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bladekindeyewear · 5 years ago

Text

HS^2 bloggin’ mainline 2020-08-06

♪ HS2 HS2 is baaaaack ♪

♪ HS2bloggin here we gooooo ♪

♪ Structural changes on their team but I don’t caaaaare ♪

♪ Already resooolved myself that its NOOOT gonna beee as good ♪ with inattentiveness to details characters like Terezi forgetting-what-they-used-to-know and an obsession with dwelling on traaageeeDEEE without relief-or-considering how weee’d feeeeeeel~ ♪♪♪ --so just gonna enjoy-what-i-caaaaaan about iiit~ ♪♪♪

Okay time for bankruptcy

> CHAPTER 11. History's Most Notorious Haters

Let’s see how effectively my perky new lowered-expectations attitude lets me enjoy this comic *click*

wut

Oh. so is this Dave drawing comics about current events or Regular Calliope doing so for our very first lanky look at her presumably-grown-up-more cherub form

> Knight: Keep it real.

HOLY SHIT IT’S DAVEBOT AND ARADIA

so we just get to SEE them?! just like that??? no buildup or anything? :D

Okay I’m marking out a little that’s a good sign. Also what a nerdy cop-out to turn the roboteyes into glasses that’s barely passable which is perfect, the rest of his outfit looks pretty cool tho

DAVEBOT: and thats reason four hundred nineteen why despite my mans many accomplishments i will never acknowledge big skateboardings contrived message that tony hawk is the quintessential skater of our generation ARADIA: o_o DAVEBOT: not in these trying times

Good to see Ultimate Dave is being true to form with regards to the core of his personality

DAVEBOT: beep boop ARADIA: i have told you several times that i was a robot before and i know for a fact you dont have to say beep boop DAVEBOT: hm that sounds fake does not compute ARADIA: david DAVEBOT: mom

I was with this conversation until the last two lines what the fuck

(I’m reading into it aren’t I, Aradia was trying to be atypically proper -- even though she wouldn’t have the frame of reference to know without being specifically told that “Dave” was considered nickname shorthand for the human name David, and thus if she DID know there’s no reason she’d use it except to troll him -- and Dave’s just mocking her response. Without any shame about his continued weirdness of calling people Mom, and by without any shame I mean he made the choice EXPLICITLY to intentionally evoke the awkwardness. Wow I got a lot out of two lines.)

(Oh, also alt!Callie’s true Jade-body incarnation here probably prompted her to start using “David” by example. There, various mysteries solved via a pile of assumptions probably to be disproven in the next couple lines I read.)

The Knight and the Maid stare at each other briefly, having exchanged enough meaningful glances over their time together to know when to drop it.

Would Time players have an easier time gelling this way, like this particular smoothness? Dropping it just before it gets weird or excessively irritating?

(Overclasspecting)

ARADIA: i think we have exchanged enough meaningful glances over our time together to know when to drop this DAVEBOT: what i enjoy about our conversations is that you just say things like that

OKAY I SNRK’D AT THAT. That was funny.

Initially. And now I’m concerned whether Aradia is being controlled by the narrative-speak, or whether they’re both just humorously referencing the meta-text they can both see, or--

ARADIA: oh is that what you enjoy ARADIA: well we are both an infinite number of years old living countless lifetimes at once but thats no reason to waste any of our...

WHAT??!? She’s an Ultimate Self too?!?

Um, okay! Yeah! So they’re BOTH just riffing on the narrative then. But... why would Dave need a robot body to accommodate his Ultimate Psyche without getting sick but Rose not need it? I can understand Dirk not needing it because the merging of the full breadth of his multiversal individuality gels well with him being a God of the aspect governing the power of his multiversal individuality, but Aradia?

Were the robot bodies not necessary after all, and the sickness Rose suffered and Obama thought Dave would have suffered some sort of ruse? Are there shenanigans afoot? (Or are we going with the “troll biology is better” cop-out?)

She knows how this will play out, having undoubtedly tried this joke on her friend in some timeline or another. Their rapport reflects a unique combination of their matching aspects but greatly differing classes. One a passive but powerful servant to time, the other wielding the aspect like a honed blade.

WHAT????

PASSIVE SERVANT OF THE ASPECT?!? WHAT THE FUCK

Okay if that means anything like it sounds like I guess my class chart is finally blown up, sure, they only waited (*checks last edit date*) SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS TO BLOW THAT GUESS UP, SURE

Wow. Okay, I feel some obligation to jump to conclusions and say the whole class chart is wrong, but let me stay strapped in to see if “passive” is as literal as one would expect alt!Callie to mean, or it just means “an active class passive compared to other classes”. And, serving the aspect? Oh dammit, now people are gonna come at me advocating a Maid / Page dichotomy about actively serving the aspect versus allowing the aspect to be served... or Page / Maid even, jesus

I wish I had enough energy to have those chats anymore. I’d rather hold on and see the whole ridiculous chart scheme they have in mind... which is definitely (and hopefully) the one Andrew really drew up at the time and not made up by the staff, even if it throws away plenty of my old work... I’ll just stop thinking about it and keep reading.

...

--no, I don’t think I can just stop thinking about it yet. Dammit, brain.

So um. Maids serving their aspect. There was a whole “Maids serve” thing going on throughout the whole plot of Homestuck, but despite how prevalent it was, I wrote it off as the story riffing on the classical definition of Maid when the actual stuff Maids accomplished was something different and more specific, just like Knights constantly got riffed on for chivalry and the like. Furthermore, service seemed like a really shitty class definition, when class definitions are the verbs one uses to interact with reality through Aspects to change the way reality unfolds, and “serving” isn’t really an action that results in change, implying a distinct deficit of agency that I wouldn’t have viewed as fair. (Especially since you originally think “meant to serve others” and not “meant to serve the aspect”, implying even LESS agency.) Furthermore, MOST passive classes from their descriptions seem to have a propensity to act “as if by the will of the aspect”, so even with the nuance of “serving the aspect”, devoting an entire class verb to service would just step on the territory of other active/passive class pairs’ passive sides, right?

But... IF we were to take this for granted as what it SEEMS... then concentrating on that angle of “serving the aspect” implies a whole lot more agency than a service class might sound on its surface. The definition fits with the story better once you contextualize all the Maid-y references to service around Jane, for instance, with the additional idea of “serving Life” by baking prolifically and creating more of its symbols in food and--

--fuck. “Serving”, like serving to others. Serving the aspect as its attendant AND serving it out to others that need it. Maybe this still IS part of the Additive class pair! Whoa. :O

Okay okay so, what I/we thought before was:

Create/Add - Maid / Sylph

Destroy/Reduce - Prince / Bard

But “additive” really isn’t an elegant verb compared to the “Destroyer” classes, so... could it be the “Servants” and the “Destroyers”? Like Maids cleaning up and healing the broken wreckage strewn through the halls by a bratty Prince’s tantrum???

It’d certainly be weird... and it’d CERTAINLY be a wild twist where I was partially wrong in some fascinating ways but not entirely off base?

One a passive but powerful servant to time, the other wielding the aspect like a honed blade.

And yet, I can’t bet on this being the situation yet; not at all. First, it relies on the idea that alt!Callie’s explicit narrative here is slightly misleading, which would be a pretty extreme thing to commit to, even for a technical truth like “she was saying it was passive relative to other classes even though it’s technically “active””. Second... it would mean that Muses are even more wildly defined than the previous insinuation of hers, that the Sylph -- what we thought was the passive additive class -- was not enough like a Muse compared to a Witch. Muses not being that Additive? I could grudgingly understand that, but Muses not being anything like passive Servants?! That would be EXTREMELY weird!

So... there’s not a whole lot of chance that I’m not dramatically wrong somewhere about these classes! In a way that throws the entire chart into disarray!

I’m... oddly excited? Huh.

That’s a pretty nice surprise that I actually feel that way.

(Don’t hit me up all at once to discuss this Classpect development over Discord, I’ll still need a few days without talking about Homestuck to recharge as usual. Like... maybe wait and come at me as a group chat? So I’m not talking about the latest developments separately with everyone? No that wouldn’t work, how about... guh I dunno, look my outlook’s a little more positive right now but dealing with Homestuck still takes emotional energy okay?)

Okay the rest of this page...

ARADIA: ... DAVEBOT: time then make a weird face ARADIA: ........ DAVEBOT: waste time DAVEBOT: time ARADIA:............. DAVEBOT: i experience all points of time simultaneously please just say time and make a weird face

This is true.

ARADIA: .................. DAVEBOT: cmon megido youre killing me clocks ticking ARADIA: ... ARADIA: time o_o

The Maid casts a furtive glance around the empty crew quarters, as though to search for someone more sympathetic to her bit.

ARADIA: tough crowd

Dorks.

> ==>

(Lazy fruit-throwing sword-training I won’t bother to screenshot but looks fun)

(I mean, really lazy looking, these people really don’t have Andrew’s knack for action composition that would make the same amount of gif-creation effort feel like a microcosm of the event they’re depicting, unfortunately. Again, I don’t blame them; Andrew was just too good at it.)

DAVEBOT: ok heres one DAVEBOT: how old do you think you are ARADIA: emotionally? ARADIA: that is a pretty heavy topic DAVEBOT: you know damn well thats not what i meant ARADIA: you know I have been through a lot dave DAVEBOT: ok ARADIA: its just so kind of someone DAVEBOT: ok i get it ARADIA: to finally ask how i feel ARADIA: i am beside myself with emotions ARADIA: i want to open up DAVEBOT: jesus christ ARADIA: shall i open up about my past traumas to you ARADIA: would you enjoy that ARADIA: to think even a frog like me can work through their pain with a dear friend ARADIA: you have truly blessed me on this day dave strider

Is Aradia JUST trolling here or is her Ultimate Self grappling with a ton of real unresolved trauma too that she’s bullshitting around Dave-style?

DAVEBOT: times fun when youre having flies

Okay that’s a damned good frog pun.

Alright now Davebot’s rapping

DAVEBOT: lacking tact i stay stacked while i breach contract DAVEBOT: sacred vows disavowed got divorce fever DAVEBOT: i leave her DAVEBOT: dont look back dont perceive her ARADIA: do you want to talk about it :( DAVEBOT: about what ARADIA: would you say you are hung up on leaving your wife and friends behind

Goddamnit is DAVE’S ton of real unresolved trauma leaking into his raps unintentionally Dave-style?? I knew we had to address it when we cut to Davebot but how about LESS TRAGEDY IN THIS COMIC MAYBE

DAVEBOT: arent you even a little guilty about ditching your boyfriend ARADIA: what ARADIA: oh fuck

But she knew what she was doing when she did it she explicitly did it didn’t she? Epilogues quote:

DAVEBOT: what about your boy DAVEBOT: eyepatches ARADIA: oh sollux is in one of his moods ARADIA: this was all getting to be a bit much for him ARADIA: if i go ill probably just cut him loose DAVEBOT: good move

And then they stepped through the sky hole more or less. Did like, distracted Ultimate Aradia not realize exactly how long she was leaving Sollux for, ie forever? Or did she “ascend” to Ultimate status later and hadn’t thought back to the full consequences of her actions within this timeline? Or both? From the looks of the link we’ll probably find out on the next pa--

--Wait. Something else I just thought of, unrelated.

If Aradia is an Ultimate Self, that’s another coincidentally Ultimate version of someone hanging around that happens to be on the prospective list of Soul-Powered Jujus that might have their creation loops closed in the coming story. Could those two things play into each other somehow? Like instead of their souls getting stuffed into the items, their “Ultimateness” is? Or as if that’s a necessary component, or... no, I’m probably overthinking things.

> (Months in the past, but not many...)

Uh huh. Is that flashing because he’s “watching” Aradia leave? But I thought Aradia SAID she was leaving--

> (==>)

--and that black hole portal doesn’t look as cool as it sounded in the Epilogues. But why was Aradia acting surprised, she said “I’ll probably just cut him loose” mere MOMENTS before entering the portal, did she mean “cut him loose” as in “I’m going to talk to him before leaving” and then just IMMEDIATELY forget that she didn’t say anything to him because she cared so little???

Wait. Waaaait wait wait. I think. I think maybe I missed some subtext. Lemme do some fuller quotes here:

ARADIA: oh sollux is in one of his moods ARADIA: this was all getting to be a bit much for him ARADIA: if i go ill probably just cut him loose DAVEBOT: good move

His gaze remains fixed on her. She blinks and looks away, unsure what to say next. He’s standing perfectly still, presumably waiting for her to say something. She met him... what was it? Once, twice before? She can’t remember. But she knows this is a very different Dave. Aside from the metal skin, he seems implacably confident. But then, people go through changes. She’s been through more than her share. She cocks an eyebrow, recalling her own stint with a metal body.

DAVEBOT: hey earth to whats your face ARADIA: oh ARADIA: its aradia

[...]

DAVEBOT: youre coming DAVEBOT: better decide quick i doubt that dank fuckin hell funnel is staying open for much longer ARADIA: yes i suppose so ARADIA: thats where all the action is right? DAVEBOT: all the action that matters yeah ARADIA: off we go then :) DAVEBOT: word

He holds out his hand. She looks around, and assumes he means for her to take it, so she does. She didn’t know someone could fly this fast. He nearly yanks her arm out of its socket. She considers reminding him that maybe this isn’t necessary, since she can fly too. But she doesn’t want to risk saying more embarrassing stuff around this outrageously cool dude. Besides, they’re through the wormhole before she can even finish the thought. It vanishes the moment they’ve crossed.

...this was a SHIPPING thing wasn’t it. She’s impressed as hell with Striderbot, she SAID she’d cut things off with Sollux, and then she was so busy being swooped off her feet and into the portal that she forgot to actually say anything to him. Is that what happened????

Ultimate Self Davebot x Ultimate Self Aradia. Huh. Didn’t see that coming. (Though, again... they could make it SLIGHTLY clearer that this wasn’t just a blatant continuity error.)

Anyway, a rare-don’t-get-used-to-it [S] page...

> [S] (Gaze.)

...Okay that was kinda funny.

> (==>)

SOLLUX: h0w the fuck am i g0ing t0 get d0wn fr0m here.

HAH! Okay, he’s taking it pretty well. :) --and THAT’s what she realized she forgot, giving him a flight down from the tower before leaving.

GOOD. KEEP THINGS HUMOROUS EVEN WHEN LITERAL ABANDONMENT IS HAPPENING. THAT’S the Homestuck I was missing. :) :) :)

> Back to reality.

