#yet another of my odd photo collections

[mizgnomer]

David Tennant standing on the edges of his feet

[etheries1015]

Imagine using positive reinforcement techniques with sebek but instead of ur normal rewards u just hand him stickers with Malleus's face on it

Sebek- I have completed the task you entrusted me with, prefect!

You- thank you, sebek. *slides him a sticker of a candid Malleus picture*

Sebek- *GASP* I HAVE NOT RECIEVED THIS PARTICULAR ONE YET. I SHALL ADD IT TO MY COLLECTION OF RARE -

You- Sebek, inside voices, please

Sebek, lowering his voice- I shall add it to my rare collections page of stickers!!!

You- *nods* good. *hands him another sticker*

Silver, Lilia, and Malleus staring in absolute astonishment.

Silver- ...Were you aware the prefect was using such tactics..?

Malleus- I agreed to this arangement, yes. (Y/n) had Shroud mass print a bunch of photos I gave permission for them to take of me.

Lilia- how did this come about?

Malleus- it initially began as a way to encourage him to cease referring to fellow classmates as "humans" rather than their names, and it seems to have evolved into other uses as well, as Sebek had volunteered to do more things in order to receive more stickers.

Silver- ...and does this not strike you as a little odd?

Malleus- on the contrary, I find it incredibly amusing.

You, counting your remaining stickers- I'm really just handing them out now at everything, since he's already managed to stop calling me "human." I'm running out of stickers, but he insists to keep finding more tasks to fulfill....

They stare as Sebek pulls out his notebook and adds another sticker to an already full page while cackling to himself happily

Lilia- ....absolutely genius! Why had I not thought of that?!

[minawritesfanfic]

You are who you eat

Dexter Morgan x Reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: After finding out about Dexter’s after hour hobby you start to investigate him while teasing him from afar that you know what he is.

Part 2

Previous | Next

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Finding a reason to go up to homicide was easy I had an email come in from the sergeant but I also couldn’t be bothered to deliver the brand new computers to homicide yesterday like I was supposed to. I carried the box out of the tiny office, normally I would’ve struggled to carry something this heavy but hauling around dead bodies was unsurprising a great work out. I used my elbow to press the button for the elevator and waited for it to come down, I heard someone come up behind me and turned to see my mystery man. Boy does he have great timing, I glanced down at his ID and under his photo was his name, Dexter Morgan. Got you, I gave him a polite smile turning around as I heard the familiar ding of the elevator and stepped inside. He stepped inside as well tucking his hands into his pockets, it felt odd being so close to someone and knowing except who they are without them knowing a thing.

His expression was calm but I could tell from the slight fidgeting he wasn’t as calm as he let on. Like freak out by last nights encounter, I mean I would be too. If someone caught me just as I was killing someone and there was a high chance they saw my face, I would be shitting my pants and looking over my shoulder for days. Though I have no plans of exposing his secret because that would mean bringing into the question why I was at the car dealership, why I hadn’t reported it then, or of I didn’t mention that part what was I doing at Ann Cohen’s house that late at night anyways. No excuse I could come up would lose their suspicion so it just seemed far better to not involve myself in it at all, if anything it would be easier to just deal with this Dexter person on my own.

The elevator dinged again as we arrived on the next floor, and we both stepped out with our left foot as if we were synchronized together. Our eyes met again and we awkwardly walked out one after another, I let him step ahead of me and watched as he disappeared into the tiny room in the back of the department whilst I began distributing the laptops to each officer and collecting their old ones. I hadn’t been asked to do that but I figured if I didn’t do it now I would likely be sent to do it anyway, and I didn’t have a reason to come up here twice in a day so it’s not like I needed it as an excuse. Doing it now simply saved me from unnecessary work later on, as I got to the last laptop I found myself at Sergeant Doakes desk. My final task in the homicide department for today, hopefully at least.

“Good morning Sergeant, I got your email what can I do for you?” I said as I handed him the new laptop.

“Morning, I heard you were the person to ask about getting into some encrypted files?”

“I am indeed, you can just give me the device and I’ll get tight to it. Is there a deadline or can I do this at my own pace?”

“No deadline as I’m not sure if they will be anything helpful on there, but please make it a priority.” He pulled a silver Dell mini 9, I set it on top of the others in the box making a mental note to look at it later.

“Alright I’ll get it back to you as soon as I can then, if that’s all I should probably go deal with these.” I said raising the box slightly bringing attention to it.

“Thank you, please get back to me as soon as you can.”

With all my task completed I adjust grip on the box and took one last look around the department before turning to leave, my eyes drifted Dexter’s little hiding spot. I was surprised to see him already looking at me, his eye remained trained on me even as I turned away and walked out the department. A odd chill went down my spine as I recalled the look in his eyes it was empty and unreadable, I had definitely crossed a line today. There was no need to make him suspicious of me just yet, I still had plenty left to learn about him. I stepped inside the elevator and rode it back down to my floor and walked back to my office, and quickly started on my next task.

I decided to ignored the laptop for now and followed through with other requests in the building first, I felt it was better to run around now instead of constantly going back and forth. That way I could work on the things I needed to in the office uninterrupted, so I set off to step up a new computer for the deputy chief, helped track down a suspect using their phone for narcotics, and updating the missing persons website to showcase the recent disappearances. I spent the first half of my day running around and was happy to sit and work in my office until 4pm came around, I sat back in my chair and just took a few moments to breathe. I hadn’t made any significant progress with the laptop and honestly it was starting to frustrate me, I didn’t expect this to be easy but whoever encrypted these files sure as hell knew what they were doing. So instead of frustrating myself further I I decided to find out just who Dexter Morgan was, looking him up in the system I saw he had no priors in the system and seemed to be a relatively stand up citizen, too good of one to be honest. I knew it was a facade, considering I heard him say so, you can’t be a serial killer and not have a facade. I found that you had a sister Debra Morgan, I recognized her name from the news about the ice truck killer, but most importantly I found your house.

At first I considered talking to his sister and befriending her but I needed to stay out of sight for now, it I raise your attention any more than I already have it would be long before I might end up on your table as well. Of course that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to bother him from a distance, I needed some sort of distraction while I went through his place so I had a friend of mine give him a little surprise. I stepped through the open door of your apartment, I glanced around looking at the layout and simple decor.

“Dexter, you left the door open again honey. I thought we talked about that.” I said as I stepping further inside and found a repair man tiding his tools on the floor. “Oh hello, have you seen Dexter?”

“No, manager let me in. Someone reported a leak.” He said not even bothering to look up at me.

“Oh yeah, I told him to get things checked out I’m glad he followed through. Was everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s in order. You can rest assured there’s no leaks in your boyfriend’s apartment.” He finished packing and began to leave.

“That’s great to hear, you have a wonderful day sir.” He gave me an awkward smile and shook his head as he left.

I shit the door behind him and looked around, so this was Dexter’s apartment. I immediately put on gloves, after my research I realized he was In forensics so leaving behind my finger prints wasn’t ideal. I started by checking the books making sure there was nothing inside or under them, then I checked his desk. I rummaged through the drawers and found nothing but the usual clutter, I decided to check his computer since I was more likely to find something there. I debugged my way through the login screen and got into his computer, on the surface there was again nothing but I kept digging until found it. His search history which stupidly he never clears, I found that he had used a lot of police resources from the comfort of his home. Don’t you know that’s illegal Dexter? Thankfully some of the searches showed the names he looked up, I borrowed one of his pens and a sticky note then began writing down as many of the names I could and the days he searched them. If my theory was right these were likely murderers as well who will all turn up missing shortly after dexter searched them. Once I was done there I ventured into the rest of the house and found it all to be normal, minus the obnoxious chest in his closet which I thought was odd but I didn’t have my lock pick to get into it. There wasn’t much left for me to do so I figured I should probably leave incase Dexter also decides to visit home on his lunch break.

★ ✮ ★

Dexter had been on edge all morning, looking over his shoulder just waiting for the coworkers to swoop in and arrest him. As illogical as the thought was, there was no evidence for whoever saw him to back up their claims. Even if they searched his apartment they would find nothing, but an accusation like that doesn’t go away even if it’s proven false. People would still be suspicious and Dexter certainly didn’t need any more prying eyes when he already had Doakes tailing him everywhere he went. He barely managed to get him off his back last night by popping one of his tires, though hope Doakes truly bought his ‘addiction’ and would leave him alone thinking he was in recovery. Still even though no one came knocking at his door during the night to arrest him, which truthfully only made him more anxious but he tried to rationalize it and soothe his anxiety. Maybe they didn’t see his face, they definitely didn’t know his name, maybe they hadn’t seen much of anything, maybe this maybe that. Nothing was certain and Dexter did not like that, he had been careful to live by Harry’s code and the number one rule was to not get caught yet here he was. With a heavy heart Dexter stepped into his tiny slice of the homicide department and was greeted by Masuka.

“Oh hey Dex, there’s something on your desk waiting for you. It looks like someone has a secret admirer.” He said with his signature laugh.

Dexter quirked a brow and saw it, a brightly colored cupcake with a pin stuck in it that said ‘eat me’. He furrowed his brows and ripped the cupcake in half with his thumbs and found a note inside, ‘Roger was a scumbag, wasn’t he? Your secret admirer’. Dexter felt his blood run cold as he fell back into his seat, whoever it was that saw him knew it was him. He didn’t like this not one bit, he needed to find out who sent this.

“Hey Masuka, any idea who sent me this?”

“I can’t tell you that, the point of a secret admirer is that its a secret.” Dexter frowned but didn’t push it, there were other ways to find out.

Dexter was wrong, terribly wrong, whoever this ‘secret admirer’ was had connections with people all throughout the building. He had been asking all around the station all day but everyone he asked was adamant on not exposing their identity, it was like some sick game and he was losing it. His nerves were eased because at least it seems like they aren’t going to expose him for his dark secret for now, but Dexter didn’t like the uncertainty of not knowing if they ever would. This isn’t what he should be worried about right now, he needed to get ahead of this bay harbor butcher thing before they tied it back to him. It was only a matter of time until Lundy would catch on, but he also needed to work things out with Rita and convince her he was committed to his ‘recovery’. There was a lot more on his plate than he was comfortable with, Dexter felt as if he was starting to drown, if things continued the way they were he was certain he would go insane.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

[ravenna-reid]

Admirer from the past... (Pt. 3)

TW: blood and extreme stalking/obsessive behaviour

Part Two here

You stood amongst the chaos; arms crossed and an expression that read complete and utter disbelief on your face. The stench of roses blood was imbedded into your nose, and the sickly feeling stirring in your stomach wasn't leaving any time soon.

"Fuck sake." Harry had been murmuring curses for the past 15 minutes as he continued looking around your once clean and untouched apartment. But now it looked like a snapshot of hell.

Red Robin had moved from beside you to collect evidence and clues, and Harry continued analysing the scene. But you were still stuck in the entry way of your apartment.

Your name was everywhere. Inky explosions all over your white walls, the style and size of handwriting changing as you went along. Most of the ink was black, but some of it was red and dripping...you didn't even want to know.

More black roses that were halfway to death were scattered across the floor, along with all of your paperwork. The worst thing by far though were the photos he'd left behind.

