#His figurines and all star battle poster have them

[oddverse]

I think Pesci and Risotto go to the same gym but they never see each other because Risotto only works out in the morning and Pesci at night

Pesci's lucky he was just leaving cause risotto was NOT about to change

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

To Catch A Falling Star (Idia Shroud x Reader)

Inspired by a scene from Criminal Minds

Masterlist

Reader is intended to be female

If Idia had to describe you in one word it was unexpected.

He still remembers the day he met the magicless prefect who appeared out of nowhere in a fiery blaze of glory like some leveled up shounen protagonist about to fight the final boss, how Ortho had directed you into his room before he could stop him. And instead of being repulsed by the many, many posters, figurines and merch he had scattered around his room, you were in fact…elated?

“You’re an otaku as well?” you beamed at him, your starry-eyed gaze of awe rendering him speechless before he flinches as you yell, pumping your fists in the air, “Finally! A worthy opponent! Our battle will be legendary!”

Yeah, he does not have the energy to unpack that.

Anyway, he never expected you to appear in his world, and he never expected to find himself comfortable with you, his new gaming buddy and fellow animanga enthusiast. You never judge him for his tastes or his behaviour or less than ideal personality. You were someone he could genuinely call a friend andabsolutelynothingmoreOrthoIloveyoubutpleasebequiet.

And having you around a lot, both because of you just barging into his room or by Ortho’s multitude of invites, just felt natural, your chatter being something that he could call soothing. Which is how he found himself absolutely dominating his current multiplayer playthrough with you doing your own thing by his side.

After his team had won the game, he turned to you, ready to receive your subsequent praise, only to find that your attention was diverted towards a wooden toy thing, your face scrunched up in concentration as your fingers fiddled with its many vertices.

“What are you doing?” he asked and you paused your twiddling, looking up at him. 

“Oh I got this star puzzle in Sam’s shop earlier. It reminded me a lot of this thing we have back in my world so I thought that I’d try it out,” you look back down and resume playing with it, “it’s practically impossible to figure out. You’ve got to put all of these pieces together to form a perfect star. It’s a bit of a headache really but it’s got a really sweet backstory.”

“So that thing’s got lore?” Idia raised his eyebrows and held out his hand. You gently toss it into his open palm.

“Well, you see it’s this romantic story where a young prince wanted to win the heart of the fairest maiden in the land, so he climbed up to the top of the tallest tower in the kingdom and caught a falling star for her. But, since he was so excited to give it to her, he dropped it and it smashed into all of these small pieces. So he frantically put it back together again to prove his undying love to her and he succeeded and they lived happily ever after.”

“What a load of normie nonsense,” Idia scoffed.

“Excuse me?!”

“You can’t catch a falling star,” he deadpanned, “it would burn up in the atmosphere.”

“Really?” you ask, unimpressed, “you live in a world that has flying broomsticks and magic mirrors and plants that can yell loud enough to kill someone - I really don’t think you can argue about the concept of reality when there are children here who are capable of breaking the laws of physics on the regular.”

“But still, it’s stupid,” he grumbles, “why does catching a star make you a shoujo manga male lead.”

“It’s romantic,” you argue, “he loves her so much that he would do the impossible for her. Besides, the point is that it’s impossible to do because you have to take all of these pieces and fit them exactly into the shape of a -”

You trail off, dumbfounded, when Idia smugly presents to you the completed puzzle, a small brown star sitting idly in his hand. 

“You were saying,” he smirked at your flabbergasted expression, preening slightly when it shifted to annoyed, “it doesn’t seem all that hard to me.”

“Why do you have to be like this,” you lamented, pouting as you grumbled about ‘high and mighty otakus who think they’re so cool just because they’ve beaten you in every one-v-one you’ve played’.

“Just take the L,” he said, not without a hint of condescension, as he turned back to his screen. Thankfully you were too busy wallowing to notice the magenta glowing along the edges of his hair. Why do you have to be so cute? You’re dangerous, you know.

Yeah, you’re a pretty unpredictable person. But that doesn’t mean that he can’t pull any epic gamer moves of his own.

[fc5holidayexchange]

FAR CRY 5 HOLIDAY EXCHANGE 2019 FIC

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

Title: Gävlebocken

Deputy Mattie Covington/Sharky Boshaw- Mattie and Sharky reunite after a failed trip to burn the Gavle Goat

@ma-sulevin

Hi Kate! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, wherever you are and however you're celebrating! Hope the festive season is full of joy and magic! I had a fabulous time writing Mattie and Sharky together and I hope you enjoy reading it! xxxx

----------

“All I’m saying, shorty, is never leave a man behind. Marilyn Manson and Carly Rae Jepson wanted to go torch some Gävlebocken butt too, y’know? And who was I to deny them their Bejeebus given right as Incendiary-Americans?”

Mattie cuddled the red-cheeked pyromaniac closer into her chest as she eased his sorrows on the couch. He hadn’t stopped blushing since she’d collected him from Missoula International Airport, where he’d been marched from the building between the firm grip of two unforgiving, no doubt underpaid TSA officers, cuffed at the wrist and short two of his beloved (and musically christened) flamethrowers.

“... you know, they probably sell flamethrowers in Sweden. You could have got one when you got there. Or matches. Shit, there’s plenty of sticks you could have rubbed together too.” She mused, trying to make light of the situation.

Sharky Boshaw was having none of it.

“Nuh-uh, no-can-do. Had to be them, babe.”

“Only the best for the holy grail of goat effigies, I guess?”

He nodded and crushed his face into her.

She couldn’t tell if the residual ruby tinge on his face was from the trauma of his ordeal (though he was hardly a stranger to arrest), from the abundance of alcohol still in his system, or from where the ravenous teeth of a cold winter beast had nibbled at him. December had fallen, and the snow was up to their knees. The smell of evergreen firs and smoky chimneys and roasting meat and fresh gingerbread permeated across the county. Even the sickly scent of Bliss had subsided, the cold-sensitive Georgia peaches known locally as the Seeds having retreated indoors for the season.

Christmas was coming.

Boshaw Manor’s festive decorations were tacky and yet, made with love. The Christmas tree was a little scorched on the edges, and adorned with homemade ornaments that were just beer tops looped onto string. They twinkled rainbow in the glow from the string lights, and tinkled as they clinked against each other. Paper chains and worn tinsel in emerald and silver shades hung from every available surface, and though he had no fireplace, he’d dragged a metal bin into the centre of the living room so they could roast chestnuts and make smores through the long winter nights.

However, Sharky’s favourite holiday accessory was a slightly dusty Santa figurine. He had, at some point, made the toymaker his own little flamethrower from aluminium foil, and the rotund, bushy bearded fellow still clung to it with his moth-eaten mittens, ready to chargrill Rudolph. But truly the highlight of Santa’s unusual skillset, the crown jewel in his sleigh full of secret talents, was the voice recording feature.

From the depths of Santa’s cookie filled belly, Sharky’s voice echoed:

“Burn baby burn… CHRISTMAS INFERNO”

And now, the jolly figure danced laboriously by the door, Boomer resting beside him, snoring along to the increasingly demonic rasp (Mattie made a mental note to replace the batteries).

Of course, this year, Mattie had put her own little touches on the place.

When he’d first taken her in, Earl had given her a little archangel statue, with beautiful, expansive wings, and a majestic flaming blade in it’s right hand, and her name engraved upon it. ‘Matilda means mighty in battle’ he’d explained, pulling her into a hug to assure her of just how strong she was. And last year, Nancy had knitted her a little yellow star, gold flecked through it, to sit atop the tree, and now it sat pride of place, shimmering like the true holy light.

It was slightly overwhelming, to see her things, however few, amongst Sharky’s.

To know that now, she and Sharky could make Christmas memories together.

That was the best gift of all.

And normally, snuggled together on a winter’s night like this, she’d be teasing him, slipping her chilled hands down the back of his shirt, or tickling his neck which made him squirm and giggle the most, or even sticking an icy naked foot into his face when he wasn’t paying attention. Or she’d be letting her hands wander into his pants, and they’d be making love and basking in each other’s glow until the sun came up.

But the sheer misery welling in his eyes, Christmas dreams obliterated and Hall of Flame pedestals empty, like a baby bird beak without a worm to sate it’s hunger, sent a pang of guilt ricocheting through every inch of her. One that made her stomach squirm and her lip quiver. He was her family, and though her dad back in Challis hadn’t exactly been the model of perfect, or even the model of good, she knew with all the certainty in her heart that families weren’t supposed to look so despairing at Christmas.

“What were you thinking, Shark?”

“I, uh… I wanted to surprise you.”

“And you thought running off to Europe to go burn down a giant goat was the best way to do that? I’d have taken socks instead, you know. Or a John Seed's head on a spike.”

She moved to hold his hand, fingers intertwining comfortingly, and he sniffed loudly in appreciation. Mattie felt so complete when her hand was nestled in his- who needed gloves to when you had a hand to hold?

"Just because Hurk nearly got Wicker-manned out in Europe, doesn't mean you have to."

He mumbled in reply, sheepishly resigned to his deeper urges- "I'm a Khaleesi. I go where the flame takes me."

She chuckled softly and teased:

“I know, babe. I know. Who do you think is the one who prints the posters? The whole station is more like a groupie's bedroom."

Mattie cursed the day she’d so catastrophically put her foot in it. A late night drinking and feasting up in the Whitetails, near Fort Drubman, out under the stars and the bleak winter moonlight. A slew of cultist corpses were ragdolled along the path behind them, definitely not having a Merry Christmas, and a skinned Judge or two had fallen prey to Jess’s hungry trapper knife. The pelts would make a fine coat for next year’s snowfall and the burgundy branding of Jacob’s chosen mutts was simply an added trophy for Mattie’s slightly feral friend.

There they were. Mattie, Sharky, Hurk, Jess, and Staci (who'd called in sick from his night shift), with Boomer and Cheeseburger at their heels.

