#the raccoon look is probably one of my favourites... very dear to me

[kr-cube]

kaoru - Blitz 5 Days

[robots-and-writing]

You're Holy to Me pt.2

Human AU! MTMTE Tarn

_ woke up to the warmth of sunlight hitting their face. Yawning languidly, they had never felt so comfortable in their life. Since when was their bed this plush? They couldn't bring themself to care until they attempted to find their phone on their nightstand and were met with an empty table. Not only that, as they opened their eyes they were shocked to find that they weren't even in their own house.

The room they were in reminded _ of a castle, luxurious and grand. It was practically fit for royalty with its four poster bed cozy lounging area. But when _ sat up to look around, they swayed in their spot. Their body felt weak and their head swam, but with a few more attempts _ managed to stand up only to fall flat on their face. I... why can't I move?

"Oh dear, are you alright?" _ grasped the gloved hand that reached out to them, but when they saw who came to help them their blood ran cold. A dark purple mask may have concealed his face but _ wasn't stupid. Even babies knew not to mess with a Decepticon, much less the Decepticon Justice Division.

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?" They couldn't stop their voice from quavering, or their body from trembling, but that's only natural when you're face to face with a murderer. The terrifying man shook his head, still holding his hand for them to grab.

"I am not here to hurt you, _."

"But that's what Decepticons do!"

"Now isn't the time for assumptions about my cause, _. You're here for a very important reason which I will explain in due time. Might I be able to help you up?" _ accepted, letting Tarn pull them up and assist them in walking to the couch. It's not like they could refuse the leader of the DJD. He was oddly gentle with them, making sure they didn't collapse again as they sat down.

"Now I'm sure you were startled to wake up in an unfamiliar room but I can explain why you were brought here."

"You're really not going to hurt me?"

"I won't let anyone harm you as long as I live. That's a promise. In fact that's precisely the reason you're here." Tarn had seated himself across from _ and leaned towards them ever so slightly. "_. You are someone I can't bear to lose. From the moment I met you, I knew I had to do anything to keep you at my side. After all, the only way I can completely assure I never lose you is to protect you myself."

"Then where am I?"

"You're at my base. I can make it so everything you could ever want is at your fingertips here. We have a pool, state-of-the-art sound systems, and an entire library of music and literature for-"

"I want to go home." Tarn didn't seem surprised to hear _'s protests at their new situation. He only leaned back in his seat with as far as _ could tell was a smile on his face.

"Oh _. This is home." His tone was soft, but firm. He would not be budging on this. He moved on quickly to the next topic, likely trying to distract them. He made sure they were alright, asking them if they were in any pain and if they remembered at all how they arrived at their new room. _'s responses were short as Tarn expected. It would take some time before they would trust him enough to confide in him but he was happy to wait. He had all the time in the world, and with no one in his way to get in the way of the two of them it was only a matter of time before they stayed with him out of sheer isolation.

"Now _, I am afraid I must take my leave. Besides I'm certain you're anxious to explore your new living quarters. If you need to talk to me all you need to do is text me and I'll be here in a flash, alright?" There was nothing _ could do but nod as Tarn bid them goodbye. At least whatever chemical was used to subdue them had mostly worn off by the time he was gone. And after a detailed examination of the room they were in and the rooms connected to it _ had made a few observations.

First was that the door their captor had left through was locked tight with only a tiny gap underneath. There wasn't even a way to pick the lock, as it was likely located on the other side of the door. The windows were a bust too, as though they were open, they had a protective screen on the other side that would need to be broken to get through. It probably wouldn't be best to anger Tarn by even trying as he seemed incredibly insistent that they stay in their suite.

They also figured out that Tarn wasn't lying when he said that everything _ had ever wanted was there. There was a kitchenette with every one of their favourite snacks, a wardrobe full of clothes on their shopping list, (Notably all the clothes would be impractical to attempt an escape in.) And a beautiful artists desk complete with all the most lavish and expensive art supplies they had only dreamed of before. It was uncanny really, how Tarn knew every one of their wants. That was most likely not a coincidence considering who he is and how seemingly obsessed he was with them.

The third observation was not only was there everything they had ever wanted, there was everything they would ever need. Tarn had certainly planned for every possible outcome. There was a first aid kit, fire extinguisher, air conditioning and heating control, and there was even a tablet left on the table that could only do one thing. Call Tarn.

It was sickening really, the lengths he went to make everything perfect. The entire time _ was searching the room it was all so eerily familiar until a nauseating realization hit them at full force. All the clothes? _ had bookmarked them online or mentioned them at some point. The snacks? _ had been dealing with what they assumed was a raccoon digging through their food trash, but the reality of it was far, far more disturbing. Even the desk was something they had been saving up for for a long time, something they assumed they would never be able to afford. "From the moment I met you, I knew I had to do anything to keep you at my side."  Tarn hadn't been lying about doing anything to keep them.

He was watching me.

He was listening to me.

Once again they dropped to the floor but this time it wasn't because of any chemical. Their thoughts were racing faster and faster, trying to think of any time they had seen him before, any break ins, but their mind was drawing a blank. It made sense really. He's the leader of the DJD, stalking is what he does. It wasn't like setting up bugs and cameras would be all that hard for someone like him to get done. For all they knew he could have gotten one of his lackeys to do it for him. Considering their situation, it was likely Tarn was still watching and listening now as they cried on the floor.

Not that he particularly cared. He could lounge in his office and watch _ as he pleased. A few tears were expected in the long run. His plan had worked. _ was with him, and they would never leave.

[thequibblah]

⭐️ would love some commentary on that dancing scene (or really any commentary on the various parties thrown by the marauders) from the party happening next to the Potions Club party ⭐️

WELL WELL WELL

"This is...a lot of trouble to go to." "It's the Marauders. They love trouble."

i love writing party scenes (as i'm sure you all know lol) and one of the best/worst things w the marauders parties is striking a balance between their, uh, audacious plans, and what's realistically possible at hogwarts without getting caught. (aka literally why i made up the dodgy lodgings). i went back and forth so long on whether or not they could plausibly have managed that with slughorn's dinner next door, but then was like ah whatever the party has to happen for plot reasons so.... plot ex machina??

anyway, i love using parties to establish character — what a brilliant stage of teenage performance they provide. i love contrasting the hogwarts parties to, say, evan wronecki's — for instance, how lily and co. are more at ease in the former, as seventh years, with their classmates hosting, than they were at evan's nye bash

i also love that it gives me space to establish who is and isn't popular, so to speak, but also who acts or doesn't act the way we presume popular kids will act

doe, for instance, who is by all accounts a level-headed and non-wild person, has a more exciting time on net at marauders' parties than mary (drinking game, kissing remus), though she's not a big drinker and isn't really into parties. but she's comfortable in her own little social circle at a bigger event (like with michael at evan's) and so isn't bothered at all by the marauders' do, because...

She did, in fact, trust the Marauders. Her general belief in the inherent goodness of people notwithstanding, she didn't think they would do anything to harm their friends. Intentionally.

this bit always makes me laugh

as with many things, i feel very saddened that i didn't get to make more out of the fools' olympics (although one could argue that The Dance was a pro) — as in, i wish i'd been able to squeeze more of it into the story itself. i could probably come up with a list of tasks and who completed them LOL

WAIT OH MY GOD I TOTALLY FORGOT ABOUT THIS it just might be my favourite part of this chapter

"How did you do that?" Gillian said, glancing between the other two girls. "Just — drink it without a second thought?" "Practice," said Mary. "Scottish — constitution," David said hoarsely. "I once drank some of Mrs. Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mass Remover," said Priya.

priya is all i aspire to be

can i say, too, it's hilarious to me how many people worried niamh would be a james love interest? i feel like you will not rest easy on that count until he and lily are together... but that is not where the danger lies babes

circling back to popularity/unpopularity, another fun outlier. gillian is first established, in 33, as someone with friends (we see her around sara and in the seventh-year ravenclaws' compartment) but she's not exactly at ease at the party either — recall how she hesitates when mary invites her. only later, in 38, do we realise that our opinion of her has been skewed by the narration (from doe, who naturally assumes any friendly, nice person must have a wealth of friends and be floating through life; and mary, who naturally assumes anyone she isn't bored by must have the social skills of a medieval noblewoman at court), and she's a bit of a pariah in her own house

david, on the other hand, is just flat-out not in his element. and not because of the drinking or the, er, general revelry (see: summer with mary!), even though he doesn't partake much in either. unlike doe, the company breaks rather than makes his enjoyment — he's acutely aware, the whole time, that his cooler, more liked brother is around:

"Not your scene?" "What gave it away?" said David drily. As one they looked at Chris...

...and mary has intuited as much too, even though she has a lot more in common, superficially speaking, with chris than david

so, i think while i was writing this chapter i made a post complaining about how, as much as i love juggling the constraints of historical fiction, i hate that music from the 70s limits me in terms of tracklists. i.e., when i say a certain record is playing i can't just hit shuffle and go somewhere entirely different to set the mood shortly thereafter

this problem was because i wanted, NAY, NEEDED, to have "martha my dear" playing in the aftermath of that mary and david interaction. of course, time passes in that section break, but since "come and get it," which they talk about it, is a sirius song (though it could be a mary song), and i feel too strongly about needle drops to let that conversation go without a soundtrack. germaine even correctly guesses the white album is on because of mary:

Apparently Mary got fonder of the White Album the drunker she was.