Photos of you at your usual cafe. In your office. On the pavement waiting for a cab. It made your stomach churn. And it made Tim blind with rage.

Tim, after placing a withered black rose and one of the pictures of you into an envelope, glanced in your direction. You had finally moved, gingerly making your way through the mess. Your gaze was trained on all of your hard work torn up and disregarded on the floor. You ran a finger along your couch before moving it to the walls were your name sat. Eventually, you lowered your head before shaking it.

"I can't fucking believe this." Your unease and disgust was soon replaced with resentment. You turned on your heel; your glare vicious and demanding. "This can't keep going any longer. I can't move again-"

"You won't have to." Tim was across the room and before you in seconds, his words spoken like an oath. "I'll make sure of it., I promise"

"But how? What do I do with this now?"

You gestured to your poor apartment, looking around at the countless strangers that were now in your home running their own tests and theories. Tim's white casing gaze remained on you, reading the frustration and fear on your face.

"I'll just have to clean it up. Organise it myself." You murmured.

It was all you could think to do. It was what you always did. When things went south, you would plan, re-organise, think and clean. Or drive yourself insane with so much work that you'd end up earning yet another certificate.

"No can do y/n." Harry stepped over a plethora of folders before reaching you and Red Robin. "This is a crime scene now. You're going to have to leave it to us for the time being."

You drew in a sharp breath as you turned to look back at it all.

Helpless. Tim felt completely helpless and he hated it.

"Do you have anywhere else to stay?" Tim asked.

You shrugged. "My friends are out of town, so I guess a hotel will do."

"You need money?" Harry asked.

You shot a deadened glare at Harry, forcing Tim to suppress a smirk.

"Sorry, right, I know." Harry quickly backtracked. "Just don't know what else to say."

"Yeah," You sighed, "Me either."

Tim immediately thought about his apartment. Immediately wanted to offer it to you. But he feared that he'd be coming across as too eager. Overbearing even, especially since you were dealing with this maniac.

You interrupted his thoughts. "I'm gonna go pack some things then. Can I go into my bedroom and bathroom Harry?"

"Yeah, he didn't do anything back there so it's all clear."

"Nothing in my bedroom...odd, but I'm grateful."

You moved past them both to go to your bedroom. The curtains were drawn and the once serene feel to it gone. And obviously, Harry wasn't as switched on as he used to be, because the photo of you and your friends that was stuck to your mirror was gone, along with your favourite silk dress and one of your pillows.

Rage simmered in your bones, but you kept yourself contained, only cursing under your breath as you moved around your room.

Your head snapped up once you heard the soft footsteps.

There Red Robin stood at the foot of your bed. He leant against the post, imitating someone who was confident and sure, but his body language said otherwise.

"You ok?" His voice was soft, and suddenly you were abundantly glad he was here.

"No. I can't believe how this has escalated. He disappeared for months and now this." You threw a pair of pajamas into your suitcase.

Tim battled with his nerves as he neared you. "Listen, I know you might not want to be around anyone right now, but...I have somewhere you can go."

You stopped what you were doing to settle your gaze onto him.

"Somewhere to go?"

He forced himself not to scratch the back of his neck, remembering that you would pick up on it instantly. "Yeah, an apartment. Don't worry, it'd be just you. But you could stay there as long as you like, and I could keep an eye on you."

He realised how it had sounded as the words left his mouth. Tim shook his head. "Not like that, obviously. I wouldn't be stalking you, but we don't know what this guy is gonna do next, and it's best I know where you-, you'll be safe."

The faintest of smiles tugged at your lips.

And holy shit, if only you could always look at him like that. Just you, forever.

Shit, what was he thinking?

"The elusive Red Robin isn't taking me back to his own apartment is he?"

Tim fumbled for a second too long. "It's safer than a hotel." He reasoned. "And like I said, I wouldn't be staying there...just you."

"But where will you go?" You came closer, folding a shirt in your hands as you waited for his response. "I don't want to put you out."

He had his little nook back at Wayne Enterprises and his bedroom at the Wayne Manor. He'd be fine.

Tim shook his head again. "I'll be fine. Trust me."

And you did. As crazy as it was, especially given the circumstances, you did trust Red Robin. More than you trusted the police even.

"Ok, let me finish packing first. I just need to get my make-up and-"

Tim had you by your arms in the blink of an eye. Pulling you with him, he swiftly pushed you against the wall, his body shielding your own before placing his gloved index finger on your lips. You were seconds away from back handing him with all of the rings on your fingers, but the simple notion of his finger to your lips kept you quiet.

You both stilled, his hold on you gentle yet firm. His breath was warm against your skin and your heart began hammering in your chest. But not as fast as Tim's. He thought he'd pass out being so close to you. But he knew what he heard. Was sure that it was your stalker. And he was eager to get rid of him.

Tim turned his head towards the door to your bathroom.

That was where the noise came from.

Your eyes followed his gaze before snapping back to him. Tim looked back at you, expression a mixed mess of determination and concern, to which you responded with a raised brow. Then you gestured towards your bathroom.

Go.

Tim nodded in agreement. Slowly moving his hands from your arms, he quietly motioned for you to stay put. And you nodded, even if you knew you were lying.

Tim didn't know whether he should kick the door down or try to sneak into the darkened room, but he went with the latter, gently opening the door before slipping into the bathroom. And that's when he saw it. The figure outside your bathroom window on the fire escape.

Tim sprinted through the bathroom towards the hunched silhouette and ripped the window open.

It was him. Just as Tim expected.

Anger coursed through Red Robin's veins as he launched at the man. Tim got a good hit to his face, a stream of crimson flowing from the corner of your stalkers mouth, but he used Tim's momentum to throw him off balance. Tim fell on his back hard, and the man took his chance to run down the fire escape.

"Y/n, one of my guys were just looking through your CCTV. Your crazy stalker only just found out where you live last night-" You hastily yanked at the sleeve of Harry's coat, dragging him out of your apartment.

"What the fuck are you doing!?" Regardless of your lack of a response, Harry broke out into a sprint right behind you without hesitating.

"He's here!" You yelled out. "Come on Harry!"

Red Robin slammed into him, the pair falling down the last flight of iron stairs onto the cement. Tim got back on his feet again, but so did your stalker, and Tim soon realised he was a lot stronger and swifter then either of you had realised.

As the man went to escape, he brought down stacks of crates to block Tim's path. A rookie move, because Tim easily evaded it with his grapple before he was on foot again, chasing the man down the alleyway.

"Fuck you! You can't have her!" His voice was hoarse and his demand haunting, making Tim all the more motivated. Tim threw small metal balls towards him, thick smoke releasing on impact.

You and Harry were out of the apartment building and scouring the streets of Gotham in no time. The club music next door pounded in your head, along with the rush of your blood as you tried to make out where your stalker could have possibly gone. Where Red Robin could have gone.

"I think they're back here y/n!" Harry shouted from behind.

You whipped your head around and followed Harry down the alley way, your heels trudging through puddles and grime when suddenly, smoke appeared. Thick, grey smoke.

You and Harry slowed down and approach with caution before you watched as he ran out of it.

Him.

Your psychotic stalker. The man who has been giving you hell for so long. Your eyes met and instantly a chill ran down your spine.

He looked animalistic. Insane. A sickening smirk on his face as he looked back at you. But it fell short once Red Robin emerged from the smoke. Just as he did, two oblivious and intoxicated girls came into view, presumably from the club next door.

They were giggling and swaying, and your stalker wasted no time; slipping behind one of them, causing both girls to scream before he had a blade against oen of their throats.

Your hand launched for the gun hidden in Harry's holster, but his hand quickly grabbed yours to stop you. "No y/n!"

Everyone stilled, the sound of music, cars and stifled cries wandering through the night.

Your stalker leered at you, and you could read that terrifying face. That unnerving expression. Eyes darting between you and the gun, he almost dared you to do it. But then his eyes glanced over your form before he tilted his head, subtly gesturing to the weeping girl in his arms.

It'd be your fault. That's what he was saying. Her death would be on your hands.

You clenched your jaw, watching on in anticipation.

Red Robin's chest heaved with anger, his hand secured around his bō. "Let her go!"

"Let me go then..." He dragged out, his eyes flickering down to the handcuffs in Red Robin's free hand. "If anyone's gonna shackle me up, it's you pretty girl."

You grimaced, your hand tightening on the gun as Harry's tightened around yours.

"Ok, just let her go." Harry quickly reasoned, justifying his action with the fact that he was sure your stalker wasn't going to hurt you anytime soon. But the girl in his arms? The one that had a machete to her throat? Harry couldn't let her get hurt. He couldn't fail another person. The girl continued crying, her weeps ringing through the air. "Just let the girl go."

Tim looked over to you. Took in the hate in your eyes. And so did your stalker as he slowly backed away, the young girl still in his hold. "Tell boy wonder to stand down." He snapped.

Harry didn't say anything, he didn't have to. Tim was one of Gotham's protectors, it was his job to protect all of the civilians. So he stood down. And just like that, the man of your nightmares disappeared amongst the crowd behind the club, his victim now sobbing in her friends arms.

Tim wanted to go after him, no matter how frivolous it would be now that he was mixed amongst a mass of people, but his attention turned to you.

You let go of Harry's gun and placed your hands atop of your head, breathing heavily from the rush and anxiety of it all.

Red Robin made his way over to you. "What were you thinking?"

You assumed he was referring to you grabbing Harry's gun and went to respond until he cut you off again.

"I told you to stay inside y/n. He could have grabbed you!"

"Red Robin, he didn't-"

"But he could have. He was armed!"

You fell quiet, slightly taken aback with how much he truly cared. Tim was just mad he couldn't grab you and hold you so this freak couldn't go near you again.

Harry checked if the girls were ok, calling some of his men to come out and meet them at the club, just to make sure everything was ok. But his attention wavered to where you and Tim stood, tension simmering in the air as you both looked back at each other.

Harry let out a long sigh before placing a hand on your shoulder. "It's been a long night. You should go rest." Harry directed his tired gaze to Red Robin. "I can get someone from the station to escort her to your apartment."

Tim wanted to scoff. "Not likely. I can take her myself."

The drive back on the back of his motorbike was morbidly quiet. Your arms remained wrapped around him, your head resting on his muscled back. You could feel Red Robin's heart thumping, but kept it to yourself.

Tim's muscles grew rigid as he continuously thought back to what had just unfolded. He knew he was just angry at that guy. He knew he couldn't remain angry with you. Not even if he tried. All he could do from here on out was keep you safe and keep his promise. He let out a tired sigh before the tires on his motorbike came to a screeching halt outside a building. As you looked at the place you'd be staying at for the next couple of days, your jaw dropped.

Red Robin seemed to have forgotten to mention that his place wasn't some ordinary apartment. No, he owned a suite in one of the most prestigious hotels in Gotham.

"This is where you live?" You asked, slipping off his motorbike before he could offer his hand.

"Yeah," he pulled up his seat and grabbed your suitcase from the inside. "Come on, let's head in."

Before you entered the glass double doors and stepped upon the marble floors, you came to a halt, turning your head over your shoulder to look back at the street. To look at the alleyways looming before you, waiting to see his sickly face staring back at you.

"Hey," Tim grabbed your elbow, softly gesturing for you to relax. "It's ok, you're safe here."