Munching on fish from the iced over rivers.

Getting drunk out of their minds and trying to forget all the shit that the past months had wrought.

The topic of conversation had turned to (what else) fire. They’d just proudly set alight to the old lumber mill, and watched the Peggies scatter like roaches from the scene. Merry on Whistling Beaver beer, Mattie had hiccoughed and giggled after her umpteenth bottle, snuggled under Sharky's arm, and announced loudly:

“Did you guys know there’s a huge ass wicker goat in Sweden? They put it up for Christmas every year and it keeps getting toasted.”

Well, it’s not like she’d expected him to take off a week later towards the airport… after he’d downed probably somewhere near a keg's worth of homemade eggnog… all rum, barely an egg or a nog in sight.

But Charlemagne Victor Boshaw’s eyes had illuminated with possibility, and so had the eyes of the airport security officers at the sizable lethal and flammable weapons he’d packed into his luggage. Having the fuzz for a girlfriend, who could come flaunting an arrest warrant and claim jurisdiction over the prisoner was an absolute saving grace, it turned out. The TSA had handed him over with very little resistance.

And now, here they were, back home in the depths of the county, almost definitely up a couple of places on the ‘no fly’ terror watchlist.

Sharky sat up suddenly and rubbed at his slightly runny nose, a sudden determination taking root in his chest. Spring coming early as a flower bloomed there, petals of fury and vengeance and abject loyalty to his cause.

"We gotta get Carly and Marilyn back. We gotta Ocean’s Eight, Sandra Bullock the airport, po-po. You and me, Hurk, sure we can get Nick and Kim on the crew too, what are we up to, five, Boshaw’s five, Sharky’s five-?“

Mattie nuzzled her face into the top of his head. She was a hell of a lot shorter than him, but he’d sunk into the couch so deeply that she could now smell the scent of his Old Spice shampoo and see the bald patch where he'd thought wearing a crown made of sparklers at Thanksgiving fireworks was a good idea.

“Yeah, I’m sure a woman heavily into her third trimester is gonna really be up for a heist-“

“Kim? Fuck yeah, she can kick butt with a bump, her centre of gravity’s probably on kung fu master levels here. Ooooh, maybe the baby’ll come early and kick some airport ass too.”

“I think it’ll be more like she’ll kick your butt for not inviting me along to go torch the goat."

It was crazy, knowing that next Christmas, there would be a Baby Rye for Santa to visit. And that maybe, in the Christmases to come, there'd be a brood of Baby Boshaws too, ready to tear the tree down and hurl food at each other, giddy in their festive hysteria. She thought about sharing such a fanciful idea with him, and went to murmur a few sweet suggestions in his ruddy ear. Maybe they could make some new dreams tonight...

Sharky wasn’t listening though.

“Maybe we go Die Hard 2 instead… be in keeping with the ol’ time of year?”

“All the guys who break into the airport die in that movie, Shark.”

She sighed and stroked his cheek.

"I think, maybe, as much as it sucks, we just have to let this one go."

He went to open his mouth to protest or beg or maybe come out with another heist movie to take inspiration from, but the words seemed to fizzle away on the end of his tongue. He knew it was futile. She was right. His visions of making the headlines in every Swedish tabloid evaporated, his name destined not to be heralded by enthusiasts of the Gävlebocken legacy. His shoulders sagged and he seemed to want to disappear into his worn green sweatshirt, like a turtle burrowing back into its shell.

"Hey, y'know, who wants to go smoke the goat anyway, much better things to burn here. Seeds and shit."

He settled into moody, reflective, uncharacteristic silence and Mattie knew not to push the subject any further. And while searching her thoughts for a way to soothe his wounds and bring the hope and joy of the festive season back into his heart, she casually leaned over to the table and picked up his abandoned plane ticket, also slightly singed like everything else the man owned (what had happened this time, Mattie couldn’t even begin to guess). 

Her stomach dropped.

The rollercoaster was taking an unexpected plunge deeper into irony.

There it was, printed neatly under DESTINATION.

A final foil for the Sharknado that had sought to wreak havoc across the fjords of Scandinavia.

“Shark, babe…”

“Yeah?”

“The big ass goat is in Sweden, right? You know, next to Norway?”

“Home of the dancing queen an' the smorgasbord. Oooh, and the chef.” He proceeded to spit out a garbled string of vowels in poor imitation of the Swedish language.

Mattie sighed and for a moment, debated whether to just keep her mouth shut. To let his Christmas dreams, however shattered, maintain some form of dignity. But laughter pulled at the corners of her mouth, from the singsong Muppetry in her ear and the ridiculous error before her eyes and she just knew it would make him laugh too;

“... Shark, this ticket is for Switzerland.”

He gave her a little confused frown and she wrapped her arms around his neck, to press her forehead, and then her lips softly to his.

“God, I love you so much.”

He returned her kiss, sharing her warmth and the sweet taste of hot cocoa and a sprig of mint and melted marshmallow, running his hands through her wind-swept hair. They lost themselves in each other, forgetting the snow falling fast outside, and the bodies across the county buried deep amongst the icy grass, and the slowly fading tire tracks from their long journey home.

And wrapped in the comforting embrace of her best friend, Mattie’s imagination shone. 

A flame taking to the tinder, spreading until it burned so strongly, it could never be extinguished.

---------- 

"My extremities are getting real cold, chica, an' I'm too young to lose my junk t’ frostbite."

"Don't worry, you'll be warm soon enough."

"Heh heh, sounds like a party."

Mattie had led Sharky through the dark forestry, the trees naked and sparse like a threadbare patchwork blanket. They'd walked for some time, boots snapping the carpet of fallen branches and crunching in the deep snow and squeaking over patches of icy oil spills across the roads, until they'd reached a pasture south of the Henbane.

And now, in the early hours of the morning, he stood blindfolded, Mattie's hands protectively on his shoulders (although she'd been tempted to mischievously let him wander into a patch of shrubbery or two, but decided she didn't want to be pulling thorns and thistles out of his ass all night).

"Are we there yet?"

"Almost."

A few more steps, up a slight incline, the frozen grass snapping underfoot. 

“OK, you can look now.”

Sharky tore off the blindfold in childlike impatience and his eyes widened at the sight he beheld.

Before them, silhouetted by the amber light from surrounding torches and the staring full moon, stood a large wicker goat.

A Gävlebocken�� well, a Hopebocken.

A warm earthy brown, as though the trees hadn’t perished weeks before, with bark flaking from it to make the fur seem shaggy, thick, truly like a majestic beast from the hills of Scandinavia, with fleece enough to shroud a Viking king. Horns magnificent upon its head, red and gold Christmas ribbons adorning them like Roman wreaths. His nose was round and his face was long and he stood watch upon the hill, noble, a guardian, a protector.

And at his feet were gathered the artists of this crudely fashioned idol. Nick and Kim, Hurk and Adelaide and Xander, Dutch and Jess, Jerome and Mary May, Virgil and Wade and Eli and Tammy and Merle… it seemed the whole county, faces beaming and hands willing, had stepped forward to play their part in Sharky's Christmas miracle.

Mattie watched Sharky take a stunned step forward.

"I wanted to surprise you." She whispered into his ear, taking his hand and giving it a little squeeze.

And there was that smile she loved so much. His eyes crinkled in the corners and a laugh catapulted itself from deep in his throat into the night air. It rose like a ball of light, and exploded into a thousand stars to light the county and every county beyond it.

"I… I…" He stammered, pupils dilated, entranced, and he turned back to face the love of his life, choking on the wonderment and the realisation of just what she had done for him. “I can…?”

“You bet.”

“And I ain’t gonna get arrested?”

“Like that’s bothered you before?” She grinned and watched as he jumped and whooped, punching the air. Overwhelmed with adrenaline. Crying her name to the heavens, unabashedly proclaiming how much he loved her and all who had come to give him this gift.

“Shark… Shark?”

His head spunt to gaze at her.

An almost breathless gasp escaped him.

And the look on his face made Mattie want to throw herself upon him and never let go.

In her outstretched arms, lay a new flamethrower, blue and purple disco graffiti emblazoned on the side, and a big red bow ornately tied along the neck. She carefully placed it in his hands, and he weighed it, mesmerized, feeling the perfect balance of the full canister of fuel, and the soon-to-be warmed steel. Tears bloomed in the corners of his as he grasped it. As he readied himself for the greatest bonfire of his life.

“Merry Christmas, babe.”

She placed a careful kiss on his lips.

“Now… go toast that goat.”

[the-rebel-archivist]

Love & Duty

The camp was so empty without him there. It had always felt full to bursting when Alistair was around. His personality pervaded through any space he was in, leaving no room for loneliness or sadness.

Lyna had set up her tent while it was still light out but now shadows cast by the light of her bonfire danced on the canvas. Somewhere in the distance an owl hooted and its mate answered as they hunted together in the darkness. The sky was devoid of stars, the only light from above faded moonlight partially obscured by clouds. It felt a little like rain, heavy and silent. It would be appropriate if it rained tomorrow. 

She shivered in the chill from the evening and moved closer to the fire. Before, he would have put his arm around her and pulled her close, freely sharing his warmth; he always had run hot. Now she was alone.

She hadn’t had to be. She could have been inside the city at the palace instead of on her own just outside the tall stone walls. Alistair certainly wasn’t lonely tonight, on this, the last night before he was wed. He was probably completely intoxicated and surrounded by the gaggle of vapid women who seemed to dog his steps nowadays. It was embarrassing to watch them throw themselves at him. She would never fawn over him the way they did, simpering and swooning at every stray glance or word from his mouth. She respected him more than that. He’d invited her to come tonight, of course - she was his best ‘man’, after all. But attending the wedding and feigning happiness tomorrow would be trying enough as it was so she had made her excuses and left the city. She would return to the castle before the sun was up to dress for the grand event. She needed time alone to think, and couldn’t get it inside the confined, monochrome palace.