...and of course the song itself makes me squeal with how very mary it is — not that it is something she would listen to, necessarily, or identify with (it would hold up too close of a mirror, ha), but it sounds like it could've been written about her ("hold your head up, you silly girl/look what you've done/when you find yourself in the thick of it/help yourself to a bit of what is all around you," which really sums up the entirety of her portree holiday, lol)

BUT! if "martha my dear" is to play here, then i have some Serious Chronology Concerns. i knew germeline had to kiss and jily had to dance and ideally in that order. but what would those scenes be soundtracked by!!!! i was limited to side two of the white album!!!

so i did the healthy thing and panic-listened to the white album. "don't pass me by" was, right away, an easy lock for the dance, because it's danceable, but not in a way that would've scared lily off. lyrically, it feels GREAT for jily in this moment, on the cusp of lily's realisation ("waiting for your knock, dear [...] i don't hear it, does it mean you don't love me anymore?" vs OF COURSE "don't pass me by [...] 'cause you know darling, i love only you"). i feel about "don't pass me by" the same way as NYT critic nik cohn: it's "straight ahead and clumsy and greatly enjoyable, backed by a beautiful hurdy-gurdy organ," which, if that isn't everything i wanted to evoke with the dance itself!!!!!!

ok we'll circle back to this, but onward with the musical discussion

thus i had four songs to choose from, between "martha my dear" and "don't pass me by," for the germeline scene — "piggies," "blackbird," "i'm so tired," and "rocky raccoon." the latter is on my sirius playlist, so auto-no; "piggies" is, well, like that, so also a no. "blackbird" is a certified germaine classic that was written personally by paul mccartney for germaine, but it seemed too introspective for the moment. i don't think i'd ever listened to "i'm so tired" before this panicked searching, and honestly it must be some wild luck that it is. just SO RIGHT!!!! it's so lethargic and tortured and angsty and, well, a bit of a stoner song, so.... it's THERE

AND NOW for the dance! true story, i initially wanted jily to have a real conversation, after the party. i had the dance in there and then james would catch up with lily after to be like, "hey i was wrong actually, you should write to petunia." but then i realised i wanted james and sirius to have a conversation about the bike/money, and i wanted it to strike a different chord, tonally, than the jily conversation. then i realised it would be too much to have both and i'd need to condense that conversation into the dance. VERY nearly cut the dance in favour of the conversation but wow i am glad i didn't

The tinkling piano signalled the start of the next song; she extended a hand, very matter-of-factly, to James, "Come on, this is a good one."

not pictured: james having a fucking breakdown

obviously, i could have gone the route of a genuine dramatic dance, but as previously mentioned lily would have chickened out, and i wanted to have this be an experience she could look back on and pine about because of how fun it was and james totally doesn't like her back

Loath as she was to admit it, this most indelicate of waltzes suited the plodding chords of "Don't Pass Me By." And worst of all, once they had stopped stepping on each other's feet James started to sing, in the poorest possible Ringo imitation she had ever heard in her life.

by the way, attentive readers of blink three times will recall:

He finally starts to lead — thank goodness, because she’s not the one who was forced into formal dance lessons as a child...

so in 36, this is james being drunk, but it is also james being silly on purpose because not only is he JAMES and so he must take the mick, he also knows it will put lily at ease

okay, and this bit:

"Don't pass me by, don't make me cry, don't make me blue," they both shouted rather than sang, "'Cause you know darling—" Lily broke off, laughing, dimly aware that she had done so to avoid saying I love only you while staring right at him.

from the FIRST MOMENT i picked out "don't pass me by," i knew i knew I KNEW that lily would have thoughts about this line. at this point in the story if someone questioned her about it she would probably have a full-scale breakdown about her male friends vs her female friends ("but no... i suppose i wouldn't mind saying it to remus.... but that's different!" how is it different, lily? "it's different!")

anyway, the bottom line is she could NOT abide saying it. i enjoyed writing that because 1. same girl and 2. it felt like a nice bit of close foreshadowing for her realisation, which i knew was coming soon. so that's a really circular way of saying, i knew what it meant but ideally to readers it was just oh this will mean something far-off in the future!!! which is usually true for me but SURPRISE babey it was just two chapters away!!!

note btw that lily "falls for james"

Lily spun faster than she’d intended to. The room was a brief, kaleidoscope blur. Then there was James. “Jesus, Evans,” he said, steadying her as the next track began.

>:)

and after i thought tracklists would fuck me up, i turned them into my WEAPON!!

Huffing, she stepped out of his arms. (There were some songs you could sing along to with your mates, and “Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?” was not one of them.)

(so, you know, keep in mind that for the rest of this conversation, paul is in the background howling "no one will be watching us/why don't we do it in the road?")

also:

"...I’m not drinking tonight, but I’d better get the royal treatment after we win on Saturday."

and then what happened <3

wait jesus oh my god i really went hard on this huh

She only saw its result: the easy grin had given way to an expression so serious it was almost sweet.

LILY??????

and hey, remember when:

...because in chapter 26:

Dex’s measured opinions about the wizarding world seemed more the result of upbringing and inexperience than ill will, but Lily had not expected a radical change of heart.

...but then in 36:

He was right, damn it. And a part of her had known all along, had sought him out expressly so that he would say the opposite thing to her. He’d gone and proven her wrong. She broke the staring match first [...] “What brought on the change of heart?” “It’s a long story, and I expect it’ll have an unsatisfying end if I told it to you.” Lily scoffed, but James had on that maddening grin that meant he would not budge. “Oh, all right.” Softer, she added, “Thank you.” He began to back away, towards the bar. “It’s give and take, Evans.”

in conclusion, i never forget, besties

[artblogofanekophile]

I posted 3,592 times in 2021

274 posts created (8%)

3318 posts reblogged (92%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 12.1 posts.

I added 358 tags in 2021

#twisted wonderland - 95 posts

#twst - 57 posts

#not my art - 34 posts

#idia shroud - 32 posts

#floyd leech - 28 posts

#lilia vanrouge - 26 posts

#malleus draconia - 24 posts

#jack howl - 21 posts

#ace trappola - 21 posts

#obey me - 20 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#lately it feels like a character has to always be morally upstanding and they can't have negative qualities or else they're a bad person an

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

The Devildom skies are always dark, only a slight change in colouration indicating the time. In the Demon Lord's Castle, however, the time of day was indicated by the servants and the tasks they were performing, their voices soft murmurs in the morning.

Diavolo didn't need to be woken up, however, as millennia of early rising conditioned his body to wake up at certain times. Today, he just couldn't bring himself to get up, his beloved human curled up against him, chest rising softly in sleep.

You probably should be awakened before anyone barged in, though, he thought.

Soft lips pressed gently against you neck, kissing a trail up to your mouth. He smiled against you as you stirred.

"Good morning, my princess. It's time to rise," he murmured in a low voice, holding you close against him.

P-PARAGRAPH ANON!?

Uwaaa, this is so sweet and tender and I've been shot through the heart asdfghjkl

THANK YOU FOR YOUR REPEATED ATTACKS AGAINST MY PERSON.

But... well, it can't be too much of a sin to ask Lord Diavolo for just five more minutes, right...?

72 notes • Posted 2021-07-10 20:14:08 GMT

#4

His warmth radiates through his kigurumi as he holds you. Diavolo's lap is comfortable, his arms wrapped around you. One of his hands reaches for the plate of fruit, picking up the Devildom equivalent of a strawberry and bringing it to your lips.

He is gentle as he feeds it to you. You can feel his laugh more than you hear it, rumbling in his chest as he looks at you.

"Oh dear, you got some on your lips. Let me get that for you."

He lowers his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to taste the juices left on your lips.

"Mm... delicious."

Your unspoken question is answered when Diavolo leans in a second time and kisses you properly, a gleam visible in his eyes that wasn't there before when he pulls back.

"You'll allow me to have another taste, won't you?"

PARAGRAPH ANONNNNNNN--

You're going to kill this poor cat, don't you know!?

The audacity of you to use my favourite fruit, too... You really are lethal, aren't you?

That being said, I can't deny that this snippet filled me with warm fuzzies... and then terror. Just what do you intend to to, Lord Diavolo!?

"The kigurumis stay on, human..."

74 notes • Posted 2021-06-23 21:56:02 GMT

#3

Crowley: Are you lost, baby girl?

MC: Yes, actually. I am very much lost--I woke up in a coffin??? With a raccoon???

76 notes • Posted 2021-02-11 19:52:42 GMT

#2

Show me the real Kojiro.

I said the real Kojiro.

See the full post

80 notes • Posted 2021-09-17 19:53:54 GMT

#1

Someone needs to revoke my internet privilege. 

111 notes • Posted 2021-01-15 22:54:29 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

AsjJKFSAJLKGLK I LOVE THAT MY MOST POPULAR POST IS ABOUT MALLEUS HAVING A FUCKING PIANO IN HIS BATHROOM HELP-- And then the rest is just me being bullied by paragraph anon and being thirsty.