"What if he comes?" You asked, and you couldn't hide the fear in your eyes anymore.

It made Tim's heart snap in half, but it also did something else. Some fervent need to protect you. To bring this stalker to justice. Deadly determination weighed down on him as he looked at you.

"He can sure try."

Part 4 soon ya'll, lmk what you think :)

[cuddlybelphie]

Random facts about my MC because I'm bored as hell right now.

this is pretty much an accidental info dump I worked on for four hours- I didn't mean to lol.. So this is pretty long, just letting you know.

My MC's apart of many universes combined ★

It just happens one after the other.

Whenever he sleeps, he gets about an hour or less of it.

If he hasn't already awaken by himself and someone else happens to wake him up, he'll either flinch and sit up immediately or he'll grumble and turn away.

He drools in his sleep.. Another thing that doesn't happen often is that he sometimes mumbles in his sleep. It's odd, since he doesn't feel as if he dreams of anything, but sometimes mumble out clear sentences.

His dreams consist of either weird asf shit or just hellish nightmares where he or his family are targeted and in danger, never usually anything wholesome. Sometimes he doesn't dream of anything and is as stiff as a rock.

Not a morning person, a huge night owl - he has a raspy voice like any other person when he's fatigued or had just woken up.

Now, he's not an insomniac but he has pulled all nighters. Hence the eyebags.

For no reason in particular, he just doesn't feel the need to rest much; always often busying himself with studying, guide committee work, working on coordinating the parties for the RFA and convincing others to come to the party through invitations, or just simply reading.

He doesn't really find working a burden despite being sleep deprived, which is why he tends to overwork himself at times. He appreciates others concern, but he assures them he's fine.

If he's not busy with work, he's probably offering help to others or cleaning and tidying things up.

He can be a bit of a nerd; he's a bookworm and enjoys hearing praise from others whenever he's right.. Though inwardly he's been finding it difficult to believe them lately.

When he showers, it's always at night, when he isn't busy. He just finds it more convenient and comfortable if he does rest. Also double brushes his teeth, night and morning, gotta keep brushing them daily and keeping them clean.

He fears he can't afford to look bad as he feels the need to look presentable in front of others.

His favorite color is purple - but his favorite aesthetic is dark academia. When it comes to colors, he enjoys dark and warmer colors rather than bright or light colors.

He began to learn french in second grade, found the language fascinating and has been fond of it since. He likes to speak in french at times.

When he was younger, he was actually a female - but he transitioned when he was 13, he always wondered why he felt uncomfortable in his own body. Also explains why he called himself a tomboy back then.. lol.

The full transition happened when he was 18 though. His mom's very supportive of him.

He's currently around his twenty's (can't decide his age yet)

Bird feathers are something he enjoys collecting, he found an awful lot where he lived since birds commonly lost feathers now and again.

He enjoys flowers of any kind, and has thought of making a garden before.

His favorite animals are cats, he adores them to death.

He favours salty or savoury foods whenever he does have meals.

He may not look it, but he can hold, pick up or carry anyone or almost anything. He made himself become strong so he's able to offer support.

He can drive, but only drives when it's necessary or someone asks him to, for personal reasons.

He'd have work experience, but he chose to stay home and help his mother by watching over his younger siblings. He was technically like a dad to them - his older brother was the one who helped to provide by being the one who went out and got a job when he was old enough.

Knows how to cook decently due to helping out his mom whenever he could, still has a lot to learn and is definitely willing to be taught.

Owns a camera from his grandmother, he likes to take photos - they're not as good as his younger brothers he thinks. He really likes his younger brothers photos, he finds it all impressive.

He cherishes that camera since he received it from his grandmother, who has passed. He misses her, but he stays strong for her - along for his siblings and mom.

His older brother is a big enthusiast with horror movies, so he's prone to them and isn't too bothered by watching them. Still doesn't mean he enjoys hearing gore from it, such as movies like SAW.. He gets chills up his spines and is disturbed by it.

He remembers all of his brothers phases, and often teases them about it. Albeit, he can't really talk since he usually joins in too because they rope him into it with them.

Definitely coddles his brothers - he just cares about them a lot. Which also means he scolds them when they make silly decisions, but they don't really take him seriously.

By the way, he has five brothers. One older one and four younger ones.

If there's one thing you should know about him, it's that he appreciates his family unconditionally. Not his father, he doesn't include him or consider him family at all - aside from that, he'd do anything to protect his family.

He's seen a lot and been through a lot, yet continues to pretend to be completely fine and if he's offered any help he usually puts his family first.

After getting a job and saving up enough money to stay stable and enough to spoil others and himself, he decided to get himself his own wardrobe of his kind of style. He definitely wears suits more than anything.

He's gone to many places after entering college - he didn't expect so much to happen at once after having become an adult, but hey, his life had always been rocky.

He also enjoys to write, but he never showed anyone anything he's wrote. There's a possibility he owns a journal, he's just hidden it somewhere others won't find.

He is omnisexual and demiromantic, he just can't see himself getting with someone he doesn't know well or having a noncommittal relationship. He takes more interest in males more than females.

It definitely takes him a while to get close to others and trust them.

The whole situation with RFA was confusing and he doesn't remember how he ended up in the apartment nor how he got into the chatroom, especially since he's a very cautious guy - the whole thing was a blur to him.

He overthinks a lot, so he has many migraines due to stress. It exasperates him heavily, so at times he'll zone out. Not intentionally, it's a coincidence it helps ease the throbbing a bit. He's dealt with them since he was a teenager, and only realized why when he was fifteen.

He does NOT like being left alone, especially with having to deal with his own thoughts. He does drown them out usually with music.

He's not very nice to himself in his mind, oddly always fighting himself.

His body aches a lot due to him being stubborn and overworking himself, he never usually speaks up about it or received anything like a massage to ease up the aching. He also has a “weird posture” apparently, said by his father.

His aches probably worsened when he falls asleep against a table, desk, or chair.

He tends to ignore his own well-being.

Whenever he receives injuries or symptoms of a sickness he always dismisses it since it's nothing severe that needs attention and just convinces himself to pull through regardless and hope it goes away on its own with the help of his immune system.

He was mostly forced to think that way because of his father always saying it isn't that big of deal and had gotten used to doing it that way. That is until he's gained people who care about him and convinced him to take care of himself better.

Of course, when he gets a cold or flu, he always makes sure to never spread his illness to others. Usually coops up in his room until he's better.

He has an inferiority complex beneath his persona, but a slight superiority complex in front of others.

He's secretly insecure, despite all of his accomplishments nothing feels like enough to him.

He's good at taking charge or looking out for others, he's hopeful to be seen as dependable and reliable to others.

Due to his selflessness, he makes sure others are well taken care of before himself. He also wants to be able to protect others.

Likes to observe people from a distance, analyzing others personalities - he doesn't mean to come off creepy, he just sometimes find other humans fascinating.

Not very talkative, he doesn't initiate conversations.

Once you bypass his feelings of distrust and cold demeanor, and become his friend, just know you're stuck with him for good. (I mean.. Please don't tell me you'd also leave him like others have?)

He's very loyal and devoted to any relationship (platonic or not) he gets into, so expect some form of spoiling from him just for existing. He'd probably do anything you asked him to, within logic, anyway.

If you're his friend he'll probably also coddle you. He just gets worried about those he cares about.

If you're close to him, you'll probably see how he tends to act different - his personality varies a lot, and that's usually from picking up others ways of expressing themselves and copying to fit in. He's very good at masking it though and it depends on who he's with, so there's only a slight chance for such a thing to happen.

After losing some friends, he's become more rational and cautious about becoming close to others. At times he might often ruin his chances of becoming friends with anyone due to his plentiful issues and self sabotage from anxiety.

If you're friends with him and somehow managed to get into a quarrel with him, he'll probably back off and distance himself. He doesn't want to anger you any further or say anything he'll regret so it's likely he'd avoid you until things simmer down.. He's not really the type to apologize, but if he see's he's in the wrong he'll come around eventually.

He listens to rules, he's not one to disobey. He was taught to be that way obviously because of school when he was younger, but another reason was just because he wanted to make his mother proud of him.

He's adapted to being that way by now, but because of Lucifer trying to always remind him of rules he's been tempted to just not listen out of spite.

He's definitely apart of the Anti-Lucifer League once he hears about its existence, joining in on the pranks.

He never really gives a damn about the punishments much to others surprise. He doesn't find Lucifer scary or intimidating, but for the sake of it, he'll pretend to submit just so he can get it over with.

His only attachments are with Yoosung, Pollux, Belphegor, Satan and Mephistopheles so far, he's grown soft spots to them especially.

Has a confusing relationship with Lucifer and Sirius. He claims he hates them, but.. Well, he secretly feels a bit conflicted with them. He definitely hates them for the most part though, unpleasant feelings or thoughts still arise whenever they're present.

As for why he hates Lucifer, it's for ridiculous personal reasons, but also because of certain incidents that had happened near the beginning of the exchange program that I will not expand on just yet.

uuh, that's all I think. If there's any typos, please lmk, I hate having minor spelling errors.

thanks for reading :3

btw he's a self insert, but just made better

Probably gonna regret posting this maybe, idk it's four am and I probably made some mistake of some kind I'll notice when my body doesn't feel tired..

This isn't all of my MC's lore btw, nonono, this is just the beginning of it. This is the top layer, we've got loads to unpack with him.. But I spare you for this post is already too fucking long LMAO

[themuselesswriter]

A Mad Queen for a Mad King - Chapter 6: Unwanted Guest

Characters: King George, Queen Charlotte, Brimsley, Reynolds, Original Female Character

Summary: George reconnects with an old childhood friend, although him and Reynolds are excited to have her, Charlotte and Brimsley have other thoughts.

Word count: 1700+

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi guys! It's me again with another oneshot unhinged collection! Feel free to write down your requests, I have muse! and I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! P.S. AI might've helped me writing the letters and some chapters are less edited than the rest.

Credits: photos from Pinterest, editing app is Picsart

---------------------------Teaser------------------------

George had been on his nerves lately, he was pacing around, mumbling whenever Charlotte caught a glimpse of him, he preferred his solitude rather than her company, it began ever since he heard the news of his mother's illness, he had been quite distressed, regardless of what Charlotte said or did.

His odd behaviours caused Charlotte to feel anxious as well, at first, she thought he was going to have an episode, but it never came, she suspected that he was going through an episode but he seemed sane enough, then one day, she sneaked into his observatory and went through his papers and found letters, strange letter that seemed to be written by a woman.

My dearest George,

Pray accept my humble salutations, and may this missive find you in the finest of spirits. I pen this epistle laden with heartfelt remorse, beseeching your gracious pardon for my untimely absence and regrettable inability to partake in the sacred union of your nuptials, as well as the subsequent array of festivities that ensued. Yet, tidings reached my ears of Princess Augusta's ailing constitution, for though her grace may not always have exuded warmth, her profound affection for you, akin to the depth of your devotion, remains indelibly etched in our collective hearts. Her regal maternal presence remains a cherished treasure to us all. I implore you, dear friend, how fares your own well-being amidst these tumultuous times? Undoubtedly, the weight of conflicting emotions and the shattering of your worlds must be an arduous burden to bear. Is there aught within my power to alleviate your distress?