The fire was dying down and she threw another small log on, wanting a bit more time before she resigned herself to restless sleep. The light flickered and tiny pockets of sap crackled as the fire consumed the new wood. She would have to be up very early to bathe before leaving or else she’d smell like smoke, but she’d do it. She was determined to outshine any of the fine ladies who were far more suitable for court life than a Dalish elf such as herself. Ladies who were acceptable to be queen or princess or teyrna or whatever foolish, invented title they held.

This wedding had always been coming. She’d arranged it herself, a perfect marriage of convenience to secure peace in Ferelden. Of course, when she had pushed Alistair take up the kingship she had intended to share his throne. She was going to end the Blight and then have her perfect happily ever after ending; she should have known better than to believe that even then. She hadn’t been so naive as to think that her being an elf wouldn’t be a problem, but her feelings and misplaced confidence had blinded her. How had she allowed what she felt to cloud her judgement? She knew better than that. 

When she had faced resistance to her plans she had changed tack with barely a blink, orchestrating a union between him and the dowager queen, with whom she had made an arrangement that would allow her to remain by his side. Everything had been meticulously planned, all possible outcomes accounted for. She had only failed to consider the impossible. The hurt she felt now wasn’t her fault, it was his. There was no way she could have possibly considered that he would leave her. It was a variable that had she had never factored in.

She picked up her spade from her pack. With no one else to mind the fire she would rather wrap herself tighter in her blankets to keep out the chill than allow for the fire to potentially become unmanageable while she wasn’t conscious to control it. She should try to sleep anyway -  this disgusting self pity needed to be suffocated before it began in earnest. It served no one well for her to start thinking about what ifs. The flames hissed as she piled earth over them to snuff them out. 

It was much darker now that the fire was only scattered embers, but she knew instinctively where her tent was; she always set it up the same way when she was alone.

She hadn’t used this blanket in a while. For some time now she’d been recovering in the city and hadn’t needed it. This was the first occasion for her to take it from her pack. The smoke from the fire had irritated her eyes, she thought to herself when she unfolded it. That was why they were watering, no other reason. She hadn’t cried since she had seen that Alistair was still standing after the archdemon was dead and she blamed that weakness only on the sudden lack of adrenaline. There would be no tears now, even if the blanket did still carry the smells of leather and sweat and harsh lye soap, the same scents that she had loved to breathe in as she curled up next to him. That part of her life was as over as the Blight.

If Morrigan were here, she would know what to say. The witch had disappeared after the battle and so both of her dearest friends had departed, though only one was physically distant. Morrigan could have shaken her from this abyss she found herself in, knocked away the heartsickness that made her feeble with a few well chosen jabs. But she was gone and presumably pregnant with the child of the man Lyna loved. She felt a pang of some indefinable jealousy and swallowed hard. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. It was unpleasant.

For a moment she had considered refusing Morrigan’s offer to complete the ritual that would allow both her and Alistair to survive. Some brief dramatic inclination had tempted her to allow the archdemon to take her now that she was without the man she loved. She still didn’t know what had come over her then. Morrigan had helped. Even though Lyna was well aware that she had her own private motivations for the ritual, the witch’s words to her had rung true. It was not worth it to give up everything for any man, not even the one who had pieced back together her fragmented soul after she had become a Warden, the one that she needed to complete her. 

No, she didn’t need him. She shouldn’t allow herself to think that way. It was more than possible for her to be whole alone, she had never felt like she was missing anything before him. He was to blame for ever having made her so pathetic, with his idiotic, beautiful grins and stupid, clever jokes. It was his fault that she was heartbroken.

Maybe she flattered herself, but she thought he needed her too. 

No, not too. Stop that. 

He wasn’t shrewd or calculating. He was too trusting for his own good. She had decided to become his chancellor to help him. It was all for him. It was to preserve the peace she’d brokered. Her girlish emotions would be put aside so that she might be of service to him. She was not interested in any political gains for herself.

Squeezing her eyes tight shut, she balled up her fists and bit her lip until she tasted blood. It was all a lie. She had always made an effort to be brutally honest with herself when the situation required. The lies she whispered to herself were just that, and she was uncomfortably aware just how untrue they were even as she told them. She would never beg for him to take her back, not ever. But the thought of a life without him was intolerable, completely unimaginable. There was no altruistic desire to help a country that she felt little attachment to. She didn’t want to help him, she wanted to be near him because she was an idiot and couldn’t let him go. Perhaps helping him would allow her to assuage her own guilt.

Maybe this situation is all your fault, she thought as she stared upwards at the darkness. Alistair didn’t break your heart, you stupid child, you did. It was something she must accept; she had miscalculated. She had reduced people to chess pieces on a board rather than living, feeling beings and had grown upset when they didn’t behave like automatons. It was not a mistake she was liable to make again, but now she must endure this path she had unintentionally chosen.

She lay on her bedroll, unsleeping, for the rest of the night.

---

Nobody seemed to notice her entering the next morning. Servants fluttered about, busily preparing for the feast that would begin in the afternoon and not end for two days. No one had a single thought to spare the quiet elf, hair still damp from river water, resolutely striding down the halls before most of the nobles had arisen. Lyna was glad of it. It was going to be trying enough to converse with the other guests later; needing to put on her social mask early and act the happy Hero of Ferelden to any servants might overexert her before it mattered.

Her room wasn’t in the guest quarters. As chancellor, she had a room nearer to Alistair’s than was quite comfortable. She hadn’t taken any pains to make it feel like hers, but nobody who entered would have assumed that it was anyone else’s - it either belonged to her or was a storage closet for Grey Warden memorabilia. All of the commemorative glasses and dishes and ridiculous carved figurines of archdemons and griffins were stacked in a corner - Alistair had insisted she get one of everything made. It was unclear what their purpose was or what she would ever do with them, and so they sat, untouched, in a pile. 

The room itself was lavishly furnished, with a four poster bed made from some dark wood that gleamed with lacquer, a rug so plush that it made her somewhat uncomfortable to walk on in stocking feet, and reddish coloured tapestries with images of Mabari embroidered on them on the walls. Alistair had told her that he’d replace the musty old wall hangings with anything she wanted but she hadn’t made any suggestions. He took far more of an interest in her living space than she did. 

She had left her dress laid out on the bed and the tiny pots and jars that held the cosmetics she made herself by the glass in the room. The mirror was the only part of the room she had requested. It was the largest she had ever seen; she could almost see her whole body in it while standing up. She still wasn’t used to the luxury of being able to see her reflection when getting ready, but appreciated it today.

Piece by piece, she laid her armour on the stand in a corner. It had been broken and repaired so many times that it was likely beyond fixing now. It hadn’t seemed to be worthwhile to invest in something better - a week ago she had received a missive requesting that she travel to Orlais to meet the Warden Commander there and be fitted for new armour. She was sure it would look nicer than the leather that had grown soft and ragged; Orlesians were known for their fashion sense. It would be uncomfortable until she became accustomed to its stiffness though - new armour was always so unpliable.

Her dress was long and as green as her eyes, the fabric shiny and stiff in its own way. Though it was tight around her waist it had no corset. She couldn’t have worn one even if she wanted to anyway due to the long wound from the archdemon’s claw that wrapped from just under her right breast to the back of her left hip. It had mostly healed now but was taking longer than the mages and physicians had expected. Ever since the blight sickness that had necessitated her becoming a Warden everything seemed to take longer to heal, even with magical help. Her own frailty and powerlessness to make herself heal angered her.

The gown left her shoulders bare and revealed a decolletage that she was really quite proud of. It could definitely hold its own among humans, and Alistair certainly hadn’t complained. Golden threads were embroidered across her bodice and the loops of fabric that served as sleeves. Roses and griffons - it had been her special request that everything be connected by sharp, thorny vines. She could almost feel their prickliness. The seamstresses had done well. 

She looked impassively at herself in the glass. Yes, this would do. She cut quite a serviceable silhouette. This gown was far longer and nicer than any she had ever worn before, and yet it already felt like an extension of her skin, made exactly to her taste, protecting her. Anora’s dress would likely be overcomplicated and gaudy in its detail in contrast to the simple elegance of this one. Good.

Taking one of the jars from the top of the dresser she applied a powder to her face. The cut on her right cheek was still so ugly and angry. Just when she had thought it was almost healed it had gotten infected, twice. At least now it would be less visible. The powder covered her vallaslin too so she traced over it with something dark green, darkening and filling out the tattoos. She used the same green on her eyelids before darkening her eyelashes and pinching her cheeks, finishing everything off with a reddish-brown lip paint. There was a time when she didn’t wear makeup as heavily, but today she needed it. It would help her hide the feelings she was determined to suppress. It would allow her to be beautiful again.

Peering into the mirror again she took in the full effect of her transformation. Last few touches now, she thought as she dabbed perfume from a small vial onto her pulse points. Amber, jasmine, tuberose. All difficult to come by but important for the occasion. Hair down. He’d always liked that. She brushed it out and styled it quickly; it had dried nicely, the platinum waves cooperating for once and falling softly midway down her back. 

She was going to torture him.

There was a knock at the door. Arrayed for battle now, she was ready to be charming and sociable and nothing like the Dalish savage she’d heard herself described as.

His lopsided grin nearly broke the resolve to control her feelings that she had so carefully nurtured all night. She was going to torture him? The man hadn’t said a word and yet he’d dispelled all the determination gained the evening before.

“Soooo, how do I look?” he asked, as he exaggeratedly posed to show off multiple different angles.

Lovely. Adorable. Handsome. Happy. But she couldn’t tell him those things. Was there anything to say to that that was safe, for either of them?

“Like you could almost be the minor lord of some distant province.”