[vampiresuns]

The Stories Of Dead Kings | Prologue, Part 3

✴︎ THE STORIES OF DEAD KINGS ✴︎

4.5k words. In which the Palace continues to bring out things long ago buried within Anatole, the investigation commences and he makes an unlikely friend. CWs: Memory loss, death penalty.

You can read the rest of Anatole’s apprentice timeline series here.

Antu did not like the white dogs. A shame, because Anatole loved that breed — he had only seen pictures of it, drawings in books and a couple of paintings, but he thought it was a fantastic one all the same. They looked so funky and given his preference for raccoons, it was no surprise he favoured fuzzy, slightly funny looking but beautiful animals. He’d pet them later. 

Antu liked the voice that called to Anatole even less. While he didn’t like it either, Antu reacted with a viciousness Anatole had never seen before.

Stay back! You’re not wanted! He threatened, his voice echoing in Anatole’s mind as he bared his teeth at the open air.

No! We don’t like it in there! You can’t make us go!

With the dogs pulling him through his clothes upstairs, he had to hold onto Antu for dear life, fearing his familiar would launch himself at the dogs. It made him a blur of hands, fur and hair. 

“Ouch, Antupillán, don’t scratch me!”

As soon as they’re in the dark hallway, the dogs vanished, but Antu did not seem any more calm. Still in Anatole’s arms but ready to jump if needed, he was still growling at nothing and every time Anatole tried to make an advance, trying to walk down the hall to explore the room by the end of it, Antu tried to bite his hands. 

“Fine, fine, fine, Antupillán, you win.”

When the ghostly voice purred behind them, Antu climbed over his shoulder before Antole could stop him. Of course his raccoon threw himself at an apparition, because demanding fair trials out of the Countess of Vesuvia wasn’t excitement enough for the furball he had for a familiar.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Anatole tried very hard not to growl at Portia when she brought him breakfast, but the Palace kept hours that were too early, even for him, who had become a relatively early riser out of habit — waking up at dawn was too much, what had happened to seven AM? At least she had come with coffee, coffee he chugged while he listened carefully at her.

He had no clue about how to feel about the clothes, though the shirt was a dream come true. Cross-tied and with a V neck opening, big bishop sleeves, and matching, deep emerald green pants and a sleeveless long coat. The coat had a gold embroidered trim, and it reached his ankles, It would flutter deliciously as he walked down the hallways, the clack of the black boots with a golden plate shoe tip against the marbled floors.

Everything was miraculously his size; he didn’t still comprehend nor trust the Countess’ motives for giving him clothes, especially when he had brought his own. Anatole might not have a personal tailor, but he was very dedicated and careful about his clothing. He always strived to be well dressed, so what was the reason for it? Ease him after his opinions last-night? That felt too much like trying to buy him into the Countess' good side. However, while it was true he didn’t know how to feel about her, he felt it was unfair to automatically assume the worst. This required further analysis. 

Portia left his room and he looked at the clothes with a sigh. He examined for a minute longer as he ate another pastry. He looked at Antu, who was still pretending to be an angel after jumping from his arms to fight a ghost out of all things. 

He was eating some grapes. 

It’s pretty.

“We don’t accept gifts from people we don’t trust.”

Who’s we?

“Oh, is that how it is?”

You have never been very good at lying to yourself.

“And you’re awfully insightful this morning, huh?” 

Antupillán continued eating his grapes, this time in silence. He had a point, Anatole supposed. It was a gorgeous outfit but he hadn’t been lying to himself when he said he didn’t accept gifts from people he didn’t trust, and after last night, he wasn’t sure he was on the best terms with the Countess, even if she did seem civil enough afterwards. He couldn’t wear this, even if he really, really wanted to. It would be wrong, it would betray his principles, it would—

It would have to do because when he turned to check where he had left his clothes, he realised the Palace’s staff had taken all of them to laundry them. When Portia had mentioned that, he had assumed they’d only take the clothes he was wearing last night.

“Fuckers.”

He hated people rummaging through his stuff. He was very, very close to deciding to throw all caution and professionalism to the winds and be contrarian as could be. It was a bad idea, but there was a part inside himself which had been kept dormant for the most part. That part made him want to remind people he wasn’t trapped somewhere with them, they were trapped somewhere with him.

Perhaps another time.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The Palace’s library was one of the most gorgeous places he had ever set a foot in. From its doors to its high shelves, with the high windows with stained glass and the plants, Anatole wished he had the entire day to get lost in it, explore every section, even the ones he wasn’t interested in. He wanted to ask why was the library locked up under so many keys, but he didn’t know if he’d get an answer, or if Portia knew, or if the Countess would be up to more of his really incisive questions about things she would deem out of Anatole’s range of incumbency. 

If you asked him, Libraries should be public.

Despite how they left things last night, the Countess seemed to be in a great mood, complimenting his looks and treating him amiably. Anatole detected no deception nor flattery in her words; it threw him off for reasons he didn’t have the time to decode right now. Perhaps he had become too used to people shading half a light on things for reasons bigger than Anatole himself, perhaps the reason was another. It’d have to wait to be pried into. 

“You told me you read.”

“Constantly, as long as my brain lets me.”

Silence fell between them. Well, this was starting to get awkward. 

“Thank you,” the Countess said.

“What for?”

“You are very genuine,” she said. Anatole didn’t know what to do with that. Taking his silence as encouragement, the Countess continued. “Reading is a wonderful gift, shared by all citizens where I come from, but it’s woefully uncommon here.”

He hummed, squinting back at the Countess. He took a sharp breath as he made himself count to ten. He had felt the same need to speak without knowing what he would say as before, but this time he could anticipate it would be something angry. He didn’t need to know where these things were coming from to know he was about to ask the Countess whose fault was that, and then he’d be really, really done for. 

He kept his mouth shut this time — Antu biting him softly (but strongly enough to make him hiss) helped. Time and place. He was better than this, he was taught better than this. 

Wait, what? Taught what? By whom?

“Concentrate, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered between his teeth.

“Did you say something?”

“That this is truly a wonderful collection.”

“Anatole… you are my guest, if you wish to return here, you need only ask. But for the moment I would have your undivided attention here.”

There was something deeply intimate about prying into someone organisational systems. How they cluttered, why they cluttered, the organisation methods employed, the thought process behind it and what you could infer of it by looking. The way documents were studied and how and where notes were taken. In that sense, Dr. Devorak’s desk teemed with information.

It might have felt like prying a little too deep into him, but Anatole thought it was a fair exchange after he broke into his house. An eye for an eye wasn’t the best justice system, but hey, a little pettiness couldn’t hurt, besides, investigating the murder was his job now. 

His musings were tampered by the mention of Asra working for the palace during the Red Plague. He didn’t remember living through it, though he had always assumed he must’ve been present for it, given their earliest memory was of a post-plague Vesuvia. It had ravaged everything. Plagues were like wars, they seldom discriminated. Not that Anatole knew of war beyond books. If that wasn’t the case this was, once again, nor the time or place to second-guess himself.

Do you know what an explosion sounds like, Asra?

After promising the Countess he would meet her for dinner, he set himself to work. Anatole loved few things more than a good puzzle without a solution, and once he grew determined he did nothing half-ways. 

Lacing his fingers together, he stretched them, a waft of satisfaction dawning over him as his joints cracked. 

“Let’s figure you out, Julian ‘Magic Cards’, hm?”

He didn’t expect his search to lead him back into the city, but with Antu in tow he’s determined to follow the trace his magic had cast into its streets. Vesuvia was a wild thing, a glimmering thing in the lowlights of dusk making Anatole wonder why hadn’t he insisted in seeing more of it, wondering how much memories of it could he be missing. What used to be his favourite spots? His favourite streets? His favourite garden? 

He wasn’t one to dwell in the past, living in the past was no way of living, but that didn’t mean the past didn’t matter. He just wanted to be able to reclaim it, to say ‘this is mine, this took me where I am today, this made me myself, just like who I am today will make me the myself of tomorrow’. He looked at the past not with wistfulness but searching for an explanation.

The area he found himself in was crowded, urbanistically speaking, shabby, probably in need of repair, and while he didn’t stop chasing that trace something in his heart (and his temple) pulsed. Something unknown and caged, something which begged to be let out, something he couldn’t make out what it was. He hated not knowing, he was getting tired of getting all these feelings, these knowledge, these looks and these visions without any sort of explanation. This time he didn’t file it away for later, and yet whatever he felt, eluded him.

The word he was looking for and failed to find was Love. A word which would continue to escape him for a little longer, as Julian Devorak himself manifested out of an open door. Finally, he thought, throwing hypothesis and chasing them was starting to give him results. 

Falling into a barrel and stepping on Antu’s tail were unforeseen outcomes. So was falling face first into Julian’s chest after he helped him out of the barrel, both of them looking at each other like deers startled by light.

After Julian let him go, he held Antu, petting him as a way to apologise for stepping on him by accident. 

“I have a name, you know? Shopkeep isn’t it,” he said as he looked at the Rowdy Raven’s sign.

“Dare I ask what brings you to this neck of the woods, Not-Named-Shopkeep?”

