked like did mixed martial arts for a living.

He had no doubt she could probably kick his ass.

Ramirez had gone rather silent as he looked around  nodding to himself every so often as they were dragged through the outlying villages and farms, and eventually up a set of stone steps leading into a city which was surrounded by lush medeteranian hills and grasslands on either side.

The city itself was no slouch either. It wasn’t as artistically expressive as New Athens had been, ut there was no shortage of statues, and interesting architecture. Walking down the street, everyone they met was shredded or well on their way to becoming so. The men, the women, everyone but the children.

He noticed a few differences from ancient histories, including but not limited to the fact that the women were just as armored as the men, the many races and ethnicities, and the strange assortment of modern day dogs that roamed the place, which he thought was a strange addition.

A line of marching soldiers passed by wearing their red and gold, and as they went Ramirez turned his head to follow them, “Welp, I am pretty sure I had a dream like this once.”

“Did you dream include us dying horribly?”

“Does being crushed between someone's thighs count?”

Adam sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens, “how can you be thinking like that at a time like this?”

“How can you not, I am scared and way turned on and it is the most confusing feeling I have ever had in my life…. Aren't you just a little?”

Adam frowned and was surprised to find that, “No, he didn’t think so. He was JEALOUS of plenty of these men, but none of the men or women caught his eye in that way, at least he didn't think so.”

Ramirez stared at him and shook his head sadly.

“What?”

“Still thinking about your breakup huh?”

“No I’m not.”

“Quiet.” One of the men hissed raising a hand to backhand one of them, though he stopped as a voice called out from before them.

“Captain NIcos, you have returned from your patrol.”

It was a woman’s voice this time, and as they looked up an armored figure stepped down from the steps to the columned temple. She wore a bright golden breastplate, knee length red skirt and golden greaves and bracers. An attendant at her shoulder carried her Helm, though she kept hold of her spear and circular shield. She was at least six feet tall and had a body like the she hulk though her face was exceptionally beautiful as well, with large brown eyes and full lips. 

The man raised his spear to her, “Queen Xanthia.”

The man around them raised their spears as well.

She stepped forward over the stone, “What have you found here.” She used the tip of her spear to reach under Ramirez’s chin and tilt his head back, “Athenians?’

“They say they are ‘from Athens, but not “Athenian.” Captain Nicos said shoving Adam forward so he tripped and fell to his knees on the hard stone.

She grunted and turned her attention to him, tilting his head back to look at her, “Is this true, not-an-Athenian.”

He crinched away from the blade of her spear, “I’m Mericandian actually, Terran, Earthling.”

There were a couple grunts of surprise from around the group.

“Tourists.” Ramirez piped in.

Xanthia frowned, raising her chin, “And how did you end up on Laconia. We don’t encourage tourists here.” 

“Would you believe it if I said that asshole of an oracle sent us here.” He raised his hands, “We meant no disrespect of course, we just came here to see the sights and then leave.”

Ramirez nodded.

There was another muttering from the crowd. She had an eyebrow raised, “The oracle you say?”

The two of them nodded again, not sure where this was going.

She turned her head to Captain Nicos, “Keep a close eye on them, I will speak with the king”

She turned on her heels and walked off, passing through the double doors with a swish of her red cloak, leaving the two of them still kneeling on the rough stone.

They turned to look at each other in nervous confusion, not entirely sure where this was going. Overhead the sky had dimmed to a dull blue and torches were being lit all up the city streets. The young man who was doing the lighting had the look of a classic greek hero with tight curly hair and a body borrowed from a demigod.

The two of them didn’t say anything until the doors opened and the queen walked back out, “The king wishes to see the intruders.”

Two guards held the doors opened as they were forced to their feet and up the steps. The interior of the room was bare and blunt, no more than stone pillars and a single uncomfortable throne carved out of sharp marble blocks, on which sat the manliest man he had likely ever seen. Xanthia walked over and sat in the identical throne next to him, and together it seemed as if they were being pulled before the throne of the very gods themselves.

This man was godlike, but not the kind of overly muscled where he can't even touch his own head. This was probably what peak human performance looked like with a neatly shaved beard and thick dark hair. Adam glanced over at Ramirez again, to see the other man was nodding in great approval of this development. He turned his head back to the man who stood very slowly, his armor clinking. He wore a short sword on one hip and carried a spear in one hand, and when he moved, he moved with the grace of someone who knew exactly what he was doing, and where his body was at all times.

He walked down the steps and looked the two of them over with steely golden eyes, like those of a wolf.

His gaze fell on Adam for a long hard moment, “I see we have been graced by the presence of a foreign general.” He said turning back and stepping up the stone steps.

There was a murmuring in the room around them.

Adam blinked in surprise, “You know who I am.”

The Spartan king stood before his seat, but did not sit down, “Well of course.”

He held up his arm so Adam could see the scrolling holographic image across his wrist, “Just because I live like a spartan doesn’t mean I subjugate my life to not knowing what goes on in the universe. In fact as King it is my duty to know what important developments are being made in this galaxy.”

He turned his head to look at Adam ,”I am loyal to this galaxy and the ideals upon which humanity has befriended aliens.” He walked across the stone, “And you Admiral Vir  are an important linchpin in that model.”

He turned to wave a hand at Ramirez, “And of course I know a Marine when I see one.”

Another muttering from around the room.

So, this is sort of not what he expected. The Spartan king was well versed in intergalactic politics, and was no slouch intellectually either.

“So, you’ll let us go then.”

The man did not smile, but the way his eyes twinkled, almost menacingly did not give Adam much hope.

“Oh I never said that.” He turned and paced back in the other direction, “You see, Admiral, I have become aware of an unfortunate pattern in humanity’s political history, and this includes the fall of empires due to poor or weak leaders.” he turned on the spot, “I had given up hope in being able to influence the intergalactic stage, but finding you here has…. Given me an idea.”

Oh no.

“I want to see just what kind of men are being tasked with keeping this galaxy together. I want to know if you can do what needs to be done, when it needs to be done. I want to make sure that my people are in good hands, when their good is out of mine.”

“What are you talking about.”

“I want to make sure you are a brave leader, and that you can fight when is necessary.”

He made a motion with his hands and Ramirez was dragged off to the side.

A group of Spartans stepped up and grabbed Adam around the arms hauling him to his feet.

“Bring him to the training field.” The king said, and the group of men dragged him forward and out the doors.

Adam tried to protest but he was silenced as he was dragged from the doors, down the walkway and into a large lit arena with a sandy dirt floor. A large group of men were practicing here with their spears and shields, but cleared off as soon as an order was barked.

“What are you doing!” Adam demanded

“Consider this your greek trial, Admiral.” The king said taking his own spear and tossing it to Adam, who caught it in one hand, “Fight, and let’s see what you can do.” “But I-”

He was handed a shield, and then the group began to pull back.

The king stepped up onto the arena wall and paced down it’s length, “Lets see if you can beat one of my men first, and we will go from there.”

He motioned a hand and ordered one of the younger men forward. He couldn’t have been that old and was not nearly as well put together as the others, but he held his spear and shield with some confidence.

Ok…. this was going to get interesting.

He knew there was nothing he could do to stop them, so Adam dropped into a crouch.

The shield felt awkward and heavy on his arm, but the spear was a familiar weight. They circled for a short time before the boy came charging at him. He could see what the king was doing. This boy was young and had probably trained repeatedly in drills but had never sued weapons in practice..

He was meant to be easy to beat.

Adam stepped to the side and caught the boy’s foot sending him staggering away. Adam used the shield to knock him further off balance and sent him plowing into the dirt.

No one made a sound.

It wasn’t that impressive. That was SUPPOSED to be easy.

“So at least you have SOME training.” The king called. Overhead a shooting star crossed over the heavens. A crowd trickled onto the stands of the arena.

He motioned someone else forward. She too was young, but the set of her face and a scar down her right cheek showed that she had at least SEEN combat at some point. The way she eyed Adam told him that she knew what she was doing.

Her problem?

She was likely to set i nher fighting abilities, not creative enough. He traded a couple of strikes with her, gaging her ability before making his move. He used his shield as a distraction to cover some of his movement so she couldn't see, and then sent a lightning fast jab. He struck a hit hard on the side of her helmet sending her plowing to the Arena floor.

Still no one made a sound.

The king nodded slowly and motioned someone else forward.

This man was an actual soldier, though likely no great shakes, but at least he knew what he was doing. Adam ended up in a sharp flurry of contact before the shield got in his way and he almost took a hard blow to the shoulder , even so he ended up with a delicate cut along the side of his cheek. It was only by way of quick thinking that he was able to duck under one of the swipes and kick the man hard in the sternum. He went flailing back into the dirt, and Adam couldn’t help but whisper to himself.

“And this is sparta bitch.”

The kind paced around him in a wide circle, “So, someone has trained you in the use of the spear.”

Adam growled, “I was trained to fight aliens with four arms, so you are going to have to try harder.”

The king smiled, “Confidence…. Always a good sign. But the shield, I think you have not been trained to use one of those.”

Adam paused nodded, and then threw the shield to the ground kicking it away.

He took the spear up in two hands, in a distinctly different style from the spartans, “Well, come on then.”

WIth the shield gone and his switch back to using a spear like he had been trained he defeated the next three challenges with relative impunity. It was only when the king stared adding extra fighters did Adam struggle.

They clashed hard, Adam ducking dodging and sometimes jumping over swings from his opponents. He dived into the dirt, rolled onto his back and caught two spears as they hurtled down at him. He kicked one in the side of the knee and he went down. Adam lunged for the hit, spun on the spot and caught the second spear as it came down for him again. He brought the but of his spear up and hit the woman in the face before spinning back in the other direction, dodging an oncoming jab and slammed his spear into the back of his opponent’s head sending them sprawling to the ground.

He was breathing heavily now but he could see and hear some of the men and women muttering in surprise.

The king nodded, “This is heartening, I must say. It seems as if our leaders CAN fight.”

Someone was motioned forward and he was handed a rag to wipe his face and a canteen of water. He drank greedy wiping his mouth and tossing the leather skin back to the young woman who had brought it to him.

“But I think I do see one deficiency.”

He took a waiting spear from one of his followers, waved off a shield and stepped into the ring.

Men and women all around the circle leaned forward in anticipation. Adam readied himself.

The king stepped forward.

Adam could already tell this wasn;t going to be easy.

He was already tired, the kind was fresh.

But still he was ready, the two men circled and then Adam lunged forward in the way the Drev had taught him, The king batted it away and they made an exchange. The man didn’t try to attack him, but seemed content on seeing what Adam could do. Their engagement must have lasted for thirty minutes as they clashed, the king slowly escalating over that time. The longer they went the more energized the other man became. Adam thought if he could just hold out until the other man grew tired as well, then maybe he would have an upper hand.

But it never happened.

Adam gasped for air.

Even after what must have been thirty minutes of continual engagement, the other man only seemed to be breathing steadier and more deeply. All together they had been fighting longer and harder than all of the other previous engagements put together, and still the man was not tired. Adam watched as the man specifically did not take openings that should have killed Adam.

He knew he was trying to make some sort of point.

Adam was breathing in ragged gasps now. He had never been so tired in all his life, he came in for a lunge he knew was sloppy, and his spear was kicked from his hand. A sandals foot hit him in the chest and he went down choking. The king stood over him nodding, “I am impressed by your skill” He turned and waved to the crowd, “You could match any man or woman here hand to hand in a fair fight, but you do have one deficiency.”

Adam gulped and panted.

The king crouched next to him, “No stamina.”

He stood again, “You train with my men tomorrow, and so does your marine. We will make Spartan’s out of you yet!”

Adam gasped coming to his knees, “Wait… but I-”

“You came here for vacation, and I am sorry to inform you that will not be so. You will not be leaving until I am satisfied our galaxy is in the Best hands.”

Adam stood crawling to his feet with great effort.

The king even smiled at him this time, which seemed strange to him somehow. He held out a hand and Adam took it, “A pleasure to fight with you Admiral, I am James king of the Spartans.”

Adam frowned, “James?’ Not Kyros or something?”

“I was born in the northern provinces of Mericanda, of course I don’t have a greek name.”

He clapped Adam on the shoulder and then walked off joined by his queen and their entourage as he shouted orders vanishing into the night.

Adam stared after him.

So, the king of Sparta was Canadian? 

[unmaskedagain]

No, Bruce! You can’t Adopt her.

This isn’t salt, Cupcake. But I’m going to do a quick drabble of this anyway because it’s an awesome idea.

The suit was a deep dark red. Darker than it used to be from what they had seen saw from the previous news reports reviewed. Her mask was black. Her eyes a startling blue and her hair a shade just touch short of being as dark as night. The girl looked to be no older than thirteen or fourteen.

Somehow she had shown up on the scene just before any of the batfamily could and immediately solve the riddles, freed the innocent civilization, dismantle the bomb with rubber duck and a hair pin, dodged the trap, and was now fighting off the Riddler and his men.

And as they watched her kick the Riddler in the face and then yo-yo away, only to spin around and do it a second time, all the batkids knew they’d have to step in.

“You can’t adopt her, B-Man,” The Redhood pinched his nose.

           Robin opened to his mouth his defend his father but quickly shut it. His four adopted brothers, an adopted sister, one sort of adopted “cousin”, and the hardcore way his father had been pushing Luke spend more and more time at the manner to the point where Lucius Fox had taken to glaring at the Dark Knight.

“…She needs a mentor,” Came Batman’s gruff response.

“You need a therapist.”

           They winced when Ladybug broke the arm of a 300 pound bodybuilder and slam him on the ground.

           Nightwing gave his dad a grin, “I’d love a new sister, OUCH!” His hand went his thigh and saw blood. He glared at Robin. “Did you stab me?”

           Robin slowly sheathed his sword. “…No.”

“Let go!” Riddler screamed as he clawed at the floor as the red menace dragged across the floor by his legs.

“Stop squirming!” Marinette barked. “You’re going to jail!”

           Somehow the Riddler managed to free himself. Then it was Ladybug chasing the Riddler around the tower.

“Come back here, you fashion disaster.”

           The caused the Riddler to pause and give the hero the most hurt look anyone of the batfamily had ever seen on him.

“Black Bat would love a sister.”

“Leave me out of this,” Cassandra’s voice rang in their ears. She was patrolling with Batwoman across the city.

           The fight ending with The Riddler hogtied, and dangling from the ceiling, while Ladybug chastised him on the rudeness of strapping people to bombs.

           Batman smirked.

“No!” Red Robin decided to step in, “She probably has parents. You can keep doing this B.”

“And another thing,” Ladybug hissed. “I’ve seen Disney villains with more style than you; you walking neon glowstick.”

           That was when Batman decided to step in. The Riddler visibly brightened at seeing him, “Bats, I don’t like this Robin. She’s mean. Bring back the boy Robin”

“That one lit you on fire.”

“…She made me cry.”

           Ladybug glared at the bad guy.

           Oh yes that was it, Batman was going to adopt Ladybug.

           Bruce Wayne was going to adopt Marinette Dupain-Cheng. The girl and the rest of her class had taken the Wayne internship program that lasted a little more than a month a half during summer.

           Marinette was the star. Unlike the other interns, Marinette was never late. She never complained. If someone needed research done, she was the first to volunteer and was exceptional at it. Tamara, Tim’s assistant, swore by her. The girl took to assisting the assistant to the CEO like fish to water. When they need a big name to perform at the Waynes’ annual charity Gala, after theirs backed out on short notice, Marinette had saved the day.

           She didn’t interrupt. She had merely leaned down and whispered in Tamara’s here, who then addressed the rest of the room.

“My assistant Marinette,” Tamara nodded with a relieved smile at the young girl. “Would like us to direct our attention to the front screen.”

           They all did. A few months later, the screen split and Clara Nightingale was on the screen, looking as glamourous as ever.

“Marinette,” She beamed. “Love, you are as gorgeous as ever. Now what’s this about a party in Gotham?”

           Before she could answered, there was a beep on the screen as another call came in. Marinette scrambled to disconnect it, “One moment. Sorry.” Tamara got up to help, only for the call to connect anyway.

           That was when Jagged Stone appeared on the screen, “Marinette, how’s it rocking? And Clara, I didn’t know you were on the line too. Penny!” He yelled. “I’ve facetiming Marinette and Clara. How you doing, loves?”

“Jagged,” Clara beamed. “I’m great. Xy’s been bugging me to lay vocals on his new tracks. I’ve heard better from my nephew’s garage band; and his nine.”

           Jagged winced. “That’ll tank a career. Dude’s a sound biter.” He turned his attention back to his favorite bluenette. “Marinette, what’s up? What’s with the stiff in suits?”

           Marinette blushed, “I’m Gotham working as intern for Wayne Industries.” Marinette said. “We’re in a meeting.” The young girl smiled prettily. “This is my amazing boss, Tamara!” She introduced the older black woman, standing between her and Tim. “And we could use some help with a Wayne charity event, on the 19th of this month.”

“I’m there!” Jagged grinned. “Hey! Penny, we’re going to Gotham. Marinette invited us to a party. We’re rocking out!”

“I’d love to come,” The brown-haired superstar clapped her hands. “I have been to Gotham yet. It will be an experience. I can write a song about Batman!”

“Well, we only need one of-” Marinette started but stopped herself as someone, Tim, jabbed her in the side. The only give away that something had happened was the slight widening of her eyes and then cough from Tim, when Marinette stomped on his foot. “Maybe, you guys can perform together.”

“YES!” Clara screamed excitedly. “A duet. A clash of natures.”

“Rock and Pop,” Jagged grinned his approval.

“The fans will love it,” The singer looked at Marinette. “Send us the deets. Jagged, I’ll call you in five to start composing our song.”

“Rock it out, talk later Marinette!”

           Then the calls disconnected.

“Clara Nightingale and Jagged Stone,” Bruce leaned back in his seat. “Well done, Marinette.”

           The Asian girl nodded, “Thank you, sir.” After the meeting let out, Tim, Bruce, Tamara, and Marinette remained behind as they finalized the information to send to the singers.

Bruce noticed Marinette give Tim a dark look, and then were was a huff and Tim winced in pain.

“Stopping fight with your brother,” Slipped from the billionaire’s mouth before he could stop it.

           The room froze. Tim’s face morphed from shock to understanding to an incredulous expression, “No. I’m telling, Alfred.”

           Bruce crossed his arms and pouted. Pouted. Marinette make an excellent additional the family.

           Her and Ladybug.

           He wondered how well the two would get along. If only he could get the two in a room together.

           Meanwhile…

           Lila had been feeding the class lies about her time in Gotham and living with the Wayne family. Alya believed every word, and had requested an interview with Lila’s Dami-bear.

Somehow she’d gotten stuck working in the mail room with Alya and Kim; neither were happy. She didn’t even know where Marinette ended up so she could spin a tail about the other girl threatening her to switch assignments.

           The only bright spot was the Damian Wayne frequently visited Wayne tower to learn about how the business works. However, whenever she tried to get close to him, he’d give her a look of disdain.

           That didn’t bother Lila though. As soon as he got to know her, or rather the her she’d tell him she was, Damian would fall head over heels.

           However, as the weeks went on in Gotham, she found all her plans to get close to the Wayne heir failed. She even tried visiting his home, feigning being lost, only for the Butler to send her packing. Lila didn’t even get a chance to look inside.

           When she learned about the gala, she upped her game. She found herself just “happening by” whenever Damian just happened to be walking by. One time, Lila even pretended to trip and hurt herself; only for Kim to “rescue” her and Damian to walk on by like she didn’t even exist.

           On the night of the gala, she sat in her hotel room with her adoring classmates, watching it on TV, “I’d have gone of course but Dami-bear didn’t want me to get attention from any Gotham villains.”

           Alya nodded sympathetically.

           Lila opened her mouth to regale another tale about her and Damian love affairs when Sabrina cut her off, “Hey, that’s Marinette!”

           And sure enough, the girl they had all froze out and declared their ex-friend was on screen walking with Jagged Stone, Clara Nightingale, a beautiful black woman, Damian Wayne, and Tim Drake. Marinette wore a stunning sliver dress that made eyes stand out even more.

“Who are you wearing, Clara!” A paparazzi called.

“MDC,” The superstar answered and placed a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. “This designer here. Marinette Dupain-Cheng; she designed all of our looks tonight; including her own. Doesn’t she look wonderful?”

           More questions were thrown out.

“Jagged, why a crocodile? Why not a dog or a cat.”

“Damian, who are you dating?”

“Why is MDC with you, Tim?”

           Jagged answered first, “Well I wanted a dog. But I’m deathly allergic to fur. Found out when I was a kid. Can’t get near it. Dogs are cool but cats aren’t rock and roll enough for me.”

“I am dating no one,” Damian answered. “Any rumors that say otherwise are lies. Anyone that says otherwise is lying, and should keep in mind I will sue for defamation of character.”  

           Tim grinned at the crowd, “Marinette is Tamara’s intern. She helped organize this wonderful event. She did such an amazing job as an intern that I’ve had to stop my dad from trying to adopt her.” There were laughs from the crowed.