(Since the black hole is outside “canon” reality.)

Those are some cool poses-AHAH JESUS CHRIST ALT!JADE YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY TERRIFYING XD

COULD YOU MAYBE HAVE CLEANED UP THE DRIED BLOOD AT SOME POINT OR IS SOME OF THAT FRESH FROM EATING MORE RAW MEAT

(Lord English’s blood leaving permanent timeless bloodstains would be a cool new thing to squeeze into canon i admit, i wouldn’t blame them for taking the excuse even if you could find small canon counterexamples I’m not sure of but dimly think might exist)

((ALSO SHE’S GONNA BE TINY NEXT TO THEM I DUNNO IF THAT MAKES IT MORE TERRIFYING OR LESS, PROBABLY MORE))

DAVEBOT: so youre telling me you dont even feel a little bad that you ditched him to be a weird death acolyte ARADIA: no i think he found my wiles both charming and irresistible DAVEBOT: not even an ounce of guilt or self doubt huh DAVEBOT: just like that DAVEBOT: no conversations about the greater good DAVEBOT: no revelations about your feelings

Is Aradia a jerk or weird? Can’t decide.

ARADIA: do you often find your faith in yourself shaken like this or is it a new experience now that your mortal coil has been left behind DAVEBOT: what ARADIA: do you think now that all that is left of you is a literal ghost inside of a machine you are more or less likely to embrace finality DAVEBOT: oh dope more cult of one shit DAVEBOT: immortality changed you ARADIA: could it be that you are projecting your feelings onto my situation DAVEBOT: does not compute rose jr ARADIA: ... ARADIA: we dont have to talk about it DAVEBOT: thanks

Wow, I actually can’t follow this conversation at all. Let me stare at it for a sec...

...okay, the first part she’s talking about DAVE’s faith in HIMself being shaken, not her own. She’s not asking if he relates to HER experience, she’s contrasting it.

Then, asking if he’d be more likely to embrace death, or... Time? Death. Whether his self-worth has changed because he might view himself as “less real”, something Aradia doubtless struggled with when she was a robot who already had so many excuses to devalue herself at the time? And then Dave talks about “cult of one” shit what does that even mean-...

OH. Like she’s a death cult. Gooot it. Because Aradia’s of the position that death and ending should be celebrated, and Davebot understandably isn’t entirely bought in. This is as hard to parse down as one would EXPECT conversations between two Ultimate Selves to be hard to parse down, unlike Rose and Dirk where their insane missions and glaring flaws shine bright enough through it all that you can follow their conversation flow easily.

JADE: They sit in each other's presence, the silence between them as meaningful as any words they could exchange. DAVEBOT: its always really cool to hear how meaningful my silences are DAVEBOT: especially while DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: CALCULATING DAVEBOT: especially while i am attempting to experience them

Alt!Callie pulling a narrative-text AFTER a talk-identifier like “JADE:” is really hilarious in my opinion.

JADE: i do not need your approval. the story will continue how it must. DAVEBOT: beep boop hater detected ARADIA: wow is that true JADE: i am not a hater. DAVEBOT: classic hater line DAVEBOT: i know this because i am pouring through genuine actual quadrabytes of information on historys most notorious haters JADE: no, you aren’t.

Pffffff. This is pretty fun.

DAVEBOT: you are the exact opposite of a hater ARADIA: a liker DAVEBOT: ok DAVEBOT: perfect example your tolerance for whatever is going on with DAVEBOT: all this ARADIA: i think she looks quite lovely covered in the viscera of the all-powerful enemy she consumed ARADIA: floating lifelessly in our periphery ARADIA: observing our every action and noting its relevance :) DAVEBOT: uh huh thats what i mean

I was gonna note “liker” as additive for pointless classpect purposes, but really more quoting it just because I really enjoy this conversation. I’m starting to get sold on the chemistry of these two a lot faster than I expected.

JADE: even though I understand that it must happen, i am growing frustrated with the direction of this conversation. DAVEBOT: do you want to talk about something else stinky JADE: what would you suggest?

How long has that dried fucking blood been on her

DAVEBOT: ok hear me out DAVEBOT: kanaya DAVEBOT: but like DAVEBOT: wearing huge jorts

That explains Homestuck’s twitter earlier

> Weeks in the future, relative to the original point of interest...

Wait wait which point of interest? This time we were just viewing? *click*

I love what must be this shitty imagination-ship they’re using to cross the substrate of reality

> ==>

Whoaaaa. So they DIDN’T stay in those outfits for long? It showed them in a bunk bed earlier, it showed CallieJade still going around blood-covered afterward-- dammit, I’m having a hard time gauging exactly how much time is supposed to have passed between their entry into the black portal, their earlier conversation, and this moment. And as likely as some are to call this poor scene composition, I can’t think it’s anything but intentional, given we’re dealing with a couple of Ultimate Time players bullshitting with each other.

Moments like these are not rare, and serve a valuable function to the story. They are able to show a passage of time with the bulk of the emotional labor of a lengthy bonding process happening off screen. How did we get here? What have they been through? These questions are often better left open to individual interpretation and can give the one interpreting a sense of ownership of the story.

See? We’re being trolled is why. (Even if the authors are pulling the trick Alt!Callie describes maybe a little too damn often, because a cut like this where we’re supposed to fill in the emotional gaps and intervening events ourselves as readers depends on readers’ faith that sensible events and decisions for these characters would OCCUPY the gaps, as if readers don’t have faith that what intervenes WOULD make sense to their understanding of the characters the way the authors are writing them... it just seems like an excuse to do whatever you want without adequately explaining yourself, when in reality if you’d spelled out the events that led to it we’d all cry foul at the mischaracterization.)

...okay, maybe I’m a BIT bitter. Sorry. Where were we?

JADE: As a point of curiosity- ARADIA: oh shit!!!!

The dead Cherub possessing the body of an equally deceased Goddess of Space pauses at the interruption.

She doesn’t talk much, then? Too busy doing whatever talking you’d do as your other possessed Jade body? Just how temporally related is you controlling THIS Jade compared to when you were controlling the other? When that Jade pegged you as enjoying contact with friends, are these two just not enough for you, or did you “experience” the trips entirely separately? I don’t THINK the alt!Callie possessing either Jade is a separate entity from the other, but...

Were she to voice her opinion, it would be that --actually-- it is not unusual for those whose primary concern is The Grander Scheme to have a passing curiosity about the insignificant. So when one really thinks about it, any annoyance with the attendant’s small mindedness is both understandable and warranted.

She pissed

...also, “the attendant”. Even if “serve” is really the verb here, that phrasing really irks me as if she’s talking down to her. Which, I mean, makes sense for alt!Callie’s character, but doesn’t make me feel better about this new definition being foisted on us.

ARADIA: :( JADE: as a point of order, you never answered dave’s question. ARADIA: which one he is very chatty JADE: you experience time in a way that is woefully unfamiliar to me and it has... piqued my curiosity enough to learn more. ARADIA: ?_? DAVEBOT: shes asking how old you are

Wait a minute, is Alt!Callie asking a question about a dropped topic from WEEKS ago?! And is Davebot so in touch with Time and the meta ordering of topics that he actually CAUGHT ON that fast to what she was actually wondering about?????

This is getting more disorienting by the minute.

ARADIA: in this form our bodies stop aging once we reach maturity i think ARADIA: the god tier keeps our physical form locked in a state of undying ARADIA: even in death the bodies do not decay ARADIA: only lay dormant

THAT LAST PART IS FUCKING IMPORTANT. It’s being brought up intentionally to tell us that JOHN’S DEAD BODY can still be in the wallet Terezi’s carrying around RIGHT NOW without having decayed over the past years. I remember remarking in SOME previous HS^2 liveblog post of mine that I was alarmed by the decay that would have happened there (can’t find my remark on short notice and don’t really care to), so this explicitly dismisses it so we won’t be surprised by the fact that she could keep it in just-dead condition.

DAVEBOT: like how long have you been alive JADE: yes, that one.

[...]

ARADIA: oh maybe a few hundred years or so DAVEBOT: what JADE: what? ARADIA: well if i had known you were going to be so judgy about it DAVEBOT: when did this happen ARADIA: oh i spent some time in other doomed realities and timelines and came back before anybody could tell i was gone

Hm!

We knew she spent a LONG time in the dream bubbles, enough to talk to “pretty much all of the Nepetas”, but she was actually able to access a universe or universes and hop between them? That’s not something any time traveller we’ve seen has been explicitly able to do intentionally before, quite like she’s describing.

DAVEBOT: oh just out for a bit of fun then DAVEBOT: just hopped on over to a different reality DAVEBOT: real casual like DAVEBOT: oh hello dont mind me just popping in to see if it really is as doomed as they say it is DAVEBOT: did not disappoint ARADIA: yes almost exactly like that :) DAVEBOT: who did you hang out with are they cooler than me ARADIA: it is complicated to explain DAVEBOT: oh ok nevermind then DAVEBOT: all clear

Yep, he’s kinda bewildered. Is this Pesterquest stuff she’s referring to? Did she stop by Pesterquest?

DAVEBOT: a whole alternate universe ripe with the coolest motherfuckers imaginable ARADIA: you were there too i threw your air conditioner into the sun DAVEBOT: wow thats fucked up DAVEBOT: thats not where that goes at all JADE: these events are not-canonical. ARADIA: rude

Ah! Yeah, almost certainly Pesterquest. (Still haven’t played that and have little inclination to now that I’m more sure we aren’t being gaslit with intentional continuity errors, just disappointed by actual continuity errors.) Oh! And that makes a bit more sense because I imagine that’s Black Hole territory, and that territory outside of Canon seems pretty rich and easy for time-travellers to hop between stories and timelines willy-nilly. As they’re apt to in fanfics, which is the most appropriate way for things to be in that realm!

DAVEBOT: is that the trope of being hundreds of years old but looking young forever patently sucks ass DAVEBOT: a plot device an asshole would write ARADIA: :( JADE: that is not what i am trying to say at all. DAVEBOT: hmm wow yeah thatd really be a sort of pot/kettle situation i guess DAVEBOT: i cant believe im the only woke one here DAVEBOT: its hard being such a visionary AND such a fine metallic specimen DAVEBOT: but im an altruist first and fucking foremost ARADIA: so selfless JADE: yes, the greater narrative is truly blessed by your beneficent presence. DAVEBOT: oh so you got jokes now huh JADE: i have always had the ‘jokes’ of which you speak, but i have heretofore exercised restraint in laying you low. JADE: i possess knowledge of many of your iterations, as the scope of my powers allows me to exist in several narrative structures at once. DAVEBOT: but can she see why kids love the sweet cinnamon taste of cinnamon toast crunch JADE: i do not know, or care, what that means. ARADIA: neither do i :)

I’m actually really enjoying this conversation

JADE: its cultural significance to you as an earthling is wasted on the two of us entirely, as we have not conflated the misguided notion of clinging to nostalgic cereal advertisement trivia with socially relevant conversation.

Pff she literally checked her meta notes just now to learn what the cereal ads were after admitting she didn’t know what it meant and pretending not to care

> ==>

Oh, closer look at Davebot. Are those actual SHAPED shades over his robotic eye bulges? Weird, I thought it was just a lazy line drawn between them with red sharpie at first, Sans style. That would’ve been funny.

> ==>

Ohh, I get it. I was gonna say that was an unwarranted reaction... but he just realized that the Time-wait puns will be coming from BOTH his shipmates from now on. That’s gotta be a downer. :)

> ==>

HOLY

FUCKING

SHIT

IS ALT-CALLIE LAUGHING!??!?!?!??

That’s REALLY, REALLY GOOD!!! SHE’S ALREADY LAUGHING OCCASIONALLY THAT MAKES ME SO HAPPY

“BEST NARRATOR” COFFEE CUP

SHE’S ADORABLE

> ==>

Ah, was that Jade kicking you out? Or just the multiverse punishing you for being briefly happy :(

--oh, end of the update. Guess that’s it for now!

...

Alright I know I’m A BIT BEHIND on covering the HS2 commentary,

But

I really would rather wait on that a bit longer if that’s alright. Real busy and stressful week or two. (Found out my hair is starting to thin noticeably at age 31! Quite suddenly, too. Blood test looks fine so it’s nothing serious... gonna see a doctor to check if anything can be safely done about that, it’s really hurting my self-esteem more than I thought it would. Didn’t think it would hit my emotions that hard when it eventually happened, knew it was likely but not so SOON... really messing with my anxiety every time I accidentally touch my hair, now. I’ll deal with it.)

If I sound really aimless in this post, I think it’s cause I am? My mental and emotional energy’s REALLY drained. I’m glad that June/July break in HS^2 happened when it did, and I’m definitely glad there’s apparently plenty in HS^2 I can really enjoy, if this update is anything to go by. Maybe this comic can help lift me up instead of knocking me down. :)

See y’all later! More Patreon commentary blogging catchup after some other upd8.

#Homestuck #hs2 #Homestuck Liveblog #upd8 #Homestuck^2 #Homestuck Theories #Homestuck Theory #spoiler #spoilers #Classes and Aspects #Space and Time #Aradia

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thedeaditeslayer · 4 years ago

Photo

Crash Palace Interview: Catching Up with Dana DeLorenzo.

This interview briefly brushes over Ash vs Evil Dead and Dana’s latest projects.

Even though it has been over two years since Ash vs Evil Dead has been on the air, fans still clamor for their favorite badass, Deadite slaying heroine, Kelly Maxwell. Dana DeLorenzo, the actress behind her is equally adored and cherished by admirers of the Sam Raimi legendary horror franchise.

So, as always, I was thrilled to speak with her about life after Ash, her latest movie, the heartwarming holiday comedy, Friendsgiving and what she has on the horizon. Welcome to the Crash Palace Interview with Dana DeLorenzo…

The Denouement of Ash vs Evil Dead Crash Palace: Thanks for speaking with me, Dana. It’s always a pleasure. Let’s talk about life after Ash vs Evil Dead. As you know, Lee Cronin is helming the latest installment in the Evil Dead franchise, Evil Dead Rise. Fans were hoping that the Ghostbeaters would be a part of that venture. While we know it is going in a different direction, do you think Kelly Maxwell could show up some time in the future?

Dana DeLorenzo: One can dream, right? Let me take this moment, right off the bat to say something I say often because I mean it, and I can’t say it enough. People who know me know this is not fan service. I say it when I’m not doing interviews; I say it to my closest friends and my family on the regular.