Anatole caught himself smiling, but as he tried and failed to find a way to explain what had happened the smile faded from his face. Words eluded him and he had to admit he was very grateful for Julian taking it in stride. Because how could he explain any of this without giving away his new-found position? Or at all? He couldn’t find it in him to articulate such a thing — not to mention the glint in Julian’s eye as he turned to him was much more exciting.

It tied neatly to the trace of Anatole’s magic, like a master key he had been desperately looking for. 

“Rumour has it you’re working for the Palace,” Julian sneered. “What happened to not being a snitch? I’m sure— well, by now— you’ve heard some interesting stories about me.”

“As interesting as you’re prone to not explaining yourself, though both of those might be gross understatements. And I take great offence in you thinking I’m a snitch. Don’t you think that had I told anyone you’d already be found?”

“I’m very slippery and you don’t know where to find me.”

“I found you now.”

“By accident I’m sure, not to say you aren’t talented and magnificent and all those things the rumours say… but you haven’t heard my side of the story.”

“Julian?”

“Yes?”

“Stop assuming the first thing about me and how I do things, will you, sweetheart?” 

Julian’s cheeks went as red as his hair. Anatole let out a pained whine. Wherever that had come from, Anatole didn’t want to know and he expected it to not come forward again. He apologised; Julian, having composed himself, thought teasing him was a good idea but Anatole levelled a look at him that convinced him otherwise. 

He sighed. Julian was right: he’d only heard things from the Palace and muddled rumours. A wanted poster was a statement of capture, not an absolute truth and it was obvious to him there was some sort of power imbalance playing against the doctor. So when Julian said he could get him a drink, to get the story and to pay him what he owes him from the reading, Anatole found it difficult to say no.

“I don’t usually accept trading payments unless previously discussed, or the party is in need, but you know what? I think I’m willing to do an exception for you.”

“Oh, please, you work for the Palace now, I think you’re set on the money.”

“You know, I haven’t discussed fees and wages with the Countess, do you think we’d be cell mates if I did?”

Julian laughed. One drink couldn’t hurt, right?

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

The flurry that erupted after the caw of the Raven would be etched into Anatole’s mind forever, becoming part of his daydreams unsanctioned. It was the kind of chaos which brought the familiar thump of an inconclusive memory. The Doctor might not have told him his part of the story, Anatole was well aware, but he did give him some insight into his circles and his person. Not anyone who was wanted by the Palace would shield the Palace’s investigator in the shadows so they didn’t get in trouble for hanging out with said wanted person. 

As he vanished after an awkward and unfinished thank-you-for-not-being-a-snitch, Anatole turned to make his way back to the Palace, only to be met with Ludovico, who introduced himself and tried not to stare at him while he hailed a carriage for Anatole. 

Anatole paid no mind to the staring. Whether it’s leftover staring from the day before, or staring driven by having found him in such an odd quarter of the City, he chose to ignore it. His apology for summoning a carriage for him despite him being the one who said it was a bad idea to leave the Countess waiting, was another thing altogether. 

It was true Anatole didn’t particularly enjoy carriage rides, but why would a Palace guard would know such a thing? Did it have to do with how he felt yesterday when crossing the gates? As he stepped into the carriage he tried not to think about it, afraid he’d overthink his way into a migraine. 

Relieved as he realised he was in time for dinner, Anatole took in the exquisite smells of what is definitely too much food. He was too hungry to think about the quantity for now, perhaps he could inquire about it after he ate something. 

His appetite seemed to hold itself back at the mention of the Courtiers, almost evaporating altogether. He still forced himself to eat, he needed it after such a day in the City, while he listened with rapt attention to the Countess' words. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin before taking a drink from his cup, doing the same afterwards. That he didn’t have any issue distinguishing the cutlery from one another somehow didn’t call to his attention like his next words did.

“I know, and I promise you I’ll be careful.”

“You already know my Courtiers?”

“Oh no, no such thing it’s just—”

“One can never second-guess one’s intuition, is it not right Anatole?”

For the first time in two days, when he smiled at the Countess it was genuine. “Exactly.”

Just like he knew the painting, the gardens, that other version of himself walking through them and his opinions on subjects which required more education than the one he thought he had, he somehow knew the Court — being equal times prepared to brace himself for meeting it, and unprepared for whatever he may find.

He knew deep inside he could trust the Countess to have his back on that, however. It’s the way the word ‘Courtiers’ felt from her mouth: she didn’t trust them. 

The mention of Julian’s hanging brought him back from wherever place of commodity his mind had gone into. The faraway look in the Countess’ eyes almost eluded him. Almost.

“Countess…”

“I am thinking about what you said last night, Anatole, but I expect you to understand I must seek to tend to my people’s needs.”

“And you think they need executions?”

“I think they need to see justice done.”

While restricted and mild, Anatole couldn’t help to look at her with some semblance of disappointment, his unspoken question dancing between them.: And is this justice? Is justice confession and punishment? 

She truly must’ve given it a thought to not react with the same impetu as last night. Instead she changed the topic with a weary sigh, claiming such were tomorrow’s matters and stating having questions for him — not of his day, like Anatole had feared, but of himself. Being surprised at the change of disposition the Countess had shown today didn’t cover it. Bewilderment might. 

At the mention of friendship, bewilderment fell short too. Sensing his apprehension, she smiled at him invitingly, jovially, exposing her hands to him in a gesture of trust. 

“I am afraid I do not have many friends, nor know enough people who fear not my position in order for them to tell me what their true opinions are.”

Anatole sighed. “Countess, I do not wish to antagonise you when I say those things, I find it hard to help it, that is all. I’d like to think if I was in such a position the responsibility was so heavy I needed council, I would wish it was sincere. It’s not up to us how history remembers us but that doesn’t mean we have no choice in the matter. I believe our choices make us who we are, whichever those choices might be.”

“You are awfully impertinent,” the Countess said with a playful tone, “which must surely give you an advantage at life.”

Anatole laughed with his mouth open, his head thrown back. “No, but it does give me a strong personality. Tell me Countess, what do you wish to know about me?”

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Out of all the things he found about the Countess, perhaps finding out she too understood the feeling of homesickness for a place you could no longer return to — because one couldn’t or one didn’t wish to — was the least expected out of them all. Anatole knew he had been born in Bgraz, Balkovia, but that’s all he remembered of his hometown. He didn’t even remember how he had ended up in Vesuvia, though the more he thought about it, the more he suspected he had some kind of relation to the City beyond his deceased Aunt having a shop there. 

He didn’t tell the Countess as much, not even sure of how to word it aloud but it was refreshing to find someone with whom he could talk about these things.

The night was welcoming and cool. The stars were visible in the inky night sky, making Anatole wonder how they would look in Balkovia, that unknown homeland he couldn’t remember. The Countess’ words about Anatole not being quite like she had imagined him, or the intrigue she felt towards him pulled him away from his thoughts.

Anatole wondered if she, like Julian, was also a victim of the rumour mill. Word in town was she was a tyrant, yet she didn’t seem malicious — malice was something Anatole’s language filter picked up with incredible ease and it left a feeling in him hard to ignore. It didn’t just make him immediately stand on edge, it also felt like tarr on one’s skin. Hot, icky and venomous. The Countess felt lost, not malicious.  Someone with good intentions and not enough turn out, as he had previously felt.

“Tell me, Anatole… Why did you come to the Palace? Why did you agree to help me?”

“I believe I said it was a matter of justice, last night.”

“You did, but when I asked you to come, you didn’t know what for.”

She got him there. The offer of trust from the Countess would not last if he wasn’t honest with her — perhaps if he was, he would be able to convince her to reconsider the way in which the Devorak affair was being conducted.

The answer was obvious, wasn’t it? 

“Because it felt right. I knew that whichever answers I’ve been seeking, I would find them here.” Anatole existed in the liminal space between his heart and his head. They were extensions of one another. Living a full life required both. 

When the Countess asked him if he had any questions for her, reassuring him he could speak freely, Anatole already knew what to ask and in his defence, the Countess shouldn’t have taken it as a vague question, because it wasn’t. The claim was just an excuse to elude the topic; the stage they were in, of whatever it was she, him and whatever else bigger than them had sent in motion was looking at them in the eye and avoidance would help exactly no one. 

“You know I mean the murder investigation. The Count has been dead for years, so why now?”

“Ah, that is a right question to ask. Vesuvia is in dire need of help. Order needs to be restored… and I am in the unique position to restore it. However, I intend to lead by example, not fear. I must show the city I am capable. I have so many plans for Vesuvia. I was to see this city flourish… Perhaps you’ll be able to help me with those plans, Anatole. I could use more competent people on my side...”

Her loneliness was heavy, almost too heavy, the feeling pouring into her speech and threatening to cover Anatole under a heavy blanket, merge with his own unattended loneliness and trap him in place forever. Seen and unseen, craving connection and something more he couldn’t name nor grab, no matter how hard he tried to.

“It’s funny,” Anatole said, a knot in his throat. “I did not expect you to be as lonely as I am. I never allow myself to admit it out loud, let alone in front of someone else. Yet here I am.”