“Ouch! I think I clean up rather well, thank you very much.” He looked away from her face for the first time and was less than subtle in his appreciation of her dress. Oh, he was trying to be subtle, there was no doubt about that, but she knew him better than she knew herself. 

“I won’t tell you how nice you look - it’s plain on your face that you know exactly how distractingly beautiful you are and I don’t need you going and getting cocky on my day.” He had always been so good at deflecting with humour. Sometimes it had annoyed her, but today it seemed like it would be her saving grace.

“Now if you’ll let me in, I promise it’ll be worthwhile,” he said as he pulled a flask out from an inner pocket of his jerkin and waved it at her conspiratorially.

She looked at him incredulously. “I don’t know how you can even look at that after last night.”

“A fair point. And yet...” He laughed with that beautiful, full laugh that made her want to burst out laughing with him. She didn’t. “It ended earlier than planned, actually - less fun without you.” He looked down as he said the last bit and refused to meet her eyes.

She made a space for him and he entered the room, making a beeline for the stack of trash in the corner. Rooting through the boxes, he produced two low glasses with pewter griffins stuck to one side.

“See, I told you this junk would be good for something.” 

His voice was a little less confident than it usually was. It made sense that he would be nervous today.

Lyna sat down on the bed. While Alistair poured the whiskey, focusing intently on ensuring that the liquid was even in both glasses with his tongue to the side of his mouth, she took the opportunity to really look at him. He was starched and ironed within an inch of his life and the red and gold of his clothing was positively regal. Theirin colours. He might not like it, but kingship did suit him. Her Ali, put together for once in his life.

He’s not your Ali. What is wrong with you? Al-ist-air. No more nicknames.

A glass was placed in her hand and the space on the bed beside her taken up as Alistair sat down. 

“Just a little drink, is it?” she asked him as she swirled the rather generous amount of amber liquid around. She could smell how smoky it was even from far away.

A flush spread over his cheeks. “I needed a little courage, and well, I just kept trying to make them even and then there was so much…”

“You’re an idiot, Alistair.” She smiled at him softly and felt the doe-eyed expression on her face that she couldn’t seem to stop. You’re the idiot here, Lyna. Stop it. Why does he make you so weak?

“Cheers to my idiocy.”

The whiskey burned in her mouth, then left a sweetness on her tongue that faded away into a bitter aftertaste.

“I wanted to see you before everything, just us,” he said, meeting her eyes intently. “Lyna, I’m terrified. It’s going to be so… there are... a lot of people. It will be hard.” Somewhere in the middle of his speech he had had to turn away and look down at his lap. His fingers traced the embroidery at the bottom of his vest. She didn’t think her heart could break more - maybe it couldn’t for herself, but it broke for him.

He had never been one to mind an audience; she knew what he was saying. The stolen glances and studious avoidance of any physical contact told her that he was still pretending, too. If she was thinking clearly she would put her guard up now, shield herself with anger, but this was Ali. He needed her.

“I’m scared too,” she said in some attempt to be reassuring. Scared to lose him, scared that she would somehow become unhinged and scream or cry, scared that she wouldn’t. She wished that she could take his hand in hers, at least comfort him properly. But it was too risky. She couldn’t allow herself to do that if she had any hope of not telling him to run off into the sunset with her. She would not under any circumstances let herself be that weak. They both had duties to fulfill. 

“You can’t be scared! If you’re afraid then there’s no hope for me.” He was still uncharacteristically serious, but a slight twinkle appeared in his eye and a half smile played in the corner of his mouth. She did love that little smile, the one that so often broke out into a dopey grin. Sometimes, when he did that after he said something stupid and funny and looked at her like he was just waiting for her to groan she used to wipe it off his face with a kiss. It caught him off guard every single time.

That is enough, Lyna, why are you doing this to yourself.

“Tell you what,” he began, “If you can keep it together then so can I. I’ll take your lead, just like old times.”

Like old times. Times when this ridiculous boy had been so afraid of command that he put an untested girl in charge - and she’d made him king. Another reason why she needed to stay here in Denerim to look out for him.

“I can guard your flank and pick off any enemies who get too close.” 

He chuckled. “I’m glad you’ll have my back. You were always good at that - except for that one time, you remember, the day I said something that was very likely quite horrible to Morrigan and she hit me with my own frying pan while you just watched.”

“I didn’t have time to react! And besides, it was just a little tap.” She was truly smiling now. It had been really funny, though she had worried for him at the time. Morrigan had been so angry; she couldn’t even remember what about now. 

“Oh was it? Easy for you to say. I’ve never felt more betrayed by something that usually brings so much joy. By which I mean the pan.” He grimaced petulantly and Lyna took another sip of her whiskey to try to contain her laughter.

That solemn expression returned to Alistair’s face and he shuffled slightly in his seat before opening and closing his mouth as though he was working up the courage to say something.

“I’m glad you’ll be with me,” he said softly. “I could use my family being near - we are still family, right?” They had promised to always be that to each other, but that promise was so very long ago, before everything.

“We’ll always be family.” She still meant it, even if she was hurt, even when it was difficult to spend time with him. It was the only way left that she could allow herself to care for him.

He gathered her up in one of his enthusiastic, tight hugs and she had to take care not to spill her glass due to his fervour. Her face was pressed against his shoulder, the satin of his finery soft on her skin. He smelled like soap. And warmth and love. The heat from his body made her realize how very cold her arms were. She was afraid to let go; letting go meant that all of this was over.

Her clan had never stayed in one place for too long, certainly not long enough to grow attached to a place. The concept of home was one that she had barely understood - until she had met him. Here, now, together: this was home. 

I’m so sorry, she thought, not sure whether she meant it for herself or for Alistair.

---

The golden band in her hand felt as though it was burning a circle into her flesh. 

Some insane part of her had never truly believed that it would actually happen, even as she got ready - even while she took her place slightly off to Alistair’s side. Why had she agreed to stand beside him? She could have refused. She could have been a guest, like their other friends in attendance. There were so many eyes on Alistair, and on her, their hero. She would need to keep tight control over her features so that she didn’t accidentally betray herself. At least she was sure that she wouldn’t cry. She had held it together with Alistair earlier. She would be fine.

Music played as Anora walked from the back of the great hall towards where he stood. It sounded joyful, but to Lyna it was as mournful as a funeral dirge.

Alistair shifted from one leg to the other uncomfortably and pulled at his collar before turning to her for reassurance. Their eyes met and a wash of understanding flooded through both of them: it was a goodbye. There had always been some hope while they were both still free, but this marriage denoted a definitive break. 

I love you too, Ali, she told him in her answering gaze. He turned back and squared his shoulders, prepared now to do his duty.

She would never again express her feelings on the matter. Not with words, not with her eyes, she would hide it all.

Anora caught her eye as she approached and looked at her graciously, inclining her head ever so slightly toward her with a polite smile on her face as befit such a well-bred lady. She knew she had won; she understood courtly games and intrigue far more than Lyna did. The place she filled could so easily have gone to another - maybe even to Lyna, had she been more experienced and well connected. Maybe something could have outweighed the fact that she was an elf. Lyna was a quick study; she smiled back, beaming at her as though this was the outcome she had intended all along and made an effort to hide the ice in her eyes. 

Wedding dresses in Ferelden were going to be black for years to come, Lyna could already see it. Anora’s gown was as decorated as she had expected it to be, a dusky satin overlaid with complex embroidery in golden thread and embellished with rubies. It wasn’t simple like her own dress, but it was far from gaudy despite the sheer amount of ornamentation. Anora had impeccable taste. She could choke on her perfect fashion sense. Was there anything that Lyna could do that Anora couldn’t do better? She stood a decent chance to be a good, perhaps even great monarch, but dread wolf take her.

She had never seen a chantry wedding. It didn’t seem much different from the bonding ceremonies in her clan, just presided over by a woman in a big hat rather than a keeper. There was a time when had wondered if Alistair would have agreed to be bonded in the Dalish way. Maybe if she’d pushed to run off and get married in the woods she wouldn’t be standing here now, watching the queen promise to love and care for the man she loved.

She was going to keep that promise - Lyna had made it clear to her how seriously she should take it. She wasn’t sure if it made it easier or more difficult to know how little Anora cared for him.

As Anora made her promises in her clear, confident voice, Lyna could have sworn that she heard a sharp crack as her heart broke. 

It was Alistair’s turn next. She had to hand him the ring. Something that was not Lyna but took her form walked forward and placed it in his hand before returning to her place. Their fingers touched, but she might as well have been made of wood for all she felt. She was frozen, lifeless and cold, watching with unseeing eyes, listening with unhearing ears as Alistair said his vows. 

Somehow, it didn’t hurt.

The chantry mother pronounced them husband and wife and more music played. Very little was different, only a few words had been spoken, and yet everything had changed. She had worried that what came next would be the hard part, but it seemed that the hardest part was already over and she had come out the other side. Here there was no sadness, no pain… no feelings at all. Now she could be strong again, no longer distracted by childish dreams. 

Her heart was buried, the dark closing around it. There was some comfort in the knowledge that it would not be disturbed any longer.

She played her role as the supportive friend, the Hero of Ferelden, for the rest of the day and felt absolutely nothing.

[yoshi4sushi]

(purupurupuru) (purupurupuru) (gocha!) (coo!) (coo!)