I am so grateful to the fans of Ash vs Evil Dead and the Evil Dead franchise all over the world. They have truly been my Jiminy Crickets throughout this insane, bizarre year that is 2020. They have gotten me through so many of the toughest days, just by keeping the bloody love alive. With every year that passes, even though we haven’t filmed a season of the show for three years, it feels like it’s fresh because of the fans .

So, to all you Ghostbeaters out there: I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I hope I get to meet all of you someday. But I can’t convey enough how your passion and love of the show has gotten me through this 2020 roller coaster; thank you for keeping Kelly’s ass-kicking spirit alive! On that note, I have really missed the show, I’ve missed playing Kelly. I posted some things recently about Ash vs Evil Dead, photos I hadn’t looked at in a while. I miss it a lot. I like to keep hope alive that someday, somewhere, the Ghostbeaters will be reunited. Even just for a quick Ghostbeaters fist bump.

Is Kelly Maxwell going to show up in this film? No. I won’t say never, but from what I understand, this is an alternate universe for Evil Dead Rise, separate from Fede Alvarez’s movie with Jane Levy and it’s separate from Ash vs Evil Dead. It’s a new adventure in the Evil Dead universe. And I can’t wait to see the new blood and guts journey Lee Cronin takes us on. I would like to think in the Ghostbeaters’ universe, we’re still kicking it and we’re still fighting evil. But I am loving that the fans are clamoring for it! They can keep pestering Rob, Sam and Bruce the way they have for twenty-five years before Ash vs Evil Dead came to be — their persistence is what got me that dream job.

So, if they want to continue to pester to bring us all back, I won’t stop them! Because we know the fans have the power to persuade. It might take another twenty-five years. But I am always down to play with those guys and our great crew.

CP: Do you keep in touch with anyone from the show?

DD: Yeah, I try and keep up with what everyone is doing and shoot them a message to tell them I miss them like the sap that I am. I just miss seeing their faces every day, you know? I miss Lucy’s face pretty hard, and not just because she’s ‘Lucy Flawless’! She’s got new shows left and right, she never stops! Ray and I randomly text Pablo and Kelly’s catchphrases to each other. “How are you holding up? / What is happening?!” We said that pretty much every episode so it still makes me laugh. Arielle and I chat often even though she lives in Australia, she’s like my little sister! Bruce often responds “ in character” with the latest Snapchat filter. He loves those — just check his Twitter feed — and it’s all my fault. I showed him how to make them while filming Season 3. He could probably do a show solely with Snapchat characters — I’d watch.

Fall from Perpetual Grace

CP: Let’s shift gears for a moment and talk about another series that you appeared on. You had a great run on EPIX with Perpetual Grace, LTD working with the talented Jimmi Simpson, Luis Guzman and of course, Jacki Weaver and Sir Ben Kingsley. There was some talk about a possible movie to tie up all the storylines after the show ended. Do you know if that is in the works?

DD: I have no idea, but I really hope that happens. Steven Conrad is a genius and so was that cast. If you haven’t seen or become a part of the cult following of Patriot on Amazon or Perpetual Grace, you should. But the people he casts and the stories he writes and the beauty of the cinematography, all create a piece of art that is in its own category. He has such a strong point of view, aesthetic and vision, you always know when you’re watching a Steven Conrad show.

I’ve been very lucky to be part of two shows where both casts were like extended family. Like Luis Guzman. We talked recently, I adore him. Side bar: I feel like in a crazy, crossover world, Luis could be Pablo’s other uncle because of his giant heart and comedic delivery. Anyway, we’re both working on my friend Joe Ahern’s indie comedy, The Disappearance of Toby Blackwood, which he co-wrote with Doug Mellard. And I can’t wait for people to see Luis slay the screen, yet again. The filming process is pretty innovative during COVID, where everyone but the two main characters filmed their parts at home using an app. These guys were doing it before anyone else, so kudos to them.

Friendsgiving: The Gift that Keeps on Giving

CP: I had the pleasure of watching Friendsgiving the other night and it was an enjoyable holiday film. You had some hilarious bits as Kat Dennings’ wise cracking sister, Barbara. What drew you to the project?

DD: Thank you for watching the film and I’m so glad you enjoyed it! It’s the kind of original comedy we all need right now.

I knew I was auditioning for Kat Dennings’ (Abby) sister Barbara, whose part of Abby’s Jersey-Italian family. Within the first two lines of that family exchange, I was cackling. I’m drawn to anything that grabs my attention on the page and holds it for the entire sitting of reading the script. Those lines of dialogue, the way the family members are unapologetically who they are, and the fact they mean well but are constantly giving you their two cents when you don’t want it or ask for it, hooked me. And that kind of art-imitating-life comedy held up for the rest of the script for me. Nicol Paone hit it out of the park, both on the page and behind the lens. And I’m pretty sure it’s loosely based on a Thanksgiving that Nicol and Malin Ackerman shared.

The subject matter was also relatable. I’ve celebrated Thanksgiving with my family as well as a couple of Friendsgivings. And the bottom line is, the holiday is just dysfunctional, always. It might be a lot more fun with your friends but it’s still going to be dysfunctional.

That concept makes me laugh. It’s not funny when you’re the one going through the stress and drama of Thanksgiving. However, it’s very funny watching someone else go through it. It’s cathartic. That’s why I loved it.

CP: With so many talented actors in the cast, do you have any behind the scenes anecdotes?

DD: There was a lot of laughing in between takes. It’s always a good sign when the crew laughs. Abby’s (Kat Dennings ) Jersey-Italian family was cast perfectly, and the actors were so damn funny! Rose Abdoo plays our mom, Nadya Ginsburg as Aunt Anna and Johnny Williams plays Uncle Sal. Like I said, it was already funny on the page, and Nicol being a New Jersey Italian herself really captured the essence of those family conversations. The actors brought Nicol’s words to life, and on a few takes she let us riff. In one scene the Aunt Anna character was telling the scripted story of a sexual gesture; I remember laughing so hard at her adlibbing additional euphemisms for that particular act by referencing Italian food.

One of my favorite things Nicol did was add some of the funniest ad-libs and bloopers in the end credits. I love seeing those! Now everyone who sees the film will get to see those behind the scenes moments.

The Show Must Go On

CP: When we were coordinating this interview, you told me that you were going into the studio to do voiceover work. Can you give us a hint about this upcoming effort?

DD: The show features a cast of familiar faces that might have worked together recently. I just realized what everyone is probably going to think when they read this.

CP: Sorry everyone, it isn’t Ash vs Evil Dead. However, you have more work on the way. According to IMDb, you have completed a short film called PCH. What else can your fans look forward to?

DD: The Disappearance of Toby Blackwood which I mentioned before but we’re still filming that. I am so excited about this voiceover project because it’s completely original in every way, it really hasn’t been done before. And of course, Friendsgiving is out now in select theatres and VOD. It’s the perfect film to watch this Thanksgiving when we can’t celebrate as we usually do. You can laugh at the characters’ holiday drama and maybe even be grateful to take this year off.

CP: Will you be appearing at any virtual conventions like Bruce and Ted are doing for Wizard World events?

DD: There are a couple in the works. But in the meantime, I’ve teamed up with this new platform called, Real Talk Live, which is both an app and on the web. It’s like a virtual convention where you can live video chat one on one, basically like a Zoom call. You can schedule the video call in advance or whenever catch me whenever I’m live. I think it’s a great solution, and personally I’m really looking forward to connecting with Evil Dead fans this way until live events pick back up. And it’s accessible worldwide so this will be great to finally see the amazing fans I hear from overseas. I miss interacting with them in the flesh, hearing their stories and seeing their badass cosplays! And do I miss pose-punching them in our epic photos. So I end with this, because I can’t say this enough: “Thank you, Ghostbeaters! I love you more than Ash Williams loves his Delta!”

Many thanks to Dana DeLorenzo for spending time with me at Crash Palace. For those of you that haven’t had the chance to catch Friendsgiving, it is available online by buying or renting it as a video-on-demand on iTunes, FandangoNow and VUDU.

#Crash Palace #Dana DeLorenzo

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ograndebatata · 4 years ago

Text

Stepping the Steps

Note: So... this is another of the works in my fic series regarding the relationship between Victor and Ash Delgado in my AU, where, among other things, Ash is a much better person and genuinely loves Victor.

That said, some of those other things are referenced here in this ficition, most notably the different background my Ash has, including the different points in time at which she learned magic.

I hope you enjoy this other look at what their relationship is like in my AU.

With that said, let us begin.

///

Stepping the Steps

The Kingdom of Cordoba, March 14th, Year 9205 of the Ever Realm Calendar…

“So…” Victor whispered soothingly, drawing her further into his lap with the hand he had on her hip, his other one holding a lock of her brown hair as he softly caressed its full length. “Now do you want to tell me what happened?”

Despite the comfort of sitting on her husband’s lap, his warmth seeping into her as she listened to the soft lull of his heartbeat, Ash let out a long, heavy sigh, the remnants of her tiredness and tension briefly flaring stronger as the day’s events came back to her mind.

“I’d say that’s a ‘no’,” he quipped, his green eyes twinkling as he smirked playfully at her.

Despite herself, Ash couldn’t help but chuckle, both because of his remark and of how silly Victor looked, giving her that smirk when he still had streaks of her red lipstick smeared all over his face, a result of the hungry kiss she had mashed to his lips shortly after crossing the door in an attempt to drain her frustration away, which had then lead to several more of those, which had left him looking like he was wearing war paint.

His playful smirk melting into a tender smile, he added, “If you really don’t want to talk about it, I’ll drop it. Cross my heart.”

Curving her lips into a smirk herself, she turned her face up to his.

“With my head resting on top of it?” she deadpanned. “I can’t imagine how.”

Obvious though the joke was, an isolated chuckle blew past Victor’s pursed lips.

Her voice and expression softening, she added, “Besides, I’d rather you kept holding me.”

His smile still in place, Victor pressed his left hand slightly more firmly into her hip, removing his right one from her hair to rest it on her shoulder as he sank further into their armchair.

“Anything for you, mi amor.”

Giving him a smile of her own, Ash settled further into her spot, a warm flutter flowing through her as he kissed her hair. The feeling growing stronger as he rubbed a circle over her shoulder, she sighed in delight, the few leftovers of the day’s negativity slowly ebbing away, this time staying gone even as she recalled how much her temper had built up, how many times she’d had to hold herself in check to ensure she wouldn’t do something she’d regret. The only good thing to come out of it was that, as much as her customers had complained, they had still paid extra for the more complex magical service she had provided. Now she and Victor would have a bit more to fall back on if they had financial trouble in the future.

Still, he had been right when she said she didn’t want to talk about it. She wanted to drop the matter and stay in his lap with him holding her, so she could keep basking in his hug, at least until their daughter woke up from her nap and called out to them, or until they got hungry enough to eat the dinner Victor had just finished cooking when she arrived, which now lay in the stove.

But at the same time, doing so seemed unfair. More than him being curious, she had felt how worried he’d been by the time she arrived. She had seen it on the lines of his face, had heard it in his voice when he’d asked her if anything happened, had felt it even as he put it aside and yielded to the kisses she had claimed from him in an attempt to dispel the day’s frustrations.

She might not be looking forward to reliving the matter, but for him, she could do it.

Shifting in her spot, she drew in a long, deep breath, closing her eyes as she did so. He rubbed his thumb over her shoulder again once she inhaled as deeply as she could, then took his right hand off of her shoulder and ran the backs of his fingers over her cheek as she exhaled, the combination of feelings making peacefulness bubble up within her.

Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, she leaned away from his chest and began talking.

“To get the main thing out of the way, I also got surprised that this matter would be so difficult to solve. But it turned out there was an unexpected issue with clearing that house of vermin.”

Victor nodded.

“Makes sense,” he said, as he shifted his right hand to her knees. “For a malvaga as talented as you to take a whole day to disinfest a house, those must have been some mean pests.”

A few laughs leaving her at the word choice - deliberately low ones so that she wouldn’t wake up Carla - Ash good-naturedly rolled her eyes.

“You have no idea…”

Her tone turning more serious, she added, “Though mind you, the worst part of it was the nasty family spat.”

He smirked once more, his eyes twinkling again.

“Somehow, I get the feeling you’re not talking about the termites…”

Giving him another playful eye roll, Ash replied, “Yes and no.”

Seeing the quizzical curl of Victor’s eyebrow, she explained, “There was indeed something unusual about those termites. At least the ones I dealt with today. I didn’t keep any from the colony I got rid of four days ago, so I can’t confirm if they are of the same kind. But at least those I got rid of today had been fed some potions that boosted both their appetite and their reproductive rate, not to mention made them much tougher and more difficult to repeal with magic.”

Silence settled between them after her explanation, Victor blinking slowly as he took in the full implications of her words.

“Oh…” it was all he could manage.

A smidge of her irritation returning, Ash added, her eyes slightly narrowed, “It took three hours to make a potion powerful enough to deal with them, and then about another hour to make sure the whole colony was eliminated. And then Milco Quiroga wanted to know where the termites came from, so I cast a spell to find out… and it turned out they came from his neighbor.”

Victor snorted at her words, a few chuckles following the sound as if she had reminded him of something funny.

“Well, there’s a nasty neighbor feud if there was one…” Suddenly trailing off, his eyes widening, he added, “But how…”

“How does that make it a family spat, you ask?” Ash cut in. “Because Milco Quiroga’s neighbor is also his older brother. Apparently, Papá Quiroga left half of his original property to each of his sons in his will when he died. But Coti Quiroga wanted his younger brother’s half for himself because he liked it better. So he studied some magic, made a few potions, fed them to those termites, and unleashed them on his brother’s property so they’d destroy his brother's house.”

Victor’s eyelids crept shut at her remark, almost touching before they parted with the same slow speed.

“Well, I’ve heard of being eaten out of house and home, but this is ridiculous.”

Another burst of chuckles surging from her, Ash lightly smacked his chest.

“Only you to make me laugh…”

A faint coo rose in response; both Ash and Victor froze, their eyes immediately turning to the half-closed bedroom door behind and to the right of the armchair. Another one followed, but no cry or call of any other kind came forth. Carla was still asleep.

Their stances loosening as if something inside them had melted, the couple turned back to each other.

“What happened when the younger Quiroga found out?” Victor asked.