           Damian snorted as they walked inside, “He is not joking.” He was the one who found the adoption papers.

[smollestnerd]

XigXem SFW Headcanons

I love doing these to get ideas for headcanons I wouldn’t normally consider, and since I finished filling these out today I thought I’d share! Borrowed from the @otp-imagines-cult post here!

(Just a heads-up, this is a messy mashup of canon-compliant and modern au headcanons)

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other?

Xemnas spends so much money on Xigbar. He doesn't even try to say no at this point, he knows Xig will get his way.

Xigbar sometimes feels guilty about how much Xemnas spends on him, but those feelings fade as soon as Xem comes back from shopping with bags full of gifts for Xig.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap?

Xigbar sleeps in Xemnas’s lap. It's rare that it's the other way around, usually only if Xem is extremely tired or upset (he'll fall asleep while being comforted and held of course).

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes?

They both do. Well, Xigbar runs around HALF naked, Xemnas is just full frontal at any given point if they’re home alone. Xig will tell him to cover up, but he doesn't ever mean it.

When they have guests, Xigbar is fully clothed 100% of the time. Xemnas, though? There’s always at least a 10% chance he’ll forget wearing a shirt is a thing people expect from him. Everyone is either too afraid or horny to tell him to put one on, thus the responsibility falls on Xigbar to tell him. (Again, about a 10% chance he’ll “forget” to tell him to put on a shirt.)

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway?

Bold of you to assume they both don't have 11pm bedtimes.

But every so often Xemnas will lose himself in his work and suddenly it's 3am.

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies?

Xigbar is forbidden from cooking anything that isn't microwaveable.

Xemnas's fallback career was fancy chef if “Superior of the In-Between” didn’t work out.

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”?

Neither, but only because neither of them are very online. I think if they were though, Xemnas would see their relationship in everything but not say anything out loud. He just smiles to himself and moves on.

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes?

Xigbar is an accomplished hoodie thief. Xemnas wears Xig’s croptops sometimes to work out in, but always returns them when he's done.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?”

Xemnas is usually the one running errands, but he rarely forgets anything on the list. Xigbar always asks if he remembered everything, though, just to soothe his own anxiety, and quietly hoping to catch Xemnas slipping up so he has something to tease about.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions?

Xigbar drives ever since Xemnas got his license suspended for running too many red lights.

Or; Xig drives like a maniac and Xem is just so used to it he doesn't even bother to insist on driving anymore (unless he's the designated driver, which usually he is). Xem is lowkey surprised Xig has a clean driving record.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws?

Xemnas poses, Xigbar draws. Xig’s had plenty of lifetimes to perfect his hobbies, and even though he hasn't had time for them in a while, it doesn't take long for him to get back into the swing of things. What better way to capture his lover's radiance than through charcoal drawings and oil paints?

Plus, Xemnas absolutely adores the attention. He just basks in the glory of another being finding him beautiful enough to immortalize on canvas.

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips?

I want to say Xemnas is the super cool backflip guy and Xigbar is the one with the chips, but honestly? It's the other way around. Xig likes to show off in front of his man, and who could blame him?

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking?

Xemnas overdoes it. He doesn't drink nearly as often as Xigbar does, so he doesn't exactly know his limits. Xig tries to keep his eye on him and make sure he doesn't drink too much, but unfortunately Xem is REALLY good at acting sober, so Xig never realizes Xem has overdone it until its too late.

He takes really good care of Xemnas, though, no matter how drunk he is himself.

13: Which one likes to surprise the other with a lot of small random gifts?

Xemnas and Xigbar both surprise each other quite often. Xigbar gives Xemnas little things like seashells and shiny baubles he finds on missions/outings that he thinks Xemnas will like for his office shelves. Xemnas sends Xigbar flowers when he senses Xig having a bad day, and buys him every new book that Xigbar expresses even a passing interest in.

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own?

Xemnas. He's definitely the romantic here. He's got an Entire Notebook filled with different combinations of their names squashed together.

Xigbar is lowkey terrified of major commitment. He'd say yes if proposed to of course, but he'd never offer himself up like that.

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside?

Xemnas saves it, Xigbar just squishes it. Neither are afraid but they have different approaches to dealing with bugs.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket?

On most cold days you can find Xigbar wearing a too-big leather coat and Xemnas in naught but a t-shirt or turtleneck.

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling?

Ansem tried. He tried so hard. But he severely underestimated Xigbar’s resistance to intimidation tactics.

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other?

Xemnas. He planned out a whole mega-elaborate date for the two of them, and confessed his love for Xigbar.

Xigbar: "Wait we weren't dating already??"

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting?

They would make fantastic fathers, they'd care about their kids so much. But christ alive that household would be chaotic as all fuck.

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters?

Xemnas used to type with perfect grammar and spelling until he learned about text lingo. "It's more efficient, Xigbar, I am a busy man and don't have time to type everything out." It's a damn lie, though, he just thinks it's neat.

Hell will freeze over the day that Xemnas uses an emoji.

Xigbar relies on emojis and autocorrect and if it doesn't catch a typo or he sends the wrong emoji, “Oh well.”

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them?

The bully gets attacked by them.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun?

Xigbar is the pun king. Genuinely funny. “10/10 would hear again.” -Xemnas, probably

Xemnas tries sometimes, bless his soul. Xigbar just doesn't have it in him to tell him they're bad.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy?

To Xigbar's dismay, this has happened more than once. He's the dad that is against the pet but ends up loving it, and Xemnas just can't resist bringing home strays.

They have 2 big dogs, a little dog, and a cat, and have fostered a few puppies and old, sickly cats here and there.

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired?

When Xemnas gets too drunk to stand, Xigbar will give him a piggyback ride, but he never tells him the next day. Xemnas is too prideful and would be very ashamed to hear of it. Plus, Xigbar kinda likes keeping those moments between them to himself; like a secret he’s keeping safe for a special occasion.

Xigbar will ask for piggyback rides all the time, and Xemnas is happy to indulge him.

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering?

When Xemnas cheers for Xigbar, it's less overzealous and more normal cheering, it's just that Xemnas' voice is booming and carries over the rest of the crowd with ease.

(Don’t ask me what competitive activity Xigbar does, for I Do Not Know)

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder?

They both do. The main difference is that Xemnas focuses the camera on Xigbar, and Xigbar gets them both fully in the shot.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked?

Both of them would be willing to give the other a makeover, but neither of them have asked.

But! Xemnas does Xigbar’s makeup sometimes, and Xigbar has bought his own style of clothes for Xemnas on a few occasions, just to see what he’d look like.

(Unrelated sidenote: they have matching onesies with cat ears and a tail that Xigbar refuses to wear unless he has to, or unless Xem asks him while Xig is wasted)

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of?

Before they moved in together, Xigbar refused to go inside Xemnas's house unless his husky was in the backyard. He got used to her over time, and now Xemnas sometimes comes home to them asleep cuddling on the couch.

Xemnas was never actually afraid of Xigbar's beloved corn snake, but he wasn't a fan either. He’d hold him, but he wasn’t thrilled about it.

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains?

Xemnas holds the umbrella, Xigbar holds the Xemnas

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures?

In a canon setting they’d go worldhopping for a week, but in a modern au they'd take trips every year to cities and small remote locations around the world.

They've never been properly camping though. Xemnas refuses.

Their first trip together was small, just to a little known beach on the west coast. They lounged on the beach most of the time, and every night they ate at a different food truck. The last night they were there Xemnas surprised Xigbar with reservations for the fanciest 5-star restaurant in the city.

Xigbar thought he took all the pictures until he was going through them after the trip, only to find over half the memory card filled with photos of himself that Xemnas took when he wasn't looking

[sunflowersunshinevol6]

She

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Warnings: fluffy fluff

Word Count: 1,952

A/N: just a quick little blurb inspired by Selena and Chris Perez. That is where the idea originally came from so I don't take credit for that. However my OC's are my own. Feel free to message me if you like it, I always love feedback. Thank you for taking the time to read it!

"Aaron broke his arm. So we won't have him in the band for a little while..." Y/N looked up from the rhinestones she was sewing into her one of her new outfits. Dylan, her older brother, sat at the front of the bus with their father, discussing what had happened to their guitarist.

"It'll be a tight squeeze but do you think you can find another guitarist before Houston?" Y/N smiled, it never mattered what the situation was, her father was always calm, always prepared for a plan b.

They had, of course, been doing this for years.

When Y/N was young, around eight or nine, her father realized she had a talent for singing. She was actually quite good, even from that age. It had inspired him to start a band, with her as the frontwoman. It had been years or hard work with little reward, so now that they were finally gaining a little momentum, her father wasn't gonna let his nephew's broken arm stop them from reaching for the stars.

"I can make a few calls. I know some people that might be in the area." Y/N's father reached out, patting his son's cheek.

"Thanks son." Y/N smiled at the interaction between father and son before going back to the outfit she was designing. They had a couple more hours until they got home, she couldn't wait to try on the new outfit she'd been working on.

"But if we change the note, have me go an octave higher during the live performances that might sound cool." Amber, Y/N's best friend, was sprawled out across her bed as Y/N sat in her desk chair, guitar in lap.

"You always sound amazing Y/N. I think whatever you choose to do you'll blow everyone away. You always do." Y/N blushed slightly at the compliment and smiled. Amber had always been her biggest supporter, aside from her family. It meant a lot to her to have a friend that stuck by her no matter what. It never mattered how hectic Y/N's life was, Amber was always there.

The sound of quick footsteps up the stairs ended their conversation as Y/N's sister, Lily burst into the bedroom, a huge smile on her face.

"Guys!" She said excitedly. "Ya'll are not going to believe what is downstairs!" Amber sat up just as Lily grabbed her arm, yanking her off the bed. "Come on!" Y/N scrambled, setting her guitar down and jumping over her bed.

"Wait for me!" She called after them.

Y/N's father wasn't too impressed, but he wasn't bad. Harry Styles, the englishman Dylan had managed to find, stood in front of him. He wore a faded rolling stones t shirt, black skinny Jean's that were ripped at the knees and boots.

"So Harry, have you got any experience in a band?" Harry nodded, fiddling with the strap of his guitar, he hoped he didn't seem too nervous.

"Was in a band called 'White Eskimo' in high school. We did alright. Won a battle of the bands." Y/N's father nodded. He saw out of the corner of his eye, the girls hiding in the hallway, watching the interactions. He had to hide his smile. Of course they would be nosy.

"What are you playing for us today?"

"Thought I'd play 'Been down so long' by The Doors."

"You a Jim Morrison fan?" Harry nodded.

"Definetly." Y/N's father made a sweeping gesture with his hand, giving Harry the floor. He began to play, his confidence soaring with every note.

"He's handsome isn't he?" Lily whispered to her sister and her friend. Y/N nodded excitedly. And he was good at the guitar, maybe even better than Aaron. Her eyes fell down to his hands, watching the way he strummed the guitar, his fingers moving gracefully, beautifully over the strings.

"He's from England?" Y/N's daydream is broken by her friend's eager whisper. She turned her head to the other two girls, listening to their conversation quietly.

"Dylan got a call from him almost immediately after he started posting the flyer. Apparently the band he was in is on a break or something. He got bored." Y/N nodded, licking her lips as she turned her gaze back to him. He was gorgeous, his long brown hair falling into his face as he played with passion.

Harry smiled proudly when the song was over. Y/N's father sat in his arm chair, fingers pressing against his chin, eyebrows knotted deep in thought. The longer the silence stretched, the less confident Harry felt.

"That was really good," he finally said, looking at Dylan. "You mind if we talk privately for a moment?" Harry shook his head as Y/N's father got up and motioned for Dylan to follow him. The girls turned to sneak back upstairs only to come back down when they heard;

"Girls. You too. Kitchen please."

In the kitchen they all stood around the table, talking about Harry's talent and his skills. Y/N's father crossed his arms, shaking his head slightly.

"He doesn't play our kind of music." He said.

"He's versatile dad. He can play anything...and he's the best option right now. We don't have time to keep looking for a replacement, we go on tour next week." Y/N's father turned his head to her. The final decision would rest with her, it was her show after all.

"Let's give him a shot Dad. He was really good."

Harry called his mum as soon as he got in the car. After what had felt like ages, Dylan and his dad came back into the living room, telling him he had got the gig. He couldn't contain his excitement.

He had heard Y/N sing before. He had actually gone to a couple shows here and there. They were good. She was beautiful and commanding stage, but he had always been more interested in Dylan's guitar playing and song writing. He was a genius and Harry couldn't wait to learn more from him. The beautiful lead singer was just a plus.

"Hey Harry!" Harry was shouldering a duffel bag and his guitar as he walked towards the big red tour bus. It would be cramped, it was used and old and everyone would be in there together with the equipment too, but he didn't mind, he was excited to work more closely with Dylan and the others.

"Hey Dylan. Wha's up?" He asked, his accent thick and voice low in the early morning air.

"Can you go with Y/N to the gas station and get provisions? She's got a list of what everyone wants." Harry furrowed his brow slightly.

"She's what? Twenty four? She can' go alone?" Dylan shook his head.

"Listen. Dad is very protective of her. She's the youngest...Someone always goes with her, just to keep an eye and make sure nothing happens, she can get distracted sometimes." Harry smiled softly, he didn't know why he thought that was cute, but he shook the thought out of his head as soon as it came.

"Sure man. I'll take her."

Y/N was funny. Like really funny. This was the first time Harry had ever spent time with her just the two of them. When he had been at rehearsals she had been there of course, but she usually kept to herself or hung out with her mom or sister while the band worked out the kinks in the set list and other things. He realized he had never actually spoken to her before this trip to get snacks.

"Do you like slushies?" Y/N asked him suddenly, interrupting herself as the passed the machine. Harry shook his head.

"Too sugary." Y/N pouted teasingly before grabbing the largest cup and filling it with the Coke slush.

"I love em. When we were kids, in the summer my dad would bring us for hot dogs and slushies, or he would buy us our own two liters of pop. But only if we had helped him with yard work and the like during the day."

"That sounds nice." Harry says with a smile. He pictures little Y/N walking home with her father and siblings large slushie in one hand and a hot dog in the other.

They made their way to the front counter, a basket full of chips and candy, pop, water, and of course the slushie.

"Careful!" Harry said, his hand shooting out to grab Y/N's upper arm as she nearly tripped over the black rug at the front of the store. He pulled her closer to him, chests nearly pressed together as he caught her. "Ya alright?" He asked, voice low as he looked down at her.

He never noticed just how pretty her eyes were, how long her lashes were or the slight flush that always seemed to pepper her cheeks with kisses of pink. They stood like that for a moment, looking at each other with curiosity. Harry felt something shift inside of him, his heart pounding as she pulled away, a grateful smile on her face.

"Thank you."

The first performance had been great. Harry had forgotten how much he loved being on stage, in front of a crowd. It was like a drug, the way people cheered and screamed, singing along. But he couldn't take his eyes off of Y/N.

This was the first time he had actually watched her perform. Before he had only been interested in the band and her brother's sick writing skills. But after the encounter at the gas station, Harry couldn't keep his eyes off her too long and the way she was on stage, he couldn't look away if he wanted to.

Y/N had stamina. She would sing and dance, moving to the rhythm of the beat as the music played and almost never losing her breath. She played the crowd, teasing them and hyping them up. It wasn't a huge venue, but it might as well have been a stadium with how everyone was screaming for her.

"Thank you all for a great show!" She said at the end of the night, a huge smile on her face. God she was....she was a knock out. He couldn't deny that. "I want you all to give it up for our new guitarist Mr. Harry Styles! He joined us recently and picked up quick! Is he not bad ass?!" Harry blushed, smiling shyly as the crowd began to cheer for him. Y/N bowed after a moment, blowing kisses out to the crowd before they all moved back stage. Y/N was grinning ear to ear, adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"Thanks for the shoutout," Harry said as they began to pack up. He looked over his shoulder, hoping no one would see him talking to her, he didn't want anyone getting the wrong impression.

"You were really great." Y/N said, she smiled at him kindly, eyes lingering on his lips for almost a moment too long before she looked away. She shut one of the guitar cases and went to lift it, Harry put his arm out, hands encasing around the handle and lifting it gently.

"I got it love." Y/N felt her heart flutter slightly at the term of endearment.

"Thanks." She said. Harry opened his mouth to say something else, but was interrupted by Dylan, standing in the doorway of the bus.

"C'mon guys! Denny's is still open! Let's go I'm starving." Y/N chuckled, smiling at Harry once more before walking off towards her brother. Harry watched her go, mesmerized by her.

[harryandmolly]

Complicit // 10

summary: Shawn is under more pressure than he’s ever known. He craves release and comfort, the simplicity of sex. He gets more than he bargained for.

warnings: language, NSFW, turning up the heat on this slow burn

WC: 6.2k

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

Shawn’s right up against the mic, eyes closed, curls rustling against his forehead in the breeze. His eyes are closed, he’s strumming gently through the bridge of “Fallin’ All In You,” and he’s so lost in it at first he doesn’t notice the way the crowd suddenly starts shifting from cooing along with him to screaming. He opens his eyes, looks back and forth across them, then turns his head.

She’s in a long floaty Florence Welch-style dress and platforms, her butter-blonde hair sweeping behind her like she’s in a shampoo commercial. She lifts the mic in her hand and starts singing along with him. Behind her are Shawn’s teammates, carrying a big heavy cake designed like the Canadian flag and covered in fondant.

Shawn gives up on singing. He laughs, claps with the guitar pick still between his fingers and steps away from the mic. Bex keeps singing until the song is over and he plays out the last few notes. 

She swings her arms around his neck. She leans in. As he smiles, their lips touch.

Penny slams the laptop shut and backs away quickly, nearly tripping over Pammy. Her heart sprints, rattles hard in her chest like it wants out of her body. She doesn’t blame it.

Pamela stands alert, seemingly aware that Penny is distressed. Penny gulps down big breaths of air and continues striding backwards away from the laptop in her breakfast nook until she’s up against the fridge. She blinks. The cold stainless steel door is stabilizing and soothing. She lifts a hand to her forehead and shakes her head.

She didn’t even see the kiss, not really. She didn’t let it get that far. Something in her snapped, snapped hard. She folds her hands over her nose and mouth and focuses on breathing.

She can’t think about this. She can’t let herself. She has to do something else, anything else.

She looks down at Pammy, whose tail thumps against the rug.

“Go for a run?” Penny croaks, her voice high and unrecognizable, hopeful like she’s worried her dog will refuse her. Pammy’s little feet bounce against the rug as she reacts to her favorite word. Her tail thumps harder.

In a daze, Penny throws on leggings and a sports bra, a cap and sneakers. She leashes Pamela, locks the house and fucking runs.

+

Penny leans back with a deep sigh and opens her mouth again. A plump, cool grape slips inside, contrasting with the warm, rough texture of the fingers that are holding it. She gives them an appreciative suck and feels the chest she’s resting against rumble with a low hum.

“Hope I helped,” his quiet voice says. 

Of course he knew there was something the matter. He sees through everyone.

She chews and swallows before answering. “You did. You know you always do.”

She feels him smile and brush his nose against her hairline. He offers her another grape. She accepts it gratefully.

“Can I have you out to visit soon? I know how much you love London.”

His warm English brogue is only casually hopeful, not like the way Shawn invited her to Toronto -- he sounded like if she refused him he’d spend the rest of the day sulking under the covers. She blinks hard at the memory.

She regards him, sweeps some hair out of his eyes. “I’d like that.”

He seems satisfied. For the first time with this particular client, satisfying him seems to do very little for her. She had hoped for the opposite. His trip out to visit her was one she had been excited for -- three full days wrapped up in him in the hotel he likes in Malibu, the first she’s seen of him in a few months. It was tainted by turning down the other offer, the one she knows she should’ve refused even if she weren’t busy. This extended date just saved her from having to make the decision.

She knows he can probably feel that she’s not all there. She’s so grateful that he hasn’t complained. He goes to plop another grape in her mouth and she stops him, aiming around his mouth to kiss a feverish line out toward his ear. After all this time, she’s still never kissed him on the lips. She jokes with him that he’s seen Pretty Woman too many times. But a client’s wish is a client’s wish, so she obeys. And so does he.

He moans her name. She pushes him back into the pillows. She loves his voice, but she doesn’t want to hear it right now. So she shuts him up.

+

London. London. London.

When Shawn called to invite her to Toronto, he was too jarred by her refusal to mention that he was heading to London next. Now he finds himself sitting here at the baby grand in the living room of the house they like to let in Bloomsbury when he’s in town wondering who the hell her client in from London is.

London. London. London.

Summer rain plinks softly in rivulets down the window before him, slightly obscuring the quiet street. He peers through, past a copse of silver birches, and finds himself glaring for a few seconds at the guy in tight jeans and a smart jumper wisely carrying an umbrella down the sidewalk. He looks like he could be one of Penny’s clients.