 Happy Monday, minna-san! I hope everyone is ready for flowers and sunshine. Spring is coming soon. Be ready to feel the glee moment. Since the season of sunshine is approaching, more awesome stuff is coming up so you know the drill. First off, last week’s chapters was disastrous. Orochi is still infuriated with Komurasaki for slapping him and not allowing him to punish cute Otoko-chan. Looks like he ate a zoan type fruit known as the snake-snake fruit, model: nine-headed dragon snake. Anyway, he demanded the brave, lovely geisha to bow her to apologize and that he would lighten her punishment. Same answer: she refused. The anger grew; one of his heads attacked a party guest and then snatched her with his slimy mouth. Everyone was in panic to see her at his jaws. The Oniwaban ninjas then showed up in time. One the guests asked a ninja name Daikoku to save the courtesan, but he says that he’s in liberty to do what he wants. Poor Otoko-chan screams for her sister’s life. She begged Robin to save her, but she’s so busy protecting her. Then, other Oniwaban members ran as they were chased by Brook’s spirit and made poor Otoko-chan passed out. Meanwhile, Shinobu and Nami are inside the ceiling ready to save Robin, but were discovered by one of the Oniwaban members, Hanzo. He recognized Shinobu, but insulted her when he remembers her good looks. Hearing that made her upset and used her the “Killer-Man” jutsu to hit his precious below. (you should know what it is). She then made the ceiling collapse and injured Orochi. Komurasaki was freed, but then is confronted by the deviant Kyoshiro as he slashed her in one blow. Everyone freaked out to see her dead, even the girls and the ninjas. Orochi got enraged with Kyoshiro as he never commanded to kill her, but he reminded him that it was a mercy killing for rebelling against him. The guests were utterly shocked at his behavior, but ignored their criticism as he pulled out the time symbol that was handed out by Kinemon. EH? Could he be one of the samurai protectors of the Kozuki clan? Orochi shed tears to see the beautiful courtesan he loved dead at his feet. His rage grew even more as he chased Robin w/ Otoko-chan, but luckily, Nami came to the rescue and summoned Zeus to shock the shogun. At the end, the next day at Leftover town, Big Mom is a guest at O-Tsuru’s house enjoying some traditional sweets while Chopper and the others are trying to leave, but worried that her memory could come around. Only nine days until the rebellion. Can everyone still keep a low-profile until the time? Or will all their efforts of planning be wasted? What truth lies behind Kyoshiro and Komurasaki? Are they members of the Kozuki clan? GAH! So many questions! Don’t miss it this week! Next, this past weekend’s episode was a blast. Sanji’s siblings came to his aid as all the Big Mom pirates came on and on to kill Sanji and Luffy. At shore, just when Nami and the others are cornered, Judge and his fleet came to their aid and attacked all the tart ship fleets. Back in town, all the members urge to kill our heroes as Brulee tell everyone to not let Luffy escaped as she yelled to everyone that he defeated Katakuri. The news shocked them to hear that their strongest member of the family has been defeated. Hearing this news enraged all the members, especially Oven as he chased our heroes ready to burn them to death. However, his siblings all came to his rescues sending him off to shore one by one. At the end, Reiju to his aid as she looks at the boys for the last time and tells Sanji to move forward and cherish his friends. She sends him off and the boys finally reached Sunny. Next time, the gang are still in a pinch while Bege prepares to leave the cake for Big Mom to devour. A final miracle approaches as the Sun pirates will appear. Don’t miss it! Now on with the goods. First off, look who’s here! Tongari-san. Wanna know his real name? It’s Chou-rou! We’ll still call him by his pen name. Anyway, what brought you here, my friend? Tongari-san says that more fun stull is happening at the tower. First off, we got major birthdays coming up. Yup! A chef, a cyborg, and a revolution man. Yup, it’s none other than Sanji, Franky, and Sabo. The tower will be selling awesome goods of them. First, they have loads of Sanji b-day goods. First, they’ll have his birthday button acrylic key holder, and stickers. Next, more new café goods. They’re selling these coffee pouches excellent for a morning or any drink. There’s 5 bags. Next, these wonderful iphone cases for XS or X. Lastly, this wonderful t-shirt with many of his mottos written. If you buy goods over 3000 yen, you’ll receive his birthday poster, and if you visit the tower made a 1000 yen purchase, you’ll get a free bromide card of him. For Franky, for now, they have the button and acrylic key holder. Bromide card and poster image of him and Sabo (including his goods) will be posted soon. Next, more spring goods. They’ll be selling of course, acrylic figurine stands of all 12 characters, a colorful double side folder, coasters, a can of candy, a set of hand towels, & a tapestry. They’ll also be holding a stamp campaign. Rules are you must shop for goods over 1500 yen. Get a stamp first from the store downstairs, and same thing at the Tongari shop. You must shop at both stores in order to get the sticker. It will be in random package. Next, during the anniversary week, they’ll be having a photo greet of the Straw Hats and talk show event with the actors. Don’t forget that March 16 will be a live concert with the big stars, Kitadani Hiroshi-san & Otsuki Maki-san. Rules for live show will be announced soon. Also, Tongari’s birthday is also in March. It will be on the 13th. On that day, guests will be given a free flower greeting card so you can write a birthday message to the loveable Tongari-san. GUA! BOYS! We gotta celebrate BIG! Next, FIGURINES! FIGURINES! Loads of new ones! First, all arcades will be stocking this new Sweet Style Pirates of Nami wearing Chopper’s outfit in dark and pastel color. Think you got what it takes to win this? Shut it and beat that crane. Next, A bit early, but check out the Ichiban Kuji! Theme is the Wano arc. Prize A & B will be figurine of Luffytaro and Zorojuro. Prize C will be ukyo-e board image, & prize D will be a sakura glass cup. You’ll also get a chance to win another color version figurine of Luffytaro & Zorojuro. It will commence in July. Next, another early Ichiban Kuji. Title is The Greatest: 20th anniversary. From Prize A to E are figurines of Luffy, Zoro, Ace, Law, and Sabo.  Prize F to H are plates designs, glass cup of the Straw Hats, and colorful board frames. You’ll also get a chance to win either new color versions figurine of Luffy. It will be released on April 26th. Next, more birthday goods of Sanji & Franky. They’ll sell birthday buttons and acrylic figurine stand. If you purchase over 1000 yen, you’ll get two free mini posters. Moving on, next month, they’ll be selling these new awesome goods such as these neck straps of Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Chopper, Ace & Law, this cool jersey shirt of the Straw Hat jolly roger, and these square can badges of the wanted posters of the Straw Hats, the warlords Mihawk, Doflamingo, and Crocodile, Ace, Law, and Sabo. All will be released during March. No known date, but the anime shop, amiami, will have details. Next, Jump shops and Straw Hat stores will be selling birthday buttons of Sanji, Franky, and Sabo. A better image will be released soon. This is the best one I could find. Last, but not least, here is the new cover of vol.92 that has Luffy with Kid, Kaido as a dragon, the courtesan Komurasaki and her cute sis, Otoko-chan, and the gang with surprised faces. It will be released on March 4th. Well, that’s all we got for now. Oh, tragic news everyone. I forgot to mention it last time. Voice actor of Whitebeard, Arimoto Kinryuu-san, passed away last week due to his cancer in his stomach. It was a long battle, but the great oyaji has gone to the sky to enjoy sake with Roger. He passed on before his birthday. It truly is a sad news to bear, but we must honor his memory and carry on with the story like he would have want us. Well, that’s all we got. Tune in next week for more news and events. Special thanks to Tongari-san. We’ll be ready for your big day! Boys, let’s call it a night.

 Tower anniversary: https://onepiecetower.tokyo/sp/4th_anniv/

[spicypandacreations]

April and Joe’s Wedding Story

Here is a play-by-play for those who were unable to attend the wedding. 

Being a gigantic comic book fanatic, Joe proposed to April at the Chicago Comic and Entertainment Expo on March 19, 2016. During the convention, their friends and family all wore costumes and held up signs that said “APRIL WILL YOU MARRY ME?”

Prior to that date, Joe continuously worked with a jeweler Adam to custom design April’s engagement ring with the theme of “two lives becoming one.” The idea was to have two bands becoming one band as well as having the two ends encircle the diamond. Unintentional in design, the top view of the ring ended up showing a heart.

As all great stories go, she said “Yes!”

For those who wanted to see the proposal, here is a video of its entirety at the comic con. Please click on this LINK

Fast Forward to 2017 Wedding Planning!

One day, April and Joe were visiting a local comic book store and found a giant box of give-away comic books. In speaking with the manager, he agreed to give them the entire box of unsold comics, in addition to giving them more free boxes of comic books in later months.  All these comic books would later be turned into various comic book decorations.

Comic Book Hearts

Their friends cut strips of poster board and modge podged them with comic book paper. The strips were then bent into heart shapes and clear fishing wire was attached to each so the hearts could be hung from the chandeliers in the room. 

Comic Book Signs

April’s mom used her handy dandy Cricut machine to cut out hundreds of comic signs in various colors and sizes. April’s dad and friends took black paint marker and outlined each sign to accentuate them. Signs had various action words written on them as well. 

Signs were then glued onto sticks and poked into circular foam “coasters” that were modge podged with comic books.  

The smaller signs were used as seating charts. 

“Mr & Mrs” Sign

During the prior months before the wedding, Joe’s parents were replacing their kitchen so he took the drawers and April’s dad dismantled them. 

Joe drew the “Mr & Mrs” shapes on the boards and April’s dad meticulously sawed each of the words out and made holders for them.

April and her mom then took comic books and modge podged each of wood pieces.

Flower Girl Basket

April’s mom created basket for April’s niece- the  flower girl. 

Flowers

Lilies

Joe taught his mother, April, and several friends how to fold the comic books into origami lilies of varying sizes. 

Each comic lily was hand glued by Joe’s mother onto tree branches that were cut by April’s father from their home in central Illinois. Green paper leaves were cut out and also glued onto the branches for accent. 

The branches were then wired together and placed in 6 vases with colored ribbon.

Comic Book Rose Wedding Favors

From the plethora of free comic books, Joe’s mother spent countless nights searching, cutting out, gluing, and shaping each petal in order to create over 230 comic book rose wedding favors. Joe’s friends Stephen and Tori graciously helped him cut out leaves and write the names and wedding date.  

Bamboo Flowers

Joe’s mother repeated the same process and glued the petals to curved bamboo skewers in order to create 100+ bamboo comic book roses. 