Her eyes narrowing once more, Ash explained, “Things got physical.” Seeing the slight widening in Victor’s eyes and the way his lips parted slightly, she quickly added, “Don’t worry, they didn’t try to hurt me. But I had to use a paralyzing spell to get them off of each other, and then their families decided to call royal guards to handle the matter. I waited for the guards to arrive, for safety’s sake, but then I had to spend an eternity answering every possible question they could come up with...”

Her sentence trailed off into a sigh, her tiredness briefly flaring stronger. The actual interrogation had been bearable enough, but what had come before… Between trying to keep the two brothers from tearing each other apart and doing so while sticking to the tamest magic she could use while still making sure they wouldn’t kill each other, it was a wonder she hadn’t exploded.

Wordlessly, Victor drew her back into his chest, his right hand moving back to her hair, this time running it over its full length, his other hand sliding up slightly to settle on her shoulder, pulling her further into him.

“I’m sorry, Pluma,” he whispered, his fingers threading through her brown locks.

I know. Ash replied without any words, once more simply nestling into him, savoring the gentleness of his embrace, the genuine way in which he held her, no sense of judgement coming from him. It had been something she had grown to love about him from early on - the way he accepted all of her, both the softer side she only ever displayed to those she loved and the hardened, battle worn one that had built up on her by years of hardships. However she felt, he was always there for her, doing the best he could.

As bad as any of her days was, having him by her side in the end already made them better. If she lost him also...

A shudder ran through her at the thought. The idea of losing him or Carla, nevermind both, was far too horrible to think about, and yet came to her mind far too often.

Sensing her distress, Victor pulled her even closer to him, pressing a tender kiss to her cheek before moving his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, his body turned rigid underneath hers, as if a scary thought had struck him as well. Her heart skipping a beat, Ash leaned away from his chest to look into his wide eyes, a hint of fear in them.

“The guards…” he began. “Is there any chance one of them was from the Evergrowing Forest?”

Ash rested a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” she replied. “I made sure to check. They were all ordinary guards. They may be scumbags anyway, but none behaved like one in front of me, not even the one who seemed to recognize I was a malvaga.” A hint of a frown returned to her face. “They did tell me the king might ask me to testify later, but that’s it.”

“The king?” Victor echoed, his eyebrow curling again.

Ash nodded.

“The leading guard said the situation was serious enough that King Juan Ramón will get personally involved." Her eyes narrowed, a mix of anger and dread creeping through her. "He certainly wasn't kidding. Had those termites been left unchecked, they might have destroyed much more than Milco Quiroga's house."

Victor's eyes briefly widened, an echo of her feelings whispering from them. She knew without asking that he was painting the same picture that had come to her mind.

"Anyway, I’m not sure when he’ll start, but whenever that is, he may call me for the trial," she went on before either could add more details to that image. They weren't needed, at least for now, though Ash would be sure to bring them up if she was called to testify.

A long sigh flowed out of Victor’s lips, a look of resigned unease settling into his eyes. From it alone, Ash knew that he was remembering his stint as an Avaloran guard, brief though it had been, and already dreading that this trial might end up being like those he’d been involved in during his time of service. From what he’d told her, they were a grand bore, a headache to set up, and nerve-wracking on the side of victims, defendants, and witnesses alike. Merely thinking about it threatened to make her head hurt.

Still, being called to testify on a trial was certainly better than being the one on trial. As long as the second thing didn’t happen, she supposed she couldn’t complain too much.

“If he does so, I hope he does it soon,” Victor replied, tenderly pressing his lips to her cheek, his voice dropping to a whisper as he added, “I’m only sorry I won’t be able to go with you.”

“So am I,” Ash replied with a whisper of her own.

Sitting through that trial would also be much easier if she could do it with Victor beside her, or even with him waiting for her outside. But Carla was too young to be subjected even to waiting outside with him, and they didn’t have anyone they trusted enough to look after her. It was better for their daughter if he stayed home, and Ash knew Victor understood so just as well as she did.

“Hopefully the Quiroga brothers will stay in separate cells until then,” Victor added. “For their sake, anyway. From what you say, they may not make it to the trial if they're placed together.”

That’s for sure. Ash thought, remembering the livid glares she had seen the two brothers shooting at each other even as they were handcuffed and hauled away in separate wagons. If looks could kill, both would be dead already.

Forcing down one more stab of annoyance at yet another unpleasant memory, she said, “Enough about that. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure,” Victor replied, an easy-going smile on his lips. “And if you’d rather do that instead, we can also not talk at all.”

Her posture softening, Ash started to settle back into him; then, she froze as she saw Victor’s eyes lighting up like they always did when he’d had an idea.

“Though now that you mentioned it, there is something I really wanted to tell you…” he said in a mock-conversational tone, a teasing smirk on his lips. “Shame on you for getting me sidetracked.”

Straightening herself as she turned to look at him, Ash’s lips curled into a mock-evil smirk.

“Shame on me, you say?” she drawled. “I’d watch your tongue if I were you. Because it would also be a shame if you ended up sleeping on the couch tonight.”

Shrinking slightly into himself, Victor looked up at her, his bottom lip protruding slightly in an exaggerated pout.

“You wouldn’t have the heart to do that, Pluma…” he murmured in a mock-pleading voice, the total lack of fear in his eyes conveying that he fully believed his words.

Ash’s mock-evil smirk only widened, her eyebrows turning into a straighter line as she tried to look as theatrically nefarious as possible. Victor’s expression didn’t change in the slightest.

“You know me a bit too well sometimes,” she fake grumbled even as she tried not to break into a smile.

Victor shrugged in affected innocence, something about the spark in his eyes combined with the smears of lipstick on his face making the expression hilarious and yet endearing.

“But seriously, what is it you wanted to tell me?” she insisted, punctuating her question by leaning slightly closer to him.

He started opening his mouth as if to answer her question, but not a sound came out before he clapped it shut again, his eyes widening slightly as a familiar glint flashed in them. Ash pulled back slightly at the shift in expression, cocking an eyebrow. She knew without asking that he’d just had an idea, but what sort of idea could it be?

“Actually, I think it will be better if you see for yourself,” Victor replied as if reading the question in her eyes.

Ash’s eyebrow formed an even bigger arch, puzzlement creeping even further up within her. She knew Victor well enough to see that this time he wasn’t deliberately teasing her, that he had indeed genuinely thought it would be better if she saw for herself. But what could be so special as to make it that much better for her to see instead of just listening about it?

As always, her face was an open book to him, as he held her left hand between both of his’.

“Trust me,” he whispered. “You’ll like it.”

Ash held Victor’s gaze at those words, feeling the warmth of his hands around hers. Then, she allowed the smile to return to her face.

“Very well.” She slid off of his lap. “Show me.”

He gave her hand a tender squeeze in response, caressing the back of it with his thumb, and then pushed himself off of the chair, Ash’s curled eyebrow suddenly returning as she saw him heading to their bedroom.

“Where are you going?” she asked as Victor got to the bedroom’s door.

It was a dumb question, she knew. They had built this cabin together, and thus knew where every room was, but what could he possibly have to show her that he would be keeping in there?

“I told you, I think it will be better if you see for yourself,” Victor replied as he raised his hand to the doorknob, a secretive smile on his face.

Impatience poking through her puzzlement, her voice hardened an edge as she asked, “Just what are you talking about?”

He pushed the door open.

“You’ll see.”

///

Getting one last look at his wife’s face, Victor stepped into their bedroom, careful not to make noise as he stepped over to Carla’s crib. Despite being about to wake her up, he moved as silently as he and his wife usually did, to ensure they wouldn’t lose the habit of minimizing any potential disturbance to their daughter’s sleep. Granted, she wasn’t supposed to be sleeping at this time to begin with, but today she had been restless enough that Victor had to lull her into a nap to be able to cook dinner. They couldn’t repeat this too often, but every once in a while shouldn’t be so bad.

At least, he hoped so. But he didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with babies. Granted, he had helped to look after Princess Isabel sometimes when she was a baby, and had near single-handedly looked after Arcelia for months before being replaced by a nurse, but the younger Princess of Avalor and his half-sister had only been two babies, hardly enough to qualify him as experienced. And even if he had looked after more babies, he didn't have the best of role models for fatherhood, so he might be permanently incapable on that front despite his best efforts.

Grimacing like he had gulped a mouthful of vinegar, Victor pushed the flood of bad memories triggered by the thought to the back of his mind, forcing his focus to the picture before him - Carla nestled into her crib, her brown hair framing her face, which was the picture of peace despite her brief earlier cry, worried about nothing as her best friend, Cuddly, lay beside her. Unable to hold back a smile at the view of his daughter hugging the brown, black-speckled stuffed cat, Victor reached down into the crib and ran the tips of his fingers over her cheek.

“Carla,” he murmured as he stroked her face. “It’s time to wake up, mi hija.”

Carla’s only reaction was a soft gasp. Victor repeated the gesture, just as gently as before, wondering how many more times he’d have to do it before it was effective.

He stroked her face three more times before getting any sort of meaningful reaction. Then, as the fourth reached its end, a frown settled on her face, joined by a discontented mumble as she opened her eyes.

“I know,” Victor whispered to her as he tucked her hair away from her face. “Leaving dream land can be difficult.”

Blinking towards the ceiling, Carla let out a yawn, her violet eyes screwing shut as she did so. Then, the bleariness of a baby who had been enjoying sleep in her gaze, she looked up at him.

“I understand,” he went on, his voice still low and gentle. “Sleep is nice. But you need to wake up now."

Carla only blinked once more, rubbing at her eyes as she let out another yawn, Cuddly slipping from her embrace as she did so. As gently as he could, Victor drew her up and settled her into his arms.

“You can go back to sleep soon. But now it’s time for dinner and to see Mamá. She’s arrived already.”

Carla squinted at his words, seemingly struggling with either the urge to fall asleep or his pushiness in keeping her awake. But then, her gaze became more alert, as if something he said had caught her attention.

“Mamá,” she mumbled, her voice now more awake.

“Yes, mi hija, Mamá’s home,” he said, though he wasn’t sure of just how much she understood. “And we have something to show her, remember?”

“Mamá!” Carla echoed, smiling at the word.

“That’s right!” he repeated, not changing his tune. “We’re going to see Mamá now and show her your surprise!”

He didn’t know just how much Carla understood of his sentence, but she still cried cheerfully as he carried her out of the bedroom.

He caught a glimpse of Pluma out of the corner of his eye, and saw her holding back another puzzled look before he turned right and took the long turn around the end of the table that was farthest from her. Even without seeing her, Victor already knew that she was wondering how Carla could be related to what he wanted to show her, as well as why he was taking the longer route around the table.

Did he look forward to the happiness he knew she’d feel once she had her answer...

“Mamá!” Carla called as he finished his turn around the table and started approaching Pluma, her small arms reaching to her mother.

The lingering puzzlement on Pluma’s face broke into a smile, warmth filling her light-blue eyes.

“Hello, Mi Luz,” she murmured as she started to slide her legs off of the armchair.

“Wait, mi amor!” Victor called as he stopped in his tracks, right as her feet met the floor. “Don’t get up!”

Pluma’s eyes widened at his sudden call, and a slight shifting against his chest told him that Carla had turned her face up to look at him. Too late, he wondered if he had been loud enough to scare her and make her cry, barely managing to avoid a wince at the thought. Fortunately, he didn’t feel her squirming or tensing up, nor did he hear her making any sound, so it must have been tolerable enough for her.

“Trust me, it’s for a good reason,” he quickly added, his eyes locked on Pluma's, his voice lower and as soothing as he could make it while still being sure she heard him.

He knew Pluma wouldn’t like him ordering her about; the only time he’d given her an actual order had been during an outburst of bad temper when he was having a very bad day, and it had led to the two of them having their first - and so far last - truly serious argument.

Victor wished he could actually raise an arm to add an appeasing gesture to his words, but that would imply holding Carla with only one hand, and he had never dared to try that. Though she wasn’t the most unpredictable baby, holding her with one hand still meant he’d be more likely to drop her if she chose just that moment to move, and if she fell, she could get hurt.

Fortunately, Pluma understood him; no anger glinted in her eyes as she settled back into the armchair. However, an edge of irritation seeped into her voice as she asked, “Once more, just what are you talking about?”

Knowing he’d built the anticipation to a more than acceptable point, Victor gave her a warm smile, and then crouched before her, lowering Carla until her feet touched the floor.

“Look at this,” he whispered as he let go of his daughter, though keeping his hands close enough to hold her in case things turned out for the worse.

Just as he expected, Pluma’s look of surprise only became even more pronounced as he released their daughter.

And also just as he expected, her look of surprise gave way to one of the same awe and wonder he’d felt hours earlier, as Carla stretched out her arms and, a giggle flying from her, took a step forward.

///

For a moment, Ash could only sit as rigid as a statue, the only awareness she had of any feeling being how her eyes were steadily opening past what she thought they should, astonishment starting to trickle through her.

Then, as Carla took a second step forward, and then a third, followed by a fourth, a mix of feelings started to follow in the astonishment’s wake, quickly superseding it as her whole being filled with a mix of awe and joy and pride.

Carla was walking.

Carla was walking!

It was so… so… she didn't even know the word for it off the top of her head, and might not be able to come up with it even if she tried harder. The most she could say was that, in a way, it was similar to the sheer awe she had felt after the first look she got at Carla after she was born, and in another way, similar to her joy when Carla said her first word, but yet, it was somehow different, simply because it was another accomplishment.

She really couldn’t put a word to it if she tried. And she wasn’t really interested in trying anyway.

A rare smile of sheer happiness spreading across her face, Ash hiked up her skirt and slid from her chair, crouching before her daughter.

“Come on, Mi Luz,” she whispered, spreading out her arms. “Come to Mamá.”

A giggle bubbling out of her, Carla actually tried to speed up just as Ash said those words, although it was hard to tell how much she actually understood. Then, she wobbled on her legs with a startled yelp, her back starting to curl backwards like a reed in the wind. Alarm bursting through her, Ash started to lunge forward, but then Carla stretched her arms and straightened herself, resuming her walk.

Sighing in relief, Ash lowered herself back into her crouching position. She noticed that, some steps behind Carla, Victor straightened himself up and backed one step away, a matching sigh flowing out of him as well.

“No need to do it so fast,” Ash murmured as soothingly as she could, raising her hands in a soothing gesture. “Take your time.”