And what if he is? Shawn sighs heavily, finding himself winding through the same territory he tread when he first saw her with Christian Becker at the Summer Lovin’ party. It’s exhausting when he thinks about it, the loops he’s run through in his mind for her. Frustrating, too, when he realizes how often he’s revisited the same thoughts and conclusions along the way. Insanity is doing something over and over and expecting a different outcome. So maybe he’s going a little insane.

It’s hard to reconcile with the rest of his life right now. He’s coming toward the end of a wildly successful festival tour. Unlike his last international run like this, he’s not working so hard to win over the crowd -- they’re largely there for him. And tomorrow, when he co-headlines BBC’s Biggest Weekend at Wembley Arena, that stadium will be packed with people screaming his words back to him. When he thinks about it, his fucking head swims.

Shawn fiddles with a loose thread on the leg of his Calvins and rubs at where the tag of his t-shirt scratches his neck. He’s feeling twitchy and scattered. When he gets like this, there’s one surefire way to even him out.

He starts poking at the ivories, his fingers falling into the familiar rhythm of “I Wanna Dance With Somebody,” one of his festival cover mainstays. It’s not enough to distract his mind. He needs a new challenge.

He lifts his phone and props it up, scrolling through sheet music ideas on the tiny screen. He finds the one he didn’t know he was looking for and grunts, shifting in his seat, setting himself up to try it out.

The first few times he plays it through are clumsy. The next few times are a little better, firmer, more confident. By his tenth full run, he decides to sing along and see how it sounds.

“Regrets, I’ve had a few

But then again, too few to mention

I did what I had to do

And saw it through without exemption”

Shawn’s fingers work quickly to keep up. His bare feet skim and press at the pedals below him. His shoulders feel tensed and ready to snap.

“Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew

When I bit off more than I could chew

But through it all, when there was doubt

I ate it up and spit it out

I faced it all and I stood tall

And did it my way”

His voice is growing hoarse and he’s trying to pretend it’s not because of the tears in his eyes. He pushes through it, singing louder like Frank does, belting through a vocal run toward the end even though it hurts.

“For what is a man, what has he got

If not himself, then he has naught

To say the things he truly feels

And not the words of one who kneels

The record shows I took the blows

And did it my way”

There’s no point in trying to pretend he’s not crying anymore. He doesn’t bother with swiping at the tears, and his hands are busy anyway.

“Yes, it was my way.”

Shawn sags. His fingers fumble off the keys and catch him before his forehead hits the top of the piano. Through his wrenching sobs, Shawn decides it sounded good. It’s good enough to play live. But he’s already lying to everyone, he doesn’t want to pile on.

Because all of this he’s accomplished lately, all the crowds and the shows and tabloids and the followers and the paparazzi photos…

… it’s not his way at all.

+

Penny props her head up on the edge of the sofa as she sits below it on the rug with Pammy beside her. She goes to reach for a pillow to support her neck until Peter shifts and pushes his leg up for her to rest against. She grins and pats at him.

Penny picked him up from the CalTech campus in the Aston Martin. Peter’s squeals were so loud she pretended to start to drive off when he reached for the passenger door.

He ducked his big, beautiful head in and gave her a toothy smile.

“Can I drive?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

They turned their music on loud and talked even louder over it. They stopped and bought a lemon meringue pie from House of Pies, got stoned and ate Penny’s homemade spaghetti alle vongole on the deck.

The only thing Peter and Penny don’t talk through is Moonstruck. It’s their mom’s favorite movie and one of the precious few things they took from their parents that’s associated with exclusively positive memories. They watch it whenever they’re together.

Tonight, all the blinds are open in Penny’s window-filled living room. The moon is near full. Every few minutes, Peter looks up from the TV and chants “la luna! La bella luna!” Penny refills their wine classes with imported chianti to keep this up.

With her head against her brother’s thigh and a belly full of pasta and clams, Penny hangs on to every perfect second. Peter is in town for a CalTech event and she has to return him back to campus in Pasadena tomorrow morning. Their time is shorter than usual and Penny can feel it around them. There’s a sort of desperate energy, a need to be very close to make up for their truncated visit. They haven’t left each other’s sides all afternoon.

Peter plucks at a clump of Penny’s shower wet hair and traces it against his calf. He’s trying not to count the seconds until he has to leave her again. He knows some of it is the wine talking, but he loves her so goddamn much. She’s given him everything he’s ever wanted, made sure he had everything he needed, but he’s pretty sure if she didn’t, he’d still be ok because he has her.

But he wants more for her. He always has. She would very happily give up her entire life for him if she thought he needed her to, so Peter keeps himself busy by trying to make sure she has one worth having.

He bites his full lower lip and pauses. Before Penny can bark at him to turn it back on because it’s the part outside the Met where Nicholas Cage sees Cher all dressed up before the opera, Peter’s look silences her.

“Can I see the necklace?”

Penny blinks rapidly, startled. “Oh. Uhm, it’s in the safe.”

Peter stares at her, undeterred. Penny sighs heavily and pretends to struggle to stand. Peter leaps off the couch and yanks at her hands.

“Oh my god, if you’re gonna get weird about it, you’re not allowed to see it.”

Peter makes a face and crosses his arms. “Fine. I’m cool. I’m Lizzo at the VMAs.”

Penny purses her lips and leads him to the safe. She inputs the combination and listens as the stiff bolts pop open. The red box is front and center. She hands it to Peter like it’s an old Domino’s pizza rather than her most prized possession.

Peter turns and carries it out of the room on scurrying tiptoes before she can stop him.

Penny huffs and slams the safe, scampering after him. “Pete, what are you--”

“I want to see it in the moonlight!” Peter laughs, running into Penny’s bedroom with an evil glint in his eye. Penny marches after him.

“You want to try it on?” Penny snorts, watching Peter stand in front of the mirror to study the contents of the box.

He whirls around on a heel. “No. I want you to try it on.”

Penny’s shoulders drop. She sighs. She motions for the box. Instead, Peter shuffles her in front of the full-length mirror, the one where Penny saw herself try it on for the first time. She lifts her hair over her shoulder and Peter secures the fiddly clasp against the nape of her neck.

He steps back and beams.

“Well, don’t you look like a million fuckin’ bucks.”

Penny smirks. “Not a million. Several thousand, though.”

Peter props his chin up on Penny’s head and shrugs his arms around her, careful not to obscure the necklace. “Nah. Way more than a million. You’re priceless. I think he and I both know that.”

Peter knocks a raspberry kiss up against the side of her head. She squirms away. Peter wanders back to the living room. Penny follows after a few more seconds of admiring her reflection. She’s still wearing the necklace.

+

Silver accepts few excuses for tardiness and even fewer for poor attention span and the generally green tint to Penny’s hungover skin. On that short list of forgivable events is a visit from Peter. Silver would forgive murder for Peter.

Penny slumps into the crisp white wicker rocking chair on Silver’s back deck, her DVF kaftan fluttering out around her ankles. Silver pours her tea silently, attempting to reserve judgment.

“How is Peter?”

Penny smiles. “He’s good. He likes the boy he’s dating. Which I know sounds like a given but it’s not for Peter. I think he might be a keeper, at least for a while. And school is good, he’s… you know him, he’s a rockstar.”

Silver enjoys the lightness that surrounds Penny when she talks about her brother. He’s never a sore subject. They’re thick as thieves, the product of a less than ideal childhood bonding two souls irrevocably.

“Will he be coming to stay for a longer visit?”

Penny covers a grin with her delicate teacup. “You miss him.”

“I do,” Silver admits readily with a small smile, about as warm as she really gets, “He’s the only person I’ve ever met who’s totally comfortable with calling me “bitch.””

Penny’s laugh is striking. Silver adores it. She doesn’t hear it often enough. The last time she heard Penny laugh like this was at that 4th of July party on her date with Shawn.

“I wanted to follow up with you regarding the meeting last week. We’ve hit a small roadblock regarding the creation of the 501(c)(3) in a way that keeps it very much out of the way of the less legitimate arm of the business.”

Silver’s voice is carefully apologetic. Penny cocks her head and feels her messy hair spill out over her shoulder.

“Oh. Well, that’s ok. I don’t mind the delay.”

Silver’s knifelike brows lift. She places her teacup down on its saucer without a sound. “You don’t?”

Penny lifts a bare shoulder. “I want to make sure we’re careful with it, of course. And… I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be without income any time soon.”

Silver catches an edge in Penny’s words she’s not sure if Penny realizes is there. She wets her crimson painted lips.

“I see. I suppose when you brought me the proposal, I wasn’t sure. It seemed perhaps that you were leaning toward the way of giving up clients.”

Penny straightens up and reaches for a biscuit. Its snap does nothing to release the tension between them. She dunks it in her tea the way Silver hates.

“Well, I’m not. No reason to. I’m the perfect age, in excellent physical shape and have had more client requests than any of the women on the roster. It would be insane not to capitalize on that.”

Silver’s eyes fall to Penny’s twitching hands in her lap. She looks… disappointed. Not in the way her mother gets, like Penny’s errors in judgment are just the latest in a long line of her annoyances. This disappointment is more profound, more hurt, more like real hope lost. Penny’s breathing gets a little short in her chest.

“I understand,” Silver continues smoothly, “Even so, we’ll push ahead with the foundation. I will continue to keep you updated about its progress and consult you on any crucial matters.”

Silver’s usual formality has kicked up a notch. Penny tries not to notice the chill in the searing Southern California summer heat.

+

Two weeks later

Labor Day Weekend comes and goes. Penny spends it topless on a yacht off Catalina Island with Julia. She has no phone signal, it was jammed on the yacht per Julia’s orders. When she returns, she has a voicemail on her work cell. She waits until Gus, sunburnt and covered in bugbites from his weekend camping trip, drops her off at her door.

He doesn’t question why she’s standing outside with Pammy, whom he also dropped off after babysitting her for the weekend, instead of going in out of the damp heat.

But she can’t wait another second to hear his voice talking to her rather than in the highly personal songs he sings that the whole world can access so impersonally.

“Hey, it’s me… Shawn. Uh, I know it’s been weird. I’m just… saying that out loud because neither of us have yet. I’d like to see you, if you want. If you’re busy, that’s ok. I’m back from London on Tuesday. I don’t have a lot of time before I have to leave again. Um… yeah, so if you want to call or text me, that’s cool. I’ll see you soon. Hopefully. Ok bye.”

She stands on the porch for so long Pamela curls up at her feet and naps. Penny plays the voicemail over and over, thinking each repetition will get her closer to deciding what the fuck to do.

+

Penny’s never been good at giving up, she realizes as she hugs the winding curves of the road through Beachwood Canyon that will take her back to Shawn’s house. When she broke her leg falling off the uneven bars during gymnastics in 4th grade, she conned her doctors into letting her out of her cast early so she didn’t miss the big fall meet. When her snotty 10th grade chemistry teacher tried to give her an F on a test without possibility of extra credit, she hounded her until she got the chance to make up the grade.

So, really, Penny figures, it’s not that surprising that she won’t give up on Shawn. That despite all the confusing gestures and glances and words and unspoken feelings, she still wants to stick around and help. The idea of walking away now just to save her pride or her dignity or wallow in this stupid little crush she’s formed doesn’t make sense. She wants to see it through. She wants to see him happy. She knows she can still help. She just has to focus. On him.

Shawn’s smile is hesitant at best, a grimace at worst. Penny’s not surprised. She wonders what logic he used to convince himself to call her again after the odd heaviness of their last couple encounters. He doesn’t have the built-in excuse she does -- this is her job.

He guides her to the living room instead of straight on to the bedroom. Penny looks around. It’s big and sparsely decorated, like he’s still moving in and finding pieces that work in the space. She smiles down at the coffee table his mum spent a full day helping him pick. He told her that story a couple weeks ago before she rode him backwards cowgirl-style for the first time.

She looks him over. He doesn’t look too worse for wear, maybe a little anxious, but she thinks that’s more about her than anything else. She likes that he’s barefoot. She can’t trust a man who wears shoes in his own house. Self-consciously, she steps out of her own, a pair of Chloe block heels. She shrinks several inches and rocks back and forth from heel to painted shell pink toes. 

“How was Toronto? And London?”

Penny’s tipping her hand. He didn’t tell her he was going to London after Toronto. She’s been paying attention. Goosebumps flare across the back of his neck. He wills them away.

“Uh, good. Really good. I love playing in Toronto, obviously. And London was insane. That crowd was massive.”

Penny smiles knowingly. “You’re quite the draw, Mendes.”

He shrugs a shoulder but smirks a little. “It’s just this summer, man. Everything’s suddenly gotten really crazy. It’s… different.”

Penny decides it’s no time to bring up Bex and the success of his team’s PR strategy. He knows. He doesn’t need her poking it in his face.

She decides to sit and make herself comfortable, thinking maybe he’ll follow. She folds her legs and straightens the hem of her gauzy yellow chiffon wrap dress. She catches the way his eyes trail her smooth bronzed skin.

Good, she thinks, Focus on my body.

“How was your--”

Shawn stops and blinks hard, his face going blank. Penny knows he was about to ask after her London client and thought better of it.

“My brother came to visit,” she blurts, and she can’t see but she thinks she’s making the same face he was a moment ago. 

Penny’s not sure how she went from totally stable and focusing on sweet talking him into bed to bringing up her brother, potentially the most personal subject in her world. Her lack of self-control around him can be… maddening.

“Peter, right?” Shawn presses.

Penny nods. Shawn sits beside her on the couch, turned toward her. She wonders if she can get away with dropping this subject now. By the look of interest on his face, she thinks no, probably not.

“You’re really close with him.”

It’s not a question, it’s a statement from a man who knows it when he sees it.

“We’re close. Maybe not as close as I’d like.”

Shut… up…

It’s like her mouth is a fucking faucet around him sometimes. She blames the bold warmth of his eyes that follows her so closely.

“Yeah?” he nudges.

Penny thumbs at her Cartier ring, watching it glint. “I shouldn’t complain. I know he’s so busy. And he’s got a life, you know? He’s in college. Sometimes I just wish I always felt like his sister and didn’t sometimes feel like his mom.”

Shawn peers at her curiously. She curls her legs up beneath her, propping her elbow up on the back of the couch as she faces him completely.

“I know you said you’re not close with your parents.”

She smiles sadly. “There’s no traumatic tale there. My parents never should’ve gotten married, but they were supposed to, so they did. They never should’ve had kids, but they were supposed to, so they did. It took them too long to realize they’d be happier apart. They each remarried quickly. Pete and I stuck together, but I always felt responsible for him, you know? Maybe sometimes not in a sisterly way. I shouldn’t have had to be his mom. Neither of us deserved that.”

Her brows come together as she speaks. He wraps a hand around her ankle and thumbs across the protruding bone. The sub in him comes screaming out for her like he should’ve predicted it would as soon as she opened her pretty mouth.

He knows this wasn’t the plan. The plan was to see her, smile pretty, fuck hard, and get things back to how they were. The plan was to stay level, not to fucking overdose.

But he takes the hit anyway.

“It makes sense, though,” he babbles, “That’s so you. You’re a born caretaker. You take care of Peter, you take care of Silver, you take care of Pammy. You take care of your clients. I know you take care of me. It’s who you are. It’s how you got here.”

Penny watches him. If he were anyone else, she’d be waiting for his fingers to slide further up her leg, getting them closer to where they’re going. Instead, Shawn’s eyes lock on hers like he’s amazed she’s actually looking at him and his hand stays right where it is, rubbing firmer circles.

She reaches down and plucks it off with an extra hard throb of her heart. She stands and pulls him off the couch. He stumbles along behind her as she meanders toward his bedroom, shedding her dress and simple white bra and panties while she goes. He struggles to undress and nearly face plants tripping out of his jeans.

And then she’s naked in his bed again and Shawn wants to cry or document the occasion with pictures or… something. He stands above her, panting softly, waiting for her.

Suddenly she smiles and it’s not her naughty, seductive smile that Shawn loves so much, it’s another one of her smiles -- it’s the one that always makes him smile. It’s wide and toothy and gorgeous and it makes a pleasantly nervous giggle rise up from his chest.

“What?” he murmurs.

Penny lifts her arms over her head and squishes his pillows between her fingers, pulling her legs together to rub them like a cricket. Her eyes drift shut and she makes a low, sleepy moaning sound that has Shawn’s cock twitching against his thigh.

“Your bed is so goddamn comfortable, I forgot.”

Shawn preens like the compliment is for him. He climbs down and settles beside her, folding a bulky arm beneath his head.

“I know. I mean, thank you. I fucking love this bed.”

He glances over at her. Penny’s eyes are shut. He turns onto his side and skims a finger up her stomach to dance between her pretty breasts, watching her shiver.

“Wanna nap?” he offers in a husky voice.

Her eyes open lazily. Her lips curl. “Fuck yeah I wanna nap.”

Shawn groans softly and repositions himself on his side. Penny curls up around him like a big, beautiful spoon and soothes them both to sleep rubbing patterns with her thumb into his stomach.

+

The rhythm wakes him up. He swears he could hear it -- there must be someone playing it on the baby grand in his living room, that’s how distinct it is. It woke him up out of a weird dream where he was running back and forth between two train stations looking for his train but they were both empty.

He’s quiet for long enough to determine that there’s no one there. Or, no one that’s not in bed with him.

She’s still here. They shifted in their sleep so their chests are pressed together and he’s as tangled up in her physically as he has been mentally for weeks. He allows himself one little press of his lips to her forehead when he’s decided she’s still very asleep. He slips out of her weak, dreamy grasp and finds where he shed his boxers in their trail of clothes to the bedroom.

And then he follows the rhythm.

It’s not leading him to the guitar, it’s taking him to where the piano rests in a splatter of sherbet-y light coming through the west-facing windows. It’s sunset. The whole world is rosy. He opens all the blinds that corner in his gorgeous Steinway so he can bathe in it. He’s not really thinking, he thinks he’s only barely awake from his coma of an afternoon nap with her, so his actions are just instinct right now.

He sits at the bench and swallows, dropping his fingers to where his body seems to want them. He starts stroking, nice and softly, the way you would when you’re writing a song for a lover who’s asleep in the next room.

Shawn hums along, chasing down the rhythm that woke him up. It leads him, his voice follows, his fingers tripping along behind trying to keep up. When he grabs on, he straightens up, the intricately defined muscles in his back glowing magenta in the light as they flex and relax.

He’s found it. He’s not letting go.

It doesn’t have words yet, but that’s ok. He stands for only a few moments to hunt down his phone trapped between seat cushions on the couch so he can record this in case, god forbid, he loses track of it. But it doesn’t seem likely. It has hold of him now. Just like she does.

He repeats the same section a few times. He thinks it’s the first verse. He leans into it, squinting, pushing for a little more. The song feels like it’s teasing him, like he’s not in control, like he has to let it come to him. He strains against his instincts to tear into it, get himself bloody with it, get to its heart and its lungs and its guts. He leans back again and lets his shoulders drop, lets his head fall back. He surrenders. It brings him peace.

+

Penny stirs in an empty bed to the soft plinking of piano keys. She rolls over off her side and comes face to face with a pillow that smells just like him. She shuts her eyes and breathes, inhaling greedily, exhaling slowly. She makes a gentle murmuring noise and wiggles her toes, shifts her legs, rolls her hips, stretches her arms, and sighs.

Getting out of his bed isn’t as hard as she thought it would be, not as hard as it usually is to crank herself upright and face a world not coated in heavy, blue sleep. She likes the way the floorboards creak slightly as she wanders naked out of his bedroom toward the music.

She turns a corner and meets a wall of color and light. Sitting in the center of it is the piano and the man hunched over it like he’s in pain. They’re drenched in purpling pink light. His curls shiver and fall when he presses the keys harder. She thinks even with the floorboard music she’s making with her gentle steps, he can’t hear her. 

Penny approaches him slowly. By the time she’s standing beside him, she’s convinced he was completely aware of her the whole time -- maybe even so aware that he felt her wake up and get out of bed. He doesn’t look up at her until she lifts a curl out of his eyes and smoothes it back up into the sweet, wild nest on top of his head. 

He plays what sounds like the end of a song. Penny likes the way it feels like it trails off a bit unfinished, like the story’s not over yet, even though the song is. He slowly closes the lid over the keys and releases a long, slow exhale like maybe he had held it in for a while.

Penny goes when Shawn beckons. He closes his palms around her hips and gently guides her between his legs. He settles her against the lid and anchors his forehead to her breastbone.

Penny is flooded with the familiar urge to give him whatever he could need from her, but is paralyzed by the certainty that this… is it. She holds him, one hand massaging his scalp, the other drifting up and down from the nape of his neck to the hills and valleys of his back. His breathing evens and hers follows. 

It’s a while before he looks up at her. By the time he does, the sky is red, like maybe the sun burst and neither of them noticed. Her eyes look black in this light. With his eyes trained on them, he lowers his mouth to her breast, brushing his dry lips against her nipple. The gentle intake of breath and tightening of the little brown bud is automatic and electrifying. Instead of settling there, he moves across her chest to its twin. He leaves a wet kiss in his wake that makes her fingers clench a little in his hair.