These flowers were then used for making various wedding decorations: cans, cake flowers, and decorations for ceremony chairs & gazebo.

Gazebo flowers

Joe’s mother also created flower arrangements from giant origami kusudama flowers, comic lilies, and comic roses that would attach to the pillars of the gazebo. Long floral vines attached to them and then met at the center of the gazebo where April’s dad had created a custom designed wooden cross for them. 

Cross

Joe and April had made a special request that April’s father create a cross for the ceremony to be hung above them. This beautiful piece of work was created from hard maple and walnut. 

Wishing Well

Joe’s mother made the wishing well out of three boxes and decorated it with some wedding paper, ribbon, some reused flowers from another friends’ wedding, and previously mentioned comic flowers. 

                                    Bridal Party

For their wedding, Joe and April chose 5 groomsmen and 5 bridesmaids. Each bridal pair was assigned a specific color: Purple for the bride and groom, and then  Blue, Orange, Light Blue, Green, and Red for the others.  The bridesmaids wore jewelry, shoes, make up, nail polish, and a parasol in their designated color. The groomsmen were given a tie, pocket square, cufflinks, and converse Chuck Taylors (Joe’s favorite shoe) in their designated color to wear during the reception.

Boutonnieres

Joe’s mother searched through the mountain of free comic books to find the appropriate colors to handmake each boutonnière for his groomsmen and him. She also made comic book boutonnieres and corsages for herself and Joe’s father, April’s parents, April’s grandfather, and Joe’s childhood friends who would give speeches at the reception.

Bridal Bouquets

For the bridesmaids, they created paper bouquets in each of their designated color. The two tones of color per bouquet were origami Kusudama flowers, in addition to white origami Kusudama flowers. A little clear bead was also glued into the center of each kusudama and green floral tape was wrapped around each bamboo stem. Small comic origami lilies, designated color roses, and green paper leaves were inserted to fill in the gaps. A 7th bouquet was created using all the colors for the bouquet toss at the wedding reception. 

April’s purple bouquet was a cascading style arrangement that used purple tones and shiny white paper to create origami kusudama flowers. Clear beads were glued to the center and long vines were attached to give the bouquet a cascading look. 

Tall comic cylindrical containers with a complementary colored ribbon were also created to house each bouquet. During the wedding reception, the cylinders and the bouquets were placed around the sweet heart table.

Cake Topper

Joe finished the wedding topper around 12:30am the night before the wedding. The deal between April and Joe was that if he was not allowed to see April in her dress prior to the wedding, she was not allowed to see the wedding cake topper he would create for them. 

These cake toppers were modeled after outfits that the two typically wear. April’s father created the wooden platform while Joe sculpted these figurines from two wooden dolls and clay. 

The delicious 3-tiered vanilla flavored cake was wrapped with strips of comic book paper and then decorated with several of the flowers that Joe’s mother had hand-made for the wedding. 

                            Table Centerpieces

Joe handmade 20 comic book themed centerpieces for the wedding with the help of his childhood friend Matt. Each centerpiece had a brief explanation on the opposite side of the table number. Each centerpiece was also able to light up with the use of an electric candle or electric tea light. Comic book confetti in the shape of hearts was sprinkled around each centerpiece. 

Table #1 - DAILY PLANET

Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent becomes Superman, The Man of Steel, when evil threatens Metropolis.

Cast: Superman, Cyborg Superman, Bizarro, & Powergirl

 Table #2  - SAVAGE LAND

 A pre-historic tropical region tucked deep within Antarctica, the dangerous Savage Land is home to dinosaurs, active volcanoes, and tribal natives.

Cast: Banshee, X-23, Gambit, & Sabertooth

Table #3 - THE DAILY BUGLE

 Daily Bugle photographer, Peter Parker, swings into action as the amazing Spider-man when New York is threatened.

 Cast: Spider-man, Black Cat, Vulture, Hobgoblin, Lizard, & Electro

 Table #4 - THEMYSCIRA

 The hidden all-female island of Themyscira is home to Wonder Woman and the mighty Amazons.

 Cast: Wonder Woman, Black Adam, & Killer Frost

 Table #5 - HALL OF JUSTICE

 The Hall of Justice serves as headquarters to the all-star team of heroes known as The Justice League.

 Cast: Dr. Fate, Hawkman, Firestorm, Zatanna, Captain Cold, & Atom Smasher

 Table #6 - ATLANTIS

(In the hoopla of the day, no one remembered to release the fish from the bag prior to the pictures being taken. Joe noticed it mid reception, ran over, rolled up his sleeve and let those guys free stating “I didn’t come here for 99%!!!!.)

 The underwater kingdom of Atlantis is hidden well below the destructive hands of surface dwellers.

 Cast: Namor & Aquaman

Table #7 - THE BATCAVE

 Hidden beneath Bruce Wayne’s manor, the Batcave serves as home to the world’s greatest detective - Batman.

 Cast: Robin, Batwoman, Riddler, & Two-Face

 Table #8 - THE DANGER ROOM

 Located within the Xavier Institute, the mutant team known as the X-Men hone their battle skills through the virtual reality simulations of the Danger Room.

 Cast: Professor X, Storm, Havok, Blob, Pyro, & Mystique

 Table #9 - BAXTER BUILDING

 The Baxter Building is the headquarters of the Fantastic Four, a 4-person superhero team that often defends Earth from Galactus - The Devourer of Worlds.

 Cast: Invisible Woman, Human Torch, Dr. Doom, & Galactus

 Table #10 - STARK INDUSTRIES

 After surviving a near fatal injury to the heart, Tony Stark of Stark Industries dons his Iron Man armored suit to protect the world.

 Cast: Iron Man, Mandarin, & Fin Fang Foom

 Table #11 - APOCALYPSE PYRAMID

 Believing in the survival of the fittest, the villainous mutant known as Apocalypse was born thousands of years ago in ancient Egypt.

 Cast: Apocalypse, Angel, Bishop, & Cable

 Table #12 - ARKHAM ASYLUM

Arkham Asylum is a psychiatric facility that houses the criminally insane of Gotham City.

 Cast: Green Arrow, Black Canary, Scarecrow, & Deadshot

 Table # 13 - OA

 Chosen for their tremendous amount of willpower, the members of the intergalactic space patrol known as the Green Lantern Corp are bestowed their powers from the ancient Guardians of planet Oa.

 Cast: Hal Jordan, Jon Stewart, & Manhunter

 Table # 14 - ASGARD

 The Rainbow Bridge serves as the passage into the mystical realm of Asgard, home of the Norse Gods and the God of thunder-Thor.

 Cast: Thor, Beta Ray Bill, Ronin, & Hulk

 Table #15 - AVENGERS TOWER

 Avengers Tower is the headquarters of the Avengers – Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.

 Cast: Quicksilver, Giant Man, Ant Man, She-Hulk, Dr. Strange, & Wonder Man

 Table #16 - WAKANDA

 The Black Panther protects his hidden kingdom of Wakanda from those who would threaten to take its precious resource Vibranium.

 Cast: Black Panther, Hawkeye,& Ultron

 Table #17 - SENTINEL BASE

 Out of mass hysteria, the government has created giant mutant-hunting robots to control, imprison, and destroy mutant kind.

 Cast: Shadowcat, Jubilee, Iceman, & Beast

 Table #18 - HYDRA BASE

 Having amassed a plethora of weapons, soldiers, and resources over the past decades, Hydra has become a worldwide subversive organization dedicated to global domination.

 Cast: Captain America, Falcon, Nick Fury, Red Skull, & Hydra Agent

 Table #19 - HELL’S KITCHEN

 Hell’s Kitchen, the gritty, low-income neighborhood on the west side of midtown Manhattan, is protected by Daredevil – The Man Without Fear.

 Cast: Daredevil, King Pin, Bullseye, Elektra, & Iron Fist

 Table #20 - XAVIER MANSION

The Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters is the institute dedicated to training young mutants in controlling their powers and fostering coexistence with humans.

Cast: Cyclops, Juggernaut, Rogue, & Psylocke

[characteresque]

It were as if I were the good and then there were the 'everyone else'. 

If William Hall had any advice for his students, young or old, it would be short and to-the-point: life doesn’t turn out the way you think it will. Even self-made millionaires and their snobby children with golden-laid paths in front of them will experience deviations from The Plan, and in one way or another, every winding road leads to a new destination.

Will was a happy child born in the in the early 80’s to a very stable home. His room was filled with plastic Star Wars figurines and Star Trek “The Final Frontier” posters above his bed, even a jar labeled “Will’s Nintendo Fund” filled with quarters adorned his messy dresser. He was a nerd, self-proclaimed and teased, and being the son of the high school principal didn’t earn him any brownie points. His older brother and sister, both sports-minded and sociable, only seemed to mind Will’s presence in the company of…well…anyone. So, Will was alone to delve into his fascination with all things dork: and delve he did.

During middle school, Will put the final nail in his popularity coffin as he skipped lunch and traversed the library shelves for some new friends. Out of curiosity, he lugged home a large (and disappointingly unused) book about mass migration from eastern Europe to the Americas – and William Hall’s deep love for history blossomed. He made fast friends with the librarian that summer, and due the unpopularity of the non-fiction historical section, Will had the freedom to take home as many books from the shelves as he pleased. As high school approached and the looming reality that his father would be his principal (and everyone would know it), Will had finally found his niche.

It’s a shame that things could only get more complicated from there.

Will founded the Historical Insights Club, with the pull of his father, and after school on Wednesdays – for just one shining afternoon – Will felt listened to and appreciated. He got a rush from teaching the other students, and as he graduated, Will knew: he wanted to be a teacher. But there’s a complicated dilemma to this story: being a gay teacher in the early turn of the millennium isn’t as fun, nor as easy as it is today.