Again, it was difficult to guess how much Carla understood. But as she resumed her pace, she did so more slowly, her arms still stretched out. Twice along the way, she stopped on her path and swayed slightly, Ash’s breath catching in her lungs. But on both times, Carla steadied herself and started walking again. Ash just kept her eyes locked on her daughter, trying to keep the most encouraging expression she could even as she barely dared to breathe and felt like she was holding her heart in her hands while Carla approached at what seemed like a snail’s pace.

Then, before she knew it, Carla walked right through the gap between her hands. Her chest suddenly loosening, Ash took her hands to Carla and picked her up, standing from her crouching position as she cradled her in her arms, her whole being suddenly simmering with joy.

“You did it, Mi Luz! You walked all the way from Papá to me!" Bringing Carla to her, she lightly rocked her in her hands, drawing a giggle out of her. "Who’s such a big girl? Who’s such a big girl? You are!”

Her joy soaring even higher, she lightly rocked Carla once more, bringing forth a bout of cheerful babyish laughter. The joy within her going from merely simmering to outright boiling, Ash raised Carla to her eye level again. Along the way, her eyes fell on Victor, still at the same spot where he had set Carla down, a look of utter adoration on his face as he beheld them.

"What?" she teased with a smirk.

His enraptured expression didn’t change in the least.

"Nothing, mi amor. I'm only treasuring the moment."

Ash smiled at him. She knew just what he meant. Moments of sheer happiness like this were just meant to be treasured.

But at the same time, nothing said there couldn't be more of them.

Crouching once more, she turned Carla to Victor and loosened her hands.

“Go on. Go to Papá now.”

She couldn't see Carla's face at her request, but felt from the way her daughter tensed up that she was somehow torn.

Wordlessly, Victor crouched and reached out like Ash had. Carla looked at him for a few more seconds, then looked back at her mother.

“Mamá.”

Victor didn't even blink, but Ash could see a familiar sorrow settling on his gaze. Knowing where it came from, Ash whispered to Carla, “You already walked to Mamá, Mi Luz. Now how about you walk back to Papá?”

Carla just pressed herself into her mother's hands.

"Mamá,” she repeated, her firm tone adding the words she didn’t know how to say yet.

His face tensing into a neutral expression, Victor straightened up.

“It’s alright. She’s already had quite a workout, and had to put up with Papá all day. She wants her Mamá now.” He pursed his lips shut as if he was suddenly uncertain of what to say, but then, as if he couldn’t stop himself from saying the next words, he added, “Besides, she’s just showing how smart she is by already knowing who’s the right choice.”

Despite his easy-going tone, Ash narrowed her eyes as she also straightened up, Carla in her arms.

“You know I don’t like it when you start speaking like that,” she replied, her voice calm, but her eyes narrowing another fraction as she spoke.

Victor looked down at her words, as if unable to bear the sheer intensity of her gaze.

“I’ll set the table,” he whispered.

Her heart sank a bit as he walked around the far end of the table.

“Victor.”

He stopped at her call, barely above a whisper, but audible as a scream in the quiet cabin. Again, he seemed unable to face her head-on, but he met her gaze sideways, as if she had caught him lying and he couldn’t meet her head-on from shame.

“Whatever you’re thinking regarding the kind of father you’re doomed to be just because you’re his son, it’s not true,” she added, her voice lower and softer. “You’re not like him. And I know you won’t let yourself be like him.”

Victor’s gaze shifted at her words, the shame in it briefly lightening, but then deepening even further, his eyes strangely still as if he wanted to look completely away from her but was trying to force himself not to do so.

“I’m sorry,” it was all he said, his voice barely above a murmur.

Then, before Ash could say anything else, he resumed his walk around the table.

Ash’s heart sank further as she watched him go to the cupboard, anger and pain starting to creep through her, though none of either was directed at Victor.

She wished she could just somehow engrave on his mind that it wasn’t his fault he’d had a so-called father who had been nothing but an abusive scumbag to him, and he’d only ever be the same way if he wanted to - which had always been the farthest thing from Victor’s mind. But despite her reassurances - which she didn’t intend to stop giving - Victor still was afraid that having had a father like his’ meant that it was somehow in his blood, and he was just a bad father by default no matter what he did. He didn’t believe so as much as in the early days of her pregnancy, but sometimes, the feeling still reared up.

It wasn’t fair, as far as she was concerned. Victor was a good man, and he’d broken free from his bastard of a father’s grasp years ago. He didn’t deserve to still be plagued by it. Unfortunately, as she knew from personal experience, bad memories could be very hard to get rid of.

Especially when there’s personal guilt attached to them. Ash thought. And he may not actually be guilty of what he was accused of, but after that creep made him feel he was for his whole life, it would be difficult to shake it off.

Maybe so. But at the same time, it still wasn’t fair.

A faint babyish sound caught her attention. Ash turned down, and met Carla’s wide eyes as they looked up at her, a feeling that looked far too much like concern emanating from them despite her young age.

Mustering a smile, Ash settled her daughter on the curve of her left arm and caressed her cheek.

“It’s alright, Mi Luz,” she whispered. “It’s nothing you need to worry about.”

Trying to add to her point, she brought Carla to her and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek. A faint delighted coo rose from her as Ash pulled away, but then a frown settled into her face, her small hand reaching up to bat at the spot where a large red smear now lay on her cheek.

“Sorry, mi hija,” Ash whispered as she settled Carla back into the curve of her elbow. “Here, just let me…”

Reaching up with her right hand, Ash caressed Carla’s cheek with her thumb, trying to keep the gestures as soft as she could, but still forceful enough to actually get the lipstick off. Her heart started to sink as the red smear spread further across Carla’s cheek, her daughter now repeatedly smacking at it like she was trying to drive away an annoying bug.

Without thinking, Ash tried to summon some magic into her right hand in the way meant to wipe away smudges, like she had seen her parents doing countless times as easily as if they were breathing, and like she tried to practice for as much as she could.

Then a frown came to her face, as only a few silvery-gray sparks flew from her fingers, her hold on her power as frail as if she was only using her thumb and index finger to grip a piece of paper by the very end in the middle of a windstorm. If she tried using her magic to wipe Carla’s cheek, the odds her daughter would get hurt were far too big, and there was no way she’d risk hurting her daughter over magic practice.

Holding back a sigh, Ash released her hold on her magic, her heart sinking even further. Again, she was proving she was below her parents.

She knew neither of them would say so, or even think so, but it was the truth. Her father had been able to do this when he was still a wizard rather than a malvago, and he’d become a malvago when he was younger than she currently was. Her mother had been able to do this since before she deemed her malvaga studies finished, and she had been younger than Ash was now when that happened. But Ash herself… despite having started to learn magic when she was six, and it having been more than twenty-five years since she changed from a wizard to a malvaga, still seemed unable to match either of her parents' level of skill.

A presence materialized to her right. Ash turned to face it, her eyes briefly moving over the already set table as she turned and then falling on Victor, who held a bottle in one hand as he offered a cloth with the other.

“It’s alright,” he told her with a warm smile. “I’m sure you’ll get there someday.”

Ash smiled back, a spot of warmth flickering in her. She knew words like those were easy to say, but when Victor said them, she always knew he meant them. More, she knew that even if she never got there, his feelings for her wouldn’t change. One of the things that had been consistent about him over their relationship was his unwavering faith in her, even as she constantly was below the level of power and skills she'd like to reach.

“In the meantime, I think this will help,” he added as he raised the damp cloth.

Knowing what was in the bottle, Ash swerved slightly backwards and to her right, allowing Victor to reach their daughter’s cheek and dab at it with the cloth, the red smudge disappearing after a few gentle swipes. A satisfied coo left Carla’s mouth as the lipstick vanished.

“Thank you,” Ash whispered.

Then, trading her smile for a smirk, she added, “And while you’re at it, you might want to clean yourself up as well. You look like someone has been spitting cherries at your face.”

Victor’s face flushed slightly underneath the smears of makeup on his face, his eyes widening slightly. Ash had to purse her lips to hold back a giggle. She knew many men didn’t like being referred to as cute, and Victor wasn’t exactly an exception to the rule, but it really was the best word for him sometimes.

“Well, I’m just glad it was something much nicer,” he managed to quip as he opened the bottle and poured more makeup-wiping potion onto the cloth, though his cheeks remained flushed.

The urge to giggle fading, Ash allowed her smile to return, but said nothing as Victor closed the bottle again and wiped his face.

Her smile vanished again as Victor's expression fell, a somber look settling in as he lowered the cloth.

“I’m sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

Ash reached up and settled a hand on his shoulder.

“I understand. Sometimes it’s difficult to hold these things back.”

Victor's face remained just as somber as before. If anything, it was even worse now, his shoulder tensing up under her hand, telling her without any words that he was still beating himself up for upsetting her.

Unsure of what she could say that wasn’t a retread of words she’d already used, Ash instead moved her arm to around his back and pressed herself to him, snuggling her head into his shoulder. At first, Victor went even more rigid against her, but then a sigh rolled from his mouth and washed over her hair as his left arm wrapped around her shoulders, his right one coming up and drawing both her and Carla into him.

Letting out a relaxed exhale, Ash curled her arm even more tightly around him, her whole being loosening from his closeness and warmth. She wasn’t the best with words, but she knew a gesture could say more than a whole speech, and tried to put everything she wanted to convey into her embrace.

From the way his stance remained loosened against her, she knew that, as always with her, he understood.

A satisfied coo rose from below, a faint shifting against her chest telling her that Carla was also enjoying the hug. Victor relaxed even further, and Ash knew he was relieved that their daughter had, in her own way, told him that she didn’t think he was a wrong choice.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice reminded her that both theirs and their daughter's dinners were waiting on the table and all but sure to be growing cold by now, before adding the reminder that food-heating spells were another kind of magic she still wasn’t exactly the best at.

But despite that, Ash stayed exactly where she was. The warmth and comfort of this moment with the two people she loved the most were too good to let go of just yet.

#elena of avalor #my fanfiction #tales of the ever realm au #victor delgado #ash delgado #carla delgado #just a bit of family fluff #i hope you enjoy

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mysticsparklewings · 5 years ago