Shawn’s hands run down over her bare ass and secure against the backs of her thighs. Using his biceps, he lifts her over the lid and on top of the piano, reveling in her little gasp of surprise.

Penny looks down at him, her hands gripping the lid, the heat from her palms forming little clouds on the glossy black surface. Her knees are parted. Her feet dangle on either side of him. 

Shawn doesn’t have to ask, and she doesn’t feel like making him. With a breathless mewl, Penny lies back, the cool lacquer of the piano stinging her sleepwarm skin. With her heels propped against the keys, she closes her eyes.

“Kiss me.”

Shawn starts at the inside of her left knee. His nose skims slowly down her inner thigh, smooth and warm until he reaches where she’s started to get wet for him. His breath has her legs shaking, tightening from her hamstrings. He massages them soothingly until her body melts against the instrument that’s not half as beautiful as she is.

He lifts his eyes. She’s on an elbow looking down at him. She sucks her lower lip between her teeth. He lowers his head and obeys, willingly, recklessly.

+

Niall’s barking laugh is neither subtle nor absolutely necessary for the non-joke that Shawn just told, but Shawn loves hearing it anyway. Shawn gets more self-conscious about Niall’s boisterousness when they’re out and about, or at least until Niall feeds him enough beer that he stops caring. But tonight, they’re in, relaxing at Niall’s place with some Australian golf tournament on TV and a case of IPA in the fridge. 

Shawn’s knee bounces like he’s ready to bound out of there, but he doesn’t know what for. He was the one who requested the quiet night in. Nearly every night he’s spent in LA lately has been out with Bex seeing and being seen. The other nights have been reserved for Penny.

Shawn has gone to somewhat embarrassing lengths avoiding his other LA-based friends to spend precious little time with Penny. He knows very well he’s about to be called out on it. He’s been hitting the pints a little harder than usual to prepare.

“Alright, mate, out with it, then. What’s the deal?”

Aaaaand there it is.

Shawn runs his tongue along the corner of his mouth, sweeping up an extra drop of beer in case it makes him drunk enough to have this conversation.

“Nothing. No deal. Everything’s cool.”

Niall scoffs. “Mendes, Jesus, no one’s seen you in two months.”

Shawn pouts. “I went to the 4th of July party!”

“With her!” Niall cracks back, “You left covered in hickeys! C’mon, mate, you can tell me. I’m the one who introduced you to all this.”

Shawn shrugs a shoulder and focuses on peeling the sweating label from his bottle.

Niall wets his lips and presses harder. “I get it. It was like this with me and Karina at the beginning. Saw her all the time, it just felt so fucking good. I don’t really know what changed; I think eventually I just lost the spark of it, y’know? Like… I remembered it’s not… real.”

Shawn chuckles but doesn’t look up. Niall bristles a little at the sound of it.

“Nothing in my life is real, man.”

Shawn’s words are chilling. Niall’s heard them before, muttered on long bus rides across Europe by the boys who used to be his best friends. Hell, he’s said them too while staring at his own smiling face in a magazine.

“Mate, that’s--”

Shawn laughs again and it’s dead and humorless and Niall wants to shake him.

“I don’t want to talk about this, dude!” Shawn’s voice is edging right toward true irritation. Niall barely recognizes it on Shawn.

“Ok,” Niall agrees, backing down slightly, easing back into the couch and reaching for his bottle, “Just… if you have a problem, you can talk to me. You can always talk to me.”

Shawn’s fingers stop picking. His dark eyes lift, along with the corner of his mouth. It’s not a smile.

“My problem is that I’m head over ass, fucking crazy, can’t breathe unless she’s in the room, madly, hopelessly in love with her. What can you do about that?”

Niall’s jaw drops. Shawn watches him scramble for words, then looks back at his label.

“Yeah, me neither.”

-----------

Taglist: @smallerinfinities @the-claire-bitch-project @achinglyshawn @infiniteshawn @mendesoft @singanddreamanyway @alone-in-madness @abigfatmess @shawnitsmutual @awkwardfangirl2014 @september-lace @sinplisticshawn @rollingxstone @yslsaint @randi-eve @fallmoreinlove @heyits-claire @itrocksmysocks @parkerspicedlatte @simpledomain @abeautiful-and-cloudy-day @thecurlsofgod @magcon7280 @bensbuttercup @shawnsmusical @paigeasourous @tell-me-when-ur-ready @softmendesss @searchingunderthestars @buggy-blogs @tnhmblive @greedydevil @tamegray @meltingicequeen @havethetimeeofyourlifee @normalcyisoverrated-beyou @t-i-n-y-d-i-n-o @hannahlouiseee @sarahlauramendes @shawnsmoose @mendezlatte @1dbetch @graysonmendes @shawnsababe @ineffsi @ultradreamologistblog @bluerose711 @sauveteen @valedictorian65

[anothercouch]

A Pair of Wings - Chapter 4

Angelmont is a dazzling kingdom for aspiring angel hunters and sorcerers alike. Though, when Logan finally sees the dark truth of this beautiful place, he’s casted out and labeled the local lunatic of the kingdom. He saw no logic in angel hunting and its cruel practices. Now he’s determined to prove them wrong, but after nearly ten years wasting away in a forest and losing hope, he’s on the brink of throwing his invention away. That is, until a curious angel falls from the sky right in front of him.

Word Count: 1.8k

Previous, Next, Masterpost

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

The sound of thunder rang inside Logan’s cabin as he placed the box of fish inside a small cool hole in the floor. Quietly, he placed the covering back then looked over to the angel who he laid in his bed. They were too big to properly fit, their hind legs and claws hanging out of the bed, but they seemed comfortable for the most part. From what he could tell, they looked to be about six feet tall, a bit on the smaller side for an adult angel. They had beautiful dark purple fur that covered their entire hind legs as well as their arms up to their elbows. Their claw-like hands had a bit of black padding similar to a dog’s and the same was on their feet. The ears on their head were elf-like, matching with the same purple fur on their arms and legs. Though, the one thing that captured his eyes the most was the beautiful wing that laid on top of their body. The feathers were a dark purple just like the fur but there was a small lighter streak of pinkish purple at the bottom of their wing. It looked soft to the touch and the feathers seemed to shine, even with only the candlelight.

The wind started to pick up and the rain sounded like it could smash through the windows if it wanted to. Logan sighed as he walked to his long window and closed the shutters, now only the fireplace and a few candles lighting up the place. A warmth contrasted the small amount of wind that passed through the cracks of the door and the windows. Another strike of lightning cracked through the sky, he being able to hear it from quite a few miles away. Even with the presence of the angel, the mood was calm, the rain soon turning into just white noise. He sighed as he grabbed a chair from his desk and pulled it over close to the bed. Quietly, he sat down as he continued to study the angel before him. For one, something about them seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

Suddenly, an idea came to Logan’s mind. He gently grabbed his notebook and pen from his desk. Another bang of thunder rang through his ears. The angel looked sound asleep, despite the loud noise. A smile formed on his face as he looked more closely at their wing and started to sketch it out onto the paper. Perhaps studying their wing could help him improve his design. Plus, this was the closest he had ever been to an actual living angel. Sure, he had seen dead one’s from the angel hunters who left their bodies, but only at a distance. They had always taken their wings anyway, so he could never study them properly. There also always seemed to be other angels flying around and he did not want to risk getting attacked. Getting attacked meant going back to Angelmont, and he was certainly not welcomed there.

Logan sat next to the angel, quietly sketching out the wing stretched out on their body. It wasn’t terribly difficult to sketch out though an arm was in the way. He scribbled down some notes on where their joints were and how it bended. He also took note of how the feathers were angled, but soon he found something in particular. A small scar stood out amongst the purple feathers around its midsection. It looked very old and seemed to be completely healed. The angel didn’t seem to mind its presence as they stretched their right wing. Surely, if it was a recent wound, their wing would be folded up to not strain it, but it didn’t seem to be the case.

Logan sighed as he finished sketching the angel’s wing out. He studied his work briefly then looked back at the wing, making sure there were no mistakes in his sketch. Once he fixed the one or two errors he saw, he closed his notebook and smiled. Quietly, he took his chair back to his desk and sat down. He placed the notebook to the side and looked at his blueprints. It took him a full year to perfect his design, and with his new sketch, he could make sure his wings would work. Gently, he opened his notebook to the sketch, comparing it with his own design. From nearly a decade of study, it looked almost the same as his blueprints, though there were a few tweaks he wanted to fix. He soon picked up some leather and a knife, cutting into it, continuing to work on his wings.

✰✰✰✰✰

The crackle of a fire filled Virgil’s ears as he started to wake up from his deep sleep. There was an unfamiliar warmth that seemed to linger in the room he was in. It almost felt cozy in a sense. His back was greeted with the softness of cloth and hay as he tried to sit up. As soon as he opened his eyes, terror filled his heart. Where was he? Why was he here? His eyes widened as he started to breathe heavily, trying to calm himself down. It felt like his world was spinning until a voice cut through the fog in his mind.

“You’re awake,” the stranger said simply.

Virgil turned to his left, his heart sinking. The human he’d been watching had captured him.

“Would you like some supper?” the human asked. Next to them was a small fire and above were fish cooking on a stick. For a moment, he looked around the room, thinking. This was his chance to finally meet a human! Though, there was still a lingering fear that weighed his heart. What if they planned to harm him? Or even torture him to no end? Quickly, he mentally shook the thoughts out of his head. If this human truly wanted to kill him, he would’ve been dead as soon as he hit the ground. Finally, he looked back at the human.

“Y-Yes… please…” he said, some weariness in his voice.

The human smiled as they carefully grabbed a fish off the fire and jabbed it with another stick, handing it to Virgil. He sniffed it then took a bite of the cooked flesh. It wasn’t much different from when he’d occasionally cook any meat, but it was nice that the human even offered him any food at all.

“My name’s Logan Clarke,” the human said.

“Virgil Smith,” he replied.

Virgil watched as the human ate their fish, question now stirring about them in his head. With some of his initial fear gone, he wasn’t as scared in their presence, but of course, still kept his guard up, just in case. He was anxious like that, after all. Quietly, he adjusted himself on the hay-filled cloth he sat on, stretching his wing and the remaining stub of muscle that used to be his left wing.

The room was mostly silent as they both ate, the occasional crackle from the fire only stirring. Virgil took note at how Logan seemed to glance at him, most likely due to his missing wing. A flaw like such would certainly get stares, and he was no exception. Plenty of angels had either given him pity or mocked him, both he hated. He wasn’t sure just how he survived all those years without being able to fly. Hell, he had even thought of cutting off his other wing. The thing was as useless as himself.

“So…” Virgil started, “why didn’t you kill me back there?”

“There wouldn’t be much use killing you,” Logan said was he took another bite of his fish, “It’s illogical killing sentient beings for sport.”

“So you’re not an angel hunter? Why’d you bring me here then?” he sneered.

There was a quietness in the room, but the tension that had filled the room started to disappear. Virgil saw as Logan’s eyes widened, just for a split second. A hint of fear shined through until they went back to their dull state.

“It was about to rain, and I didn’t want any angel hunters to find you,” Logan said, “You seemed fairly knocked out as well.”

Virgil huffed as he now finished his fish, leaving the bones behind. He watched as Logan finished their fish, but he noticed how they’d look at them. Their eyes were filled with curiosity, most likely because of his missing wing. To be honest, it was much better than getting a look of disgust or pity. It almost comforted him in a way, not being seen as some abnormality. Then again, Logan was just as much of an interest to him as well. In a way, the impossible presented itself to him. He’d always thought of humans as monsters, yet here was one who’d given him shelter and food.

Logan threw the fish bones into the fire then extended his arm to take Virgil’s. Soon, Virgil gave the bones to him when a sharp pain stung at his wrist. He winced, looking down at his right wrist that was bandaged. “I must’ve scraped myself pretty bad on the way down,” he thought. As he looked up, he saw as Logan approached him, and instinctively backed up.

“Wait—” Logan approached closer— “I can help with that.”

There was a tense look in Virgil’s eyes, watching the human’s every movement. He was shaken by how close they were now. His mind screamed at him to just get out of the cabin, but he fought the urge. With a bit of hesitation, he offered his scrapped wrist and let Logan touch it. Suddenly, his wrist started to glow a dark blue, immediately easing the pain. He watched as Logan closed their eyes, concentrating their energy on his wrist. The blue energy soon traveled down their body, wincing a bit, then down into the earth, it now disappearing. He was stunned at how much of his pain was gone.

“That spell should work for a while,” Logan said, now backing up from Virgil.

“I… I didn’t know humans could use magic,” Virgil said. He’d always seen Roman and Remus healing injured angels, but he never thought humans could do the same.

“We have much to learn from each other then,” Logan said with a warm tone to their voice. Virgil caught them again looking at his wingless side and he hid the small muscle that was left of it behind his back. He wondered what in the world could that human be plotting in their mind.

“Maybe we could meet again?” Logan asked.

“I’ll think about it,” Virgil said as he walked over to the door and went out. A small smile formed on his face as he disappeared into the night and back into the mountains.

[ridiasfangirlings]

I know there's the thing where Tamaki and Mikoto are brothers, but also consider Homra as the OHSHC? Alternately, Scepter 4 as the Host Club.

Homra Host Club would be kinda funny actually, instead of the whole elegant and high class thing they would be catering to people with more rough and tumble tastes. Actually since we're going for Scepter 4 host club too let's just combine the AU and imagine they're like dueling host clubs, like the two clubs exist in the same school and they've got this whole rivalry thing going on for which club is the most popular. Homra is the bad boy club pretty much, Mikoto is of course their most popular host because he has this whole aura of a dangerous guy who could only change if the right girl – that being you, whoever his current client is – could win his heart and fix him. It always seems amazing to Kusanagi how popular Mikoto's become with the ladies because Mikoto doesn't even have to try, like he's still his usual less than talkative self and he spends a lot of time napping when he's supposed to be serving clients but that only seems to make him more popular, girls and even guys are instantly swooning over him and thinking he's so cool. Kusanagi himself would be like the vice president of the club who's really the one in charge, his niche is the cool big brother type who also has an edge of danger, like he gives off the aura of someone who's like running a bar for mafia informants. Kusanagi's probably the one best at sweet-talking girls, he's very smooth and charismatic. Totsuka's the third 'main' member of the group and his draw is being sweet and thoughtful, an image he very carefully and purposefully maintains for the good of the club. He's always asking girls to help him with his hobbies but he keeps most of the really weird hobbies for when it's just the club hanging out, he doesn't want to scare the girls away after all.

The rest of the Homra guys fill out their own niches as far as customer preferences go so that Homra has a mix of personalities to appeal to everyone. Chitose's the other sweet talker after Kusanagi but he's considered more of the flirty type and every girl wants to think she's the one who can really hold his interest. Dewa gets to be the more cold-seeming type who could warm up to the right person, plus he and Chitose have a combo thing going on that a certain segment of girls really enjoys. Eric is the standoffish type that reminds girls of a dog that just needs to be tamed, while of course Fujishima is the animal lover who's always showing clients his variety of pets (which on various occasions has included a hamster, two rabbits, a horse and an emu). Akagi's the one who seems all innocent and sincere even when he's saying what are obvious pick up lines, while Bandou gets to be the 'lovable loser' type much to his dismay. Kamamoto gets to do double duty, during summer he of course gets a lot of fans who think he's cool and handsome, while during winter his true fans enjoy how thoughtful and gentle he is, plus he's more huggable when he's fat. Yata is terrible with girls but that's his draw, he's this rough and tumble thug type who gets all nervous and shy around girls and clients think it's sweet and endearing. Originally when Fushimi was part of the club he and Yata did the combo thing where Yata would be all embarrassed and hide behind Fushimi, who would click his tongue and call Yata an idiot yet somehow there would seem to be sparkles and soft focus around them both and all the girls would squeal.

Of course eventually Fushimi gets sick of Homra and betrays them to join the other host club, Scepter 4. Scepter 4 is the more elegant refined host club that caters to the wealthier kids at the school, where Homra gives the vibe of a bunch of delinquents who clients want to rehabilitate with their love Scepter 4 is a bunch of untouchable ivory idols descending to mingle with the common folk. Munakata is the club president and he's a big draw for his regal, king-like aura and his genius mind, very few clients are aware that underneath this image he's actually a giant dork who really just wants to play puzzles with all of them. Once Fushimi joins he's naturally a huge draw, all the girls see him as this wounded tsundere who just needs someone to love him (Fushimi also gets to form an unwitting combo with Munakata, like Fushimi gets annoyed about something and Munakata comes over to dote on him and again the girls scream). Though the club is mostly male they cater to all clientele regardless of gender and so Awashima's there too, a beautiful and authoritative woman who's popular with everyone.

The alphabet boys fill out the rest of the roster with varying personality types. Akiyama and Benzai are the two thoughtful, kind adult types who are also known for being partners, they both entertain guests together and often have moments together specifically designed to stimulate their clients (like Akiyama will have too much cake and seem to get a stomachache, Benzai will gently cradle him and brush his cheek as he says Akiyama knows Benzai worries when he overdoes it, Akiyama blushes slightly and apologizes and all the girls are swooning while the two of them fist bump behind their backs). Kamo also attracts a lot of customers with more mature tastes, he's also popular among girls who want to learn how to cook. Doumyouji fills the excitable over-energetic niche, he's probably the one who gets to innocently flirt with everyone without anyone getting mad at him. Enomoto is popular with the more nerdy girls and those who like meganes but are intimidated by Munakata and Fushimi. Fuse has a special niche among customers who dislike Fushimi and think he's overlooked. Gotou is popular with the 'weird' clients and members of the Black Magic Club. Hidaka fills a niche similar to Doumyouji's with the energetic crowd but he's also popular with dog lovers and girls who think he looks like he would let them step on him.

[nuage-s-den]

Have you ever heard “for you” by tonight alive? it’s pretty sappy, but it has such strong birdflash vibes “for you I would fly without wings/and for you I would run like the sun chases the moon”

I must admit, this is the first piece I’ve written that feels fluid for a long time. Thank you for sending me a song, it is a lovely one (definitely screams Birdflash, haha!). For everyone else who’s sent a request, I swear I am still slowly working on them, and I promise you’ll get a little something as well. :) 

Birdflash drabble #4 - A little more than best friends

No warnings aside from the risk of cavities… Ah, and no beta’d and written by a messy non-English writer hahaha.

     It started as a simple conversation, a simple idea Donna threw in the air and that the team picked on. With the summer holiday coming to an end and the first day of school approaching fast, the five friends decided to have one last evening of fun before getting dragged back to the dull yet stressful routine that came with every Septembers. Sitting at the terrace of their favourite cafe, each shared their desires. Garth suggested going to the lake now that most tourists were gone, Roy was fine with anything as long as he could bring his itty bitty daughter. Wally wasn’t very picky, unlike when they organized outings that were related to restaurants. Dick mentioned wanting to make a bond fire, and Donna only wanted to go someplace where she could expand her portfolio by taking pictures of the scenery.

“Alright so let me just summarize what we have so far.” She had kept track of everyone’s wishes by scribbling down on a napkin. “We are looking to go somewhere with a place to swim, somewhere that’s safe for little Lian and where it is okay to make a fire.” Her friends nodded.

“Wally doesn’t care as long as we bring enough food for his bottomless stomach.” Dick, the youngest of the team, snickered before he and his best friend began a playful “poke war.”

Donna gently tapped her bottom lip with the end of her pen as she thought of a place that could satisfy everyone.  "Oh.“ Her eyes light up. “How about we go to the Moonstone river? I went there once with my photography class. Granted, it is a bit of a treck to get there, but it fits pretty much everyone’s request. And we could camp for the night.” Donna watched as her friends thought about it and seemed to agree on her proposal. With a smile, she announced: “Then it’s decided! We will meet early on Thursday and spend the night there.” Each rose their drink and cheered.

     It was already sunny when the group met at the entrance of the provincial park. Dick was the first on sight when Donna and Garth arrived. Roy followed shortly; his daughter held his hand and hopped as she played imaginary hopscotch. As always, Wally was the last one to get there and was shy of being half an hour late. Funnily enough, Lian was the one to scold him for taking so long.

The walk up to the river took the group two hours to complete, which was relatively fast seeing how often they had to stop either because Donna argued she wouldn’t forgive them if they didn’t let her take that one perfect shot of birds and wildflowers, or to entertain the toddler who occasionally got tired of walking. With Lian riding his back, Wally became her private “horsey” and was ordered to run up the slope as fast as he could.

“You’re slow, West.” Of course, Dick had to tease him. And of course, Wally took it as a challenge. The two began to walk with long strides, teasing the other when one gained some distance. The rest of the group watched them hurry, shaking their heads as they were used to their silly shenanigans.  Once they reached the top, Wally and Dick were out of breath with Wally sitting down and Dick leaning on his knees.