Will graduated with honors and quickly sped through college, his eyes on the prize. Boyfriends rotated through the seasons of his life, but during the last two years of his bachelor’s degree Will fell hard for a man in California by the name of Terrell Evans. William Hall packed up his life in Iowa and moved in with his long-term boyfriend in 2004, shortly after he scored his Bachelor of History. His parents were shocked at his coming out, but his brother and sister were not: Will worked hard to re-establish his relationship with his family as his dedication to Terrell loomed closer. The couple struggled until Will finally landed a 9th grade history teaching job at a lower-income school on the other side of town – money was never rolling in, but they made ends meet. Marriage wasn’t an option for Will, something he detested. There didn’t seem to be any hints toward marriage equality, even in the liberal state he had moved to…even though, the two had a small ceremony to celebrate their lives together. Will called it a wedding, and was overjoyed to see that his family would attend.

Things were going great for Will. He taught happily for a handful of years, eventually moving to a high school with an advanced-placement history course as he continued his education. Four years later, Will became Dr. William Hall and his ambition drove him higher up the education ladder to seek college teaching positions – or, at least he would have. Five years into their partnership, countless thousands of dollars of student debt and struggle, Will found it harder and harder to make it to class each day. That winter, a major flu took over the household and both Terrell and Will passed the infection to one another. Headaches, pains, fevers, coughs and sore throats – the typical wintertime faire – but it seemed as if they were the only two in the world who could get a gross flu outbreak in the tepid California winters. Terrell seemed to clear up after a few days, but for Will, it took six weeks of chicken soup before he finally broke down to visit a doctor.

Will walked into that clinic expecting a prescription of antibiotics, maybe a shot at the most extreme: but what he got instead was a very odd visit from his primary care doctor after Terrell left the room. His doctor urged Will for an HIV test, and the battle began. Was this because he was homosexual? The annoyance grew with every passing minute. This was precisely why he left Iowa, and the initial suggestion of an STD panel met extreme resistance from the young teacher. Will insisted that he got tested just before their courtship, he’d only had one sexual partner since that day. There’s no way he wanted the test, and so Will walked into the waiting room with his prescription of antibiotics just as he expected. He waited for Terrell, his arms crossed rebelliously. When Terrell walked out of that lab room with a bright blue bandage around his elbow, Will came unglued. How dare that doctor test him for a disease he didn’t have! But Terrell just laughed in his dismissive, good-natured way and the two went home to heal from their superbug.

When Terrell sat Will down for dinner two weeks later, life seemed to be getting back to normal. Terrell certainly felt better, and Will was hoping he’d be shortly behind. But this dinner would mark the beginning of a long line of suffering for Will: because Terrell had a terrible secret.

He’d been cheating.

And what’s more, he was HIV positive. He had been for at least three years now.

So, in other words: he knew. Terrell knew and he did nothing for his boyfriend.

Will fell apart. His entire life seemed to be a path, albeit a bit bumpy, straight to everything he’d ever wanted. He wanted to be a cool professor with hundreds of students who loved history, a speaker for middle school-aged kids who were interested in scholarly things just as he had been. Will wanted to be that teacher for young dorks that he had pined for: a friend. He’d teach the passionate young people during the day, and mentor the young ones after school: he’d be the shining beacon of knowledge and he’d be adored for the qualities that made his own younger years such hell. He wanted these things so badly it hurt, and yet, here he was, 25 years old with a death sentence and a deceitful sham of a non-marriage.

He went directly to his doctor the next morning, Terrell staying with his younger sister for the time being. Will had the apartment all to himself, surrounded by the memories of a person he never even knew. The results of his HIV test didn’t surprise him, but it certainly made concrete to Will that his life was over.

Will wanted that moment of confrontation with Terrell. He planned and schemed and knew exactly what he wanted to say to him after all he’d put him through. He wanted to tear the man down and make him feel just as insignificant as Will felt: nothing. But when Will and Terrell finally met again to talk it out, to finally bring up that ugly and fearful B-word – Will knew he couldn’t do it.

Terrell looked awful and his descent was fairly fast. He hadn’t treated his HIV infection for the years he’d been cheating on Will, and the stress of the failing relationship did nothing to help him. Will saw Terrell falling down a slippery slope, and while the two rifled through bank statements and bills to separate the names…Will got sucked back in. It was never the same, and Will’s distrust of Terrell made it clear that the two would be tragically platonic in a way. Will struggled to find a college teaching position from 2009 to 2013 as he cared for Terrell, their combined mounting medical bills deepening the rift between them. But Terrell never truly recovered, the fight inside of him seemed to die after their non-breakup. He forgot his medications and took mediocre care of himself, and Will’s patience for the man who ruined his life was unconditional but beginning to waver. Terrell could sense this – which lead to more arguments and more drama. Looking back, Will feels guilty for staying there for Terrell: maybe if he had left at the beginning, Terrell wouldn’t have died.

Will was there for Terrell every step of the way. The good moments were peaceful and the bad moments were terrible, but he never left. It earned him only the scorn of Terrell’s family who hated Will for making their son’s last years so turbulent despite his mistakes, and the disgust of his own family for staying with a man who clearly cared so little for him. And, suddenly without Terrell, Will found himself utterly alone.

This darkest chapter of Will’s life lead to some irresponsible decisions. He’d lost his zeal for life, something that was a cornerstone of his inner character. He needed a change, and he sure got one: during the summer of 2013 while the dirt over Terrell’s grave was still loose, William Hall once again packed up his life and hit the road. This time, he had no objective. He tried to pretend he was a teenager again, a young Luke Skywalker in search of his Obi-Wan. As the miles rolled behind him, each new state brought him more and more freedom. It got colder and more sparse the further east he went, and Will found himself drawn northward. Finally, three weeks before the start of a new school year, Will rolled into a sleepy little Maine town with a trunk full of medications and a renewed sense of hope.

This’ll do.

Will had sold most of his possessions in California to fund his three month soul journey, and the last thing to his name was the small slate gray car he’d picked out with Terrell from the used car lot downtown. It was bittersweet to sell the little car, but the money it brought afforded the hopeful man a studio apartment next to a small community college downtown. Technically, he lived in a popular student area…but there’s no way he was blending in. It occurred to Will that, for the first time in his life, he truly felt so old.

Will’s luck can’t be described as all bad this year, though. The college greedily took Will on as two weeks before, one of their professors took an extended leave of absence following a rocky divorce. He was underpaid and given the courses to fill that no other history teacher would touch with a ten-foot pole: but to Will, this was a new start. He poured his renewed energy into his job, and bought himself a bike.

The best part of teaching, for Will at least, is the constant flow of new information. Not just scholarly information, either. The second chapter of Will’s life begins with the realization that his life was in fact not over, and the prognosis for HIV positive people wasn’t what he’d expected after the AIDs scare he’d been introduced to as a kid. He was a young, handsome, gay teacher with a stable job, and it’s time to heal.

Will began paying off his student loans and medical bills one at a time, his meager income affording him some small luxuries such as the occasional date. For a few years he floundered around the dating scene, but his completely upfront nature cost him greatly. After what Terrell did, keeping silent about his HIV was not an option: but it certainly complicated his dating activities. Will must have gone on about sixty dates with many different men before realizing maybe…this was just his life now. He’d all but exhausted his pool of dating partners, as most of the people who lived in his immediate area were either decidedly not gay or, even worse, they were college students.

Well, maybe that wasn’t all bad to Will. After all, Terrell had been nine years older and their relationship would have been perfect. Will casually dated a student for the first time sometime in 2014 – and it was all downhill from there. Will found himself attracted to the danger, now 29 years old and feeling a huge degree higher in maturity to his students who usually ranged about 23. There was something intoxicating about the ability to teach and protect even in a romantic sense; and Will’s once narrow dating pool expanded greatly. They made him feel young. There were some weak moments that Will even invited his own students to his office just for a chance at a movie date: some students took the bait, others ran for the hills. It was all very casual, very fun: maybe if he felt more serious about a date, he’d offer up the dark smudge on his history and hope they’d feel comfortable to make out afterwards.

Most didn’t.

Will’s HIV treatments were working wonders on his body. He lived a very healthy life with a predictable routine. He’d caught the infection early and the medication only seemed to improve as the years went on. It had gotten to the point that Will’s frustration stemmed only from not finding a long-term partner three years after the death of his boyfriend, and after gay marriage had finally been legalized! It dangled in front of his eyes like a spinning fish on a hook, the one thing he thought he could never have finally available to him but no one to share it with.

Will wasn’t looking for marriage the night he logged on to craigslist for a young man to spend his evening with, though. It was cold and the thought of spending the afternoon with someone to cuddle with, paid or not, was too much for him. But the chain of events that Will would unintentionally set into motion that very night would be unlike any of the others in his life, the winding path with side-roads and potholes that he’d experienced so far seeming like a highway express lane.

No, life rarely turns out the way you’d want it to. Just ask any person their story, and you’ll hear it over and over again in various ways: it just didn’t work out. But, sometimes, and for a lucky few – it can turn out better. Thank god for Will that he finds his sweet religion after all.

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[ricardosousalemos]

Weezer: Weezer (Blue Album)

Weezer mastermind Rivers Cuomo was such a somber kid that his second-grade teacher trained the other students to tell him, in unison, “Let me see the smile.” Childhood in Yogaville, the ashram and Integral Yoga HQ led by “Woodstock guru” Swami Satchidananda in eastern Connecticut, was isolating, devoid of much pop culture and adventure—until Cuomo heard Kiss. When a family friend brought their fifth album, 1976’s Rock and Roll Over, to the Cuomo house, it sent Rivers and younger brother Leaves launching off furniture in a way only formative music can. “I’ve pretty much based my life around that record,” he has said. With their comic-book personas and distorted riffs, Kiss cracked Cuomo’s young brain wide open and rewired it for good. He had little idea what debauchery they were singing of, but from that point on, Cuomo began having intense dreams about becoming a rock star, and he began obsessively studying the work of his songwriting heroes.