With all the ardour of affection,

Matilda

The trail of messages continued, the more Charlotte read the more threatened she felt, she asked many of Matilda, but no one seemed to know her, or perhaps they wished not to tell the Queen of her, she assigned Brimsley to learn of her but all he heard that she used to stay with George, she would come and go, until the news of his marriage to Charlotte, then she disappeared and she has been gone since.

Today at breakfast, George seemed odd, he was not his usual upset self, he was anxious but the good kind of anxious, the excited kind, when Charlotte asked of the reason, he told her he was expecting visitors.

Continue Reading

[unadulterated-syd]

sirus black x reader

this is my first sirius fic pls be kind !

leave advice if you'd like :)

warnings -> underaged drinking mentioned, doesnt happen within fic, unedited.

synopsis -> sirius shows you his collection of odd sentimental items :)

the dimly lit common room felt more peaceful tonight than most other nights, most of the other gryffindors were already delicately tucked in for the night.

typically the marauders, mainly james and sirius, wouldve kept the whole house up. however, tomorrow called for james— early quidditch practice, whilst sirius found himself boredly keeping you company.

he would let out an exaggerated sigh every couple of minutes, trying to get your attention, which had failed till just about now.

"sirius, youre driving me bloody insane. what do you want?"

your eyes barely left the fire to glare at him, only to see him stand up and wander off. though odd, sirius was always odd. therefore you did not bother to call after him, nor even look fully his way.

your eyes returned to the fire, until the cushion beside you weighed down once more. finally your head turned his way.

"darling, look through these with me will you?"

his petnames had always pissed you off when you were younger, you'd always had a large crush on him. that was until the two of you had drunkenly shared an evening together, and things changed.

youd never officially started dating, you were both too frightened to truly commit to anything.

you sighed, finally shuffling to sit facing him on the couch. in his lap rested a box of random junk, some records, some photos, even an old beer bottle.

"whats all this, pads?" you hummed delicately sliding your fingers over the rim of the box.

"you'll see."

he dug his hand into the box pulling out the old beer bottle, dawning a look of faux wonder as his eyes met yours.

"you remember this ol' thing?"

your eyes traced the bottle, shrugging, "sirius thats an old beer bottle, you expect me to remember all the beer we've drunk?"

"well tred carefully, love, you surely dont remember the first time we drank, together?"

"the.. uhm.. you kept that?" you raised your hand, taking the bottle from his hand and scanning it.

"duh, youre holding it." he had already moved on by now, "or the first queen album i convinced reg to listen to."

youd remembered that, hed been so excited to share the group with regulus, even though regulus hadnt expressed much excitement.

he went on with the items, swiftly describing every item as he did. the cutest of all was the idea that he held onto things from all his friends.

a guitar pic from marlene, something mary had 'thrifted him'— even though he had no recollection of what that meant— photos of them all.

he wasn't necessarily sentimental, however he felt it was rude to throw away things that could mean something to someone else.

he'd never ever thought the bottle you'd both shared was important, but a fraction of him believed you would have kept it had you had any less to drink.

you listened through it all, though your eyes stayed loosily trained on the bottle, you'd thought he'd forgotten. however, he was rather quick to catch on.

"d'you think i forgot?"

"honestly, yes."

he gave you a smile, his brow raising dramatically, "you take me as a fool then?"

"a fool? i dont think i said all that."

"oh you've totally ruined me, a fool!" he faked yet another pout, throwing himself back on the common room couch.

you groaned at him, quickly jumping to your own defense, "listen, im not calling you a fool, i just—"

"i know what you meant, dear." his look went back to you once again, not bothering to sit up. "only a dimwitted fool would've forgotten. im just the fool who was too scared to make it more."

"you the fool!" you laughed, it only caused a wince as he misinterpreted your demenor, "we're both the fools, sirius. we've been out here passed bed and not one of us has even begun to entertain the idea of being together."

"perhaps were both fools." he gave you a michevious grin, "fools in love."

"dont even try, black, that was awful."

"dreadful even?"

"definetly dreadful."

he grinned, leaning closer to you, as if to plead for a midnight kiss. but in turn, you stood up grinning at him, "goodnight, love, i'll see you in the morning."

"y/n!", he whined at you, but you simply continued. midnight talks turned out to be rather nice, especially when they washed away the fear you'd once had.

harry potter tags -> @goodoldfashionedluvergirl

marauders tags -> none

sirius tags -> none

leave an ask to be added to any tags.

requested by @goodoldfashionedluvergirl

tysm for the req eva !! hope you enjoy <3

[blackbackedjackal]

I hope this isn’t a weird question, but how did you get into the practice of studying coyotes subspecies etc? Do you have to collect to be able to do so, or can online resources help? And where do you submit your findings. I’d love to get into something similar but I’m broke and unsure where to start

Not weird at all! It's just like, sort of a domino effect more than anything and a lot of really lucky interactions. It was like I had some major pieces of a big puzzle some but was missing other major parts that I eventually found by thinking outside the box.

I am not a researcher in the professional sense. I already had an interest in canids before I focused on coyotes, but it was an artistic interest. Color morphs and anatomy were interesting to me because at the time I wanted to improve on my art. So as I was going down different rabbit holes and collecting physical references (pelts, skulls, soft mounts, etc.) I noticed the one canid that had very little scientific research on them at the time were coyotes.

I couldn't find the answers I wanted online because the work hadn't been done. It was only in the mid 2010s this research finally started to surface in very random pockets online. But nothing as detailed or cohesive as the research done on ranched foxes, domestic dogs, and wolves. They were pretty much ignored by scientists because the stereotypes about them I believe kept people being scientifically interested in them at the time. The only information outside of Wikipedia were basically random studies published online, or old books I had to buy because the info had never been archived online.

So I figured, if I collected a bunch of them, I would have a library of information yet to be deciphered. I knew that genetic material would be needed at the bare minimum, and what better places than the roots of their teeth or the hair follicles to get the info from. I collected to archive any strange ones I came across and over time just got more detailed about my collection and data collection process the more I learned about how museums archived their collections. That's why I became a taxidermist, as it allowed me to collect things like tissue samples and work on the entire animal to get more information that I couldn't get from just buying skulls and the odd colored pelt.

I also attracted the right people interested in similar work through my blog. The three main researchers I work with I met through tumblr. We just all had the "we love coyotes bug" but in different ways. We started off chatting very casually and professionally (or about Steven Universe lmao) but they're some of my closest and dearest friends now. They were the missing pieces of my puzzle because the independent studies they had done about coyotes or other canids covered the gaps in my knowledge. We were able to teach each other and help each other.

Everything I've learned has come from independent study or group collaboration. I've spent thousands of hours just looking through all sorts of archives, online stores, libraries, forums, anywhere I thought may have some nuggets of information. I archived everything I could as any information was better than no information. I had to piece together various timelines, and corroborate that information with my friends who were more genetics or anatomical focused. We'd ask each other questions and were almost guarantee one of the 4 of us had an answer, had saved a book or article that may have the answer, or knew another researcher we could contact that had the answer.

So after years of this, the information became second nature. I went from not knowing anything about the subspecies, to being able to ID them form photos online or pelts and skulls in our collection. I went from having very little information, to an entire archive of scientific and historical data I collected on coyotes. We built our library and our community together. And even after all that STILL have not completed the puzzle, but we've gotten far closer by working together.

So to answer your questions, I got into the practice by practicing. To this day I'm still learning and archiving and updating my notes as I learn and improve. Nothing is set in stone but we have many hypotheses we've been muddling with and lining up things to aid in us to get actual funding and more definitive research done. We have plenty of questions, and some soft answers or plausible and likely theories, but we haven't shared any data because we either need to get the funding to run the tests we need, need to find other researchers who can help us add to our collective data, and in general just need the time to collaborate together in person (some of us are planning to move in together in the next few years though, so that's when things will really kick into high gear lol). Yes, online resources can help if the species you're interested in already have plenty of researchers who have published their findings, coyotes just aren't one of those species. Collecting physical specimens helps only if that's part of your research (like pathologies) AND if it's ethical to even collect those species to begin with. Coyotes are so numerous that we'd be able to have hundreds or thousands of specimens between the 4 of us and not effect their numbers (hopefully we won't need that many but like defiantly several hundred). Other species well, better get ready to jump into field research or working at conservation centers. Collecting information is (usually) free can often proves to be more valuable than many specimens you could collect. Like I can only decipher what's going on with my coyotes because of the books and articles and information I've read an gathered, especially when it's good information done by previous researchers.

We haven't shared much online aside from some specimen info/photos and things we can definitively say because a lot of our hypotheses either haven't been tested or proven/disproven. We don't want to spread any misinformation as that could ruin our reputation within the STEM community before we even begin, so until we have some tested and peer-reviewed info ready to publish (which is years down the line) and a couple of us get some more college/professional degrees under out belts, we've kept our research to ourselves for the integrity of the project. But we will be publishing any and all information when ready as a free online resource for other researchers. We want more people working in the field of coyote research and we're trying to help streamline the process so it's easier for people with no experience to get involved so they don't have to spend 5 years just researching HOW to research coyotes like we all have.

It's essentially self-led independent study. You have to just want to do it to do it. There's really no wrong way to do some general looking-up-things research. The hard part is learning how to do it ethically, scientifically, AND accepting you will make mistakes over and over that you have to be willing to self-correct. And trust me, it's far easier to do all of this if you find other people that you can work well with. You ain't gotta be besties (I just got very lucky in that regard), but you do need to be willing to corroborate your findings to check your work and ensure what you're doing is accurate.

tl;dr

[anotherdayforchaosfay]

Do you have any specific methods for picking out colors/what colors look good together?

This is a little difficult to explain because this is something I was more or less a gift I was born with, as was my mom and grandmother. I will do my best.

First, decide whether or not you're gonna work with a collection or not. A collection is made to go together. These are a great "cheat" and from there you just choose the pattern or make a pattern.

Here are quilts I made with collections:

If you're not using a collection, it helps to choose a focus fabric. This will be the star of the show. Choose the tone you want as well. Warm colors? Cool colors? A balance of volume is also important. If everything is the same volume, it'll look...odd. Take photos in greyscale to see how that volume looks. This is especially important when arranging the blocks.

Here some noncollection quilts I've made:

Look at this in greyscale. You'll see the dark blue and green are both nealy the same. The original layout looked very off, so I spent a couple hours rearranging these. Also, most of these are a warm tone. The turquoise adds sharpness and prevents this from looking muddy. Also, all the prints are from a collection by Tim Holtz. If you love brown, check him out.

Contrast is also very important. It plays a major role in volume. If there isn't enough contrast, it's gonna look a little muddy or washed out. Here are quilts with different contrast levels.

The first one is a wreck. My husband chose the fabric and wouldn't budge. He loves it, so whatever. You can see it has virtually zero contrast.

Contrast doesn't just mean color! It's prints, light vs dark, bright vs pastel. Different makes it better.

You can see the contrast is perfect with thr second quilt. Bright and dark, warm and cold, the middle has the most visual weight instead of being on just one side. The bird doesn't blend in, the wood print grounds it, and it's visually pleasing. Contrast makes a huge difference.