“You already know I won’t do things whatever way. I want to find justice, and I do not believe justice lies in a hanging. You are right, your position is unique, but it’s also risky,” Anatole paused to take the Countess hands in his. His next words came from the same unknown place as they did all those times he felt compelled to speak, though they were much kinder this time: “When we know something is not right, we do not settle. People like us, whatever that means, were not thrusted into the world to settle. Power wielded without reason, without justice, without kindness, without knowing the subject you must serve will always lack. I will not tell you what to do, you are capable enough, Countess, to figure that out on your own, but I will tell you this, as a friend: truth is the only thing worthy to be built on, and when we find that truth we plant ourselves in front of whomever dares us to move and we say they move. The truth can’t lead you astray, as unpalatable or hard to accept as it might sometimes be.”

Out of all the things he expects the Countess to tell him that he’s sweet is not one of them. He’ll take it.

✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎ ✴︎

Just between you and me… I think Count Lucio had a lot of enemies, too. Alone in his bedroom, having returned from exploring and chatting around with her, Portia’s words swirled around him, letters formed by a light orange haze, forming and evaporating in front of his eyes. Portia’s words came from rumours but they were enough to cast reasonable doubt about what might have transpired that night. It was kind of her to look after Anatole, so the least he could do was to take her words to heart. 

Originated in rumours or not, Portia was right. 

Going out with her was as strange as it was enlightening. He was sure the Chef, Hestion, had said something to Portia along the lines of how he expected Anatole to remember his way around the kitchen, only he had called him ‘Secretary Radošević’. Perhaps it had something to do with the investigation, but it made Anatole feel odd. 

The servants in the Veranda had been very welcoming, but almost too welcoming and he was sure he had caught a couple of them speaking about him —not as if this was his first time in the Palace, but as if this was him returning to it. Speaking of returning, someone had congratulated him for becoming the main investigator for the case and how it was nice to have him back. Ignoring the way his vision splotched as best as he could, Anatole had only thanked them and turned back to Portia feeling lost and ill. 

Normally, Anatole paid no mind to out of place comments. If someone demanded something of him he couldn’t remember, he tried to remove himself from the situation as fast as possible, but these felt different, the words staying with him even though his and Portia’s nightly adventures had finished. 

What weighed him down the most, though, was the Countess wanting him to join them for the announcement tomorrow. It made sense, but he had a terrible feeling about it.

Antupillán was nowhere to be found. Anatole hoped that he had a good reason to be missing at a time like this. 

[nickydestati]

duolingo tog prompts #7

this was taken from the story module ‘saturday night’ and i got really carried away so it is a solid 1.8k, you have been warned

prompt: saturday night (sabato sera)

***

joe’s heart never fails to go batshit insane as soon as he lays eyes on nicky. you would think that after three years of friendship and one year of seeing each other almost every day, one would get used to the sight of another person, of a friend. turns out that isn’t necessarily the case.

but it’s this ridiculously exaggerated reaction of his heart that tells him nicky isn’t only a friend. or that he at least wishes he isn’t. of course, nile is very ardent about pointing it out to him whenever the occasion arises as well.

it seems nile and his heart have finally gotten through to him, though, because when he walks past one of the posters for a concert that litter the campus walls lately, he stops and reads it. it’s a stylish poster, simple and elegant, the work of someone who knows what they’re doing. a white double-sided axe stands against a black background, beneath it is written: ‘the old guard’ along with the venue, date and other details. he remembers nile saying something about it being a perfect date opportunity.

joe takes a picture and when he gets back to his dorm room, he buys two tickets before he can change his mind. it’s only when he has the order confirmation that he thinks he maybe should’ve checked if the band is any good. he shrugs, even if it happens to be the worst band in existence, at least they’ll have something to laugh about afterwards.

he meets nicky the next day for lunch, like they meet every day, and his heart practically leaps out of his chest when nicky smiles and waves at him. they talk about classes and work while they eat. or rather, nicky talks and joe nervously picks at his food thinking he should ask now. no, now. come on, now. why is it so hard? he has asked nicky to go do something a thousand times before.

“-and then the raccoon jumped through the window in a superhero costume and ate my assignment.”

joe looks up with a frown. “raccoon?”

nicky snorts. “there you are. what’s on your mind?”

joe looks away, pursing his lips. okay, now. “a date.”

nicky’s fork falls in his plate and he fumbles to pick it up again, not meeting joe’s eyes. “a date?” he clears his throat. “i didn’t know you had a date.”

“well no, not yet. i mean a date as in a… as in a you-and-me-date.” what is happening to him? usually he’s so good with words. 

nicky looks at him in confusion. “a you-and-me-hang-out-as-we-always-do-date?”

“no,” joe says slowly, really wishing the firealarm would go off or something so they could both flee for their lives. “kind of a you-and-me-date-date. there’s a band playing this saturday and i thought it might be, you know, fun to go,” he quickly continues before nicky can speak. “they’re called the old guard and i’ve already bought tickets so it would be kind of a shame to waste them.”

“this saturday? i’m afraid i already have plans, i’m so sorry.”

“oh,” joe says very eloquently. “oh, yeah, no sure.”

“i planned on working for my thesis this weekend,” nicky explains with a very apologetic look on his face that makes it somehow even worse. “i’m behind on my schedule, you know.”

“no of course, that’s alright. school’s more important.” joe stuffs rice in his mouth so the disappointment won’t show on his face. nicky could’ve just told him he didn’t want to go on a date with him, they’ve always been honest with each other. and joe had really thought... hoped... stupid, stupid.

“i’m sorry, i gotta go to class now. see you tomorrow?” nicky is already getting up. probably desperate to get away.

joe squeezes out a smile. it hurts his cheeks. “see you tomorrow.”

*

“i’ve heard they’re really good, thanks for taking me,” nile says excitedly as they enter the venue. it’s already pretty crowded so they stand almost all the way to the back.

“of course,” joe says.

nile must’ve noticed the lingering sadness in his voice, though, because she says, “hey, i’m sure he really had planned to work on his thesis. you know how he gets when a deadline is drawing near.”

“yeah, you’re probably right,” joe says with a shrug and tries to forget the fact he has barely seen nicky since their fatal lunch.

they talk of other things until the lights in the audience dim and the spots on stage turn on. the crowd cheers wildly as the band members enter the stage, and joe is surprised to discover they are friends of his. andy takes place behind the drum, quynh picks up a shining red guitar and booker a dark green bass guitar. 

“hm, i didn’t know they had a band,” he mutters to nile. though he faintly recalls them talking about rehearsals.

then the singer comes on stage and joe’s heart stops working altogether. he’s standing a far way off, but he would recognise those broad shoulders anywhere, that step as he walks to the mic, that brown hair. 

“is that nicky?” he yells over the crowd and turns to nile to find her actually laughing. “you knew?”

nile has a mischievous and very pleased twinkle in her eyes. “i designed their poster.”

joe wants to ask more but andy ticks off and the band starts playing. and when nicky starts singing joe forgets every language in existence and his poor, just revived heart goes right back into cardiac arrest. he knows nicky can sing, from secretly overhearing him humming to himself as he cleans or cooks, sometimes even coaxing a chorus from him when he plays one of nicky’s favourite songs on the piano, but he never knew he could sing like that. his voice is rougher than joe expected, and so full of conviction and emotion. 

“this can’t be true,” he mutters to himself after listening absolutely paralysed to several songs. he starts elbowing his way to the front of the crowd, barely noticing nile hastily following him.

somehow, he manages to reach the edge of the stage and stands there like a still statue in the sea of dancing bodies. they are throwing him strange looks, but he has only eye for one person. nicky, singing his soul out on stage with closed eyes and furrowed brow, moving along with the music and andy’s steady beat. he looks more handsome than joe has ever seen him, with his earrings and his hair falling in his eyes and is that eyeliner he’s wearing? 

then nicky opens his eyes, and they immediately find joe, as if he knew he’s standing right there. and he smiles. the bastard smiles at joe. and god, if joe didn’t already know he was hopelessly in love with nicky, then he surely does now.

the music falls back into something calmer, and quynh trades her electric guitar for an acoustic one. nicky’s voice is so heartfelt and vulnerable, joe closes his eyes for a moment, absentmindedly swaying to the melody. 

halfway through the song, nicky steps away from the mic stand. 

“and if you’d ask me to

I’d spend all my eternities with you”

as he sings this, he kneels right in front of joe and reaches out his hand. and joe stares at it and up at nicky’s eyes and back again as if he’s never seen a hand before. nile elbows him softly in the side and nicky smiles encouragingly at him as he repeats the verses. joe’s hand is trembling as he takes nicky’s, and he blinks to try and clear his suddenly blurred vision. he barely registers the crowd’s cheers as their hands meet, his whole world narrows down to their touch and the man singing before him. for him. 

in the guitar solo that follows, nicky leans forward and presses his lips to the back of joe’s hand and all joe can do is hold on for dear life and smile and laugh through escaping tears. after a last squeeze, nicky releases him with a smile. and in the smile, joe catches a glimpse of the quiet and shy man nicky is behind the stage, the nicky he knows so well and has come to love with all his heart. 

the rest of the concert goes by in a blissful haze with dancing and singing and yelling at the top of his lungs. 

afterwards, nicky finds joe and nile in the bar of the venue. he’s back in his usual simple shirt and jeans outfit and has removed the eyeliner. by the timid way he approaches, nobody would ever guess what a performance he gave mere moments ago. 