For Rivers, music offered both a coat of armor and an identity. As a pre-teen enrolled in public school for the first time, Cuomo went by a different first name and his stepfather’s last name (Kitts); his chosen moniker—Peter Kitts—was awfully close to that of Kiss drummer Peter Criss. And while Cuomo was still picked on as he made his way through puberty, he eventually found his people: the metalheads. In 1989, Cuomo moved from Connecticut with his high school band to Los Angeles, ground zero for the AquaNetted and Spandexed. There, he found himself in the midst of shifting tastes, both culturally and personally. He started working at the Sunset Boulevard Tower Records, where he was schooled on quintessentially “cool” music like the Velvet Underground, Pixies, and Sonic Youth.

Also in the mix at this time was a new band called Nirvana. When Cuomo first heard “Smells Like Teen Spirit” on the radio in late 1991 while washing dishes in an Italian restaurant, he was sorta pissed he didn’t write it himself. “Rivers says, ‘I should have written that,’” remembered early Weezer guitarist Jason Cropper in John D. Luerssen’s band biography, River’s Edge. “And I’m like, ‘Yeah. That’s totally true.’ Because the music he was writing was improving in quality every day.” Cuomo’s interest in Nirvana became an obsession. He’d taken notes from Brian Wilson, the Beatles, Scorpions, Yngwie Malmsteen, and, of course, Kiss. But for all his knowledge of rock history, he still cared deeply about writing anthems that spoke to his generation, even if he had trouble looking his peers in the eyes.

Weezer anthems were destined to be different. In 1994, the acts dominating the modern rock charts were pushing against something, from the British aesthetes (Depeche Mode, New Order, Morrissey) to the singular weirdos (Beck, Tori Amos, Red Hot Chili Peppers) to the disenfranchised youth (Nirvana, Green Day, Pearl Jam). With rebellion came a facade of cool, and that was something Weezer could never manage, at least not in the traditional way. Cuomo always tried a little too hard. He would become the fidgety anti-frontman with a thousand “revenge of the nerds” taglines and a Harvard degree to prove it. That dichotomy—the big-time rockstar in khakis and Buddy Holly glasses, who never seems totally comfortable in his own skin—is what launched his cult and anchored his unlikely sex appeal. And his band—drummer Patrick Wilson, bassist Matt Sharp, and guitarist Brian Bell—played along, accentuating their innate geekiness to make Weezer feel like a unified front. 

By the summer of 1993, Cuomo had written a number of songs strong enough to convince the alt-rock major DGC to sign Weezer (this despite a lack of buzz around the L.A. scene) and have the Cars’ frontman Ric Ocasek produce their first album. When the group’s self-titled debut—typically known as The Blue Album—arrived in May 1994, Cobain had been dead for a month. A feeling of dread hung over the alternative rock world whose prominence was ushered in by the Seattle sound. With their wired energy, effortless power-pop-punk hooks, and Beach Boys harmonies, Weezer took the alt-rock explosion in a new direction. You couldn’t quite tell if Cuomo was mocking his song’s regressive narrators or sympathizing with them. But once you got past his defense mechanisms and sorting through the humor and cultural references, you found a portrait of a young man’s psyche, riddled with angst and insecurity. And it arrived on the wings of massive riffs and gnarled guitar solos that sounded like they were emanating from a Flying V—on every single song. 

The Blue Album’s exploration of the fragile male ego is in full swing by the record’s second track, “No One Else.” Taken at face value, this is likely the most misogynistic song Weezer has ever released. “I want a girl who will laugh for no one else,” Cuomo sings while the band rushes through the fuzzy pop-punk changes, evoking the hyperbole of masculinity. But there’s more beneath the surface. “‘No One Else’ is about the jealous-obsessive asshole in me freaking out on my girlfriend," Cuomo has said. The song acquires even more resonance in the context of its sequencing on the record. Cuomo described the following song, “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here,” as “the same asshole wondering why she's gone.” In actuality, he spends most of “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here” muttering to his ex’s wallet photograph and masturbating to her memory, getting in a joke along the way, saying she enjoyed the sex “more than ever.” It’s an absurd scene, but imagine the sentiment coming from the wrong person and it’s suddenly not so funny. Weezer were masterful at walking this line between knowing jokiness and legitimately creepy dysfunction.

This base kind of arrested development shifts back and forth between the narrator’s relationship with girls and his views on himself. If “No One Else” and “The World Has Turned and Left Me Here” are mirror twins, so are “Surf Wax America” and “In the Garage.” Given that Weezer were named after a common term for asthma sufferers, no one expected them to be out on a board riding the waves. That tension animates “Surf Wax America,” a well-crafted jumble of harmonic puzzles and barreling punk guitars where the hedonistic surfer lifestyle is both celebrated and chided for its simplistic worldview. Even while the song sneers, the ferocity of Cuomo screaming “Let’s go!” juxtaposed with the solemnness of the band’s Wilsonian harmonies make you believe, once again, in Weezer’s sincerity. Meanwhile, “In the Garage” is an homage to that happy place where no one judges you for your comic books, D&D figurines, and Kiss posters. It seems like over-the-top self-parody, but the garage was indeed a real place where early Weezer practiced and recorded when Cuomo, Sharp, and original guitarist Justin Fisher lived together in the “Amherst House” near Santa Monica. The hopeless ambition of “In the Garage” would make it the defining song of nerd-rock.

In between “Surf Wax America,” a fantasy about someone completely different, and “In the Garage,” a hyper-detailed song about himself, lies a song about his father. There are two more nakedly emotional songs on Blue, which are set off further by Cuomo’s rare embrace of laid-back guitars. Atop a bluesy jangle, “Say It Ain’t So” details the moment when Cuomo’s deepest worries are realized: He sees a beer in the fridge and, remembering how his father drank before he walked out, he senses his stepfather is doing the same. He fears now that he, too, is destined for this fate. Pinkerton, Weezer’s sophomore album, is often described as the tortured confessional to end all tortured confessionals, essentially a diary of Cuomo’s notorious Asian fetish. But “Say It Ain’t So” is just as raw, and arguably has more that its listeners can use, throwing its arms wide open to anyone who’s known the trauma of dad issues. The music is constructed perfectly, building and building until what's left of Cuomo's vulnerability comes out as a bitterly frayed "yeah-yeah," all capped by a guitar solo worthy of the Scorpions.

The desire to write a perfect song can drive some songwriters mad, as their belief in music as a vehicle for emotional expression reconciles itself with the belief that pop is a puzzle that can be solved. On Blue, Cuomo found the ideal balance, as he rarely has since. He understood the rules so well that he also knew when to break them, from Sharp’s super silly new-wave keyboard in “Buddy Holly” to the mumbled dialogue that runs through “Undone” (the band and their friends chatting were a backup plan after DGC refused to clear dialog from an old sci-fi film, “Peanuts,” and more).

The fact that “Only In Dreams” is eight glorious minutes long is Blue’s greatest example of self-indulgence gone right. It confronts the two most perilous teen-boy anxieties—talking to a girl you really like and dancing in public. It’s fiery, gorgeous, well-played, and devastatingly sad. Sharp’s trudging bassline guides the way forward for the narrator, whose fear of stepping on his crush’s toenails is temporarily silenced by the band’s total calamity. Rock’n’roll teaches us that extreme volume can quiet the voices of doubt inside our heads and numb the pain of living inside our awkward bodies. In this sense, the climaxes on “Only in Dreams,” starting around the song’s midpoint, are rock’n’roll lessons of a lifetime. But it’s the big build at the 6:45 mark that plays like a beta male transfiguration. Having re-recorded Cropper’s guitar parts in one take after essentially firing him following Blue’s 1993 recording at Electric Lady, Cuomo ends up axe-battling himself until he’s soloing like the metal gods he grew up worshipping. Wilson’s drumming—an underrated and idiosyncratic force throughout Weezer’s discography—drives home the catharsis. His cymbals crash from every angle and his tricky rolls play like percussive triple axels. By the end of the song, you’re back to reality, exhausted but ready for a fight—even if it’s just against your own doubting voices.

For all the talk about Rivers Cuomo’s anemic masculinity, The Blue Album has a unifying thread of identity that supersedes gender. An essay on the Smiths pointed out that, “Asking people about their interest in the Smiths is another way of asking this question: ‘How did you survive your teenage years?’” The same could be said of Weezer’s debut. Blue quivers with isolation if you look past the pastiche, the deflective humor, and the guitar lines that make you sit up tall. The emotion Weezer tapped into is echoed in music sometimes considered distinctly millennial due to its high levels of anxiety, from Death Cab for Cutie and Carseat Headrest to Mitski’s Puberty 2 and even Drake at his most neurotic.

For as classic as the album is considered now, Blue didn’t make the 1994 Pazz & Jop year-end critics’ poll. Back then, Weezer were considered alt opportunists or even Pavement ripoffs—a comparison that seems silly now, looking at the distinct rock strains since indebted to Cuomo. But MTV and radio airplay for “Buddy Holly” and “Undone — The Sweater Song” made Weezer huge, and The Blue Album went double-platinum within 15 months of its release. Over the next three years, as Weezer 1.0 slowly imploded (bye-bye Matt Sharp, hello rotating door of bassists), the record would sell a million more and be well on its way to canonization. By 2003, Pitchfork named it one of the best records of the 1990s; two years later, Rolling Stone heralded it as the 299th greatest album ever. And so Blue now sits in a sweet spot of commercial accessibility and critical adoration, a combination that guarantees the album will make its way into the hands of a certain kind of bespectacled teenager for decades to come—the ones who really need it. Cuomo never wrote a song as indelible as “Seems Like Teen Spirit,” but he did reach generations of rock kids, proving that coolness is optional if you study hard enough.