Photo

Ziggy Crossing

Still not quite sure I'm 100% back into the swing of things (posting regularly and being more present) yet, but time will tell. For now I'm testing the waters. Anyway. In the time I've been away, I ended up talking to some friends about (to the surprise of absolutely no one) Animal Crossing, and in that conversation, the idea of drawing my cat, Ziggy, as an Animal Crossing villager came up. I'd toyed with it before after seeing some other people draw their pets as villagers, and that conversation more or less sealed the deal for me to at least try it, even if my attempt didn't pan out and see the light of day. Obviously, things went pretty well because here I am posting this. The first step, as it is 90% of the time for me, was to come up with a sketch and go from there. I primarily used Olivia and Lolly [pre-existing Animal Crossing cat villagers] as my references--Olivia for the pose and eyes, Lolly for the stripes and some details regarding the ears and face--but I also checked certain things across the various cat villager models so that details could be consistent where they needed to be. I think if I missed the mark anywhere, it's probably in the proportions. Namely the size of the head and length of the body. But I think it's close enough that unless you compare it directly to Olivia's model that I referenced for the pose, the proportions aren't so off that it's distracting or off-putting. I did originally have trouble figuring out what pattern to put on her shirt though because the real Ziggy doesn't really have anything I could pull a pattern from. These days she does wear a white and silver collar, but that's not a whole lot to work with. So I left that alone while I pondered how I wanted to go about coloring the whole thing. My plan at the beginning was to use this sketch as a test piece for some acrylic paint markers I recently acquired (which you will be seeing me talk about in the future), but once the sketch was finished and I went back to check the colors I had (you know me; gotta have a swatch chart for everything), it was pretty obvious that if I want this to be my dear Ziggy and not just a random tabby cat, I needed to figure out a different coloring method. I could have just done regular acrylic paint, but that sounded like a chore and thus I was not interested. Same with gouache. Colored pencils were on the table, but the main problem I have with those is that they can be pretty slow and personally I think their texture really lends them better to replicating the 3DS/Animal Crossing: New Leaf style, as opposed to the look of New Horizons, and that's not what I was going for here. That left me with two main options: Watercolor, which was a hard pass for this kind of art (at least for Ziggy herself), and alcohol markers, which I did use quite a bit on the last Animal Crossing artwork I made, and they had worked out fairly well. Alcohol markers it was! Of course, even after that decision was made, there was the issue of how to handle the lines of the drawing. When I was planning on using the paint pens/acrylic markers/whatever, that seemed a lot simpler because, in theory, I could just use the same pen I wanted to color with to do the outlines and then fill them in. And because that would be using mostly opaque paint, if I needed to I could just cover up any overlap with relative ease. Alcohol markers don't play by the same rules though, so I had to re-think all that. In the end, I pulled out a pale warm gray Polychromos pencil close to the main color of alcohol marker that I had picked out that I figured would also be light enough to blend in everywhere else. That way I could have the defining lines that I needed without having to worry too much about them being visible in the final product. [For clarification: I picked a Polychromos because once sharpened they tend to hold a point longer and better than the other colored pencils at my disposal and I really needed to keep a sharp point as long as possible to do the lines here.] In retrospect, I do think it might have been to my benefit to pick out a pink for doing the inner ear lines, but the end result there isn't so awful that it single-handedly (paw-ed-ly?) ruins the drawing for me. It's just something to take note of for next time if there is a "next time." Once I had my lines (including doing the eyelashes and mouth with one of my usual black fineliners), the next challenge was the actual coloring. Mostly because I had to be very careful around the edges so that the marker ink didn't feather out too far (as alcohol markers do on any paper that isn't marketed as "bleed proof" because that's what bleed proof in paper actually means--not that it won't bleed through to the other side, though that is less common with that kind of paper, but that it won't "bleed" across the page), and I also had to be a little careful and choosy about how I did any blending or shading. Again, my blending and shading plan was going to be different had I used the acrylic markers. The main thing I ended up doing here was trying to find areas that needed to be layered so that the one-color shading could act as a line/barrier between sections. Best example: Where the ears meet the head, I shaded the bottom portion of the ears. You can also see this a little bit where Ziggy's tail meets her body and where the legs intersect at a few different points. By no means did this turn out perfectly, considering that I really wanted to stick to use as few colors as possible (which means pretty much all the shading is just layers of one color to darken it) which means there isn't as much distinction or variation as there could be. And I feel it necessary to note here that I was worried when I first finished the lines that the eyes looked wonky, but after coloring pretty much everything else in that concern dissolved because 1. It's harder to tell and 2. Even if they aren't exactly the same, it makes visual sense because it looks like her head is slightly turned, meaning the eyes wouldn't be identical anyway. Never underestimate the power of coloring your work in! Speaking of which, you might be wondering about her shirt by now. Well, after toying around with some ideas I got it in my head that a good way to tackle that problem might be with washi tape, as I've used it in this manner before and worked out pretty nicely. Even though it wasn't a lot to work with, I did like the idea of the base color for her top being white like the real Ziggy's collar, and that narrowed down my tape options considerably. Of the options I had that I thought would be suitable, I ended up having a choice between one with small rainbow-colored polka dots and the decidedly less vibrant small triangles that you see here. The polka dots seemed a little too peppy for Ziggy, so I went with the triangles. And this, I must say, is one of those artistic decisions that I feel even better about the longer that I see the end product. The main issue I have with using washi tape, and thus why I don't use it in this way that often, is because cutting the washi tape to fit a specific shape is a process that doesn't get much easier even with practice. And even if it did, that wouldn't eliminate the very real possibility of cutting or indenting the paper underneath while you're cutting the tape. Of which, I have not yet figured out how to totally avoid short of forming the washi tape on a separate piece of paper, cutting it there, and then moving it to the final piece. But that method comes with its own problems too, so... Still, I made the decision to go through with it here and just accept the rough edges/lack of precision and all that. Before I put the tape down though, I did do a little shading with some light gray markers that I was counting on showing through the tape to give it a little more dimension. Seeing it now, I do think I could've stood to go a little darker, but again this isn't something that totally ruins the end result for me. Just something worth noting. After all of the above, I was left with one lingering problem: The background. Which I've noticed seems to normally be a "problem" area for me in that I don't always have a solid idea for what to do with it. I did consider what exactly I wanted to do earlier on in the process, before I started on Ziggy on the final paper, even. Briefly, I thought I might cut her out and put her on a separate background as is sort of a go-to background method for me. Something just didn't feel right about doing that here though and it feels like I've done that a lot lately (you know, when I've not been drowning in mandalas for NaPoWriMo...). So it was at this early stage that I locked in the idea of adding in the background in later, probably doing something kind of loose to give a general idea that hopefully wouldn't take too much time or effort. We've already established that I wasn't super keen on the idea of using acrylic paints or gouache for this drawing, and that remained true for the background too. Although, I don't really like using alcohol markers for backgrounds either because it can be tricky to keep things smooth and consistent. That left me with colored pencils and watercolor. Colored pencils are usually hard pass for backgrounds for me for a number of reasons. So! Watercolor, hmm... I drew Ziggy here on my darling Strathmore 400 series mixed media paper because I love how it handles markers and it has enough weight and texture to it that it handles a lot of my other go-to options with little fuss. Watercolor is really the only thing I have trouble using on it, the main problem being that sometimes (not always) the paint doesn't like to blend out super smoothly and certain watercolor techniques don't work the same on it. This doesn't mean it's useless for watercolor (at least not for me), that just means I have to be more careful about how I choose to work with watercolor on it. In this case, the blending issues lined up with the idea I had of letting the background have more texture since Ziggy came out a lot smoother by the very nature of alcohol markers. Somewhere in all this, the idea struck me to use my Gelatos to leave behind some crayon-like texture. That idea seemed fitting to me since Animal Crossing is a fairly light-hearted and child-friendly game, themes that crayons go along with. The gelatos are water-soluble but not every color dissolves completely when activated with water. This should be pretty evident here because I didn't try to hide it. I wanted quick and easy, and without a doubt just letting the texture do whatever it wants is the quick n' easiest method to use with the gelatos. Once I'd done a bit of back and forth with two greens and two blues to give me the solid suggestions of a sky and ground, it still felt like it was missing something. Ultimately, it seemed like a good idea to me to try and mimic the triangle pattern/texture that New Horizons features. (In past games you could get squares or circles for a grass pattern at random.) And while I as per usual I had to think on how to go about this, in the end, the best solution I could come up with turned out to be drawing the triangles in with alcohol markers. Truly, I'm surprised to be reporting this because I fully expected the creamy nature of the gelatos to make using alcohol markers on top feel disguising and unproductive. But not so! At least not with the limited gelato use here. The creamier areas do soften the color of the marker, but I think that worked to my advantage. Although, I did end up using a little bit of my yellow Moonlight gel pen because I felt like I needed some yellow triangles for balance and I knew transparent yellow markers wouldn't do what I wanted. But that brings us to the final product. I'm happy with it. And I do really like how the grass ties in with Ziggy's green eyes. It's just a nice little touch of visual cohesion in my book. As I always say, I'm sure it's not perfect and there are some missteps here and there or things that could be improved. Nevertheless, it was a fun experiment and serves as good encouragement for me to continue playing with the lineless look, among other things. I do have to note though that it feels super weird to just leave the eyes like this with no indication of shine on them! I made the choice not to since it's not a common trait with the official character models (at least not for eyes in this same style) but part of me still feels like it's incomplete. As I've said before recently and I'll probably say again, I can't promise I'll be getting back to a regular upload schedule now, but it's on my mind. I want to get to that point soon. I do have the acrylic markers I mentioned to talk about and another supply in the mail, and some other art in my backlog. So if you can be patient with me a while longer, there will be more from me to look forward to. In the meantime, please be kind to yourself and others. ____ Artwork © me, MysticSparkleWings ____ Where to find me & my artwork: My Website | Commission Info + Prices | Ko-Fi | dA Print Shop | RedBubble | Twitter | Tumblr | Instagram

#animalcrossing

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i-writeandread-blog · 6 years ago

Text

A Portrait of a Tortured You and I - Chapter 2

Authors Note: I don’t edit or proofread usually when trying to get content out quickly, so I am aware there may be issues with my use of past and present tense. Please know I will fix any and all errors!

I was snapped back to reality, when I heard the horn blow on the ferry. It was pulling up to the dock. I was equal parts excited and nervous. This wasn't my first rodeo, I had been to over 50 concerts, traveling all over the world to see Mars, I was also a Camp Mars alum... but this was the first time I had left the comfort of my home since I had been brutalized.

Life has a funny way of surprising you though. Since the attack, my sisters and I have made up. I don't think we would have, had the unfortunate not happened.

Since I received the anonymous letter and check, I started working on getting better. I still wasn't out of the woods. The occasional panic attack and nightmare still happened. I didn't know if they would ever go away, but they were becoming less and less. I did have a few issues getting on the plane, but I used the breathing and grounding techniques that my therapist was teaching me. And here I am, ready to finally enjoy life again. I was so anxious to get to the island and get settled in.

Some of the Echelon that I was still friends with were meeting up with me and it was all about strength in numbers. That gave me comfort knowing that they had my back in the unlikely event I began to panic.

I looked around seeing many unfamiliar faces and was slightly confused. Having traveled a lot to the European shows, I expected to recognize people I knew, but alas I didn't. We began to load onto the ferry, everyone in a rush. I felt a bump and a push and at first just chucked it off as everyone being so eager and not looking where they were going. I felt an attack coming on and steadied myself against the railing. "Okay, you've got this. Breathe in, now breathe out." I did my breathing exercises and didn't care if people thought I was crazy. It subsided and I went to give myself a figurative pat on the back when I turned around and saw an unwanted familiar face.

"No one is buying it, freak!" She was laughing and acting so smug.

"What is your problem, Natalie?" I asked. I honestly wanted to clear the air with her. I knew I'd be seeing her at a ton of events going forward, as I had been for the last fifteen years. I'd like to be able to enjoy our precious time with the band without having to constantly worry about problems with her.

"You honestly don't know, do you?" She grinned, all the while looking at me very curiously.

"No. I've never had problems with you. In fact, when you were writing that Jared smut, I was your biggest fan, always complimenting you on your writing. Last years camp we even enjoyed some time together. So Nat, what's the deal?"

"You don't get to call me Nat anymore. Just do me a favor and fuck off." With that she stormed off into a group of girls all high five-ing her and congratulating her on a job well done being the biggest bully. The saddest part of this was that Natalie is a 44 year old woman acting like a 20 year old. It wasn't cute. Not by a long shot.

I was on edge the whole ferry ride which lasted approximately an hour and twenty minutes, but felt much more like an eternity. My eyes were constantly darting around and anytime the boat rocked, I felt absolute dread. I was repeating a sort of mantra over and over in my head, “you’re gonna be in the presence of Mars soon. It’s going to be the best time!” I just knew once I was there and settled, that I would finally be able to let my guard down. I would be able to relax and have the best time.

We pulled up to the island and from the boat, I could see the beautiful art installations and hear the sounds of laughter mixed with music being played on loud speakers. I was home, in my element. Memories of previous camps creeping in my head and replacing all the negative ones from the past year. I watched as Natalie and her groupies got off the boat before me. I was wishing and trusting that she’d forget that I was here, now that she was also on the island.

Check in was literally right at the dock and there were many faces I recognized there, I sighed a great deal of relief. Walking up, I presented my ID, passport, and my booking number. A cheery girl many years my junior, took my items and said, “Hi, Catherine, how was your trip here?” I smiled, “it has been uneventful up to now.” I didn’t need to tell her all of the details, she was just making small talk. “Okay, you are in.... hmm. I don’t see your booking, that’s strange. Hold on a second.” She turned and walked off. I was growing more nervous by the second. Was my email from Shayla fake? But if so, how did I end up with $3,000 dollars? I started putting pieces together. Maybe the email was fake and my parents gave me the cashiers check. This would be so awful, if true.

I was told to step aside while someone else took over that computer and was checking more guests in. I couldn’t breathe and I started crying and shaking. The place I was supposed to feel most at home in was now not feeling so homey.

The girl came back and asked to see any printouts I had from AiW. I fumbled around looking for the email from Shayla and any correspondence directly from Adventures, I grabbed the first thing which happened to be the original confirmation when I bought the package in January.

She took it from me and cross referenced something on an iPad. “Hmmm, I see this booking existed and then it was canceled. But, I also see your name is on the list of attendees. We don’t finalize the list until all payments are made. This is odd. Do you have proof of payment?” I didn’t have that, but I was able to show her the email from Shayla after digging around once more in my bag. “Oh, well I guess this actually makes sense now! Okay, so you had the moonlight tent package. Let me find you one that’s available since we don’t know which one you’re supposed to be in, anyway.” She found one that had a bed free and loaded up my bags onto a golf cart. I told her I didn’t mind walking, and set out to find my tent.

I hadn’t seen any of my friends yet as many people were still being ferried over and we all had different boat times. It was peaceful. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, the music was a great selection of garden variety pop and rock. I was actually feeling great, now that it appeared the email wasn’t fake at all.

As I was walking, I caught a glimpse of Jared and Shannon talking over by some trees. They were wearing swimming trunks and smiling as they talked. I thought to myself that they looked extra adorable and almost tripped from not looking where I was going. I heard a voice that I would know anywhere shout, “watch your step, the ground isn’t even!” Shannon chuckled as he spoke to me from a distance. Jared looked in my direction and waved. I kept going and finally found my tent. Number 4, one of my lucky numbers. I was at peace.

My bags were sitting on the only available bed and I made my way over to it, to start making my little space my own. I heard someone walk in, but they must have walked back out because I never did see anyone. Once, I had made myself comfortable, I decided to lay down and allow myself time to soften up. I needed to unwind in the worst way and the quiet was really tranquil.

I rested for what was likely to be about an hour, but I have no actual idea as I hadn’t looked at the time. I was awoken from reverie to a commotion outside the tent. And I drew my legs up and started rocking back and forth.

The problem with being out in the real world was that everything was so unpredictable. Loud noises were everywhere, no matter the cause... they were most always innocent. People fighting... that was a hard one for me, but I saw my share of it in the airport between husband and wives, or parents and children. Now, here on the island there is it’s own set of issues. I needed to know the cause for the arguing. I needed to know I was safe. So I cranked my neck forward to get a really good listen.

“Ughh, I’ve looked all over for someone who can help me and I can’t seem to find anyone that cares or knows what to do! I’m going to just start screaming. Maybe that will get someone’s attention!”

I instantly knew it was Natalie.

“Don’t worry. This is a great opportunity. We can fuck with her as much as we want.”

“Hahahaha, no! I don’t want to be anywhere near her. She’ll play the victim no matter what and then I’ll get kicked off the island. Nooooo thanks!”

“No one has to know.”

“That’s true! Oh wait, there’s Shayla. Let’s get her attention.”

“Shayla, we desperately need your help!”

“Not now ladies. I’m looking for someone. Can it wait?”

“No, it can’t. We are stuck in a tent with someone we don’t like.”

“That’s hardly a reason to throw a fit. Can’t you just ignore each other?”

“Me? Of course! I can avoid her, but it’s not me to worry about. Catherine, will be the problem. She’s gonna hurt me in my sleep or something. She’s really unstable.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. She was actually trying to make me sound like I was a monster. What’s worse is we were to share a tent for three nights. I became violently ill and threw up right there in the bed.

“Did you say Catherine? Where is she?”

“Hell if I know.”

Shayla stepped inside and took notice of me.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay, Catherine?”

I nodded. “Let’s get you cleaned up and out of here. There was a mistake at check out. This isn’t your room. I’ll have someone clean up in here, don’t worry.” I went to protest, but she waved her hands at me. She picked up a towel and wiped my face. I was so humiliated. I had known Shayla for a few years and she was always so kind, we were nothing but acquaintances so to have her help me when I’m at my lowest was really humbling and extremely embarrassing. She handed me clothes from my suitcase and I quickly changed into them. “You ready?” I sighed, then nodded.

Shayla had her arms around me and walked me out of the tent. She gave Natalie a stern look and said nothing. We took a few steps and I overheard a scream followed by, “that nasty cunt threw up in here, how fucking gross!” Shayla reassured me and told me to just ignore it. I tried, but I still couldn’t get over how things were unfolding. I was still so confused as to how it ended up the way it did with Natalie.

We arrived at some bungalows and Shayla motioned for me to follow her. At first, I thought this was where she was staying or maybe it was first aid. I was really perplexed, but I followed her in. She turned around and said, “I’ll have your things sent here. Is this room okay? I wanted you to have something peaceful to wake up to, this was the only room with a direct view of the sea.”