     As expected, the provincial park’s river was beautiful. The water trickled down the rocks and reflected the sun; it was surprisingly not too cold to the touch. A few people had already claimed some spots around the water, but it was relatively calm, and the group didn’t have trouble finding their perfect place to camp. Putting their backpacks down, Garth and Wally hurriedly undressed and jumped into the water with Wally immediately regretting it. “It’s cold!”Meanwhile, Roy helped his daughter take out her clothes and gently applied sunscreen to her sensitive skin. The young father talked with his child, a relaxed and fond look softening his face. Dick watched them from afar, smiling and remembering how his father used to speak to him with a similar expression before passing away. At the same time, Donna was already taking pictures of everyone. She always said that the best photos were taken au naturel. A big, wet golden retriever whose smile could melt the iciest hearts ran up to her to greet her while ignoring his owner’s calls.  

“A puppy!” Not even after a blink, Wally was next to her on the floor and hugging, kissing the wet dog. “Who’s a good boy? What’s your name? Where do you come from? Are you having fun?” He talked with a high pitch voice which caused the dog to wag its tail even harder. “Donna! Donna! You better immortalize this beautiful creature with your super photographing skills!” Ah yes, Wally sure loved dogs. But his canine friend noticed someone else and without a goodbye, ran past him to jump on another unexpected victim. Dick was halfway into the water, showing off his ricochet skills to Lian,  when the golden retriever jumped next to him, making a splash big enough to soak him entirely. There was a couple of laughs as the teenager’s cheeks turned a little pink.

     When the evening came, the sun began its journey to the west, leaving the sky like a palette of pink and blue. Most of the people had left earlier, and eventually, the team had to say goodbye to Mr. Snufflekins the golden retriever who had “helped” them collect enough wood to start their fire. Once it was big enough, the five friends began to prepare their meal: hot dogs cooked over the fire and roasted marshmallows. Because most of them had a competitive nature, they decided to make the marshmallow prepping a contest; the person who made a marshmallow with a delicate crust on the outside, but still soft in the inside would be crowned king or queen of the fire. And because the truth always comes out of a children’s mouth, Lian was designed as the judge for the contest. Carefully, she took a bite of each marshmallow, looking as if she was degusting them with the taste bud of a real chef. Finally, she proclaimed her overly burnt entry as the winner and no one dared challenge her choice. Laughter and horrible singing attempts filled the silence of the night. Garth was the first one to fall asleep, hugging an empty backpack and a kid playing with his hair. Wally dared Roy to draw on his face but was disappointed when he learned of the lack of marker.

     When dawn came, Dick was still awake. Sitting with his arms loosely hugging his knees, he watched as the moon and the stars shared the sky with the rising sun. The trickle of the river along with the melody of the songbirds made everything so peaceful. Most of his friends were still asleep, having consumed too much food, energy and, yes, a couple of beers. Someone sat next to him, yawning loudly and stretching. “What are you doing up so early? I thought you were a night owl?” Wally asked as he followed the younger man’s gaze.

“And miss this?” Dick grinned, listening as Wally hummed next to him. They remained like this for a while, comfortable with the silence that settled between them.

“You know, I think I might have a little too much to drink yesterday.”

Wally turned his head toward his best friend. There was a slight tint of pink on his face. “Yeah?” Dick’s smile was soft, and Wally felt as if his blue eyes had captured the stars and the moon for they were shining with something magical. Wally felt drawn to him; his hand moved to gently cup his best friend’s cheek without him realizing. Dick’s skin felt cool to the touch, and Wally could feel him accept the touch as he pressed against his palm. Something was happening, he told himself. There was a spark in his eyes, a zing in his heart. It was just like any cliche movies described it, and Wally wondered if Dick was feeling the same thing.

As if Nature was encouraging him, Wally leaned a little closer as the breeze gently pushed his back. There was a moment of hesitation as if neither boys knew what they were doing. “Dude, can I…” Wally started. For once he felt at a loss of words. Dick’s hand rested over his as he nodded. Shortly after, their lips were sealed, and their arms moved so they could embrace each other tenderly. The moment only lasted for seconds, but to them, it felt like a lifetime.

“I guess that makes us something a little more than best friends,” Dick said, his voice a little unsure. Wally gently lowered him to the ground, holding him as if he was a porcelain doll who could break with any sudden movement.

“Who said we can’t be best friends and something a little more?”

[queerchoicesblog]

Of Gingerbread Men...And Ginger-robots (PM, Hayden x MC)

Hello folks! This is my third entry for the @choices-december-challenge by my friend @kinda-iconic and I go back to black - just kidding, I go back to my beloved Perfect Match! It’s been a while since the Eros hunt and the squad is back to their lives. Eventually, Hayden moved in with Jordan (M! MC) and they’re enjoying every minute of their life together. 

I may be wrong, but I remember Hayden mentioning a bucket list of things she would like to do “for the first time” now that she’s getting “more human”. If I was mistaken, I thought that this would be a good idea: I could totally picture Hayden doing something like that. That’s what I imagined here, at least. And MC comes to the rescue when a certain Christmas entry troubles his sweet robot girlfriend.

Prompt: Christmas Tradition

Word Count: 1265

___________________________

It was a lazy December Sunday and a cold sun illuminated the living room of Jordan’s apartment. He was laying on the couch, tenderly playing with Hayden’s hair, whose head was resting on his chest.

"So what's on your bucket list today, babe?" he asked placing a kiss on the top of her head. "Hmm...Christmas tradition" Hayden said reading her notes. "Cool! I'm game, what did you have in mind?". Hayden frowned, hanging her head. "Nothing actually. The truth is I have no idea. Everyone has a Christmas tradition, that thing they do with their family or loved ones this time of the year, every year and gives them a...sense of belonging, if it makes sense. Everyone but me. I mean, I have Christmas memories, like decorating the tree with mom and watching classical movie marathons on tv but I guess they were Sloane's" she smiled grimly at the thought. "You just want something that is real, different and yours only, right?" Jordan asked gently raising her chin so she could face him. Hayden nodded, her eyes still painfully lowered. "Okay, so why don't we bake some gingerbread men? They're delicious and basically scream 'It's Christmas time'" Jordan suggested trying to sound as chirpy as he could be. Seeing Hayden so heartbroken about the life she didn't get to live hurt him but every time he did his best to be strong and hide his own concerns.

Hayden's face brightened. "Gingerbread men? The little cookie men? They're so cute and...Christmassy, right? I already know I'll feel bad eating them but yeah, it's a great idea, Jordan! I'll text Steve for the recipe" she said, grabbing her phone. She immediately started typing. She's so adorable, she looks like a kid who just won a ticket for Willy Wonka's chocolate factory, Jordan thought, stroking adoringly Hayden's back. Then he stood. "Good, I'll put on some Michael Bublé-" "Michael Bublé?" Hayden playfully raised an eyebrow to him. "Huh-huh! Less judging, more typing, love: these gingerbread men won't bake themselves" he remarked as he turned to grab his Christmas song collection. "And this man is the voice of Christmas so hush". "If you say so" Hayden stuck out her tongue. Her phone buzzed in her hands. "Oh gosh, he texted back! We have the recipe, baby, we have the recipe! I'm so excited!" she squealed, barely containing her newfound joy. "To the kitchen then, lads!" Jordan cheered in his best Jack Sparrow tone and moves. "Oh and Nadia says that she loves the idea" Hayden added, standing, her eyes still glued to her phone. "How many heart emojis this time?". "Tons, as usual" Hayden laughed. Her phone chimed again. "More than usual".

“Thought so” Jordan commented amused as he walked behind the kitchen counter. “So what does pastry chef Steve say? What do we need, babe?”.

"Yeah, right!" Hayden started frenetically skimming her phone. "Three cups of flour, baking soda, ground ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg...and salt! He wrote it in caps, it must be vital, Jordan. Repeat after me: a pinch of salt, we should not forget to add a pinch of salt-"

"Woah, woah! Slow down, Hayden" Jordan laughed, hugging her from behind. "I'm at three cups of flour"

Hayden looked at him and he smiled apologetically.

"Guess I'm only human and need my time. Repeat me these ingredients and I'll gather them for you. Then you mix them together, okay?"

"Okay, just-"

"A pinch of salt. I've got you, girl" he winked before opening the pantry.

When everything was measured and ready to use, Hayden put them into a bowl and whisked them together. You could see how excited she was by the light shining in her eyes.

"Okay, done it" she said triumphantly.

"Great job, little chef! Wait here, I'll go grab the butter, the sugar-"

"Brown sugar! Steve said brown sugar!"

"Brown sugar and all the rest. Check if I forget something" Jordan placed a kiss on the tip of her nose.

When all the ingredients were mixed and beaten together, they put them to refrigerate and decided to go for a walk in the park as they waited. When they came back, they checked the dough.

"It looks good, right Jordan? Do you think I should send a pic to Steve or-"

"Nah, we followed every step and checked it twice like Santa. We can't go wrong. Now, why don't you get the cookie cutters? I think they're in a tin box over there" Jordan gestured to her right.

Hayden opened a drawer and picked out a Christmas tin box. She was gathering all the gingerbread men cutters when she squealed.

"What was that for?" Jordan giggled.

"You didn't tell me you have these!"

Hayden turned, holding in her hands two robot shaped cutters. A big smile illuminated her face.

"Oh, they must be Nadia's. She must have forgotten them here when she visited years ago" Jordan explained. "Do you...like them? We can use them if you want, I mean if they're not offensive or-"

"Like them? I love them, baby! And yes, please can we use them too? That way we'll have both gingerbread men and..."

She paused, searching for the right word.

"GINGER-ROBOTS!" they both exclaimed at the same time.

They both squealed as Hayden sprinted back to the counter and passed Jordan the gingerbread men cutters.

"Can I do the robot ones?" She asked, making the cutest puppy dog eyes Jordan had ever seen.

"Of course, love! Go ahead!" he smiled adoringly.

When they were done, they both beamed. Jordan broke the silence.

"I'll heat the oven so we can bake them and start the frosting, would you put them on a baking tray?"

Hayden nodded, eyes still glued on the counter and a bright smile on her lips. When she gathered everything on the baking tray, she handed it to Jordan. As he was placing it in the oven, he noticed that the man and the robot at the center had now joined hands. He looked back at Hayden over his shoulder and blushed. He knew that Hayden was a romantic, that was how she was designed for him after all, but she never ceased catching him off guard with unexpected gestures that made him melt inside.

Then he set the timer and went back to the counter, where she was standing reading carefully the instructions for the frosting.

When their gingerbread men and ginger-robots were cooled and decorated, they both admired the tray full of cookies.

"They're beautiful, Jordan! You're an amazing sous-chef" she kissed him quickly on the lips. "Should we try them?"

"Yep! I choose...this one" Jordan reached for the man and the robot holding hands. "It's my favorite, will you share it with me?".

Hayden brightened and blushed a little. Then she took a seat beside Jordan and they bite the cookie at the same time.

"Oh my gosh, they're so good!" she squealed, her mouth still full.

"We outdid ourselves for sure!" Jordan echoed.

"Nadia texted and asked to save some for her and Steve".

"Well...if we do, they have to appreciate the sacrifice, because I seriously can eat them all without regrets".

"So can I" Hayden giggled, grabbing another bite.

Jordan paused, looking tenderly at his girlfriend.

"You know, I think we should make this a tradition. Our tradition"

Hayden raised her face to meet his adoring eyes on her. Her cheeks turned a bright red as she held his gaze. She put down the cookie and pulled him into a tight hug, as tears of joy welt her eyes.

"I'd love to, Jordan".

[livinginbeauty-net]

  Our campsite tree at Myrtle Beach State Park

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,           As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my trailer door. Tis some visitor,” I muttered, “tapping at my trailer door —           Only this, and nothing more.”

– adapted from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe

Deer Lake Park – Burnaby, British Columbia, Canada

Jim celebrated his sixty-fourth birthday on October 4th. And if that wasn’t spooky enough, we were all alone in the woods.

With the temperature in the high 20’s at night and the high 30’s daytime, we were the solitary campers in a large densely forested park during the last a few days before seasonal closing. Shuswap Lake Provincial Park was kinda creepy in a beautiful way.

Shuswap Lake Provincial Park – Scotch Creek, British Columbia, Canada

Shuswap Lake Provincial Park – Scotch Creek, British Columbia, Canada

Shuswap Lake Provincial Park – Scotch Creek, British Columbia, Canada

But good friends, old and new, warmed our rattling bones with home-cooked delights and even met us at a cheerful pub, right across the road from our campground to toast Jim’s Beatle Birthday.

64th Birthday at The Hub

Birthday at The Hub with Laura and Paul.

Pattie is a great cook!

Pilpil! Got the recipe!

Watching the salmon run was the perfect metaphor for an epic Birthday Month. Old age ain’t for sissies! Whenever the futility of life gets me down I will turn to the salmon for inspiration …

Then, we moved south to a slightly warmer climate in Sasquatch Country!

We must return to Harrison Hot Spring in June for Sasquatch Days!

Hiking in Sasquatch country

Jim performed a Vulcan mind-read on the Sasquatch!

Lost in Sasquatch country

Sasquatch live here.

Our campsite beside a natural outdoor stage with amazing acoustics.

Very Sasquatchy, if you ask me.

In a few days, we will be in Port Townsend for my birthday and I will miss the trains in Canada. Trains soothe my mind and put me in a mood to ruminate.

Warming our feet by the fire tonight in our cozy campground on Cariboo Place, we realize how these past twenty-seven months of travel have connected us to the land, our roots, long lost friends and family … and also to some unexpected encounters with the spirit world.

Interested? Pull up a chair and sit for a spell …

Our campsite tree

The Ghost Lights

We’re not paranormal enthusiasts, but now and then, one or both of us have a feeling that a place is, well, invested with an energy – sometimes good and sometimes not so good. Traveling has sharpened our senses, made us more keen and perceptive.

An example of good energy is the ghost lights of Anza-Borrego which stayed right beside us inside our tent throughout a treacherous night of flash floods, making us feel safe and protected. Only a decade later did we learn they were The Ghost Lights. We thought they were angels.

The Monticello Snake Story

After a restful night at Golden Acres Ranch near Monticello where – we had no idea at the time – one in three houses are recorded (in a somewhat legitimate way) as haunted, I felt compelled to stop the rig on a narrow country road to take pics of an intriguing cottage.

A big yeller dog roused up from the porch and raised his hackles. The home’s human occupant promptly emerged from the house and, he – an exquisite orator in the southern tradition – recited, to my delight, a popular regional snake story.

What a gift! I hung on every word. Floridians, in my book, have full rights to all snake stories and this gentleman is a master of the art. But sometimes a house wants to tell its own story like the one in Opelika, Alabama …

Spring Villa

On our way to Fort Pickens from my sister’s house in Tennessee, we’d hoped to overnight near Opelika. We pulled into Spring Villa Park and Campground on the chance they might have space for the night.

Instantly, our eyes fixed on the gorgeous old antebellum mansion and our immediate response was, “What a shame.” Poor thing needs some serious TLC.

At the check-in, a pale middle-aged ranger with a balding head and bulbous eyebags announced in a slow, gravelly baritone that the old house is haunted. Jim loved it. Thought it was an act. “Okay. That’s really cool” he said.

The ranger, unamused, held his weary “this-is-no-joke” gaze.

“So, um. Is the house being restored?” Jim asked.  “No.” replied the caretaker/ranger guy, “We can’t find anyone to do the work. Like I said, it’s haunted.”

While this continued, I took Pico on a walk and observed the other campers who seemed to be excessively goth for small-town Alabama. A lady in a flowing satin-black gown and lipstick smiled and gave me a cheerful, “Hey!” as she decorated her picnic table in black chenille with purple string lights in late-November.

But, too tired to change our minds and more concerned about the basketball-sized anthills than the superstitious southern folk, we opted to stay put.

You see, we’d just come from Costco in Birmingham, and all we wanted to do was properly stash an obscene amount of food, and present our fresh, new rosemary Christmas tree for its first night of the season.

After dinner, we settled down, watched a movie and got ready for bed.

Jim always turns in around 10 pm while I take Pico for his last walk. But on this night, Jim grabbed the leash.

I presumed he was acting in my behalf due to the creepy neighbors. “I want to check this place out,” he said.

I had half a mind to go with him and said so, but then he got in a spooky mood and let loose an Jack Nicolson “Here’s Johnny” imitation. “Sure you don’t want to go?” he said, creeping me out better than I thought he could. I said, “Uh-uh. Not playing this game. But take the phone and may unicorns and rainbows guide you.”

He speed-dialed me and off he went into the sultry Southern night on a Young Goodman Brown escapade/with chihuahua.

Pico de Gallo – a big N. Hawthorne fan.

On digital technology, I listened to their footfall through the deep wet grass as Jim slapped mosquitos off his face.

The squishy walking suddenly stopped!

“What’s going on? I asked. “Gotta ditch the headlamp … Bugs.” Then, squish, squish, squish … on they walked. Presently, Jim said, “I’m at the house.” He said it real important-like – as if he were about to set foot on the moon.

The boards creaked under his weight. Then, Pico sounded urgent warning barks. Several voices popped up in the background, women’s voices!

When Pico calmed down Jim told me the women were ghost hunters using an app to detect paranormal energy. The app told them that a presence was just inside the door. So Jim fastened his headlamp again just as … the door opened! The women screamed and ran.

“Just leave!” I said.

“Hold on,” he said, “It was probably a draft but I’m taking a photo … Sending.” The photo showed the door about three inches ajar from the inside. But what sent chills down my spine and made me scream, “Run!!!” was the shadow-play of Jim’s hand and iPhone which appeared to be a freshly dug grave and tombstone.

A sudden thunderstorm…

… on Lake Ponchartrain drove us off the designated bike lane near Fontainebleau State Park.  We took shelter in a gazebo in an old cemetery.

By all appearances, we were alone. Yet, we both felt we were being watched.

Then … Out of nowhere

(Everything happened so suddenly the details are difficult to assemble)

Out of nowhere, a young man appeared in the gazebo with us – a boy really – blue eyes, brown hair, medium build, wearing dungarees and denim shirt. Just as I noticed the number on his shirt, I spied a work truck, way back in a far corner of the cemetery with a guard and several prisoners around it. Ah, a routine maintenance program. Of course.

We exchanged hellos and his dialect suggested he was from the area. He asked if we wanted to see some bones. Bones? No! We’re just passing by, ducking the weather, we explained.

But he wouldn’t have it. Bones we would see. For mercy’s sake and politeness, we followed the young man, and upon his request, we peered between broken crypt walls to behold the bones he spoke of.

But when we looked up to ask the boy if he knew the name of the deceased, he was gone – vanished – nowhere to be seen or heard and no sign of the old truck and crew.

Natchez

And, oh, where to begin with Natchez? The ghosts outnumber the living so they all just have to to go along to get along.

Kings Tavern in Natchez – the most haunted pub in Mississippi

Boothill

But our most haunting moment was near Mount Moriah Cemetery, commonly known as Boothill where this row of tombstone clouds reminded us of the single row of thirteen civil war graves of unknown soldiers on the Natchez Trace.

Fort Pickens

We could go on and on … Fort Pickens and the bomb removal squad.

The set of LOST?

Savannah

The Old Pirate House

The Haunted “Old Pirates House” in Savannah

and Moon River Brewing Company,

The Travel Channel’s Ghost Adventures featured this brewing company.

Harper’s Ferry

Harpers Ferry ghost stories…

But that’s enough. Now, it’s time to pass the Talking Stick.

Do you have a ghost story to share – one from personal or second-hand experience?

Or just a good travel yarn, perhaps?

We’re dying to hear it.

Let’s see if we can keep this campfire burning through Halloween night!

Nothing like a few ghost stories before Halloween! “While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,           As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my trailer door.

[letterboxd]

Tristan Oliver Q&A.

“We have had far more problems shooting on a 5D than we ever did on film. The sheer absurdity of the throwaway society and obsolescence leaves a bad taste in the mouth.”

Cinematographer Tristan Oliver takes us behind the scenes of the Wallace & Gromit train-chase scene, a flood on Isle of Dogs, and the time he acted with Colin Firth, Rupert Everett and Cary Elwes in 80s British romance Another Country.

Oliver was the man behind many of the cameras on stop motion films including Isle of Dogs, Fantastic Mr. Fox, Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit, ParaNorman and Chicken Run. He also filmed the Academy Award-nominated Loving Vincent.

We asked him some of your questions and some of our own (but we did not ask him “what is Wes Anderson like?”—read on to find out why).

Several Letterboxd members (including ReiJr, Curtis and Nicolas Inard) want to know what drew you to animation cinematography over live action, and what makes it interesting for you?

Well, obviously it’s a ridiculous way to make a living by any definition and I don’t think I ever really, actively wanted to do it. I just kind of fell into it. I was shooting some pop promos for friends and needed to borrow some lights and I knew a couple of people at Aardman—at that time it was literally a couple of dozen people. They said “Oh great, what are you doing next week?”

It was so great—they never used to schedule anything. They just used to ask you in and you’d stay until the job finished a few weeks later. So I stayed as a freelancer with them for a very long time. At the same time, I had a child, so I needed some regular income. I stuck at it at Aardman and I was good at it and they liked me.