Sometimes I choose fabric for a pattern, other times I choose a pattern for the fabric. I'll take a lot of photos in different lighting to see how much I like the fabric and how I feel it will work best. There are occasions where I'll think I have the quilt top finished, but something is off. That's where the necessity of a border plays a roll, or a binding fabric that pulls it all together.

The pattern for this quilt top (i haven't quilted it yet) didn't call for a border, but it looked so off. Like everything was floating. I was very not okay with this! A dark, heavy, firm border was absolutely necessary. Now it's perfect. The binding will be black and serve as a frame, and blend into the border. Also, loom at this is greyscale. You'll see how well volume of color works and how balanced it is.

Another example of framing a quilt:

I have three fabric collections in this quilt, and chose to add sashing between the blocks so they didn't blend in with each other. The volume of those background colors are way too similar. Because of howbheavy the center is, I chose to use the same background fabric for the border and a multicolor binding. It frames so well! One of the prints is really heavy, but I made it work.

I hope this helped, but if you need me to clarify anything, just ask. I have made errors, like letting my husband pick all the fabrics instead of just one. From that mistake, I have decided that if a client wants to choose the fabric, they can choose only one. My earlier quilts weren't great and, looking back, I can see what I did and have corrected it with later quilts. Balance, contrast, tone, and volume are the things to work with. Also, play with prints. They are your friends.

[the-offside-rule]

Anthony Gordon (Newcastle United) - Uh-Oh...

Requested: yes

Prompt: 9) Baby clothes shopping

Warnings: none tbh

Baby Promptlist

Anthony had never imagined himself walking through the baby section on a quiet Thursday afternoon, yet here he was. His fingers grazed over tiny onesies, pastel blues and soft greys. Next to him, his girlfriend, Y/n smiled as she inspected a miniature pair of socks. "You know, I never thought baby clothes would be this cute." Anthony said with a small chuckle, trying to ignore the odd flutter of nerves in his stomach. His life had changed so much in the last year, from signing with Newcastle to preparing to become a father.

Y/n grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I told you! Look at these little hats." She held up a tiny beanie that couldn’t have been larger than his palm. "I can't wait to see our baby in this." He smiled, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "I say we get him a jersey first." He said lowly as to not attract any unwanted attention. "Him? We don't even know the gender yet and you're assuming it's a boy?"

"Well you know what they say; the girl takes the beauty, the boy doesn't and if I may, you're still looking as gorgeous as ever." Y/n slapped his arm gently and returned to looking at the shelves. Despite the serenity of the moment, there was a knot of unease twisting in his chest. While everything about this journey with Y/n felt right, there was one thing looming over them; his fans didn't know. They had yet to announce Y/n’s pregnancy to the world, keeping their lives private until they were ready. And yet, that privacy was fragile, especially in public spaces like this. They moved on to another rack of clothes, Y/n holding up an adorable little set with giraffes, and Anthony lost himself in her excitement for a moment. But then it happened.

"Anthony Gordon?"

The voice came from behind them. Anthony stiffened, his heart rate kicking up a notch. Slowly, he turned around to see a young fan, probably in her early twenties, standing a few feet away with wide eyes and a shocked expression. "Heya." He said, trying to keep his voice casual, though he could feel the pressure mounting in his chest. "Oh my God, it’s really you!" She gasped, looking between him and Y/n. "I didn’t expect to see you here, like, ever." Her gaze flickered down to the baby clothes in Y/n’s hands and then back up to Anthony with an even more curious expression. "Yeah, just doing a bit of shopping." Anthony replied, his mouth suddenly dry. His mind raced. They weren’t ready for this. He wasn’t ready for this. The fan hesitated for a moment, clearly trying to piece things together. "Oh. Shopping for a gift?" She offered an awkward smile, probably thinking it was the best way to explain why they were in the baby section.

Anthony's heart pounded. He could feel his face warming up, panic settling in. He was used to being in the spotlight on the pitch, but this? This was different. This was his personal life, something precious and private. "Yeah, my friend has a baby shower coming up. Thought we'dget her something nice." Y/n interjected smoothly, her voice calm and collected. She shot him a supportive glance before turning back to the fan with a polite smile. "It's nice to meet you." The girl blinked, still processing the situation. "Oh, right! Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you both. Can I just, um, get a picture real quick?"

Anthony nodded, though his mind was still whirling. "Course you can." He replied energetically, forcing a smile. He posed for a quick photo, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Would this fan say something online? Would rumors start swirling before they were ready to announce? Once the fan had snapped her picture and waved them off, Anthony sighed in relief. But the unease didn’t leave him. Y/n must have sensed his tension because she laced her fingers through his and gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Hey." She said softly, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts. "Shes not going to say anything."

"Maybe." Anthony said, though his voice sounded more unsure than he intended. "I just, I wasn’t expecting that. What if she does say something? What if people start asking questions?" Y/n stopped walking, turning to face him fully. Her hands came up to cup his face, grounding him in the moment. "Then they'llask questions and we'llleave it at that. Its none of their business." He looked into her eyes, the anxiety slowly melting away as he focused on the warmth and strength in her gaze. Y/n had always had this calming effect on him. She was his anchor in the chaos of his career, and now, she would be his partner in this new chapter of their lives.

"Yeah, you're right." He admitted, leaning into her touch. "I just want this to be separate from football for now." He smiled as he pushed the trolley along. "It will be." She assured him, hooking her arm with his. Anthony smiled softly as she rested her head onto his side. "I love you, you know that?" Y/n grinned. "I do. And I love you, too."

With a deep breath, Anthony pushed the anxiety to the back of his mind. He wasn’t going to let fear ruin this moment with Y/n. They had a baby on the way, and that was the most important thing. The world could wait. "Now-" Y/n said with a teasing smile. "Help me pick out some more baby clothes, for the little fella. We’ve got a whole wardrobe to build." Anthony chuckled, the tension lifting. "Hasn't even been born yet and you're assuming it's a boy?" He replied in a mocking tone.

[theinstagrahame]

Time again for the Crowdfunding Haul post!

(And I guess another amateurish product photo shoot)

This one's feels slightly different because this is all stuff I pre-ordered, crowdfunded, or otherwise got prior to being laid off at the end of June (so it'd be real nice if people bought some games from me). Coincidentally a dozen or so of them happened to come to completion around June-July of 2023, some of them.

Here's what came in: Top row: Monster of the Week: Codex of Worlds, Runecairn Bestiary, CBR+PNK, Miru and Miru II (or MIIRU)

Middle row: Ritual: A Folk Horror Game, Plant Girl Game, and A Dungeon Game

Bottom row: Sleeping Heart of the Garden, Hard Wired Island: Tales from L5, Broken Heart of the Castle, the Moss Mother's Maze (for a Dungeon Game), and Null

Why I'm hyped for these:

Monster of the Week: Codex of Worlds: MotW is a hugely influential game, but also it is a lot of fun. So it's really hard to pass up an expansion. I've also been noticing a trend of bringing Forged in the Dark-style group sheets to PbtA games, which I think is an interesting one.

Runecairn Bestiary: Who doesn't love a good monster manual? Runecairn is a beautiful game, and the marketing for the bestiary supplement worked on me. Incredible art, stats for monsters. One of the things I've felt is missing from some solo games is a good sense of monsters you can encounter, and this fills that gap nicely.

Miru and Miru II: I was intrigued by Miru and picked up a copy on Itch. I haven't read it yet, but the premise and the art definitely grabbed me. I was a little sad that I'd missed the initial print run, so when there was a crowdfunder for a reprint *and* a sequel, how could I not?

Ritual: A Folk Horror Game: World Champ Game Co is one of several Indie designers that never miss. It also comes with a small deck of ritual cards with really visceral and cool images that I think adds a ton to the game. That said, I am also a huge sucker for limited edition print runs... So when I saw there may only be a handful of these available, well, I jumped.

Plant Girl Game: I learned about this one on @partyofonepod, and was so intrigued by the game, and the creator, and the world that it proposed that I had to know more. It's a game focused on family, on community, and on peaceful resolutions to small-town problems. So it's definitely an odd one out on this list, but the ways in which it's different are also one of the reasons I so love TTRPGs.

A Dungeon Game and the Moss Mother's Maze: I followed the evolution of Bissette's A Dragon Game into A Dungeon Game on Twitter, from shitpost to full-fledged game. It was really fun to watch, and to skim the Designer's Commentary on the original ADG. So, when I heard there'd be an adventure module (aaaand again a limited print run for the main game...) I leapt on it as fast as my email could carry me.

Sleeping Heart of the Garden and Broken Heart of the Castle: I've followed a few of the creators involved in this project on Twitter for a while, and generally was intrigued to see what they could do with a system-agnostic adventure. I was surprised by the size when they arrived, because you get to expect the half-page zine format. But I think these books are beautiful and I can't wait to explore them.

Hard Wired Island: Tales from L5: HWI is a stunning piece of TTRPG content, and I've been wanting to dig into the world further. So, a collection of short adventures? Hell yeah! It even came with a really catchy little soundtrack, the final track for which I think about all the time when considering Cyberpunk content...

Null: Everything Spencer Campbell puts out just shreds. I did nearly sleep on Null, but I was intrigued by the recent trend of Play-to-Lose games that I've seen coming out lately. There is something kind of powerful about going into a game knowing your character won't come out, which I think allows you to make different decisions. I was interested to see where this game fit into Campbell's catalog, as well as into my own play style.

CBR+PNK: Been getting into Forged in the Dark stuff lately. I also nearly let this one pass me by, when I'd heard that it was aimed at one-shot games. But, I was still intrigued to see what could be done with Cyberpunk in the FitD framework (and besides, maybe there's a way an enterprising designer could campaigns in there...). I was glad I picked it up, because I started playing games with some friends over Discord, and I was able to pitch this. We've been enjoying it. It's even serving really well as a prequel to the Beam Saber campaign we're planning (Also really convenient that it arrived before we finished the one-shot). Besides, the physical edition did turn out really nicely:

Bonus game-related stuff:

I picked up Inhuman Conditions (right) because I'd heard it on Friends at the Table. It seems like an extremely fun game, but also the Sangfielle campaign episode(s) where they play it are ones that I think about a lot. Also, one of the things I love about FatT is their ability to wield the power of play to do incredibly powerful things.

The Tears of the Kingdom Strategy Guide I kinda wanted less because I was stuck or wanted tips on playing TotK, but because the bundle I got for my Switch and Breath of the Wild came with one, and I kinda wanted to put both on the shelf. Zelda has been one of those series that I've always had throughout my life, so I've got a lot of emotional investment. The two strategy guides are beautiful, and I will probably end up skimming through it when I've gotten through the main game.

[sandcobangevent]

Looking for Love

by emilycare and gurpyman Read the fic and view the art on AO3!

Chapter 1

“Watson, you’re acting oddly.”

“I’m odd? I’m not the one who is standing on their head upside down, waiting until they pass out, mate.”

“We are gathering important information. I’m not simply waiting for unconsciousness. This is a scientific experiment. That is, it would be if you collected the data I requested of you.”

“Right. You want me to time how long it takes for you to get dizzy, fall down and give yourself a concussion.  Are we perhaps trying to determine whether a perp would be undone first by being knocked out by loss of blood flow, versus blunt force trauma?”