“i’ll go get some new drinks,” nile says and slips away, smiling and complimenting nicky on her way.

nicky and joe stand in awkward silence for a minute, nicky shifting on his feet, barely daring to meet joe’s eyes and joe observing him with a soft smile. 

“working on your thesis, huh?”

nicky chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“why didn’t you just tell me?” joe continues.

nicky swallows. “i think i was scared. of what you would think and that you wouldn’t like it. and i’m not that good of a singer so i was-”

“please tell me you don’t honestly think that,” joe interrupts and takes a step closer. “you were fantastic up there, nicky, absolutely phenomenal.”

nicky glances at joe with that slight smile of his that makes joe’s heart skip a beat every time.

“thank you,” nicky says. “but i’m really sorry, i should have told you. when you asked me to go out, i panicked completely and made such a fool of myself.” 

the most endearing embarrassed smile crosses his lips as he rubs his cheek with his hand, so you really can’t blame joe that he takes another step closer and takes that hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a soft kiss to the knuckles.

nicky stares at him with wide eyes.

“so does that mean you do want to go out with me?” joe asks, playfully raising one eyebrow. 

and the smile that breaks out on nicky’s face is more brilliant than all the spotlights centered on him this evening combined. “yes,” he says, “i would want nothing more.”

what joe wants nothing more is to kiss nicky right then and there, and he probably would have, if nile and the rest of the old guard didn’t appear behind nicky. 

“thank god, he knows,” andy says, clapping nicky on the back. “can we now finally ask him to be our pianist?”

[hideyseek]

50 Questions You’ve Never Been Asked

tagged by @usersoup <3

What is the colour of your hairbrush?  it is .. black and turquoise, though i must admit that since i’ve cut my hair i rarely use it. 

Name a food you never eat? huh. caviar? i tend to forget about the existence of foods i don’t eat until i’m on the instacard website. chocolate ice cream, i guess. that’s like, a normal-person food i never consume.

Are you typically too warm or too cold? i am constantly too cold. as i type this i am in my apartment in sweatpants under a blanket and my roommate is in shorts and a tshirt.

What were you doing 45 minutes ago? mm i was reading a room of one’s own, at risk of sounding like the pretentious humanities major i am. i’m reading it out of desperation (we are in possession of the writer’s block and we would like to give it up as soon as possible), after having had it in my head to read since i came across a lin-manuel miranda tween in like 2015 telling all young writers to read it

What is your favourite candy bar? i don’t really like.. candy. twix or butterfingers, if i had to pick one at gunpoint.

Have you ever been to a professional sports event? yEAH u fucking bet i went to winterguard international championships twice in high school and bands of america championships once (both as part of my school’s winter/colorguard). i’ve never gone to a pro sportsball match though. 

What is the last thing you said out loud? oh, are you really out there alone? (at my roommate, who is on the balcony with a desk lamp rigged up for optimal dirtball making).   

What is your favourite ice cream? vanilla. or hazelnut. i fucking love hazelnut. 

What was the last thing you had to drink? not to associate myself with brands, but i am drinking sprite as i type this. 

Do you like your wallet? yes! i had my wallet nicked on a bus in the middle of the semester and my replacement is a lovely narrow black folding wallet that i am infinitely fond of.

What was the last thing you ate? the dregs of my cheezits, pepper jack flavor

Did you buy any new clothes last weekend? mm no, though during my phone call with my grandma earlier this week she told me i should buy more clothes no less than four times. she thinks i should own and wear more “pretty girl clothes” and i haven’t the heart to tell her that i think gender is fake. 

The last sporting event you watched? i participated in a harry potter pub quiz over zoom the other week, if that counts. otherwise, probably something televised and american football related, several months ago.

What is your favourite flavour of popcorn? KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN KETTLE CORN

Who is the last person you sent a text message to? oH thank god i have an interesting answer to this one -- my stage manager/playwright friend, whose recent play i am dying to get a copy of.

Ever go camping? yeah. my family used to go every august with some family friends. 

Do you take vitamins? mm just vitamin d. (fuck off this was not meant to be a dick joke).

Do you go to church every Sunday? nah.

Do you have a tan? not anymore... even during the semester i spend most of my time underground in a basement rehearsal space or in the on-campus computer labs. (hence the vitamin d)

Do you prefer Chinese food or pizza? these are?? not equivalent at all in terms of scope? chinese food, of course. 

Do you drink your soda with a straw? nah. can-to-mouth for me. 

What colour socks do you usually wear? depends on how cold i am: i have some very lovely warm purple socks and some red and black socks that my dear friend gifted me for christmas last? year? but otherwise i have just sports shoes height white socks and black socks.

Do you ever drive above the speed limit? i am gay, i do not drive.

What terrifies you? failure, mostly. i hate that that’s my answer, but there you go. failure, or being putting myself in a situation where i don’t really have a choice in what happens to me.  

Look to your left, what do you see? mm, i just moved from the study to bed so: the empty space in the loft bed railing where the ladder is, a blank wall, the edge and hinges of the bedroom wall.

What chore do you hate? none, really? i’ll get really passive-aggressive about some of the small apartment tidying things in my head, but not often enough that anything comes to mind now. 

What do you think of when you hear an Australian accent? how my linguistics prof last semester had folks self-identify if they spoke non-american english in the middle of lecture

What’s your favourite soda? hm, hm. oH. there’s a vietnamese sandwich place in my hometown that has the best lychee soda. (a handful of google image searches informs me this is elisha aerated brand)

Do you go in a fast food place or just hit the drive-thru? hm, most of the time when i’m going to fast food i’m going to in-n-out with either a pile of theater people or my high school friend group, so sitting. er, going in.

Who’s the last person you talked to? roommates, in person. 

Favourite cut of beef? i could not name cuts of beef if u asked me to really nicely. actually jk i know uh, ox... oxtail? i like oxtail soup.

Last song you listened to? am in the middle of listening to trenchh by cavetown but i’ve been alternating fob and cavetown and bastille on shuffle on spotify.

Last book you read? ella enchanted by gail carson levine, because it is my #1 comfort book.

Favourite day of the week? i like thursdays. they just sound nice.

Can you say the alphabet backwards? if i had like, several minutes, i probably could do it. but everything after w would involve me counting (counting? reciting?) from the beginning.

How do you like you coffee? i’ll drink it any way but black. i have discovered i do not like dalgona coffee. but i like the dark chocolate mocha that peet’s does in the winter a ridiculous amount.

Favourite pair of shoes? i have this pair of converse that’s grey stripes that always makes me feel like a Cool Arts Student, even though it’s actively terrible for my arches. 

The time you normally go to bed? to bed? midnightish. to being asleep? usually 1-2ish. 

The time you normally get up? eleven in the morning, apparently, since that’s what’s been happening now that i’m not setting alarms. during the school year, usually 7:30 or 8 because i work in the scene shop half the mornings of the week.

What do you prefer, sunrise or sunsets? conceptually? sunsets. aesthetically? also sunsets. metaphorically, though, i prefer sunrises.

How many blankets on your bed? i’ve got a blanket (duvet, maybe? comforter? i have never really vibed with these western concepts of bedding) and another knitted blanket. 

Describe your kitchen plates: black and square and slightly chipped because roommates and i get a bit aggressive with cramming them onto the drying rack. 

Do you have a favourite alcoholic beverage? i like hard cider. (i like soft cider better than hard cider, but the apple taste drowns out the alcohol taste enough for me to have a pretty good time.) 

Do you play cards? haha yeah. whenever i’m home i play 24 with my little brother and lose a lot. or my family’ll play 21. or BS, which i fucking hate because i cannot lie for shit.

What colour is your car? still gay, still don’t drive.

Can you change a tire? mmmmmmmmmmm no. i have a shocking lack of car-related life skills for someone holding down a job that mostly involves wrenches. 

Your favourite province? oh boy. hubei province, bc there’s no country specification and this feels less impersonal than if i were to just point somewhere in australia. 

Favourite job you’ve ever had? hm, let’s limit this to work i’ve done for money, just to narrow the field down. (i tend to like the work i do a lot.) i really really enjoy working as a sound technician, especially as a mic assistant (it checks my “meeting people” box and my “helping people with their emotions” box and my “storytelling for an audience” box because at the theater i work at, pre-show mic check is me talking about my day and has resulted in a handful of people telling me i should try standup). the hours and pay are kind of crap, though. you don’t get friday nights when your friday nights are spent backstage of the same show you’ve heard twenty million times at this point. i also enjoy teaching computer science, because i just fucking like computer science. christ, i just,, miss being at work :c the production of newsies i was gonna do this summer got canceled. 

How did you get your biggest scar? mm, pass. 

What did you do today that made someone else happy? i, hm. everything that comes to mind feels vaguely manipulative, since i can’t really tell if people were made happy? oh! i had an extended slack conversation with one of the academic interns for the cs class i help teach that was basically just us bonding over word humor. he seems like the kind of person who would have gotten a kick out of it. 