It was an exciting time inasmuch as they were reinventing the entire look of stop-frame [animation], because stop-frame really was kids’ TV up until that time—it was super quick and rough and very crudely photographed. Big, soft lights and go home and forget about it. So what we started to do was create a very cinematic look for it, and make it into a much bigger canvas and bigger screen. Our driving motivation was that we made no concession at all to the fact that it was animation, we just tried to make it look nice.

[Animation] was a genre that was neglectful of its cinematography, and even now, I meet animators who don’t really care about it. It’s all about puppets as far as they’re concerned, and I think generally anyone watching the films doesn’t really care about cinematography. It’s the Cinderella department. People are all over the props and puppets.

Immediately getting a little more technical, how does one pull off a rack focus with moving stop motion elements in the shot? —Gina

That’s very interesting because of course stop motion isn’t moving. It’s entirely static until you move it. So a rack focus is just broken down into as many frames as you want it to take place over. So if it’s a twelve-frame or an eight-frame rack focus, in one way you can put a piece of tape over the lens and you move it one notch each frame. Or, we use a motion control computer to do it, which we do these days because it’s much smoother. The animator will press a button, the camera takes a frame, the motion control computer moves—and the animation software will trigger what needs to be triggered.

Although the camera move is conceived in real time, you know, A-to-B, if it takes four seconds you can run it at four seconds or you can run it at a frame a time—now move your puppet and off it goes. So the puppet follows the camera, as it were.

Motion control is one of the things that really liberated us. When we were setting up Chicken Run, that was suddenly a film that needed to play out on a cinema screen rather than a television screen, and moving the camera through space was one of the ways to expand that space. We kind of take it for granted that we can do that now.

Cinematographer Tristan Oliver on set

I was wondering how different lighting a set for a stop motion film is compared to a live-action film and maybe what some challenges of lighting a stop-motion film are? Thanks, I love your work! —Ben

Thank you Ben! Well. I would say that aesthetically there should be no difference because, coming back to my original point, one’s aim should be to make something look beautiful and not really concede in any way to the fact that you are shooting animation.

But there are some issues. Primarily of course the size of what you’re shooting—and this means that relative to the characters you’re shooting, the camera is very, very large. The camera is kind of the size of a small car inside a domestic environment. It’s normally as tall as the character, so you do have issues lighting the character without the camera getting in way. You also have enormous issues with depth of focus because normally we are working right up to the minimum [focal point] of the lens. So to get stuff looking natural, you have to work at a very tiny aperture to get the depth of field that you’d find acceptable in live action.

A puppet’s head might only be the size of the top of my thumb and if I focus on its eye I might find that its nose and ears are unacceptably out of focus. So we are really asking the lenses to do something they were never really designed to do well, which is to work at tiny stops. Most lenses are optimized around ƒ/4, ƒ/5, ƒ/6 and we typically use them around ƒ/14. We really do beat them into submission.

The other issue is heat, of course. We don’t want to be cooking the animators or the puppets or the environments. Luckily, we don’t need a huge amount of intensity with light because we can vary our shutter speed, because we are taking shots one frame at a time. But we do need to keep sets comfortable. We do occasionally use large lights—especially if we’re shooting daylight exteriors—because you very quickly give away that they’re models [if] the shadows fan out, and real shadows don’t do that. They remain parallel, or “coherent” as we call it.

Has LED lighting changed DOP work for stop motion? —Tim

Yes, LED has in many ways transformed our world. The reason being that it’s very tiny so you can hide it and it’s very cool so it doesn’t produce any heat, and also you can dim it without the colour changing.

As an example, on Isle of Dogs we have a large theater set which is all painted with red and black lacquer in the Japanese style and it is lit by paper lanterns (which are actually made out of painted resin). Each of those lanterns contains a very small incandescent bulb, so when you dim those the colour gets very warm and orange. But then we have other [LED] fixtures in that environment and they can be dimmed right down but their colour doesn’t change, so you can keep a very dim but pure light point and that makes the warm stuff read warmer. It’s all about showing the eye where the light is. LEDs just have that purity of colour which doesn’t change with intensity.

And the other thing I wanted to say is the main difference is the sheer number of units we’re shooting on. We typically run between 40 and 50 units, and I’m having to be across all of those in terms of how the film looks. So I’m personally hands-on lighting a lot of those but I can’t do all of them. I have a couple of other guys who help me out and they work to my brief so that it looks like one person did it.

It is a huge, very busy environment in a very large stage with a lot of people running around. I think people’s impression of animation is a very ponderous, dull thing but actually, although it takes a long time, they’re working as quickly as they can. And they’re all working on their own.

Wes Anderson with his Isle of Dogs cast

What type of personality do you think you need to work in stop motion? There’s a stereotype that you must have to be very patient, but the reality is quite different?

I think the idea of “patience” is... I don’t even know where that comes from. That is what we call one of the “top five questions”. That, along with “tell us what is one of the most difficult things you had to do on the film” and “what is Wes Anderson like?”.

I don’t know what anyone’s being patient about, really. Where’s the patience? An animator is animating. He (or she) is working as fast as he possibly can, doing a very complicated performance through the medium of a puppet. So he is undergoing a degree of concentration it would be impossible to imagine and around him sets are being built, painted, lit, set up.

In all respects it is exactly like a live action department—it’s very busy, there is no downtime. So this concept of patience is entirely erroneous. What you actually need is stamina. Not patience. Because this is five or six days a week, 60-hour weeks for two years. And it’s intensely busy. Because of the length of time it takes to shoot, we’re in a rolling process of pre-production even when we’re in production. People are constantly losing their temper and constantly screaming and running out of the studio. To think there’s some kind of monkish, trappist environment… [shakes head].

Which villain did you find more terrifying from the films you worked on? —Manny

They’re not that scary are they, because they’re puppets, but I guess the best villain is Feathers McGraw from The Wrong Trousers, because it’s a penguin and it never speaks, and yet it has a sense of menace to it that is so thorough. It hasn’t even got pupils! It does occasionally blink but it mostly just sits there and... looks. It’s amazing how well it works.

What is it about penguins in animation? There are so many… Surf’s Up. Madagascar. Pingu…

Feathers McGraw and Wallace in Aardman Animation’s The Wrong Trousers

When stop motion films were first shot digitally, sensor noise was an issue that sometimes led to ‘crawling’ artefacts between frames. Has this been mitigated in newer camera hardware, or is it something you still need to watch out for? —Matthew

Do you know what? I read that question and I thought “I have no idea what you’re talking about!” I’m completely unaware of this as an issue. The only film I think that may have been an issue on was Corpse Bride. We did have issues with the 5D which was used as the default animation camera for about ten years. But those issues were to do with the chip heating up and causing fluctuations with the density and the contrast. But the camera I used for Isle of Dogs and also Aardman used for Early Man, which is the Canon 1D X, was pretty damn good. Pretty stable. So it’s kind of ironed out. I mean, you know, no camera on earth is designed to shoot stop-motion animation. I mean why would it be? So we’re always looking for the next camera.

I know that Pete Kozachik is an extreme fan of 30- to 40-second shutter speeds, which is frankly ludicrous. That may have resulted in excessive sensor noise, but that’s more to do with the shutter speed.

How do you handle having to start an insanely complex shot again after an error?

That’s a very interesting question and I’ll tell you why: because the only reason that we reshoot is if there’s an animation problem. Because nothing gets shot until everything is right. So everything is tested. The lighting, the motion control, set dressing, everything is run in front of the director to the point where they say yes, good to go.

The reason is: you can’t ask an animator to reshoot a shot if they’ve done nothing wrong because you’ve cocked it up. So only animation issues are reshot. And from that point of view, it doesn’t bother me in the least, because I just go in and make sure they’re good to go, and they just go again. It’s their loss of time, not my loss of time. They’re normally quite okay about it. Most animators don’t mind having a second go because it does give them the opportunity to improve.

If there’s a catastrophic tech error on the other hand… We did have a flood on Isle of Dogs. We had a massive hole in the roof and a torrential thunderstorm and we lost some stuff in that way. So that becomes an Act of God, a force majeure, and you just have to get on with it.

But also we do monitor what’s going on, so I tend to pop in and just make sure the animators are okay and do my daily rounds. If I see an animator has unwittingly missed a focus point or position because they hadn’t been concentrating, I would inform the first [assistant director] and say “we need to restart this shot”. But because of the critical mass of shooting on 40 to 50 units, if you have an issue, it’s not really an issue. It can be frustrating, that’s all.

Gromit and friends in Curse of the Were-Rabbit

What, if anything, do you miss about the 35mm Chicken Run and Curse of the Were-Rabbit days?

There are things I miss about 35mm days. The structure of the day is far more coherent when you’re shooting on film, because you start your day looking at the rushes, looking at the dailies, then you go into the edit suite and you look at that material cut in, and then you go to the studio floor and address what needs addressing. Whereas when shooting digitally, every time someone finishes a shot you all have to go and look at it, get them turned over, and so on.

There is also far less downtime for animators and bizarrely I think they suffer from that because the process of sitting down and discussing shots and comparing notes is over. The experience of sitting in a green room and getting into a conversation with two or three old silverbacks of the industry is gone really.

The other thing is it’s no quicker shooting digitally. We shot Chicken Run in 78 weeks and we shot Isle of Dogs in 86 weeks, so it actually took longer.

A problem you get with digital is you suddenly have far too much choice. We would do everything in-camera on film. We would use painted backdrops for skies. Everything would be shot into camera, and now of course you can just shoot green screen and decide what your background’s going to look like later.

You’re giving yourself way too much choice because you can. So the amount of creative decision-making is thrown to the end of the movie. That seems like liberation but in fact it’s just putting off what could otherwise be a perfectly reasonable decision. And I think living with what you’ve done isn’t a bad way of working.

And the other thing—which has nothing to do with the practicalities of shooting—which appals me, is that every time we do a movie you have to buy new cameras, because they wear out, so they have a life, and they always stop manufacturing the damn things.

Halfway through Isle of Dogs they stopped making the camera we were shooting on! We had 50 and we had to find another 30 and we had to scour the world for them because Canon was no longer manufacturing them.

Whereas at Aardman, I could take a camera off the shelf that was made in 1928 and I’d know that I was using a piece of 70- or 80-year-old technology that was just going to keep going. We did not lose a shot on Curse of the Were-Rabbit or Chicken Run to a camera problem.

We have had far more problems shooting on a 5D than we ever did on film. The sheer absurdity of the throwaway society and obsolescence leaves a bad taste in the mouth. That at the beginning of every movie you have to spend $300,000–400,000 on new cameras.

At the end all those cameras are [sold on] eBay. The sheer fact of having to put all those cameras on eBay is absurd.

The famous train-chase scene in The Wrong Trousers

Can you tell us any good stories about the train-chase scene in The Wrong Trousers? (Emma guesses it must be the most challenging scene you’ve ever worked on, and there’s no doubt it is one of the best action scenes in a film, ever.)

Ha! Do you know how long ago that was? My daughter Sally was born the second week of shooting The Wrong Trousers and she’s just had her 26th birthday. However, I can tell you exactly about the train chase because it was a lot of fun, that particular segment.

So what you have, of course, is you have this chase that appears to take place in an infinitely huge environment, because the train is moving. We did some crude math and decided the train would be moving at 50mph if it was scaled up. So we did some tests and it looked really slow. So we just kept going up and up and up. And in fact it’s now moving at about 200mph scale-to-scale.

It’s tiny, absolutely minute, the train. We devised this method for shooting where you never see both ends of the train at the same time, so it’s either being pushed or it’s being pulled. It’s attached to the camera, [which is] on a crane hanging over the set. And the camera either had a rod that was pushing or a thread that was pulling. There is no motion control at all.

Laid on the floor is a tape measure and a pointer pointing at the tape measure. We’d hit the camera button—it had a two-second exposure—and we’d push the train 10cm [3.9in] along the track. So it’s moving at 10cm a frame. That’s a lot of distance to cover. And as the train is pulled or pushed, its wheels naturally go around on the track, so it self-animates its own spinning wheels as it goes along.

And we had a set that was a sort of long living room. It was Wallace’s living room but stretched, so it was about five meters long. At one end there was this huge sofa and the camera would go along following the train and it would go behind the sofa and as soon as it moved we’d pick the sofa up and take it down the other end of the set and the camera would move around the sofa and the train would keep going again.

And then when the penguin flies through the air, we actually mounted a sheet of glass in front of the camera—a big sheet of glass so you could see the set through it—and then the penguin was animated across that sheet of glass from right to left. So it looked like it was flying through the air, but the camera was still moving—everything was moving at 10cm a frame—so that’s 2.4 meters per second on double-0 gauge (if you know anything about trains). If you scale that up you’re moving at a hell of a lick!

So the penguin is stuck to the sheet of glass each time he is moved?

He’s had his back sliced off him so he’s like half a penguin, a bas-relief, if you like.

Then there are two other bits on that sequence. (It’s a very big sequence, obviously, there’s a lot to tell!) One is when the train goes around the corner. So for that I built this tiny dolly, which was a wedge of timber with four furniture casters on it and a massive Mitchell camera mounted on top of it. The track went under the camera, and I actually knelt on the set and hand dollied it round the bend.

I thought “this is fantastic!”. But when we actually shot it, what I had completely neglected to register is that as you hit the button the shutter goes around and it completely obscures the eye-piece—so I did it blind, really.

And the other shot is where the camera goes under the table. I can’t actually remember how we did that. I think we had a table that just broke away. But it’s all in-camera. There are no special effects at all.

We had a crew of six on that film. And only 150 shots in the whole movie. It’s amazing. The camera just sits there and watches what’s going on. It doesn’t cut, cut, cut. The camera sits there and you watch the whole sequence of penguin looking up at museum and all the other scenes.

Wes Anderson’s Isle of Dogs

Did you have a favorite moment on Isle of Dogs?

[Laughing] The last day! There are certain bits of Isle of Dogs that I greatly enjoyed bringing to the screen, but overall it was a slog. Working with a director who is an auteur gives you far less scope to exercise your own creative imagination, so you become reactive rather than proactive. That can be frustrating. That isn’t saying that the film isn’t fabulous and everyone will love it, but in terms of saying I loved that and I did that, it isn’t really my work. It’s something that I “enabled”, if you will.

There are some things that give you a degree of satisfaction. The problem with these movies is they are vast machines that roll on, so the intense personal satisfaction that I used to derive from shooting stuff like The Wrong Trousers is kinda lacking, because it’s such a huge thing.

I had a lot of fun shooting ParaNorman. By my own admission, I think I made a really, really good job of it and I think it looks fantastic. I enjoyed the directors, I enjoyed working at Laika. It was great.

What are five films you love for their cinematography?

I love Conrad Hall so I would always have Road to Perdition, his last movie, which I think is absolutely stunning. The beauty of shooting that film, dying and then getting a posthumous Academy Award is fantastic.

Seamus McGarvey is a great talent and I think Atonement is a beautiful looking film.

Casablanca is absolutely beautiful in black and white. That’s an astonishing looking movie. God, absolutely stunning.

I just think the standard of cinematography is so high at the moment. Production values just generally are so much better than they were 20 years ago—you can see a lot of bad movies but they’re very rarely badly shot.

The latest Blade Runner is fantastic. I’m so glad Roger [Deakins] won an award for that. Revolutionary Road, he did a fantastic job on that as well.

Any women cinematographers you have an eye on?

I realise that’s a prod, but Mudbound is a very handsome looking movie. I think [Rachel Morrison] did a fantastic job on Mudbound. Ask me in another ten years and I’m sure I’ll have many more names.

Did you ever meet Roger Deakins?

No, never. I met Jack Cardiff a couple of times, in his 90s. He was very twinkly. He’s a very naughty man—I think he had sex with nearly every leading woman that he worked with, which given that he is about five foot four is astonishing. He wrote a fantastic book called Magic Hour which has some absolutely awesome anecdotes in it. It’s well worth a read.

Could you have imagined in your wildest dreams that you’d spend a quarter of a century working in this field?

Tristan Oliver on set

My wildest dreams? Like some hideous nightmare! I mean, “no” is the answer. I think I’ve always kind of felt that I would be getting out of it at some point. You very rapidly become pigeonholed in this business. Because it’s what I do, it’s what I get asked to do. People are ludicrously conservative about this.

A case in point is Loving Vincent. The reason I got that job was because I knew about animation. But I actually shot a 90-minute, single-camera, live-action movie with a dolly, cranes, the works, in 16 days, which is pretty good going for a 90-minute movie. Then someone took it away and whilst I was shooting Isle of Dogs they painted all over it!

But isn’t it weird that I got the job because I knew about animation? That’s what the business is like—a crazy, slightly blinkered view. But all my films get seen by a lot of people. They’re proper big movies, they go all over the world.

What memories spring to mind when you think about Another Country all these years later? It must feel like another life.

Ha! 35 years later. The thing about that movie is that’s kind of what made me do what I do today. I didn’t really know anything about films until I did that movie, and I became very friendly with the camera crew [director of photography Peter Biziou, who later won an Academy Award for Mississippi Burning, and camera operator David Garfath, who also worked on The Empire Strikes Back]. I was really interested in it.

At secondary school I had done my exams in physics, biology and chemistry so I had a technical knowledge. I absolutely adored acting. I really, really, really enjoyed acting, but it just never happened for me. I had at one point to make a decision about whether I was going to live in a tiny flat by the seaside and do a couple of commercials and a pantomime every year and end up in a blazer and cravat, or do something that would make me a living. So I did spend a couple of schizophrenic years being a clapper loader and an actor, then I went to film school.

But my memories of that film are very intense and very fond. I mean, that was a real eye-opener for me. I’d never been in that environment before, surrounded by those sorts of people doing that job. It was deeply affecting. I think it damaged me for about five years. Although it was only a few weeks of my life, I then had to go back and finish my degree and the phone never rang. Everyone was interested in Rupert [Everett] and Colin [Firth], or Cary [Elwes]. Although only Colin really became a superstar.

In hindsight I’d have got myself a publicity agent and gone out there and sold myself. So I do this now. I lead a life of anonymity.

Look at an animated feature: in terms of awards, all it’ll be up for is best animated feature. The Annies don’t ever have a category for cinematography, and they have a category for everything, even an award for the floor sweeper! I wrote to them and asked them in the nicest possible way, why don’t you have a category for cinematography? And they went, ‘Oh it’s far too expensive to introduce new categories’. Then a year later they introduced two new categories. It’s absolutely absurd. We go very unconsidered in this world. Trying to gain membership of any professional organisation is impossible.

I’ve shot six movies and every one has been nominated or won an Academy Award. And I’ve shot short movies that have won or been nominated. They just go, ‘Yeah, it’s animation though isn’t it’.

Well, what keeps getting you up in the morning, in terms of what you do?What do you think is the role of storytellers such as yourself and the teams you work with in our society?

Stories are what separate us from the beasts. We are the only animal capable of projecting abstract thoughts into the future or into the past and drawing analogies in that way. I think it’s what makes us human: the ability to tell stories. There’s no anything without story. People ask me what makes a great movie and I go “the script”.

People love to watch people acting stuff out. It’s peculiar. It’s not something that any other animal does. It’s very deep within us, this need to tell stories. In fact they’ve now decided that the way these neolithic cave illustrations have been structured, with animals with multiple legs, is because when they were lit by candlelight it gave the impression of running. As the candlelight flickered, these things galloped. It’s all about story.

Finally, tell us why we ought to visit Bristol, the home of Aardman Animation?

Why would one visit Bristol?! Well, it has a thriving arts and animation scene. It’s a little bit laid-back. It’s rather like Portland in that respect. If you were in the UK and you wanted a day out I’m sure it’s right up there with Bath. It’s next door to Bath so you could probably do both in a weekend. But the thing about Bristol is it’s so nice, it’s so comfortable, that people used to go there and never leave.

I’ve experienced this many times because when I was crewing up Fantastic Mr. Fox—and indeed Isle of Dogs—I asked some of my old crew from Aardman to come and work with me. And they were all incredibly reluctant and it’s only 110 miles away! They were happier to be unemployed in Bristol than come to London, which terrifies them because there’s too many people there. Portland is where young people to go to retire and Bristol is the graveyard of ambition.

Our thanks to Tristan Oliver for his time and energy and to Fox for arranging the interview. See the accompanying list of favorite cinematographers and the questions thread.

[italicwatches]

Comic Girls - Episode 06

Aaaargh. Bureaucracy makes one’s life a living hell. But, phone calls made. Now I just have to…make more of them tomorrow. …Great. Just…Just great. Anyways how about that anime? It’s Comic Girls, episode 06! Here we GO!

-We begin with…A blood moon rising once again! Be careful, Kaos! Wait, am I even in the right show? …Yes. So Kaos is in the baths, when she has a newtype flash of insight about her manga. She has it! She…She…She just saw someone out there! Hanging from a noose?! KYAAAAAH

-So tiny Kaos screaming causes the others to come running, and they see Kaos as nude and tiny as the day she was born but also Koyume doesn’t see…Oh god.