 “Of course not, Watson. We’re seeking information about the challenges faced by the target of a crime. Say they were held upside down during an abduction ”

“Right, right. Sherlock, you’re looking pretty red in the face now. How’re you doing?”

“I’m just fine, Watson. Please take some photos to document my physiological changes. But you didn’t answer my query.”

“What are you on about? Hold still, I won’t use the flash, don’t worry.”

“How can I clarify and also hold still at the same time?”

“You’re making the picture all blurry, talking. Pick one or the other—question me or do your research. Can’t have both. Oh! There’s a good one. It’s just not fair. Even arse over teakettle, you’re still ridiculously good looking. Don’t know how you do it...”

“Are you quite finished?”

“Yeah—oooh, no your ears are turning really pink now, too. Got to capture this. There. Go ahead, ask away.”

“You keep looking at your phone.”

“And….?”

“You’ve looked at your phone an average of five times more than your usual, already rather elevated, rate.”

“You do remember that I am timing you for your little experiment, yeah?”

“Even accounting for that, you’re far more distracted than is typical. And you’re clearly changing from the timer app to another. Your eyes scan up when the notification arrives, and the light on your face increases when you open the other application.”

“Just texting, mate. Nothing to see here.”

“That’s patently untrue. Mike Stamford is away on a business conference—but he will be engaged with social activities by this time of night and would have stopped texting you frequently which he commonly does during boring talks. Your Mother has already texted you this week and she always does so on the weekdays, typically when she is about to drive to an interview with prospective parents who are not yet in birth process, rather than when she is on call or engaged in a time sensitive response.”

“Right. Well. Guess you’ve got a few points there. But it could just be Mariana?”

“Yes, well. Mrs Hudson is a possibility.”

“See, there. Nothing strange after all. Just case prospects from the good old third wheel to our tricycle. The, um, well..”

“I believe the allusion you are looking for might be the ‘Third Musketeer?’ Which is ironic, given that there are in fact four musketeer characters which feature in those novels.”

“Exactly! Our third Musketeer! Oh, mate, you’re looking pretty bad. Let me check your pulse and….yeah, that’s done now.”

“But, I haven’t..I don’t…”

“See, you’re getting confused. Upsy daisy, my friend. There you go. Oh, you’re pretty wobbly—hang onto me.”

“Watson the world is spinning.”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. Just be still for a moment. I’ve got you.”

“Thank you, Watson.”

“What are you doing? Give that back! Now see, you should sit down. Don’t try to steal my phone. There you go. Just settle back and I’ll get you some water.”

“That would be good, I haven’t drunk anything in 12 hours, to simulate the effects of being mistreated in captivity.”

“What! I can’t believe…”

“Watson. Are you angry with me?”

“No. No, Sherlock. Just worried.”

“Is that why you’re looking at your phone again?”

“Here, let me set this down and take your pulse again. Drink that. Much better.”

“Thank you, Watson.”

“Let’s just forget about my phone for now, and get you set to rights.”

Chapter 2

“Sherlock?”

“Yes, Mrs Hudson?”

“What are you doing?”

“That should be patently obvious, I should think. Making tea.”

“Yes, but…”

“I do make tea occasionally, despite what John may say. I even know just how you like it. You see, I do observe.”

“Yes… Oh—that is just how I like it. What is that smoky taste?”

“Honey. Of a special pedigree. The bees gathered the nectar from meadow wildflowers in Sussex. Gathered in the summer of 2022, which you may well recall was a particularly dry year. Increased temperatures brought on an extended drought, which in some places due to negligence, in others to malicious action, created a season of wildfires.”

“Wildfires? Oh. Oh, Sherlock. This is so very good.”

“Is it? Excellent. Your response to that cup of Lapsang Souchong tea you drank inadvertently at a restaurant when the orders of our table and the next were swapped led me to believe you would particularly appreciate this vintage of the fruit of the labor of these particular Apis mellifera, from that time and place—”

“Apis—oh, I see! The honeybees made the honey after there were fires and somehow the nectar was made smoky. Sherlock, that is brilliant! I had no idea that was even possible, but it makes this cup of tea, somehow, just—”

“Perfect. Yes. I had thought it might.”

…

“So, you haven’t answered my question, yet.”

“Haven’t I? I thought I had given your question quite a thorough response.”

“No, Sherlock. I know what you are doing, making tea. Oh, and thank you. That is. Mm. Delicious. But why are you doing it here?”    

“I do live here.”

“Not here you don’t. You live upstairs. 221b.”

“And our offices are here, in 221a. You spend quite a bit of time up in our flat. Cook dinner, watch television. Do your hair. There are, in fact, three types of hair product on our shelves which are yours. Unless John has begun using Aceite de moska hair oil. Which, if he did, would make him look more like a greased seal than he normally does after coming out of the shower.”

 “Ah, okay, I can move my things out of your shower if you like. It’s just—you’re much closer to the hot water tank than I am, and your hot water is really steaming.”

“No, no. There’s no need for that. You don’t need to stop being upstairs so much. I just had thought it meant you thought of this whole place, both flats, as being ours.”

“That’s very sweet, Sherlock. So, here you are, making tea in our flat, for me?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then, thank you. I appreciate it very much. And for the honey. That was very thoughtful.”

“Yes.”

…

“Sherlock? Do you have something on your mind? You keep drumming your fingers on the table.”

…

“Sherlock? What is it?”

“I want to ask you something. About Watson.”

“About John? What is that?”

“I want to know if you know what he is hiding.”

“Hiding? How could he hide anything from you? You two live in that little flat together.”

“Which we share with you.”

“Yes, we share the flats, as we have discussed. And I mean, there’s little you haven’t seen of John. Parading around half naked after a shower as you said.”

“I said he looked like a seal, I did not refer to his state of undress.”

“Not mentioning his unmentionables? Very good of you.”  

…

“Sherlock? Are you blushing?”

“Absolutely not, Mrs Hudson. This tea water is very hot and has caused me to flush.”

“Uh huh. Well, what is it that you think he is hiding?”

“On his phone. There is something to do with his phone.”

“Oh.”

…

“Oh?”

“Mm. Maybe I do have some idea of what is going on with John.”

“What is it, Mrs Hudson?”

“Sherlock, I’m not—oh, whatever. But, no, I’m not at liberty to tell you. But really, Sherlock. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Whyever would I be worried about whatever is occupying John’s attention? Is this something to do with his family? It can’t be a case, you wouldn’t say that is private. That would, in fact, very much concern us all. Is it the military? Is there some issue from his past coming to haunt him? Why wouldn’t he bring that to me? I could certainly help, if, say, he’s been accused of something. Or if someone was blackmailing him about this time in Ukraine. Why on Earth would he come to you about that but not me?”

(laughing) “Sherlock, hold on here. You are going wildly in the wrong direction. When I said it was personal I mean it was, well, a personal matter. A social thing.”

“Social. Oh! You mean, romantic.”

“Yes! Correct.”

“Ah, of course. How foolish of me. I’m sorry to have wasted your time, Mrs Hudson. I now understand what I saw when I was able to steal a look at his phone. That is indeed something which does not concern me. If Watson wishes to find someone to partner with, that’s his concern. I imagine we can advertise for another subletter. Perhaps we should try to find someone with some of his skillsets? It is rather convenient to have someone with medical knowledge on hand. And combat experience. And his sports background is rather useful when we need to chase after a suspect. I’ll start working on an advertisement… What are you laughing about?”

“You. Both of you. I swear, Sherlock. John is not going anywhere. Really. You do not have to advertise to replace him.”

“Why ever not? Isn’t he placing an ad in some romantic matching service to find a mate? Won’t he need to move from here to conjoin his life with whatever fraulein he finds to—”

“Trust me, Sherlock. Whatever John thinks he is looking for, he already has it. Right here.”

…

“Are you certain?”

“Absolutely.”

Chapter 3

“Sherlock, I have something to tell you. I mean, ask you. I mean, I have something to ask of you. A favor. If you will.”

“Watson, you are most welcome to use my body wash. It is hypoallergenic and has a much subtler scent than that thing you replaced your minty product with. And you really shouldn’t mask your own scent when going out with a date, especially first time, how else will they catch that essential scent of y—”

“Oi! Mate. You—wait, you know I’m going on a date?”

“Obviously, Watson. You’ve gone back and forth to the loo 5 times, with different shirt and tie combinations. Your trousers are pressed. You’ve even shined your shoes. I do hate to mention that that pair is not actually intended to be polished. It’s not leather. Imitation.”

“Oh bollocks! I thought that wasn’t looking right. And the more I put on the stranger the color got.”

“Yes, rather. You should just wear your light tan pair, with the cream shirt, no tie.”

“But that one is a bit tight around middle.”

“Mm. Yes. No, I mean it’s properly snug. You always wear things from off the rack, so you don’t actually know what it’s like to wear something properly fitted.”

“That thing feels like a piece of me. Like’s its part of my skin.”

“Exactly, Watson. Your garments should not float about in space, but should be fitted to your own unique dimensions.”

“Ah, thanks, mate. Honestly, I wasn’t sure how you’d take it. I mean, I haven’t properly dated anyone since we, well, since we bunked up together. I mean, since we moved in together. That is, since we found the flat and started the business, and became...friends. And all.”

“Friends. Yes. I understand, Watson. You’ve had a nice time living here, and are ready to move on. It always happens eventually.”

“That is not what I said! I am not ready to move on. I mean, I am not looking to move on. That is, mate, I’m happy. Very happy here. I just, also want, some, well, intimate companionship.”

“Are we not intimate companions? You drooled on my shoulder just yesterday.”

“That was Archie.”

“No, Archie drooled on my chest during his nap two days ago. Prodigious slaver, that dog has. You fell asleep during that fascinating documentary on the interactions between boreal insects. And your head fell on my shoulder. You seemed knackered, so I hadn’t the heart to move you. And so, my shirt had to be laundered yet again.”

“Oh, Christ. I’m very sorry. I don’t remember that.”

“You were sleeping.”

“I was trying to figure out how I ended up in my bed last night.”

“You really aren’t very heavy, Watson. Still need some feeding up, after your time recovering from your war wounds.”

“Hello? Anyone up there? Is there a John Watson here?”

“Yes, you’ve found him. Oh, well. I see. Very sorry Watson. Perhaps your next attempt will go better.”

“What?! Shush, Sherlock. Please, come in. Andrea, is it? It’s a pleasure to meet you. Though you do look just a wee bit different than I’d been imagining.”

“Oh, there are two of you up, here is it? Well, you live up to your description, Doctor Watson. And who is your friend?”

“My friend was just leaving. Didn’t you have that thing, Sherlock?”

“Sherlock! Oh! Then you are that John Watson. I have found your podcast just so fascinating. And please don’t go, Mr Holmes. Please, not on my account.”

“You may take your hand off of my forearm, Ms Currington. I am still not going to take your case.”  

“But you must, Mr Holmes! I am certain that my husband is cheating on me. And if you weren’t going to answer my emails, I thought I could just be clever—”

“And stalk my housemate through dating apps, entrap him into setting a date with you, and then infiltrate yourself into our casework via his overactive gonads? I think not.”

“You honey trapped me to get to Sherlock? Oh, I’ve had some dates go wrong, but this…?”