“Shayla, I’m completely baffled. This isn’t my room. Why am I here?” I had to ask because I knew there had to be a mistake. “I must have forgotten to tell you, the donor upgraded you to the VIP experience and this was meant to be your room from that moment on. Unfortunately, when I went into the system to change everything, there was a glitch so it erased your booking entirely. You shouldn’t have been in that tent and it’s my fault you had to experience that unpleasantness.” She looked truly sorry.

“Shayla, you couldn’t have known. But is there anyway you can refund back some of the money to whomever paid for me? I’d like to just be where I was if I had paid my own way?”

“Catherine, I’m under strict orders to make sure you have a smooth vacation and that you have a wonderful time. I can ask, but I don’t think there’s a chance that they will allow that to happen.”

“Shay, who was it? I won’t say anything, I just am a little freaked out that someone did this for me.” I pleaded with her to tell me. Honestly, I was more scared now then I had been traveling here alone. What if this person meant me harm?

“I can’t say. But they’re not a threat to you. I can assure you of that.”

“Okay, whomever it was is trustworthy? I have your word?”

“Yes. Now, I suggest you do whatever it is you need to, because your itinerary is completely full starting in about an hour.” She handed me a paper filled with activities and times. She was right, completely full, starting with front row seating to the soundcheck.

#thirty seconds to mars #jared leto #30 seconds to mars #campmars #shannon leto #marsisland #jared leto fanfiction #jared leto fanfic #jared leto fic #jared leto fiction #jared leto fan fiction #jared leto fanfics #aportraitofatorturedyouandi chapter 2

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jonathanraychapman · 6 years ago

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Why I Don't Think NES Games Will Be Cheap in 10 Years

There seems to be a consensus right now that the retrogaming market is in a bubble. I don't necessarily think this is true because that implies things are artificially inflated (instead of just growing over time the way other hobbies do). Though I do concede that prices have certainly shot up more quickly than expected, I think we have years to go before they drop (and that drop will just be a correction if anything).

I'm a collector of several things - comics, toys, collectible card games, etc. There are items that have shot up in value and that manage to hold value over time (i.e. comics) and items that had their time but then fell in popularity (i.e. beanie-babies and possibly Pop figures).

I want to go into reasons that NES games will continue to hold value (from what I can see are the following (and how the relate to NES collecting). I realize that some games are very common and had a very large distribution run and so I'm going to address that at the end.

1) Merit. There's some innate merit to the collectible as an artistic and/or craftsmanship aspect. It's either got great visuals, innate craftsmanship, or tells a narrative. For example: People collect old VHS tapes because of the artwork - not because of the contents or the functionality of the tape. For visual items, they keep their value because of the merit of what they are (i.e. a comic cover can be appreciated visually while the story can still be read for narrative appeal). Sure, there are other ways to get the same effect without the original (i.e. a scan of a cover or a cheaper bound collection of comics). But the original item keeps its value because it’s the first time this came into being.

A lot of NES boxes and labels include fantastic artwork (sometimes fantasy cover art borrowed from novels) - despite the game not having much merit on its own. An example is Gauntlet on NES. Moving on to craftsmanship, sometimes games have amazing pixel artwork or music (such as games from Sunsoft like Batman). And sometimes a game is just really well-made (like Super Mario Bros. 3 or Metroid). People want to own the game - the original vision.

On the flipside, Atari 2600 artwork is also great, but that's a system that has fallen by the wayside (outside of rare carts). People often bring that system up when they predict the future for the NES. But I don't think this is a proper parallel, because the 2600 didn't have the cultural reach that the NES did and the games weren’t the original vision. Let me explain.

The home ports (i.e. Space Invaders) were there on Atari 2600 first and foremost because of the popularity of the arcade cabs. While the artwork is great on the Atari boxes, the cart labels didn’t reflect that art and the games themselves were lackluster as well. So when you factor in the game crash, the lackluster ports, the cultural reach being really that of the arcade instead, you get this situation where the demand just isn't there. That a high value is still there for original Atari 2600 games and rarer landmark games for the system just backs up this hypothesis of why the common bulk of the library is not reflective of the NES.

Basically, being resigned to the dollar bin won’t be so much of a problem with the NES - of course depending on the game. Sure, there's not going to be much of a demand for Blackjack (it will drop from $50 to probably $10) or the sports games as time goes on, but the heavy-hitters are going to keep their price (though it might settle over time). And much like the better Atari 2600 games, the better NES games will also maintain value. There are so many more original (non-port) NES games in the library that the bulk of the set will see a continuing value.

2) Nostalgia. Sometimes we want things that remind us of our childhood (usually between the ages of 7 and 14). This is why people collect Castle Grayskull playsets, old tin toys, or old refrigerator magnets. The previous generations would have wanted western memorabilia (like Roy Rogers toys). This is also why we buy a 1st appearance comic we had as a kid - only now graded and slabbed in plastic enclosement. At this point, it's a useless item from an everyday perspective, but when we gaze on it, it gives us a certain emotional resonance. I know it’s hard for some people to understand, but NES games have this same sentimentality. When you flip through a Zelda instruction booklet, you get that same tingle that reminds you of when you were a kid. It feels great and it’s a reason people collect.

So - besides the gameplay obviously - this is the reason that games like Zelda and Castlevania are still so popular and have snowballed in popularity over the years (as multiple generations have experienced them at different times). The NES Zelda has that cool gold cartridge we remember from our youth. Castlevania has that amazing cover and label artwork that brings us back to when we first played or rented it. These are the highlights for a retrogame collector - even though we may - in practice - play them with flash carts.

Despite these games being best-sellers, so many people will hold on to them and will continue soaking up the games from the market. It’s not that the best-selling games are unobtainable at the distribution rates. So of course there’s going to be a ceiling on the value (Zelda may stay at $20-50 for decades). But I’m arguing that there will continue to be a floor and you may even see these games slowly rise in value over time (especially since the games checks several boxes as far as a collectible and is only held back in value by the number of carts out there). Also keep in mind that collectors want better copies of these games - so they may upgrade the gold cart with damage to a pristine one (same with the box).

3) Popularity/Prestige. We tend to hold on to prestige items in our collection. As a collector we might collect rare items just because they're rare. Partially this is to show off and impress people, but most of the time it's because we cherish a thing because other people cherish it (we all start to think a thing is cool and so it becomes cool). Human emotions are pretty complicated and this reason might not seem valid. But it's real. This might also be seen as speculation (assuming you’re going to trade or sell the item later), but I’d argue that emotion plays a part and the majority of people that acquire a rare game once it’s show up in value somewhat aren’t playing the long-game for profit. They’re just hooked themselves.

As far as the NES goes, games like Little Samson and items like the NES World Championship carts certainly fit this line of value. People want them because other people want them. They’re cool.

Little Samson is also really fun and has the other aspects of collecting (which was the catalyst for it shooting up in price), but it's hyped up because of its late-release low print run (and also because it has some historical merit). And because it's a holy grail type of item, people really want it in their collection - even if they're not going for a full NES run.

The NES World Championship cart (involving both the gold and gray carts that are out there) has been an interesting item to see go up in value. If the entire NES library was of common items, there might not be as much of a collector crowd for it. When there’s only a few of a thing, this drives up interest. This is no different than Air Raid for the Atari 2600 - which drew in news reporters just like it did collectors. The championship carts are the equivalent to the first Superman comic for game collectors. It’s both a prestige item and it’s of historical significance to a certain degree. While you see carts going for upwards of $100K at auction in news stories, and it’s hard to imagine that item keeping its value, you’ve also got Action Comics #1 (first Superman) selling for over $3 million. I just don’t see this item going for less than the auction amount.

4) History. A sought-after or expensive comic might be a key issue - meaning that it has significance for the development of a character. And this will probably be the reason it’s went up in price over the years. It might not matter much to consider on its own artwork and story, but as part of a collection, it's a critical find. People tend to hold on to these and they are the linchpin to a collection - filling a gap in a franchise’s story. This is where items like The World Championship Carts and the much-cheaper Tengen games come into play (i.e. the gray Namco Pac-Man vs the black Tengen Pac-Man). There's a story to tell with these items and people want them to feel like they're a part of the history of games.

It’s not enough just to be relevant for the story to preserve or increase the market value of a game. The item must also have a rarity to keep a value (as they usually don’t have the same popularity, nostalgia, or merit to keep a value (outside of the history-seekers). In the case of the Pac-Man cart, the grey one (that’s licensed) goes for $15 while the more-common (unlicensed) black one goes for $10. That’s not really a big difference.

Maybe a better example is the Tengen Tetris (which was pulled when Nintendo did their own deal with the USSR to acquire the rights). The Tengen version looks worse than Nintendo’s, but it has a label referencing the “Soviet Mind Game” and also has 2-player co-op. It was also pulled from store shelves following a lawsuit - so it’s also rare. The Tengen version of Tetris goes for upwards of $60 while the Nintendo version goes for less than $5. I don’t see the value on either version dropping either.

I know for a lot of people it’s hard to imagine that these games will retain value and even go up over time. In the 80’s and 90’s NES cartridges were ubiquitous; they were everywhere. In the early 2000’s - as gamers dropped them to move on to other gaming systems - you couldn’t give them away. Even rare games went for less than $2. Now the games are harder and harder to find at yard sales and they’re commanding a decent price. We live in the digital age. People have access to price guides and auction sites no matter where they are.

To many the increase in game prices appears to be a bubble. And yes, maybe there’s some pricing corrections coming (especially on some of the hotter items that may be overvalued). But the trend for these games will continue to rise and the prices that games go for now will seem like bargains later on. It doesn’t matter that we’re moving to a digital age where the physical media isn’t required. This has happened with comics (they were put into graphic novels or cheaper bound drug store copies) and the prices have only continued to rise (though maybe that’s due to the movies in recent times).

Video games undoubtedly are a collectible now - just like coins, toys, comics, and even old advertising. For example, even the video game advertisements ripped from magazines have value these days. This is also true of strategy guides, instruction booklets, and store demo items. And when you look at collectible card games like Magic: The Gathering, the pricing of comics and games seems very modest by comparison. There will certainly be ups and downs, but I don’t believe there will be a pricing crash. You will have people move on with their lives and sell off their collection. But you won’t see the flood of games back into the market that some people think is coming and you will see a steady rise in price over the years and decades that follow.

#retrogaming #collecting #NES #Nintendo Entertainment System

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thecoveninarticulate · 7 years ago

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Meet @princelesthottie !!

@princelesthottie is our featured fanartist for the month of August !! You maybe see her around sometimes, drawing lots of Loustat fluff and fav fanfic scenes! Here’s some info if you wanna get to know her a little better!

NAME: Isabel! AGE: 19! FROM: Los Angeles!

Hit the cut for more!

Favorite Vampire Chronicle: Interview with the Vampire, hands down. Louis’ prose, Claudia’s Whole Deal, Lestat’s Lestat-ness, the Angst, the Vampire-ing Issues, Armand’s manipulations…it’s a melting pot of homoerotic bloody drama that gets me every time. And it all takes place in Post-Colonial Louisiana or 1800′s France while simultaneously taking place in a dingy room in San Fran. What more could anyone ask for?

Favorite character: Louis de Pointe du Lac. To be fair, I actually did not like Louis to begin with. But then he became an obscure character and I got pissed off that the character who kicks off the series just disappeared amid Lestat’s extra-ness. I asked myself, “Where the hell is this guy?” reevaluated everything I knew, and fell hopelessly in love with him, which people are prone to do so it’s no big deal. His empathy moves me, and, I don’t know, I love the fact that he’d most likely kill me if I were to run into him one night. But, if anyone wants to check all the other reasons why I love him, you should swing by my tag “#we appreciate and love louis in this house” that’s on my blog.

What made you start drawing and sharing VC art?: The reason I started drawing VC art was because there wasn’t much art of people/scenes/things I wanted to see (like Gabrielle, Lestat comatose while Louis reads to him, at least semi-canon haired Louis, etc…). I also figured I should practice drawing dudes, which I did very little prior to being in this fandom, and I think that’s evident in the very “feminine-like” quality that comes with my art. Simple as that. As for sharing my VC art—well, I can shamelessly admit I stalked the VC tag for awhile before engaging with anyone, and I found the community to be relatively small but cozy. People knew each other and everyone put out what they could, and I just found that so endearing (it also helped me calm my nerves regarding posting anything at all; this is the first fandom I’ve participated in), so I just went ahead and started posting the little that I did. It became a thing, and here I am. AND I intend to stay, because I’m nowhere near done with putting together the things I wanna see, and interacting with the rest of the coven!!

What’s your favorite thing to draw?: uuuuh, Louis, duh!! But VC aside, especially since Louis isn’t a “thing,” whenever I’m in class or just in the mood to doodle, I usually really like to sketch out eyes or flowers or plants. Or just random patterns, even. It’s very relaxing.

Biggest artistic influences?: Just seeing the pieces created by artists on sites like Tumblr and DeviantArt—not even “professional” artists or classical painters—makes a huge impact on me. I swear to god, back when I was very immersed in the Lord of the Rings/Silmarillion fandom, taking in all that the fans did, caused everything I drew to be swamped with natural elements and (what I like to believe were) original patterns for clothes and such. Plus, noticing the way different people color their art, the way they put images together, and mess with lighting and shadows…it just makes me so happy and inspires me to try and do my own thing. Music also influences me a lot—and it’s all types of music. A pop song, a classic, or an oldie can just get me so hyped. If I like it, I start to construct a video in my head, and try and apply lyrics/vibes to my favorite characters and stories.

A skill or medium you’d like to learn or get better at?: I’d love to learn how to put together a decent background that isn’t basic/minimalistic. I spend way too much time concentrating on the focus of my pieces. It’s like I burn myself out putting effort into that focus, so what’s going on in the back/surroundings gets neglected. I also think it wouldn’t hurt to improve my expression-drawing skills.

Favorite classical artist that gets name dropped in VC?: OK, I can tell you who I don’t particularly like, because I sadly can’t say I have a favorite/remember all the artists referenced. I’m not so much a fan of Botticelli or Blake. I know Rembrandt’s also mentioned, and I like what he does with lighting, but, again, I wouldn’t say he’s a favorite of mine. But, hey, if we’re talking about classical art that isn’t restricted to drawing and painting—I specifically remember Chopin being mentioned (Lestat had acquired a possession of his for Antoine—which makes sense, since both Antoine and Chopin were Sad Boys), and I’m always down for some Chopin.