-Oh god she’s coming! SHE’S REAL

-Opening! Complete with an intense mood whiplash from the legit horror.

-So Koyume and Kaos come out to look more thoroughly, and can’t find a damn thing…It was probably just a trick of the light. Better to write it off and just get some ice cream. Though Kaos is still pretty freaked out of possibly seeing an evil spirit.

-And then as they’re in the house, the sky turns red, and the Ringu ghost is upon them again! Kaos goes FULL PANIC and hides behind Koyume, as the terrifying ghost girl steps forward and Kaos ends up fleeing into Ruki’s room because A GHOST IS TRYING TO KILL HER! With all black hair in a white dress and you can’t see her face and AAAAAH

-Okay, okay, calm down, it was probably nothing…Wait where’s Koyume?

-Koyume screams! SHE’S BEEN CAUGHT BY THE GHOST

-Wait Koyume is friends with the ghost! THIS MIGHT BE EVEN WORSE!

-Actually know this is just the spooky goth Fuura-senpai. Fur Suzu, a horror specialist. Who has come back to the dorm to see her dear friends! And she is fascinated by little Kaos’s excellent screams. …Kaos is no less terrified now that she knows Suzu is made of meat. Especially when Suzu comments about her lovely long hair and how it’s said that long hair connotes spiritual strength, and oh the ghosts would love you, aaaand there’s our episode title. Suzu, I think you broke Kaos. Also, Koyume is way too into being snuggled by this spookily cold goth if it means relief from the summer heat. But then, Koyume’s middle name is “way too into”.

-New day! Kaos is trying to think in the stark light of morning, and figure out how to avoid Suzu. OH GOD SHE’S RIGHT THERE. Apparently Suzu actively likes to sneak up behind people when they’re using a mirror just to fuck with them.

-And later, she brings by cookies. In the shape of skulls and severed parts. Or later, she brings by a skeleton! And a mouth full of fake blood. Oh wait, I’m sorry, it’s a dessert treat made to look like fresh gory brain. That’s much less freaky.

-And she puts Kaos to work, posing her with Mr. Bones. Kaos wants off the ride, but Suzu is loving her screams and it’s making such good poses! Aaand then she passes out. Which is about when Ruki and Tsubasa come to the rescue, and Tsubasa has what I am certain are costume prayer beads bought at an anime convention, as she just babbles good sounding words and Suzu is kind of enjoying the idea of Tsubasa purifying and exorcising her.

-Tsubasa please quit turning the spooky goth more gay. You’re causing a ruckus.

-So while she has Suzu pinned, everyone get Kaos out of here! NOW! So eventually Kaos is sobbing into Ruki’s lap as they hide out in Ruki and Tsubasa’s room. But Suzu has taken a liking to Kaos’s screaming and panic. How can they fix this…Ruki, you had to deal with her when you were here, right?

-…Right. Even when sleeping. Or bathing. Or trying to hide. Suzu was always there, always on her like a problematic moral lesson in a slasher movie. She eventually ended up putting the horror of it into her dark romance miniseries The Stalker’s Wife, just to clear her head…But Kaos doesn’t even have the brain-juice to do that. She’s just cowering, terrified, in the corner. So there’s only one way to ditch Suzu…and it’s to make her feel bored. She’ll leave you alone once you’re no longer a fun toy.

-So as night falls, they barricade the door to Ruki and Tsubasa’s room, and prepare to make their grand last stand…The skies turn black, and then to red, as the blood moon rises once again. Furious red rain comes down, and scarlet lightning splits the sky, as Suzu comes seeking her prize! She bangs on the door, demanding her Kaos-chan…

-When a bolt of lightning strikes close enough for the thunder to be deafening, and Suzu panics, screaming as a woman possessed to let her in! She’s terrified of the thunder! Terrified and lonely…Lost without her own roommate, who got out of the game…So alone…So cold and alone…!

-The wind breaks the window, Suzu’s fingers pierce the rice-paper door, and basically everyone just starts screaming at each other. But some real earnestness comes out of Suzu, who knows she’s weird, knows people are afraid of her, and she’s so very alone because of it…

-And Kaos, suddenly feels a flash of empathy. She knows that fate all too well. She knows exactly what it is, as she slams open the door, standing before the crying Suzu…Who then promptly steals her away into darkness. Dammit Kaos, you’re too kindhearted.

-Also she notices how big Suzu’s chest is, and dammit Kaos, you’re too thirsty. But as the lights come on, and the wind clears Suzu’s hair out of her eyes, Kaos sees not a terrifying spooky goth, but an adorable goth-girl who she kind of wants to fuck. Well shit.

-New day! Kaos and Koyume are trying to get to know Suzu better and more calmly in the light of day…And Suzu is finding all this normalcy a bit overwhelming. While Ruki works, and reflects on how Kaos just seems to have a way to bring out the vulnerability in otherwise mature girls…Feeling like you have a rival? No, nooooo, nnno! Shut up. Uh uh. Sure thing. She’s just glad that Suzu has someone who gets her…

-SUDDENLY SUZU IN THE MIRROR

-Ruki screams.

-Episode 06: I’ll Go Shave All My Hair Off!

-Another new day. With another face. It’s…Ah haaaaa. The cosplayer from before, Miharu! Who’s not one of the editors, but their beautiful teacher lady! Her secret otaku life is still safe! And now she’s going to head out.

-Cut to the dorm, where Tsubasa got like zero sleep. She went up in the readership rankings, which is good, but also more pressure, and she doesn’t know what changed…And if she falls asleep in class, oh, it’ll be the worst.

-To school, where the girls run into their stern but beautiful Nijino-sensei and Kaos is letting her thirst overwhelm her nerves. …Dammit Kaos. She even drew a cute and beautiful teacher based on Nijino-sensei…Who hears them whispering about something, and did she hear her name? Oh god, they know her secret! They know she’s a secret otaku! Basement dwelling trash! A weirdo! A real freak! She hides, and tries to listen in…

-As the girls critique Kaos’s new character design and try to figure out how to give it that last little pop. You’re going for cute, but she needs a bit of that gap moe. A little splash of something different between how she presents herself and how she really is…Ruki’s mind goes to the erotic, like she’s super serious but secretly wears sexy lingerie! And Miharu hears that and just goes beet red. WHAT WERE YOU GIRLS TALING ABOUT???

-Okay, class. Calm down, Miharu. Just teach the girls like normal. Just teach your class. Just teach the girls and every…Tsubasa is already asleep. At least PRETEND to be here to learn! And so she hauls Tsubasa out into the hall, to ask why she’s so very tired…Of course, Miharu is suspecting it’s late night otaku behavior. And Tsubasa cannot, possibly, ever, admit that she’s drawing manga. Are you staying up late at night, Tsubasa? Um, well, er, you see…

-And finally, Koyume leaps out into the crossfire to try and save her senpai, and tries to take responsibility! Koyume you’re not even in this class.

-By lunchtime, Tsubasa’s trying to wake up with caffeinated drinks, and they’re trying to figure out a plan that doesn’t involve admitting that Tsubasa draws manga for a living. …Also Kaos please put your thirst away and focus. I swear to god getting this girl to function is like dragging a dog away from a boneyard, full of squirrels, that are made of bacon. The metaphor kind of got lost there.

-But Tsubasa has no options. Not least because Wing V must be kept secret. None can know that Wing V is just a high school girl who grew up reading Jump…Also everyone quietly realizes that Tsubasa actually still thinks that pen name sounds cool. Oh god she’s a dork. Look, at least stay awake through the next class, okay?

-And Tsubasa tries to stay awake…by…drawing instead of working or taking notes. Which Nijino-sensei finds! Oh god it’s all over! They’re doomed! They’re all going to be expelled or forced to quit their jobs or BOTH! And Nijino-sensei, at the end of class, doesn’t just take Tsubasa aside, but all the way out…to…the…roof?! This looks less like a scolding and more like a confession, Nijino-sensei. And out here, she wants to know, very seriously…

-Are you also a fan of The Dark Hero?! Wait what now. Miharu’s been a fan since the very first chapter! She’s a huge fan of Wing V’s work! And this…This is so good it almost looks official! …Yes. Fan. Fan of Wing V. Exactly. That’s it. What do you like about The Dark Hero, Nijino-sensei? It’s the art, and the story, and the cute protagonist! …Cute, not cool and badass?

-Yes, he’s like a spunky little brat, but he’s got such a good heart despite his acting out, she just wants to discipline him and clean him up into her own little handsome man! Wait you didn’t hear that. So Tsubasa had never considered this layer of appeal to her hero, but also Miharu asks if Tsubasa ever goes to fan events and stuff. Um, well, you see…

-And that’s when Kaos comes and runs out, and…Reveals that Tsubasa is…Is…!

-Oh shit I thought it would be like some fakeout. No she really just straight up revealed that Tsubasa IS Wing V! …Miharu doesn’t take it well. In fact, she rolls to disbelieve. She refuses to accept this possibility! But with no option left but the truth, Tsubasa reveals her manuscript she was working on just this morning…

-And Miharu is overwhelmed by its brilliance! To see the raw work of her favorite mangaka before her very eyes, here, at this school! To be standing before greatness! She is humbled, to her very knees to beg forgiveness! And she can only ask, if Tsubasa was there for the anime event at the amusement park last week…

-Nnno. She just happened to go to the park that day to, you know, go to the park. OH GOD MIHARU’S SECRET IS SAFE. And Tsubasa has to admit that she can’t ever go to that stuff. So many people think Wing V is an older man, since she pulls on such classic tropes and styles, and so she’s got to hide herself for now. So, please keep her identity secret. …But…It really, really was something special, to actually stand before a fan.

-And Kaos is watching the whole thing and sees the gap moe she was looking for! She can USE this! Also soon all the secrets are out. Well, some of the secrets. Nijino-sensei gets to learn they all draw manga, though I imagine not what, say, Ruki does. I don’t think her heart could take discovering that she has Wing V and Big Boob <3 Himeko in her class. And she hears they all, live in a dorm together…wait…wait wait wait.

-That night she calls her good friend who runs an artist’s dorm and THREE OF YOUR GIRLS ARE HER STUDENTS YOU SHOULD HAVE SAID SOMETHING! She could have, well, not gone easy on them, but…The point is you should’ve told her!

-To Kaos’s latest submission meeting. Where she has a pitch built entirely on gap moe, on girls who are far more gentle and kind than their various intimidating demeanors would depict! From the spooky but cute ghost girl, to the stern teacher who’s a secret fan of cutesy shonen manga. These are great characters…Where’s the story go?

-Story?

-…Keep working on this and come back next time, kiddo. ababababa

-Credits! WITH SPOOKY SUZU HIDING IN THE BACKGROUND THE BLOOD MOON RISES ONCE AGAIN BE CAREFUL KAOS

Oh, that was fun. That was ridiculous fun. Suzu is incredibly spooky…And is going to be in the next episode OH SHIT MORE SPOOKY GOTH. …Hell yeah. Look forward to that next time, in episode SEVEN of Comic Girls! Wait for it!

[pearsonclaire1995]

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How To Get Rid Of Cat Spray Smell Outside

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[artdjgblog]

Innerview: Chad Tomas Johnston / The Stained Glass Kaleidoscope ​

June 2008

Art: DJG​

​Note: ​Questions on creativity for a book​.​

The big thing I want to know from you is this: You have worked as a janitor and a data-entry clerk (or something to that effect). Neither of those is highly prestigious. At the same time, you are creating art.