“It’s really not like that, John. I did like your profile. I just stumbled over it, and thought well, why not kill two birds with one stone?”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Really? ‘Looking for a brilliant, mysterious, willowy someone. Ideally brunette. Must love danger and okay if you’re pretty much round the twist?’ I mean from listening I rather thought you were gone over Sherlock, but after reading that, I just thought, well, he's pretty up on swinger culture. Maybe he’d be down for a three way, and then we can talk shop and it would all just fall into place. I could get back at my husband for his affair at the same time. Three birds, one stone, even.”

…

“So, what do you two think of my offer?”

“Shall I see her to the door?”

“Most grateful, mate.”

Chapter 4

“Sherlock!  Albóndigas?! This is my favorite dish. My mother always made them when I came home from school. They smell delicious. How…?”

“I am afraid they are not strictly authentic, Mrs Hudson. The recipe calls for pork and veal. However, Watson frowns on veal. I’ve stopped eating it, and I found that when I called for the food delivery service to bring the ingredients to make this I could not—”

“You made this? Oh, my mouth is drooling. The herbs and vegetables seem just right. Oh that broth! Do you mind if I try it? I actually was just thinking about what to have for dinner, and…”

“Of course. That is why I brought them to you, now. Watson is out, and you typically cook for yourself or come up to see if we want to eat with you. But you know I’ve been eating tomato pasta this past week.”

“Oh, muy sabrosa! This is delicious, Sherlock. And very thoughtful. Would you like some as well?”

“No. No, the thought of eating meat turns my stomach right now, actually. But I thought you could perhaps join me in some penne pasta on the side.”

“Sit, let me get you a glass of water. Please.”

…

“So, Watson…”

“Sherlock, did you bring me a dish to get me to talk about John, again?”

“People seem to relax when they eat. I thought this might be an acceptable way to bring up a difficult topic.”

“Well, I am not complaining. But you don’t have to do this. I appreciate it greatly. And when your stomach is doing better, I would love to do more Spanish cooking with you. I think you have a talent.”

“Cooking is simply a matter of following directions, much like chemistry. I’ve always found it simple. Just un-necessary for my own needs, generally.”

“John would appreciate it too, if you made some of his favorite dishes.”

“No. That won’t be necessary. He’s gone on another date, and I am sure that he’ll soon be moving out.”

“No, Sherlock. He won’t.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Sherlock, have you looked at his profile?”

“I’m sure that would be a breach of his privacy.”

“There is nothing more public than a dating profile! He is literally posting information about what he wants, for the entire world to see.”

“But he told me he didn’t want me to look at his phone.”

“Well, you can look on your own phone.”

“I refuse to download that kind of ridiculous application.”

“Uh huh. Well, I’ve got it on mine. Come and see.”

…

“I shouldn’t.”

“Oh, he’s updated it again. Very interesting…”

“What...what does it say now?”

“You could just come and see.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

“Trust me, Sherlock. If there is anyone in this world that should be looking at this, it is you.”

“So I can help find John—I mean, Watson, when he’s gotten trapped by yet another scurrilous respondent, this time a criminal who will also recognize him and kidnap him to get to me?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! You really have got to stop letting your imagination run away with you. No. You should see it because it is entirely obvious to me that when he is describing his dream person, it is you.”

“Dream girl you mean. And it can’t be. Couldn’t. He’s interested in women. I sometimes wondered if he would throw himself at you. For example.”

“John has always been a gentleman with me. And a very good friend. I’ll always be grateful that he thought of having our business take on my Visa.”

“Yes. He’s very kind. Thoughtful.”

“Smart and fun to be around, too, right? And handsome?”

“Watson’s looks are…acceptable.”

“Right. That’s why I catch you watching him when he falls asleep on the couch, right? To make sure that he still looks ‘acceptable.’”

“I believe Watson may have sleep apnea. I’m just watching out of concern.”

“Well, with how he snores, you may have something there. But why would you sketch him then?”

“What are you talking about?”

“In your notebook. I was going through to make sure that I’d gathered all the receipts, since I know you use them as bookmarks for your notes on cases. And I saw right there, several absolutely lovely drawings of John.  One was of him sleeping. In another, I think he was feeding ducks? And in another…”

“Fine. Right. Yes. I was merely attempting to improve my life drawing skills. I am around Watson quite a bit. He seemed a useful enough subject.”

“Uh huh. Well. Okay, Sherlock. Have it your way. But you still need not worry.”

“Well, that’s fine. Because I am very much not worried. If Watson wants to find a woman and leave that is very much his own affair. But, you said he might not be with a woman, why do you say so?”

“Well, because on this dating profile, he has indicated that he is open to both women and men to date.”

“Let me see that!”

Chapter 5

“Sherlock?”

….

“Sherly—Sherlock? Um, hello?”

“Watson. What is it? Why are you waking me up? Is there case? A client?”

“No—(hic). No case. Mind if I sit down here for a mo?”

“John, you are on my bed.”

“Mmm hmm. Yupsy dupsy. That I am. Shove over will you?”

“Watson. John! What are you doing?”

“Mmmmm…cuddling. I think this is called cuddling. At least it was last time I was with someone. Have they changed what they call that to something else now? Kids are always saying something else.”

“Erm, John. No, I think the best term for what you’re engaging in now would be cuddling, if you were with someone with whom you were intimately involved. But with me, I am really not sure what the right word is.”

“Mmmm… You’re warm. And soft. I kind of hoped you’d be. You look all kind of angly, so tall and all elbows and knees. But here you’re soft. And your skin…”

“John! That tickles. Stop touching my belly. And my arms… Oh. That feels rather nice when you touch the back of my neck that way. Mm. Yes. Could you scratch the base of my skull? No, not that hard. Mm. Yes. Oh, lovely. Now just pull slightly—wait, John. Get out of my bed, right now. You are inebriated and you are going to regret all of this in the morning.”

“Whoa! Oi—what am I doing on the floor? Ouch.”

“Are you alright, John?”

“Oh, I think so. But I wonder if you could maybe make the world stop spinning?”

“Sit here. I’m going to go get you some water now.”

“Mmm. Soft sheets. Comfy pillow. You have the best bed, Sherlock.”

“I am rather fond of it. Here, Watson. Drink up.”

“Watson, is it now? I’ve been demoted from John?”

“I was worried about you. You crawled into my bed. And now you’ve done it again.”

“Missing something though now. Come back in here, Sherlock. Please?”

“John…”

“Mmm…promoted back up to John! This night may not be a total waste then.”

“Waste? Ah, your date. A loss?”

“Total. Entire. Complete. Disaster.”

“Did someone die? Was it a murder? No, then you’d be bringing me back to solve the case. And this would be far from a wasted evening.”

“No, mate, no murders. Kinda wish there had been one.”

“Agreed. Work on that, Watson.”

(Sigh) “Ah well. Guess it was all for nothing then, after all.”

“John, lay back down. You are far too wobbly to get up. There, that’s right. I’ve got you.”

“Do you? You know you do, don’t you?”

“Watson, what are you talking about. You need to sleep this off. Let me get the light.”

“First time I’ve been on a date with a fella. He was so sweet. And clever. And fit.”

“Your…date? It was a man?”

“Yup. He wanted to kiss me, too.”

“Did you let him?”

“No…It wouldn’t have felt right.”

“Why not, John?”

“Because the whole night, I’m with this wonderful fellow, who’s interested in me, and charming, and rather brilliant—he talked my ear off about geopolitics, in a good way.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“So, why, Watson, if you’ve suddenly had a revelation that you are in fact attracted to men, and found one who was attractive to you and was in turn attracted to you, did you not let him kiss you?”

“Because, mate, I spent the entire night thinking, ‘I wish it was Sherlock with me right now.’”

“Did you? Really? You missed me, on your date?”

“Yes. Really. And no, I didn’t miss you on my date, I missed you not being my date.”

“What?”

“I mean, I wished it was you, you utter numpty.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“You wished it was me on your date?”

“Yes.”

“You wished it was me that you were dating?”

“Yup. Correcto. Super duper exacto free fall, head over heel, tremendo on the nosey.”

“John.”

“Sherlock?”

“I am going to turn off the light now. You are going to go to sleep.”

“In your bed?”

“Yes, right where you are.”

“And?”

“And then in the morning, if you still say any of these things and mean them.”

“Which I will mate. The bulb has lit.”

“If you still feel this way in the morning, we will have a little discussion about appropriate consent. Then I shall ask you to kiss me.”

(A thump and a cry)

“John!”

“I’m here on the floor. Fell. Um. I think I am the numpty. Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“Please keep rubbing my head like that.”

“Certainly, my dear Watson.”

“Sherlock, if I promise you that I will in fact definitely still feel this way in the morning, sober, would you let me give you a teensy tiny little kiss right now?”

…

“Sherlock?”

“Perhaps. Just a tiny one.”

…

“Sherlock?”

“Perhaps just one more.”

[imnotgoinganywhereok]

Yall, my entire Gallery suggestion part is filled with nurseries the second Growing Together came out. I used this opportunity to play with literally any other pack that I like better XDDD Behold, a cute pet park I built a couple of days ago. I'm also reading old books and manga I bought some time ago (that I stashed away immediately) so I don't feel shame about not reading them!! It's really cool, it feels productive. I'm still actively looking for a job but at least I'm not turning into a basement-dweller who does absolutely nothing all day. I spend time with friends and indulge in my hobbies that bring me joy. Keep your fingers crossed for me for a little longer!!

Switching the narrative to the Owls now... Serafin and Mantella went on a date to their favourite restaurant, got all lovey-dovey, and faced the wrath of Mrs. Crumplebottom!! Mantella got the short end of the stick but at least the rest of the date went smoothly - the food was good and the mood was up after Agnes left the restaurant. This outing marks the start of the experimental food photos collection!! I'll have a lot of fun visiting different restaurants and trying all the "odd" food - maybe I'll build another restaurant just for this purpose!!

Mantella still bakes a lot, and when there is no space in the fridge for yet another pastry - she gives them away to her friends and family. Franciszek A. doesn't mind getting a snack or two, and a friendly gift is always a good way to boost the relationship. Also, I absolutely forgot that the oversized crop version of the mushroom can be turned into a stool once you harvest it!! Isn't it so cool? It is the only oversized crop that serves a purpose after being turned into a decor item, which is a shame. Nevertheless, I want to have them all on a display somewhere soon.

[emily-opps]

The box hidden in father’s woodshed

I don't remember being alive until my 12th birthday. Father says that is because I don't sleep enough. With his loud booming voice he proclaims: “You must stop spending so much time on your phone, it is why you don't have memories.” Why would technology cause me to forget half of my very own life? The school counselor always blamed it on a slightly unhealthy upbringing. My father had a lot of family visit me growing up, women & men of all sorts. I have but the faintest glimpses of them. Golden hair, stunning blue eyes and bronze hands. Tragically I don't remember them anymore, all of my extended family is a mystery. No buddy has visited me and father for years. I'm mostly alone, father leaves for work quite often. For the most part I have raised myself I like to believe, but he likes to credit all my aunts and uncles. I'm not sure why he does that considering I haven't seen any of them in over 10 years. Our home is small, a quaint little place. Hanging flower pots, gift from an aunt apparently. Neat little pillows on all the sitting, woven with intricate designs, another gift. The window looks out to wonderful cliffs and mountains, a spectacular view which I often drink tea from. We are quite some way away from the city. Part of me craves to move closer to the city to be able to spend more time with friends. Now in college I get to visit very often but its not the same. Yet I can't make myself leave. The smell of rosemary in all the halls, the collection of jazz music for the ancient radio (another gift, an uncle), the countless photographs of a family I have no knowledge about. A puzzling mystery that I simply can't run away from. My room is filled with instruments, awards from well everything, from poetry to decathlon awards. I have always been a sort of jack of all traits and talents. I feel shameful to admit that nothing ever felt like it belonged to me, not even this home. I adore it truly but it feels more like a family heirloom than a home.