I tag: @kittog @wali21 @capt-ann @lemon-yellow @iamanonniemouse @raccoon-sex-dungeon @snakesonacartesianplane @eternalflarg @swimmingseafish (do it if u want! don’t let me bully u into anything)

[gremlinquisitor]

Please tell me about your favourite character headcanon you have :)

Hi dear! What a great thing to do on my lunch break! :D

Eorryn Cousland: Never loses her softness, even after everything that happens. Of all my DA OCs, she’s the one who is the most into “girly” stuff - give her all the fluffy gowns with beading and ribbon roses and soft curls in her hair and sweet perfumes. For a while she thinks she shouldn’t still have that, like it’s something Grey Wardens don’t do, but Leliana sees her making a flower crown and tossing it into the fire afterwards, and after that she starts to encourage Eorryn, because maybe that sort of thing is even more necessary during a Blight.

Padi Hawke: Her hatred of shoes really is one of my favorite headcanons for her. As soon as it’s possible to be barefoot, she will be. You can find her standing with her toes in the water at the bottom of the steps on the Kirkwall docks, or walking on the beach at the Wounded Coast, and indoors she only wears shoes when forced. There is absolutely a part of her that initially envies Fenris and Merrill’s well-calloused feet that let them walk barefoot all the time, though it doesn’t take her long to consider that it’s also something that they’re looked down on for and is really probably not something to envy.

Sulahnassan Lavellan: The raccoon comparison. Grabby little hands, bright eyes, shows curiosity with her ears, will eat anything and climb anything, just a little weird at all times. 

Kelly Trevelyan: Clothes horse. Dorian and Vivienne are breaths of fresh air for him because there’s finally people who appreciate good tailoring. This is also part of why he falls for Josie; she’s just always put together, even in chaos.

Nikhael Trevelyan (no relation): His relationship with Ser Morris. They’re so sweet and soft together, even if their canon end is sad as heck. 

Bellial Adaar: Clothes horse #2, but with very different style. She wants to wear as little as possible at all times, and if she must wear a lot of clothing then it must be dramatic - long flowing sleeves, gowns with trains, leather straps with fabric trailing from them. The idea of just going out in regular armor makes her skin crawl.

@bexterrr

(And now I realize posting this at work means I have to add the tags after because tumblr is just Like That...)

[seaselkie]

20 Questions Tag

I was tagged a while back by @seylaaurora to do this and I’m finally doing it :) Here goes

1. Name: I can’t say it lest the faeries take it for nefarious means

2. Nicknames: In most places I’m Tatty, which I’ve had for years. I was previously called Elfie by friends in school because I guess?? I look like an elf... But there have been others here and there which didn’t stick so much. I spent four years while I was in college and Uni going by my middle name just because I felt like it, though.

3. Zodiac Sign: Scorpio (and I’m more irrationally happy about this than I probably should be, especially for someone who really puts no stock into horoscope or zodiac lore).

4. Height: 5′1″

5. Languages spoken: English. I knew a little German years ago but I’m very out of practice and couldn’t string together a full sentence, now. There was one summer I tried to teach myself trigedasleng but that didn’t go far. And I have picked up odd words or phrases here and there of Italian and Japanese, the former thanks to a week in Europe with friends last year and the later thanks to watching a tv series in the original language. But yeah - fluent only in English.

6. Nationality: Neverlandean ¬¬

7. Favourite season: Autumn

8. Favourite flower: Orchids

9. Favourite scent: hmm...I tend to veer towards jasmine and honeysuckle for bottled smells or candles. And I have a ‘winter spice’ candle - whatever that is - that I won’t light anymore because it’s almost out and I love the smell. But I’d also say I love the smell of a campfire, or the air right after heavy rain. That last is probably my favourite, honestly.

10. Favourite colour: Brown

11. Favourite animal: R e d  P a n d a s. I’m sure people who know me will be SHOCKED to read this haha. I’m obsessed. They’re such beautiful, adorable, goofy little creatures and they’re so endangered. Getting to hold a red panda is on my fairly short bucket list. But other animals I really love include: Orca whales, Quokkas, owls (specifically barn, snowy and malasian wood), fruit bats and Arabian horses.

12. Favourite fictional character(s): oh dear. oh no. um. So, the thing is - I fandom hop a lot and characters I’m obsessed with at the time I’m in the fandom I can also feel fairly apathetic about months later if i’m really deep into a different fandom. So it’s tricky but I guess ....ones that I’ve loved for a long, long time and tend to sort of stick with me (and this has no bearing on my opinion of the show/movie/book itself, or their storylines): Jess Mariano from Gilmore Girls, Percy Jackson from Percy Jackson and the Olympians (books not movies), Faith from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Stiles Stilinkski from Teen Wolf. These are ones that I have a long history of always liking but that said I really very quickly fell in love with BD-1 the little buddy droid from the Star Wars Jedi Fallen Order video game. so. There’s that.

13. Coffee, tea or hot chocolate: hot chocolate, hands down. I’ll drink tea occasionally but I’m not overly fond of it and coffee very literally makes me nauseated. Even the smell turns my stomach, so that’s a no-go.

14. Average sleep hours: maybe 7? Sometimes I sleep in to make up for routinely going to bed late, but not always so i fluctuate a lot.

15: Dog or cat person: Both. Hands down. I never want to pick between these because I just can’t. 

16. Number of blankets you sleep with: Varies. Usually at least one but sometimes i’ll pile on a few more if it’s cold. I’m a blanket hoarder - I love buying all kinds of different ones so I can pick and choose.

17. Dream trip: Probably something that incorporates a bunch of things I want to do, But that’s not possible. There’s a lot of things I want to do, not all of them for the first time. There’s places I want to see, not all of those for the first time, either and I just want to have fun doing them. I think any trip that enabled me to cross off some of those things would be a dream. Which means I’ve already had more than one dream trip.

18. Blog established: Oh heck. Years ago? I have no idea. I’ll go look..April 2013. I guessed it was spring-time ish but nice to get the year confirmed. I do remember I got this blog thanks to the Percy Jackson books, so there’s that, too.

19. Followers: No idea about this either. I don’t even know where to find out. Checking...Whoa 298. ....I appreciate all of you so much, just fyi, but equally...how did you all get here? I hope it’s not boring bc I have no idea what I’m doing.

20: A random fact: Have one about red pandas - they’re not genetically closely related to any other still living animal in the world. They are on a divergent evolutionary tree of their own, that branched off before Giant Pandas, other bears or even raccoons or cats. But there finally is conclusive proof that there are two entirely unique species of Red Panda; the Chinese and the Himalayan. (and turns out choosing which random red panda fact to provide was really difficult).

...

Welp. There we go. I have no idea who I’d tag for this, though - most people probably already have been but if you haven’t and you want in, consider yourself stamped :)

[lakesandquarries]

from the perfect start (to the finish line)

Aubrey and Ned, from beginning to end.

Massive spoilers for TAZ Amnesty episode 28.

title from “youth” by daughter.

Read on AO3 or under the cut!

The day after Aubrey officially moves in to Amnesty Lodge, Ned shows up. He comes armed with a box of Halloween decorations, a bag of candy, and a wide grin.

“I found some extra decorations lying around,” is what he tells her, but it quickly becomes clear these were carefully chosen for her.

Most people might have found the red lace curtains and pumpkin string lights and light up ghost tacky, but it makes her room feel more like home. He helps her unpack, too, something she hasn’t bothered to do in years. Staying still feels unreal, almost unnatural. Even now, some small part of her is ready to leave any second.

Ned seems to recognize the impulse. “So, how is it, living here? You’ve been on the move for the last few years, haven’t you?”

“Yeah, been doing shows all over. I like moving around. It’s cool, to get to see new places.”

“I understand the feeling. I’ve done my fair share of traveling too. But there is something to be said for a more….sedentary lifestyle.”

“Yeah. It’ll take some getting used to, though.”

The last thing she puts up is a photo in a relatively plain frame, of a woman with dark brown hair and bright brown eyes, her dark skin a perfect match to Aubrey’s.

“Family member?” Ned asks, nodding at the photo.

“My mom. She’s gone, now,” Aubrey explains. “Don’t have much family left anymore.” Ned looks a little pale, awkward with the sudden change of topic, and Aubrey nearly laughs at him. He’s quiet for a while, working out what to say.

“You have family here,” is what he settles on.

---

Painting Ned’s face is not how Aubrey expected to spend her Saturday night, but she doesn’t have much of a desire to complain. As the only person Ned knew with experience wearing makeup, he’d enlisted her to try and do his. This episode of Saturday Night Dead is a old vampire movie, so she’s trying to make him look pale and eerie.

“You know, vampires don’t really look like this,” she says as she covers his face with more white Snazaroo.

“Well, we know that. But the general populace does not.”

“True. But shouldn’t we trying to fix those kinds of stereotypes?”

Ned shrugs. “I think our job is just to kill the bad guys.”

Aubrey huffs. “Well, excuse me for thinking proactively.”

Ned chuckles. “C’mon, we don’t need to worry about anything like that for a while. Right now, our job is to relax and have fun.”

“And paint your face white.”

“Is that not the epitome of fun?” Ned smiles at her, an odd look with the paint. “That being said, you may need to hurry this up. We go live in….about 20 minutes.”