0​1) What drives you to create? Since a young age, I’ve always been fortunate to have outlets for creation. Naturally, almost every child has the freedom to play. But, my formative younger years gave me not only the freedom but also the cow and the whole farm. Growing up a farm boy product of the middle of the mid-west, I had room to romp and to roll. Lots of corn row cuts on my face. Lots of bicycle tire tattoos on the hot summer crater face of the black top road. Lots of holes in boots. Lots of arm snags on the rickety tree house scrap wood and nails. Lots of gold nuggets discovered in the cat poop sandbox. I still get kicks from all these things. Fast approaching thirty, I still plan to never grow a harder and complete “adult” shell. If I do it better be candied and with lots of decorative engravings in it. Though, I’m positive I’d just eat it. I have always been housed in my own little shell. I’ve been a big fan of my inner world since I was old enough to process it. The beauty of life is that people can pile a peel of tires on me all they want, but they can’t touch what morning glories I’ve got crowing and climbing inside. And someday when I’m gone perhaps the seeds I do sew on the outside will spread a bit and people can figure out what the heck my insides were all they want. I don’t know and don’t care. But, that doesn’t mean I don’t think about it. I hate to talk this way, like I’m a thinking man. But, I guess I shouldn’t be ashamed to say that I think about the inner tick-tocks. A lot of it is clogged cogs though. Some by me, some by others. I just have to create. It’s how I get oiled and weathered. It’s my lightning and lightning rod. It’s my confessional. It’s my testament. It’s how I scrub my own floors and stink them back up. There is creation in everyone and thing and evolution of that creation at the same time. We’re all positively guilty of dragging a blade, feather duster or spilt paint bucket behind us into the every day world no matter what business is plowed, pillaged or plundered. Every day is different for me. Every day or every time I make something I think about what that certain something would have looked like or would have had me feeling like had I made it yesterday or tomorrow, a month from now or even an hour ago. It’s hard not to think about that stuff, but I can’t help from it. Though, at the same time I generally feel that I’m always making what I need to be making at that time, even if something isn’t a direct hit. I’d like to have the mindset that I’m always making my best work. And after a number of years of making stuff, the act of it almost becomes second nature. In some ways when I’m working and alone, I am closer to MY maker. I feel I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing. I just have to take the life in, chew it and spit it back out. The process of each stage can be quite the intoxicating affair. But, it’s when I’m in the thick of it, that’s where there is real visual communication for me. I just have to take it in decent strides. I have been at stages with this where it can be controlling. That’s not a good shake. I love how every day is new and unique to the subject of life. Even if it feels the same as other days, it’s still a different notch in the meter. Even after expiration date, one can still influence the path of somebody else’s day by the things or thoughts they’ve left on by the side of the road for somebody else to either run over or stop to pick up. True, sometimes the things people leave behind can be a free tank of gas to the soul, gum on tires, rocks in the rims or a whole darn spike strip. My insides feel different each day. Some days I’m full of gas and some days I’ve broke down all over. I still get up on the same wall that I hug through the night and I eat breakfast with my mouth every morning and put the socks on my feet (unless I feel like an impromptu puppet play). But, my head is always in a different spot and sometimes my gut and my heart too. Sometimes I’ve got a big ol’ mess of ice scream soup and one heck of a brain freeze fart. I tend to approach the make things table under this same light. That is, with always being all over my own map, not with brain freeze farts. And each night I try to get to sleep with my spots smoothed out flat and run together. Though, not always easy. I love how baby dalmation pups don’t have spots for the first little bit of life. I love how they look like little blind wigglin’ rats during those first weeks. They don’t need the spots at first to differentiate one from the next or to say who they are. They just are. All of those little things that I do without conscience, the getting up and the eating and the sock putting…and right now, talking and blahking…these things are flat color like the baby fireman dogs. But, it’s the spots that are inside of me. The spots talk back and forth with light oozing in and out. Each day it seems like there has been a whole new troop of moths infesting and eating away. Making spots is what they do. There is always a new picture debuting in my picture house and sometimes shot with three cameras in several angles (like in the great classic film, “How The West Was Won”). Some days I break the box office. Some days I just break the piggy bank and scrape nothing but dust bunnies and boiled turnips. But, “scraping by” is not just reserved for the bad term. Each day these spots leak a different solution to the make table problems and sometimes you have to go scraping around for them to mix just right. Sometimes it just all comes just right. But, I don’t really see the approach to the way I make things as problems. Of course, sometimes it can be a problem to have something to do with creation and to have others involved. There are times that I don’t see how GOD sleeps at night knowing that he simply just chooses to love me (or his other creations for that matter)…even with all of these spotty feelings and things sloshing around in me. I’m sure that by reading this and/or knowing what you know of me, you’re probably noticing my constant teeter and totter. I’m like a mixed fountain drink at the corner gas station. And there are some days I’m the little left-over sugar water puddle you find rotting out the bottom of a styrofoam cup in the back floor board of a 1984 Ford Tempo. You know? The one with the sagged burgundy roof fabric that always gives you a cow lick as you get into and out of her womb? Back in the ’80s when life was a lot simpler and a week felt like a month and things felt like they actually felt like something, my older brother and I would find the blackest piece of advertising gloss in Mom’s “People Magazine”. I still have dry scalp problems to this day. I don’t have color in my wardrobe, so I suppose I was blessed with an eternal snow day every day. Anyway, what I’m getting at is that despite the little defective box of frosted flakes we clutched to our brows as we hopped out of the womb, my brother and I found an outlet to creation with this. We would place that black space of advertising on the living room end tables (during a break in cartoons and when there wasn’t an audience of MOM, of course) and shake out a snow storm. It looked like a big bang from my personal perspective. An entire little universe of ourselves. I must confess that I’ve been known to still possess this other-worldly talent of creation. I’d love to do a daily blog of this. Why not?! Or, maybe my new goal should be to get into advertising and demand to make more glossy black space for rent to hire those young kids out there itchin’ to get their big galaxies and universe down patty caked on paper… There has been something in me for a long time itching to get out. Maybe my creativity is like a big beautiful bundle of mysterious male peacock feathers that just keeps on wiggling and growing those magnificent colors. I’m always cutting off bits and plucking. Sometimes the bits tickle me good and sometimes they dust me and smack me over. ​0​2) Was there a relationship between your janitorial work and your art? That is, did one influence the other? I was raised with a blue collar. I sure do wish I could say it was turned up and in “cool” mode. But, in a weird way I think it’s the coolest because it is part of my building blocks. And no matter where you go or what you do, you’re roots are still alive and growing. Farming is in my blood. In some ways I don’t feel janitorial work is too far down the line from tending pasture, mending fence and plowing fields. In many ways an employee of a janitorial service is his own boss because he-she is alone and in solitude, just doing what they feel needs to be done to spruce up the place. I feel the work I do as a designer or maker of things is similar. I dust out the mind’s stairwells and kick things down them too. One of the things that would lure me to farming would be this comfort in being alone and just doing the thing. I miss that about being a janitor or groundskeeper. I miss having that freedom of choice of going to a hard to reach spot or a parking space that cars or people rarely touch, though it’s dirty from pure existence, and just being alone and making it look good. There is a pride I take in making things look the way I want them to look. Janitorial work will never go out of style. And neither will people’s idea that a janitor or a farmer, even a graphic designer these days is a low denominator of work and intelligence among the common people. I don’t aim to sound bitter here. I was never bitter in the many years as a janitor. I may have been a bit bitter as a farmer’s son, and only at 16 to 18 as a typical disgruntled teen dying to retreat…now I love and respect my upbringing and my former vocation. I’m made of it all and it has all helped shape me to who I am now. I just find it fascinating how people find it their need to put others in a particular place. While I had some great reception when working as a janitor, it also garnered a lot of talk. Even on the job people confessed to me that they had been trying to figure me out. I found this oddly fascinating that I could consume some of their mind with the fact that I was just working a trade to pay the bills. One woman I bumped into regularly at the parking garage cigarettes station each afternoon said to me, and after researching my story for months, “I just couldn’t put it together. It didn’t make no sense to me why you’d be wanting to do this kind of work. You seemed friendly and intelligent and come to find you’ve got things you’re doing on the side, well it just had me wondering.” I wasn’t upset with her telling me this. I appreciated her honestly and she just had me oddly curious…even within my own person and broom shuffling. I even feel that people in the art world (what little puddle I’m in) found this janitorial aspect of my creating as quite fascinating or strange. It’s not that I chose janitorial jobs as a means to put myself on display nor to play a particular “ideal” in order for people to talk or raise eyebrows. I just enjoyed cleaning house, I suppose. Many people close to me didn’t know how to handle my dropping out of design school to work bottom rung janitorial jobs in the early hours of 2002. But, I knew in my heart that it was exactly what I needed to be doing and it was crucial for me to do it right then. It was my time. I also knew that I needed to place trust in something at the time. There was at least to me a blind comfort in cranking the somewhat padded strings up on around the empty spool of a heart I had at the time. It made things make a bit more sense and comforted me just to try to get settled the stirred dust of my head while my body pushed a makeshift mop or broom on autopilot. And if it didn’t make sense to others, well, let’s just say I just tried to hold my head up the best I could and stay focused on ahead down my own paper trail odyssey. Openly, I would recommend anybody to try janitorial work, especially if you are looking for a simple care-free environment. It’s still a job though and can still wear you thin at times. But, for the most part janitorial positions are pretty easy going if taken with the right mixture of work ethic, responsibility and frame of mind. Maybe I’ve just been fortunate to work in some great places? Of course there are always the literal “crap” jobs. Cleaning out women’s restrooms at a 24-hour call center is possibly the worst, but it still paid the bills for a bit. And if you do a great job scrubbing those bathrooms, you can get moved up pretty quick like I did. And sometimes you’ve got to find the humor and ridiculousness in mopping up overflowing toilets. One time in a men’s restroom with over an inch of standing toilet water, I came out of the stall with my mop in hand as somebody passed by. Now, if I walked into a restroom with standing water, I’d definitely just hustle to another restroom to do my business. But, some people don’t care and just make obvious comments like, “Geesh, that there’s a lot of water on da floor”, as they look at me oddly. I followed this with, “I’m just waiting on Noah now”. It took some time for what I said to register. The guy was probably thinking of if he knew anybody with the name of Noah. But, after a few minutes it had him laughing as we shared urinal cakes and rubber duckies. I’ve worked in many various places with my janitorial jobs and have gotten to meet a lot of interesting, hardworking and diverse individuals that have all helped fuel my extra-curricular in some odd way, shape or form. I was even involved with monthly potluck dinners at one janitorial job. It was an amazing way to fellowship and bring together our little piece of the night shift community. The job site environments themselves were very inspiring to me as well. From junior high to my last year of high school I wanted to be an architectural designer of sports stadiums. That is, until I realized I was horrible at mathematics. Coincidentally, I got to somewhat fulfill my early dream as I pulled the trash for one day at my favorite baseball stadium design, Kauffman Stadium, home of the Kansas City Royals. I once won a Royals baseball essay competition about my love for the sights and sounds of going to this ballpark and here I was getting to pull the trash! It floored me when I got to the ballpark at dawn on that Tuesday in April of 2002 and could see the sun hit the green grass of the infield, and to think I was one of the few people there in that gorgeous testament to modern architecture and design, watching the natural elements bounce into and out of it. Moving on, I pulled the night trash and buffed the floor at an award-winning sports architectural firm for a couple of months. This was incredible as I got to see the pre-production and scale models and I sneaked a few little things home from the dumpster. I can honestly say that I did some work for a sports architectural firm. My longest post at cleaning was at the Kansas City Board of Trade. This was a unique place to work and oddly connected me to my farming past as this was the building that all the trades went on. It still dumbfounds me how that whole system of loud talking works, but I just enjoyed being there cleaning up and running errands. It was a job that I could have easily stayed at forever. And I was appreciated and people even took an interest in what I did out of uniform. I even designed a few posters, sketched and studied while I was on the clock. And there was a ton of great stuff to create with or to collect. But, one of my favorite things was to find things while cleaning, like hand-written letters or notes. I even found money a few times. I also enjoyed finding creatures that spoke to me from their confines in the pavement cracks. Certainly, it was a scary thing to just up and quit college to become a professional cleaner, to go into hiding to tan a new hide. But, for the first time in my life I was really carving my own initials. It may have been a selfish beginning, but I think that everybody needs to follow their heart more. If you trust in that, then you’re putting your trust in something higher that the heart strings are connected to. I just trusted that and worked hard at work and at play and kept my eyes open. In some ways janitorial jobs taught me to open up my lids even more. Design school had opened up new worlds within and around me. But, I think a lot of kids go straight from the comforts of the design lab and into full-time positions at design firms and they end up losing something that they had a good grip on months prior. It’s not that those types of professional atmospheres are bad. I think that everybody has a different approach to their life’s work or trade. Working in a design firm just never spoke to me at all and I’ve always been very protective of my craft since the early days of voluntarily locking myself up in my room or sandbox to create. Visiting many design firms from 1999 to 2001 had me worried sick about the idea of being stuck in a career that didn’t feed me the way I wanted to be fed. I didn’t want to eat at a trough. I wanted my own mini buffet and at my own leisure. And by the last couple of semesters of college, I was a wreck of a slushed soul from this and everything else that life had to offer. All of my eyes had become a bit closed up again except for the one that shown to me that something inside of me needed to explode. And I only knew of one way that could get me out. I suppose it’s safe for me to say in tree sap honesty that my brain has always been running backwards and forwards and catty-whompus since day one. I realize this now especially because I have come to see some of the ice bergs upstairs a little bit better that took me years to get to know. I sometimes wish I was in my early twenties again (only to have more time to MAKE), but I think I’ve gotten a better grip with age and life learning. Even though I still don’t quite understand what exactly makes me tick-tock and run, I can at least try to appreciate my masonry work and work at mending it in small clumps. Sometimes I think what makes me really run are hounds nipping at my ankles. Though, the dogs are sometimes good as they snap with ice pick claws the clamps that can chain me to some things. But, those same claws also dig into me. It’s not that I ran from problems or obstacles nor did I take the easy out and quit something important like a college education to sweep parking lots. I had exhausted myself in that particular stage of my early twenties and needed to mobile my shell before I got dragged down for more than good. I had something screaming inside and I needed to find the right spit can to collect it all in. Despite my own understanding of my actions, I do feel that a lot of people felt I was throwing myself away in order to pick up garbage. Actually, what I was doing was saving myself. With janitorial positions, I just knew that they were speaking to me just right and I was able to speak through them with my own work and I found comfort at that important place in my life. My design odyssey had me working for independent musicians. I knew of the occupational wallet hazards of such a sound decision before I made my move from slacker college design student to slacker somewhat professional designer. I just knew I was supposed to be in a Kansas City, MO ghetto living with a band (and some) in an old decrepit pile of an orange house and making stuff through the night and sleeping in my janitor outfit to go have some peace with thinking and making on the job too. And I wanted the stability of a fixed income, yet without a lot of the baggage that most people deal with in the day job day dream. Being young and dumb is one thing, but I felt that what I was doing was justifiable to my pocket book, the work force, my real work, and most importantly to my sanity (and others’ sanitation). ​0​3) What is your goal when you are creating something? That is, what are you striving to achieve? The marriage of a man’s inner workings to a blank space is incredible to me…when it hits just right and is of the moment and a spark of life happens. You can tell when something’s speak is whole and true because of the immediate connection you share with it. I gather this whether it’s a piece of art, a song, a movie, a writing or a bowl of sugary cereal. Heck, I can walk seven minutes to work and feel something so much bigger turning the keys and mashing buttons all around me. And when something man made speaks, you can tell that there is soul source material. There might be a hand-me-down system for putting it together on the outside, but you can tell when the halls of sincerity and honesty are opened up. You can tell when somebody’s exposing their bones and-or studying their bones and sharing observations of their world in a much bigger world with other smaller worlds encased. Whenever an incredible song, movie, writing…piece of nature or thought…speaks with just the right lens it can be like unwrapping a gift made special for the birthday boy or girl. And every day could essentially be a birthday in this way. I love the discovery of new things and to think that I could have found this many moons back, yet wasn’t in the right frame of mind or reference or reflection until the day I consumed it. I think that we should celebrate every day like this idea that every day is completely new and is perfect to us because it is in the now and we couldn’t have registered with it in any other place, point or time. Every day is different with me and my inner workings are never wound the same each day. And every day I’d like to think I’m getting more and more oiled and weathered at the same time. Life’s lightning is always ready to strike and I’ve got to play lightning rod too. It’s a hard balance on some days. But, I just want to approach each day within my own little arts and crafts section of the basement with the idea that I’m doing my best work and best that I can living down here. There are moments with creativity, when one can feel like a buried burrow. Especially when the older you get, the younger the clock gets. It’s easy to get overwhelmed and hard to match the pace of what the inside is screaming to the race outside. And I can’t pull the all-nighters like I used to. With my own art I try not to make it a chore. I try to make time for it and to always keep it in my saddlebags, within reason. I wish to give a paper trail that is of me and for others at the same time. I’d be a liar if I said my art wasn’t for me. It is and if I didn’t get something out of it or enjoy it, then I shouldn’t be doing it. But when others can wring something from my wash cloths, then that means so much to me. I really want to leave my little print on every leaf I pass, that is, if they all wish to hold my ink. Though, sometimes with deadlines and a full schedule that houses a day job, marriage and life stuff…well, making stuff can get a little rushed out and flushed out. It can start to feel like a same ol’ song and dance side show. Though, to look at the other side, you just do your song and dance while you’re here. We’ve all got one and some people never fully see it realized. I’m thankful to have what I feel are the proper fitting shoes and I just now would love to find a way to keep them on in a full-time manner. But, to keep on poking at the other side, I feel that there should never be a set switch to creativity. It’s not something that should be crammed into an eight hour day. My creativity doesn’t tune-out the minute I leave the house or get set in my current cubicled job of data entry. It can sometimes be charged in different ways and in peculiar ways. Though, sometimes with making things you’ve just got to recharge from over-exposure. I found out last year that it’s ok to say NO and it’s ok to take a time away from the table. I even learned this with a personal eating diet and schedule change. You can probably tell from a lot of my past work or “periods” when I’ve either been struggling or am bored, tired or am just way too constipated by life’s tap dance and life only. I think it translates to the end product, but I also believe it’s very much a testament of the experience and sometimes it can really speak in good and bad scoops. I think that it can happen to anyone and any profession, even full-time moms and dads. It’s not just something that happens to an artist or graphic designer. However, sometimes with art, the exact opposite can occur when you can feed off the energy of life and turn it into something else…something positive. It’s not a smooth relay, but fortunately I’ve been able to feed life to the creative torch. I’m at a place in my life where I just want to set my fire to everything. Stacking up seven years of attacking what it is I do in a professional manner, I’ve received a shiny little brush fire of praise and achievement. I’ve got a small band of pilgrims around the globe attracted to my blemishes and blandishments. I’ve been very appreciative and excited, even though some of my past responses or replies to this sort of thing have been a bit sheepish. I’ve always had trouble taking praise because I’m extremely hard on myself and it can be a very surreal experience when people take up with something that I’ve made and make it part of their experience. What could be worse, I’m always in strict competition with myself, but it’s also part of the discovery and making nature, I think. Again, a healthy balance is needed. Lately though, I’ve just been more excited for the idea of creation and making things and sharing things. But, sometimes it can be easy for things to lose their context and meaning with everything so I’ve got to start believing in umbrellas and nap time blankets again. The minute you make something and put it out there on the platter (more like, the buffet) you’re giving up a huge chunk of yourself exposed to the world. It’s just part of the game. That is, unless you’re painting in a cave or somebody out of connection with society just making stuff without an audience. I guess it would be like folk art. Things made by untrained folk artists really floor and inspire me. Their education is from life or from a higher calling and they must tell this story and a lot of them don’t start telling until later in life. It’s almost like they go back to being a kid again. I love this. They simply must MAKE and play. I try to strive to make for making’s sake. But, it can at times be hard being that I have had formal training and have had a fair amount of praise from the art and design community, so it’s easy for ideas to be pushed too hard and easy for the world to interfere. I do my best though at just doing what it is that I doo-doo. Finding beauty and inspiration in folk art makes me just find something inside of me and lead it on out at its own will and without whips and horse wranglers. Last summer I went from the Museum of Modern Art in New York City to just across the street to the American Folk Art Museum. Both are incredible houses for the arts, but it was the stuff in the less crowded, less artsy-fartsy American Folk Art Museum that really floored me the most. I had been studying a lot of the work for a few years, but to see it in the flesh was astounding. There is something very immediate and wholesome to it. Something so pure that is rarely touched by a so-called “professional” artist. And it can really challenge the thinking as to why we are making and putting outrageous price tags on things. But, it inspires myself to just try to speak the best I can and from a place inside of me. Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk. Blahk…I’m not skilled enough to strike up much debate on the issues here and I hate over-doing-it. I just enjoy folk art and regular art…and whatever else speaks. Anyway, the results can be ugly sometimes when you release something out there into the world. It can be personal poison when you clean out your ears. Everybody’s got an opinion and the opinion inside the messenger can be the worst. Everybody these days is a critic. I’m guilty. But, I don’t make stuff to be recognized or critiqued. I don’t make stuff so others can save me some glossy pages in their design annual. That stuff is great, but the work to me would be dead and done if I ever got to that point. And it would be hollow if I was just cranking stuff out for the approval of others. That’s one of the reasons I feed off of everyday influences and mood swings. I don’t want to spin the same wheels over and over. That’s one of the reasons I don’t wish to chase another man’s dream working in a design firm. I wouldn’t mind helping to hold the ladder on some cloud shaping a bit, but I’m not going to be their spotty dog that fetches design over and over and over. I’ve felt that once before even within the confines of music design and am just now at a comfortable place again with what I’m doing. But, there’s always a different dog nipping. Sometimes it can be pretty dumbfounding whenever something of myself comes out of me and then transcends the basement steps and flies the coop. It’s great to share the stuff, but I’ve felt an unexplainable emptiness at events like award shows or my own solo exhibition openings. The only way I can decipher it after much chewing is that, once it leaves the basement and my little world it’s really beyond me. I’m not a parent, but I suppose the feeling is similar to releasing a child to winds of the first day of school. Once they leave you, they are vulnerable to the rest of the world. And now all of this has got me thinking about what I’m really doing. See, my struggling is out in the open now as I’m passing myself back and forth with this writing and I’m on display for all to gawk at. Still, it’s just part of the trade. I’d love to be able to not have a clock tower and to not be hanging from it. I have a hunger to just make stuff all day and on my own time (well, when I’m not watching movies, eating or doing life stuff). I do have a hunger to share the work after the hunger to create it has passed, but at the same time it’s hard to get a good grasp on that too. And to do my work full-time I have to get the work out and about even more. A lot of my work has seen more of the world than I have and it’s all really exciting. If it can affect others and make somebody stop to get an itch of inspiration or a tickle, especially in our short attention span world, then that is a wonderful thing, I guess. That is a great thing and something that I don’t really have any control over. I just try to be a human being with a hunch back that needs its juices popped. And I’m dangling from that clock tower right now as Sunday supper is almost on the table and the dusk is dawning…and a new week of the day job sits and starts to melt me in my own stomach acid. -djg

[my-job-is-to-fangirl]

I am morbidly late for this post. I know. I apologize wholeheartedly. I went to Bangkok allllll the way back in April and I’m just now getting into this post but it’s here 😀

HUGE shout out to Deep, Maithri and Rish for helping me :’)))) I had so much fun shooting for this post and I’m so happy with these pictures < 3 Also, don’t judge the backgrounds OKAY, we had to make use of whatever locations we had.

clothes

Cat tee from MBK mall, 100 Baht

[Deep] I couldn’t resist. Yes it has hundreds of cats on it and freaks people out but its cute xD

Rainbow tee from Pratunam market, 200 Baht

[Maithri] I love this t-shirt so so so much. I wear it with skirts and jeans both. It hits right above the hips, great length.

Dino tee from Pratunam market, 100 Baht

[Rish] Now isn’t this adorable? I used google translate and it said ‘little monster’ which I love. They had it in black, white and this periwinkle (?) blue/ lilac. I don’t have anything in this colour, so I picked this.

Fanta tee from Pratunam market, 100 Baht

[Me] I don’t know why but I love these food/drink logos on t-shirts for some reason. They had a coke one too, but I hate coke so I went with Fanta!! Also we drank four flavours of Fanta there 😮 Not that anyone cares, but they were orange, strawberry, exotic (mixed fruit) and grape. This t-shirt has cool details on it though, ML, toll free number and stuff xD

7/11 tee from MBK mall, 100 Baht

I swear, when Nabi and I were making a list of things to buy while in BKK, this was on top of our list. I’m not going to ever buy a t-shirt that says ‘Ratnadeep’ on it, but I will wear a 7/11 t-shirt, yes. IT.IS.SO.SOFT.

Stripey shirt from Siam Square, 200 Baht

the back

This is one of my favourite purchases. I found this tiny store by accident when I was just walking in a lane, and the lady was so sweet (and persuasive) she kept telling me to get it so I gave in 😛 It has a cool design, the front of the neck is a v, and the back has a slightly deeper v and has a tie. I like it tied like this in the front and normally just buttoned as well. Also love the sleeve length. The fabric is a little stiff but it’s fine.

Tee from Siam Square, 100 Baht

This t-shirt had been haunting me for a few months, ever since I saw it on yesstyle. It was 800 rupees, I’m not spending all that on a t-shirt. I saw this literally in a street shop being sold for 100 Baht, of course I got it. Look how funny the picture is, I’m so amused xDDD

Milk tee from Some random street in Siam Square, 100 Baht

the back

This is one of the weirdest t-shirt’s I could have bought, but I did. No regrets. It just says ‘Milk. Pasteurized.’ on the front, and on the back, it says Milk, so I usually tuck it in 😛

Platinum Fashion Mall, 300 Baht

Impulse buy. Some store had a buy three for 1000 Baht so I got two things and bunky got one. Such good material for being so thin, and the sleeves are everything.

Snow White tee from Millenial Pink Plaza, Siam Square, 100 Baht; Yellow skirt from some unknown mall in Pratunam market, 350 Baht

This Snow White tee is so cute!!!! It says ‘That’s it, pet. Take a big bite!’ It’s on the shorter side so its perfect to tuck into jeans or skirts. I kind of got scammed with this skirt. The woman told me it was 450 Baht, which is too much so we bargained for a while and started to walk away. She got mad and called me back and settled for my 300 Baht price. She didn’t let me go without paying 350 -.- Worth it, though. It also has a yellow cloth belt. Picked yellow because it’s easier to style and match.

Mock neck full sleeved tee from MBK mall, 120 Baht

This was my first purchase of the trip, I think :'”) It is really long sleeved, ribbed and has a mock neck. I sound like a youtuber, oh god. It’s nice and stretchy too. P.S. Why is it called a mock neck? It’s not mocking anything, it has a neck, every shirt has a neck?? I don’t get it. P.P.S. Don’t you love the belt? (yesstyle)

Pineapple shirt from a mall in Pratunam market, 200 Baht

Saved my favourite picture for last. Got this shirt at Pratunam market in some mall. It is LONG. Pretty sure it’s a men’s shirt because it comes almost up until my knees :p I wear it with high waisted black jeans, tied in front, it looks better.

Okay, that’s all for the try on portion, the rest we didn’t have time to shoot, so I’m going to insert pictures normally just hung up on the wall.

From Millenial Pink Plaza, 100 Baht

Apparently it says ‘Hello’ or ‘Good morning’. Side note, I seem to have gotten a lot of pink t-shirts….

From Millenial Pink Plaza, 100 Baht

the back

I loooooove this t-shirt, especially the back! Such cute kitties.

Some street in Siam Square, 100 Baht

I LOVE POCKY. Again, no one cares but we got five flavours of Pocky (Chocolate, Matcha, Cookies n cream, Sakura, Strawberry). We were also on the lookout for a Pocky t-shirt, hehe. I don’t have any red clothes, and this is t h e p e r f e c t length. Look at the little pocket and illustration.

  MBK mall, 100 Baht

This is the last piece of clothing (thank god). Nice basic top, easy to style.

[Notes: Yes, I went all out and bought a lot of clothes, but believe me, you can’t find such quality, designs and prices in India, which is why I got so many. I’ve been wearing them nonstop though, so it’s okay :p One thing I appreciate so much about the stuff I bought in BKK is how good the quality is. The print doesn’t come off, nothing frays, it’s all so good. Moving on to other stuff.]

stationery

Everything is from a store called Moshi Moshi, unless specified. This store…I swear I lost my mind, there was so much cute stuff.

Adorable files, 20 Baht each

LOOK AT THE DESIGNS.

These notebooks, as you can see, were only 20 Baht, and the paper quality is so good for the price, I love them.

Both pouches were 60 Baht each

The dog clips and box (my mom bought those), the pouches and the pens were from Moshi Moshi. The bunny pin button set was from a small store in Platinum Fashion Mall. I am so dumb, I only got one pen (pink), doubtful of the quality, but its so good.

accessories and “”””beauty””””

<deep sigh> I love this country.

All from the same store in Siam Square. The De lamune ones are meant for connecting two piercings, they’re just so dainty and pretty. The mismatched ones in the middle are by far the best earrings I own, I’m not exaggerating. They scream kpop. They were actually two different pairs, but I kept one each and gave the other ones to Deep. The store had such good ring designs, it was hard to pick. I think they were giving 5 items for 100 Baht so I took three rings and the De lamune ones.

Dry shampoo and serum from Boots; Nail polish from some store

If we had Boots here, I would go bankrupt. Both the products are amazing, especially the serum, my hair is so soft when I use it. The nail polish was from some beauty store, it’s the brand ‘tokidoki’. Also bought only one, doubting the quality. It’s amazing :)))

kpop stuff

토끼 게임 시작 (250 Baht)

If you’re into kpop, you know how many idols have one of these :p I love these things, they’re so much fun to play with. Here are some examples.

1. I couldn’t add a video and 2. I got excited to insert BTS gifs.

RJ HEADBAND

I wore this to the concert, hehe.

Monsta X lomo cards!!

BTS lomo cards.

BT21 TAPES. Nabi and I both got all seven because we felt bad for only taking select characters :p

army bomb <33333333

Last but most importantly, my army bomb :’)

END. Sorry for that long post, but I hope you enjoyed! =D Be back next week, have a good day ♥

Bangkok Haul. I am morbidly late for this post. I know. I apologize wholeheartedly. I went to Bangkok allllll the way back in April and I'm just now getting into this post but it's here :D…