The house moves. It shifts and twists, it smells intoxicatingly sweet at times, other times of grapes, of burning ashes without a fire, of the distant sea and of wild moss. The rooms they change. New ones appear at times, only for father to tell me they are for a guest. He claims the house has been the same since my birth, but I know he is lying. They all are, the psychiatrists, therapists, doctors & counselors. All of them are playing this weird game of my father’s. I know what I see, when new gifts or photos appear some of which I'm in but can't recall taking. I'm not just forgetting, am I? Why can I remember, why can't I see, see what they all see, a little house on the hill 3 kilometers away from the city. That's all, that's all it's ever been right?

My thoughts turning into dark overbearing shadows, I try to hide to run, but where to? There is no place to go that's near except for father’s woodshed. It's small, smaller on the inside, all of fathers strange equipment takes up quite a bit of space. But it’s dark, it's quiet, it smells of damp wood, nothing strange, nothing odd. Just a girl hunched over in her fathers shed, whipping, praying for it to stop. On this particular visit out of the corner of my covered eyes I spot a glimpse, a shimmer below the floorboards. Gold. It sings, it hums softs notes to me. It calls to me. I rip out the wood with my nails, and there I see it. A box, or jar perhaps? It’s shiny gold with red, blue and green paint, and jewels arranged in patterns throughout it. I felt this force making my hand clasp around the lid. All my life nothing felt like mine, for me, I belonged to nothing and no one. But this? This is mine, only for me, I feel it in my bones, skull & veins.

I have made a grave mistake. The air of the earth turns to ash and smoke.

I felt a gust of wind hitting my back, It didn't matter, the box was the only thing that did. In a swiftt motion I pull off the lid.

I hear my father say: “Pandora! What have you done!”

[dancuny]

Nova Subminiature Camera

My camera collection is very eclectic, and I am drawn to odd and unusual cameras and photo items. I did a blog posting on the Minolta Six camera a couple of weeks ago. What drew me to that particular camera was that it didn't have the standard cloth bellows system but rather a series of metal cubes that pulled out and retracted back into the camera to form the bellows. These were very similar to a camping cup, where the larger rings pull away from the smaller ones on the bottom, creating a cone-shaped cup. 

 A year or so ago, there was a pretty major auction of cameras in the United States, with hundreds, if not thousands, of cameras and other photo items sold. There were many "lots" that had several cameras, maybe as many as 25-30 grouped into similar lots. I won one of these "lots" that had several smaller and subminiature cameras, many in their cases and several in the original box. The Nova Subminiature camera was in that particular lot.

I can still remember unwrapping the camera and opening the case to a camera I had seen in McKeown's Camera price guides many times. When I pulled the bellows out to find that they had a cubed bellows system, I immediately put the camera on my display shelf because I was drawn to its look.

The Company:

Here's where it gets odd. The only thing I can find about this camera or who made it was that it was created by Erwin Adloff Apparatebau, Berlin-Wilmersdorf, in 1938. Even that is suspect, according to McKeown's guide, as they have the Nova listed separately. There is a camera called the Adloff Tex camera, which has a body similar to the telescoping box bellows but with a more elaborate shutter. 

Another oddity about this camera was that it was designed by Fritz Kaftanski, who was born in Essen, Germany, in 1899. According to the information found online, Kaftanski started designing Fotofex Kameras in Berlin in 1927. In 1932, Fotofex showed the Visorflex camera at the Leipzig fair and introduced other cameras a few months later.

 In 1934, the Sida and Extra Sida were tiny cameras produced in Germany, then later in Poland and Czechoslovakia under license in Italy. In 1937, Kaftanski moved to Czechoslovakia with the Sida patent, where production continued. Then, according to all I can find, Kaftanski moved to Paris in 1939, so sometime before moving to Czechoslovakia, he either designed the Nova for Erwin Adloff or someone else who remains unknown designed the camera.

Since little is written about this company, my best guess is that Erwin Adloff Apparatebau, Berlin-Wilmersdorf, was a small manufacturer producing one or two cameras just before World War II broke out. Many records either went missing or were possibly destroyed during the war. Fritz Kaftanski designed the Nova sometime before 1938, when it was produced. However, from what I can find online, I don't see any definitive proof or acknowledgment of Kaftanski designing the Nova, although he did create many other cameras during this timeframe.

 My Camera:

My camera is pretty small, measuring 3 5/8" wide by 2" tall by 1.5" deep with the lens retracted and 2 5/8" deep with the lens extended. The camera without the case weighs 7.1 oz, and with the case 9.9 oz. It uses paper-backed unperforated 35mm film, known as Bolta film, which was very popular during this timeframe and something I discussed in my last post.

When you first look at the camera, it looks extremely plain, yet it has some Art Deco features, like the lines around the lens and the text used for the name. Pulling the lens away from the body reveals the double box bellows, which are very ribbed silver. When the camera is flat on its back with the bellows extended, they almost give the camera a wedding cake look.

On either side of the camera is a textured finish to the metal design to help with gripping. I don't know how much gripping is needed for such a small and lightweight camera. On the back of the camera are two more grips on the sides of an exposure table explaining the shutter speed depending on the distance to the subject, shutter speed, and aperture set on the camera. There is no mention of different film speeds. Just above the exposure table is a green window, and another green window is the camera's viewfinder. Just below the exposure table is the word "FOREIGN," and on the front, below the lens, is D.R.P. ANG D.R.G.M, meaning this was made for domestic or international sales.

 The camera has three shutter speeds: 1/25, 1/50, and 1/100 sec, along with "B" for timed exposures. On the side of the lens is a lever that can be pulled out to change the aperture from wide open at f4.5 to f6.8. This is very similar to what box camera employed to change the aperture. At the 10:00 o'clock position, around the lens is the shutter release, and around the lens is the focus adjustment in meters, with the closest focus being 2 meters.

To take the back off the camera, there are two knobs you pull apart to get to loading and unloading the camera. Two films should be holding cassettes in the back of the camera, but mine only came with one. Interestingly, the film holding cassettes is Hermes Nova. Did the French company Hermes design the film holders, and how was a French company involved in this? This could be where the involvement of Fritz Kaftanski comes into play, as he did move to France in 1939, the year after the camera came out. Were there discussions between Kaftanski and Hermes during the mid-1930s?

On the top of the film holder are four bumps or knobs that need to align with the slots on the camera film advance knob, otherwise, the film cassette won't fit in or out of the camera. Once the slots and the knobs are aligned, the film hold comes out quickly, and you can take it apart to load the film into the cassette. 

Once the film is in the camera, the film moves over a geared wheel above the film chamber, rotating a wheel with a white dot and white dash. As the film transports across this wheel, you can view this movement through the green window on the back of the camera, just above the exposure table, so you can tell when your following exposure will be as there is no frame counter on the camera, nor are there numbers on the Bolta film, so this was the only way to tell when you got to the next frame.

Conclusion:

I couldn't use this camera since I didn't have Bolta film to shoot with or a second film cassette, even if I did have the film. The Nova is a beautiful little camera, and I enjoy having it in my collection. Since the camera was only made for a year, how many cameras were made is unknown. Looking at the back door, there is 1114, which may be the serial number, but not 100% positive. Due to the lack of production and not seeing many for sale, I guess it's a reasonably rare camera.

Thank you for taking time out of your busy day to review my film blog. I have another great camera picked for next week's blog, and I hope you'll look out for it.

 Until next week, please be safe.

[florilegiumofblips]

I let go of it. The notion of home. I stopped dreaming of thick rugs and hardwood floors. Of hanging pots and a countertop. Clean white walls and molding tracing the bones of a place. I let go of the idea of permanency and roots and what-comes-next.

Began to dream of travel.

Of leaving.

Of letting go and moving on.

I won't own a bed. Or a dresser. There is no bookshelf or coffee table or couch.

When I leave the house on Deronda Avenue I will leave behind so much. The teepee I'd gotten for Aidan's nursery, a bunch of oleander stems that I’d promised my grandmother I’d plant.

Instead I'll cling to photos.

To candles and bowls. Mugs.

Carefully slip a few prints into an envelope and tuck them away in a box in San Diego.

I have one piece of furniture to my name. A vintage coffee table that I bought when we didn't have money to throw at things. I didn't know then what all the clouds rolling into my life meant. They passed quickly. But we didn’t know that then.

It’s a tricky business, predicting storms.

The idea of home, in any physical sense, became as small as a glass jar filled with coffee beans and two sweaters: one for everyday use, the other for cold coastal mornings.

To allow myself to dream of anything else was to be crushed by all that I did not have.

And yet there is so much.

Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.*

To try to write about home without writing about the events of this last year is a nearly impossible task. It would be to write around the sadness. And the more I write around it, the unrulier it grows. It is a story of unkindness. That is as much sense as I can make of it. Before the words are out, that’s all I have.

I’ll write it eventually. Because I write to unpack stories. And then pack them away.

But not tonight. Tonight as I sit on the floor next to the fire, a glass of wine beside me, music playing softly, I’ll write about this modern townhouse.

This townhouse with a stoop and an iron gate and tiled entry way.

This townhouse on the corner, at the end of a park.

This home that is always alive with noise and movement--the television left on, a set of hands on the piano, the shuffle of footsteps. The music of everyday life--full and good and deceptively mundane.

Tonight I will write about how I answered an ad. And how because of that, a two-story townhouse 2.7 miles from the beach is, for a moment, my own. Filled with furniture that belongs not to a person, but a place.

Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.

It is so different than I imagined. And yet here it is.

There are three of us here. Two who live for Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and own an impressive collection of Hot Wheels. One who is trying to blend away lines I'd crossed, spinning stories in the best and truest ways we know how.

How lucky we are. How imperfect it all is, and how lucky we are.

How in this place our lives abut and fold over and involve the others. Except when they don’t, which is much of the time.

But when panic sets in after I tumble down a whole set of stairs, a door will open and someone will come to see that I am alright.

And it’s nice to have others look after you. Sometimes it’s exhausting doing everything on your own.

I didn’t want to live with others. Certainly not like this. How long I avoided this very situation. And yet here I am--in a Dickensian-boarding-house as my friend Bowen has dubbed it, and how good it is. I say that without an ounce of irony or pretense.

I let go of the notion of home, and here I am. In a house. Waking early each day, for the first time in months, to make my morning latte.

Occasionally I’ll catch myself looking sideways at the situation. How did I get here? This isn’t what I dreamt of. But god it’s good. Odd, but so, so lovely.

And how much I have.

Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.

*Walt Whitman, of course.