“Beauty takes time,” Aubrey says, but she decides to stop fussing with the paint and move on. It’s a shame it’s such a simple look; Ned is a wonderful canvas. He doesn’t squirm or complain, simply sits quietly and lets Aubrey do her work. “You should let me do real makeup on you sometime.”

“Is this not real makeup?” Ned asks, opening one eye.

“I mean like, let me do some kind of Look. Eyeshadow, highlighter, lipstick, the whole nine yards. I think you could rock it.”

Ned smiles at her. “Well, if you think I could pull it off...I trust your judgement. We’ll have to do that sometime.”

---

Aubrey’s the first one to catch Ned limping. Duck doesn’t have the best grasp of what normal human abilities are, but Aubrey is very familiar with the limitations of the human body.

It’s not until she finds a cane in the back of the newly painted Crytonomica van that she realizes what’s up.

“Hey Ned, this yours?” she asks, pulling it out. She was supposed to just be helping with Saturday Night Dead, as she does whenever she can, but this requires further investigation.

Ned looks at the cane disdainfully. “The doctors gave it to me, after the….incident at Leo’s.”

“You can talk about it, Ned.” She knows everyone’s been avoiding talking about the Pizza Hut Incident around her, too worried for her fragile emotional state to dare mention it. “I can handle it.”

Ned chuckles awkwardly. “It’s not that, it’s... I’m the one who can’t handle it, really.”

“Are you supposed to be using this cane, Ned?”

“Well the doctor told me to, but, what does he know? I’m fine, friend Aubrey, just dandy. Nothing wrong at all!”

“You sound like Duck right now,” she says, folding her arms.

“Is that your way of calling me a bad liar?”

“Yes. Now tell me the truth.”

Ned sighs. “It’s embarrassing, having to use a cane like that. I’m not old enough to be needing one yet.”

“There’s nothing embarrassing about using aids like that. I’m on medication, is that embarrassing?”

“Well...no...but-“

“You could have died, doing what you did. You saved people’s lives. There’s nothing embarrassing about getting hurt saving lives, or about needing help.”

Ned huffs. “When you put it like that I sound completely ridiculous.”

“That’s because you are. But I think I know of a way to make the cane at least a little more fun to use.”

She insists he meet her at Amnesty Lodge tomorrow, and the next morning she presents her gift - his cane, painted with bright flames creeping up it.

“Now it looks cool, and you have to use it or I’ll be sad.”

“Well, we can’t have that, can we,” Ned says.

He presents it flamboyantly on Saturday Night Dead, a gift from the Lady Flame herself, a powerful artifact imbued with magical properties.

—

The letter is singed where she touches it, bad enough that she’s tempted to ask someone to read it to her, but she decides against it. This is between her and Ned.

Dear Aubrey, she reads, and bursts into tears.

Duck finds her sobbing on the floor twenty minutes later, the letter a safe distance away from her. Her hands are balled into fists, steam rising off them as she tries to keep her entire body from igniting. Duck makes the mistake of placing a hand on her shoulder and pulls away burnt.

“Aubrey,” he says, kneeling down next to her. “You found your letter?”

“Mhm,” she says, wiping at her eyes frantically. Duck sighs.

“He called me a hero in mine. Said he didn’t have what it takes to be a real hero.”

“He was a hero,” Aubrey says hoarsely.

“Yeah.”

“He - he wrote his real name,” Aubrey says, trying to swallow the tears that threaten to cut off her words. “He told me to hate him. Duck, he died -” she chokes on the word, hiccuping halfway through it - “he died thinking I hated him. He died wanting me to hate him. And now - I can never -” her words dissolve.

Duck scoots closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder, which luckily has cooled by now. “He knew you cared. He probably wrote that in there ‘cause he knew you’d forgive him.”

“He’s more of a hero than anyone I’ve ever met,” Aubrey says, then bites her lip. “I mean - not that you’re not, I just -”

“Nah, you’re right. I didn’t take a bullet for anyone. But look, Aubrey, you can’t blame yourself. That’s not what he’d want.”

“But -”

“Nope, no buts. C’mon, he wouldn’t want you beating yourself up like this.”

“Yeah, well, I want him back, but we can’t always get what we want, can we?”

“This ain’t your fault. He knew you cared about him. You should’ve seen how he talked about you.”

Aubrey lifts her head slightly, looking at Duck. He gives her a tired, worn smile.

“He bragged 'bout you like you were his kid, practically.”

“I felt like I was, sometimes.” Duck leans his head against the wall, thoughtfully, then looks back at Aubrey.

“We gotta….preserve his memory, in some way. Kirby’s cool and all, but….well, he’s not much of a showman.”

Aubrey smiles, a little broken but better than nothing. “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m saying….well, I’ve been thinking, and Ned wouldn’t want us wallowing around, right? I say we do a special episode of Saturday Night Dead. Saturday Night Ned, if you will.”

“I think I’d like that.” She’s never been to a funeral, but Aubrey has helped with nearly every episode of Saturday Night Dead. This, at least, she can do.

—

It feels wrong, being at the Cryptonomica without Ned, but Aubrey pushes through the grief and puts on a show. There’s no movie, this time. Instead, she and Kirby and Duck and any other people they can get tell stories about the enigmatic figure that was Ned “Insert Name Here” Chicane.

Aubrey digs up videos she took, the time she secretly filmed Ned practicing a monologue and a really stupid argument he had with Duck about whether pineapple goes on pizza and a short video of him passed out in the lobby of Amnesty Lodge, a blanket draped around his shoulders and Dr Harris Bonkers PhD in his lap. Kirby shares some of his own, videos of Ned singing show tunes while assembling the newest Cryptonomica exhibit, glaring at the camera when he realizes it’s filming. Duck has no footage, but he does have some copies of tickets he gave Ned for increasingly bizarre antics over the years. Aubrey’s favourite is his 12 tickets for illegally feeding animals - apparently Ned made friends with a raccoon at one point.

The ache in her chest never goes away completely, but it softens. It starts to become something she can live with.

The show wraps up after two hours, but Aubrey has one last speech.

“To everyone who tuned in today, who came by to share their own stories, thank you. I know not everyone liked the Cryptonomica, or even Ned himself, but the outpouring of love has been beautiful to witness. Thank you, Kepler.” She grabs Ned’s cane, smiling despite everything. “Let’s give it up for Ned “Brave” Chicane.”

If she listens carefully, she can almost hear the applause.

[teaboot]

Tag Game Questions

I was tagged by @llyrica!!!!! :D :D :D

Rules: Answer the questions and tag 20 amazing tumblrs that you’d like to get to know better!

Name: .....anon

Nicknames: Pixie, or Santana

Star sign: Scorpio

Height: 5′?

Orientation: Asexual, probably Aromantic as well.... People are like goldfish?Pretty to look at, but I wouldn’t know what to do if I had one?

Hogwarts House: Hufflepuff!!!! :D :D

Favorite color: Ooooh... I like grey-blues and mossy green and bubblegum pink! Also chestnut brown, sunflower yellow, mint green, seafoam, coal... I DON’T like lavender, neons, cobalt, dark orange, dark yellow, pure white, peacock green, or blue-violet... blue-violet makes me uncomfortable :/

Favorite animal: OH FUCK UHHHHH..... I like otters and raccoons and possums, cats, bats, nautali, wombats, salamanders, octopi, okapi, ..... pretty much everything except spiders and dogs, really? And some dogs are OK I guess.... I don’t think I can pick a *favourite*, but...... If I could transform into one, I’d say......oh, maybe a badger or raccoon? Raccoons are clever, I like them

Average amount of sleep: 2-6 hours on weekdays, as much as I can get on weekends

Cat person or dog person: Cat. Most emphatically, cat.

Favorite fictional character: Oh, dear... All of them, I suppose? I mean, I’ve never come across a character I hated... I mean, not after giving it a bit of thought? Um... I like Bucky Barnes and T’Challa from the MARVEL movies... I sort of like the aesthetic and design of Pitch Black from Rise of the Guardians... Luna Lovegood was my absolute favourite in Harry Potter....and oh, I don’t know... oh dear. Claire, from Daredevil and Luke Cage! God, I love her. 

Number of blankets you sleep with: As many as I can hoard. I can never seem to get warm, and the extra weight is soothing... I don’t like light very much, either, so the more the better!

Dream trip: Oh, I think... I think there are lots of things I want to see that I haven’t managed to dream up,yet, but really most of all I’d like a small, dark little cabin somewhere warm and sunny and rainy in the forest, with bunkbeds, near a river, where my sister-friends and I could sun ourselves and swim and sleep, where we could catch crayfish and stay up late and sleep on the floor by the stove-fire. That, some ink, some animals and insects to find and some trees to climb.... That would likely be my paradise.

When did you create this blog?: Oh, a year or two ago? Maybe one? My last blog was WhoopsRobots, but it was shut down due to a technical error and i never did manage to get it back.

Current number of followers: Um... 189? It seems to fluctuate between 200-160.

And I’m tagging.........@pocketfullofpoetry, @iamwerewolfroyalty, @melancholysage, @thebucca2, @tinybrunetteblondie, @casuallyakward, @elphabaforpresidentofgallifrey, @ryu-gemini, and..... I don’t really see enoughof anyone else, I guess? I’ll add more if I remember! :D Thank you and have a nice day!!! :D