Other fandoms you draw/any sideblogs we can promote?: -It’s very rare, but occasionally I draw for Lord of the Rings/Silmarillion or Rick Riordan-verses and post what I do on my personal. But in all honestly, it’s just comprised of memes and posts I find entertaining. If anyone cares to check it out, though, it’s @mortabellum (link is on my actual laptop Tumblr page).

Fave VC era to draw?: It’s always gonna be Rue Royale with me, although Trinity Gate is a close second. I’m just so in love with the first book, and Louis, Lestat and Claudia’s dynamic.

You can find more of Isabel’s work in her art tag, #My Trash™ !!

#vampire chronicles #YAAAS #WE APPRECIATE AND LOVE ISABEL IN THIS HOUSE #covenpod #fanart #anne rice #daniel molloy #lestat de lioncourt #mojo the dog #louis de pointe du lac #armand #the coven of the inarticulate #this is our new feature to like mingle with yall #if you have artists you want to see featured please let us know!#featured fanartist!!

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delkios · 7 years ago

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The Thrill of First Love (DC TV)

Title from the musical Falsettos. A sort of loose prequel to my role play dating series.

Title: The Thrill of First Love Fandom: DC TV Rating: edging into R Word Count: 7546 In Responds to: ColdWave Week 2018: Date Night Characters: Len, Mick, random ocs Warnings: referenced child abuse, some slut shaming, mild violence Summary: Four role plays that didn't end up as intended and one that worked out anyway.

The First Time

Len checked himself in the mirror for the third or fourth time that hour. He was nervous, excited and had no clue what clothing was apropos to wear given the situation.

The situation being a date. With Mick.

Mick had been surprisingly against it at first. Adamantly so. Len hadn’t considered Mick would turn down anything that got him sex- specifically sex with Len -especially for something as tame as this but Len had to wear him down over the course of a month for it. The scene wasn’t anything complicated or ostentatious, just the standard ‘plumber come to lay some pipe’ type deal. They wouldn’t be leaving the apartment, it would take minimal acting and no one would see them.

And, the condition that eventually won Mick over, if he didn’t like it after the first time, Len wouldn’t ask him again. But he’d have to make an actual effort of it. Len was determined to make this work as he had some very specific and elaborate fantasies he was hoping to sell Mick on after he’d gotten comfortable with the act. Which was why Len kept overthinking his wardrobe. All the research he’d done watching shitty porn role plays had been fairly exclusively women in sheer robes and teddies, fawning against the door as they let the handyman in.

It didn’t really give Len a lot of options or ideas. In the end he decided on one of Mick’s button-up flannels, because Mick loved Len wearing his clothes, with the barest few buttons done up so it threatened to slide off one shoulder. Under that was a pair of old jeans whose various holes- which caused Len to stop wearing them originally -had been carefully worked wider to give off tantalizing glimpses of pale skin. In addition to that was a couple polished rings and a pendant necklace that hung to rest on his breastbone because Mick liked shiny things.

There was a knock on the door and Len sucked in a breath. He checked himself in the mirror one last time, ran a hand through his hair, too short to do anything with, and went to the door. He checked the peephole, just in case, and after seeing Mick there, opened the door. He leaned against it, angling his shoulders so his shirt fell open just a little bit more. “Yes?”

Mick stood there looking more than a little uncomfortable. He had a toolbox in one hand and a toolbelt low on his hips. The coveralls he wore were slightly too small on Mick which made them very tight around the thighs and ass and impossible to zip all the way due to Mick’s broad shoulders. Which meant showing off a lot of chest under a tight, all but transparent white tank top. Len had picked out his clothes specifically and he licked his lips because Mick looked better than he imagined. “You called a plumber?” Mick asked, voice gruff and a little stiff.

“Of course,” Len stepped back, sultry and low, sweeping a hand in invitation, “come in.”

Mick just shouldered his way in with a grunt, barely giving Len a second glance which caused Len to frown. Guess he was playing hard to get. That was fine. Len squared his shoulders and followed, refusing to be deterred. Mick was already in the kitchen, rattling around the cabinet under the sink. Plumbing was one of the few maintenance areas Mick didn’t actually know anything about. Len leaned up next to him, almost close enough to brush up against Mick’s shoulder with his leg. Close enough that Mick could lean over and lick at an exposed strip of thigh through a ragged hole if he wanted to.

Len frowned harder when Mick didn’t take a peek. “So,” Len said conversationally, “do you have any ideas what the problem might be?”

“Probably a clog or something.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to take care of me.” When Mick just grunted, Len bit back a snap to at least give him something to work with. “You certainly seem capable with those big, strong hands of yours.”

“I guess.”

Len dropped his head back and seethed between his teeth. “Mick.”

The clattering stopped. “What?”

“You said you’d at least try.”

Mick pulled back, glaring up at Len. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Act interested, maybe?”

“I’d be more interested if I didn’t have to do this stupid act!” Mick pushed himself off the floor, stomping to the opposite side of the kitchen, turning to glare at Len with his arms crossed. “It’s just sex, why d'you wanna complicate it?”

Despite himself, Len felt himself getting angry on top of frustrated. “What, you want to go back to fumbled handjobs that we’d pretend never happened? Because you fucking me is more complicated than that. This,” he waved a hand between the two of them, “being open about sex and what we wanted complicated shit. But suddenly me wanting to try something new is crossing a line.”

“I just don’t get it!” Mick exploded. “Why do you need,” he waved at the toolbelt and coveralls, “all this? What I do isn’t good enough anymore?”

Something in Mick’s voice, in his choice of words made Len stop short and from the way Mick clenched his jaw, like he’d said too much, made it obvious there was something in there that needed unpacking. “Mick,” he said quietly and Mick looked away, knowing a conversation he didn’t want to have was coming, “what’s the real problem you’re having with this?”

Mick pressed his lips into a thin line, wanting and not wanting to say at the same time. Len waited, patiently, eyes intent on his partner. Eventually Mick ducked his head lower, shoulders hunched defensively. His voice was so low Len leaned in slightly to hear. “Isn’t this enough for you?”

Len drew back, surprised and a little stung. “Wait, you think I’ve been pushing for this role playing stuff because I’m not satisfied with you?” Mick hunched his shoulders further. “Look at me- Mick, look at me.” When Mick did so, Len held his eyes and said very seriously, “That is absolute crap. The only reason I’m willing to do this at all is because you’re the only one I’d be comfortable doing this with.”

“But you want to pretend I’m someone else,” he said quietly.

Len had to shut his eyes and take a deep breath. He’d been trying, for years, to help Mick through his issues, just as Mick had been trying to deal with Len’s. But that right there smacked of the father Mick could never do right by, the grandmother convinced that the devil lived inside Mick, the mother that thought her youngest son was some sort of punishment and if they weren’t already dead, Len would be sorely tempted to kill them for the damage they’d done to his partner.

“It’s not like that,” he said when he was certain he had his voice under control. “It’s like… Remember eight months ago, when we hit that auction?”

The memory brought a gleam of amusement to Mick’s eyes. “You went as some cattle farmer from Montana with that ridiculous cowboy hat and a bolo tie.”

“You wore a tailored suit, wireframe glasses and slicked back hair.” Len’s lips quirked at the memory. “And we almost missed our cue because we kept flirting at the bar instead of being in our positions.”

Mick chuckled. “Yeah.”

“It’s like that. Only we’re not doing it for a job, just acting like two strangers that decide to hook up.” He traced a finger down the zipper of the coveralls, stopping just below Mick’s sternum. “It’s just a game, Mick. Just shaking things up a bit.”

Mick stayed silent for a moment. “Just a game?”

“Yeah. Don’t want anyone the way I want you.”

He lifted his hand, sliding it around Len’s, fingers moving against Len’s palm. “...okay.”

“Okay?”

Mick shrugged, still not really looking at Len. “We can try again.”

“Are you sure? I told you I’d stop asking if you decided you didn’t like it.”

Mick finally looked at him, expression of somewhat wry humor. “The condition was I’d have to put effort into it. Which I didn’t really do, so.”

Len’s lips split into an eager grin. “Alright then. We’ll try again in a few days.” He stepped in close, lifting his hands to cup Mick’s face. “If it starts to mess with your head, just tell me and we’ll stop, okay?”

He looked both relieved and ashamed at being relieved about it. “Okay.”

So Len kissed him softly and pulled Mick away from the kitchen. “C’mon, let’s see if there's anything worthwhile on tv.”

Dressed Up

Mick didn’t generally like clubs. Too much noise, too many people and in the right circumstances he could easily feel dangerously claustrophobic. But for the sake of their playdates- as Mick came to call them -and their first in a public space, he figured he could deal with a little discomfort. Especially when Len promised him a surprise with that unfairly sexy smirk that always gave Mick the urge to fall to his knees.

He’d taken over one of the tables by the wall, further away from the dancing but unfortunately close to a speaker. He checked his watch, then his beeper. Normally the beepers were only for jobs but Len broke them out in case they ended up not being able to find each other in the crowd. Mick had scoffed at the precaution then but now that it was nearing half an hour without seeing Len he was starting to consider using it.

The beeper lit up and vibrated in his hand. Mick didn’t recognize the number but there was only one person that it could be. He went to the closest emergency exit where a bouncer was leaning against the wall and got directions to the pay phones in the back.

It was blessedly quiet back there, relatively speaking, the music faded but still audible, walls thrumming with the bass. As Mick turned into the corridor he saw someone duck out of view around the corner. He’d only caught a glimpse but that was all he needed to recognize Len. Huffing a breath, Mick followed after, passing by the phones and one person chatting drunkenly into one.

At the end of the corridor was a door that, judging from what he could see in the low light filtering through the open doorway, was a supply closet. Mick snorted, stepping in, using his foot to maneuver a plastic dustpan to keep the door from closing completely in case it automatically locked. “Decided to have a clandestine meeting in the janitor’s closet instead?” Mick asked sarcastically, fumbling along the wall until his fingers flicked the light switch on. Mick’s breath caught in his chest.

Len was wearing a skirt.

It was far from the first time Mick had seen him in one, just like it wasn’t the first time he’d seen Len in make-up though that was much rarer. But while the other skirts were plain and unassuming, this was shiny. Decorative. Short enough to emphasize the length of Len’s legs. The tights he wore were dark with some subtle pattern to them and he’d traded in his heavy boots for sleek ones that laced all the way up his calves. He wore a tight tank top with a sheer shirt over it which didn’t hide Len’s scars but the glitter on his shoulders and chest certainly distracted from them. There was a choker, a dangling earring and the make-up emphasized Len’s already gorgeous features and Mick had to wonder if someone manage to slip something in his drink because this was a goddamn vision in front of him. A fantasy Mick hadn’t realized he was dreaming about.

Len, uncharacteristically nervous, shifted a bit and Mick swallowed hard at the way the skirt moved over his thighs. “I, uh, think I was a little ambitious for a first outing.”

“Yeah?” Mick asked, barely hearing Len’s words.

“Yeah. I don’t… really want anyone to see me like this.”

Mick managed to come back to himself. “Didn’t you come in the front?”

Len snorted. “Of course not. I snuck around the side.” Trust Len to find a way to get out of paying for something.

“So you wanna leave?” That was fine by Mick. The drinks were overpriced and he did not want an audience for when he finally got Len within arm’s reach.

“Yeah. I know this was my idea and all-”

“It’s fine.”

Mick’s quick response made Len pause, seeming to finally notice the way Mick couldn’t stop looking at him. He shifted and Mick’s eyes were drawn back to the skirt again, lips parting softly. Len smirked, his confidence coming back and that transformation was enough to make Mick’s dick twitch.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better,” Len drawled lightly, “I’d think you liked this outfit.”

Mick rumbled in agreement.

Len held out his hand. “Jacket, Mick.” Something suspiciously close to a whine came out of Mick and Len laughed at it even as Mick obediently passed the jacket over. “Don’t worry,” he said, pulling the item on and zipping it up. It was long enough to fall to Len’s hips, leaving just enough skirt that Mick’s hands twitched, wanting to feel it. “You’re being such a good sport about it, I think you deserve a reward.” He walked up close, a hypnotizing sway to his hips. “How would you like to get down on your knees for me, bury your head under my skirt and wrap those pretty lips around my cock?”

Mick moaned.

“Which would you prefer? Me bending you over so you can feel my skirt flutter over your ass as I pound you or do you want me bouncing on your dick, only getting the barest glimpse of my cock under my skirt?”

“Fuck, Lenny.” Mick made an aborted move with his hands. If he touched Len now they’d never get out of this closet.

Len planted a hand in the middle of Mick’s chest, pushing him backward. “Take me home, Mick. We’ve got a long night ahead of us.”

Bad Timing

There had always been one fantasy that stayed with Len ever since he was a little boy. It hadn’t been a sexual one back then, of course, and even now it didn’t always have to be. He just wanted someone to take care of him. To spoil him and dote on him, treat him like he was something precious. It was the escapist fantasy of a trapped, frightened child wishing someone would take him and Lisa away from their father, who would protect them, give them anything they wanted and never let them feel afraid of anything. Their grandfather had tried, but he had enough problems of his own that Len always felt worse for it.

As he grew up part of Len began to resent that fantasy. No one was going to save him and after their grandfather died, no one other than Lisa cared about Len. And as he got more cynical, Len knew that anyone that wanted to treat him like that would just be looking to control him, wring whatever they wanted from him as payment for his debts.

That resentment would wax and wane but never truly went away even after Len accepted that Mick didn’t want anything from him. At least not anything Len wasn’t already doing for him. They were partners. Equals. They still occasionally struggled to balance each other out but it worked out for them. In time even that resentful part grudgingly agreed that Mick wouldn’t hold the fantasy of being a kept man over Len’s head but he still couldn’t bring himself to do it. With his reputation and skill and confidence growing day by day, his pride simply wouldn’t allow it.

It was part of the beauty of role play, the ability to assume another identity with it’s own needs- and lack of Len’s hang ups -for a short amount of time. He hadn’t brought up role playing to Mick specifically in order to fulfill his Pretty Woman fantasies but it was still something Len had slowly built towards over the years. Even now it was a rare scenario for them to do, one Len only brought up when his emotions were so strung out his ego swung from fierce independence to demanding to be pampered.

This time around they had broken into some ridiculously fancy home in the Ozarks, a kind of get-away ‘cabin’ for the owner of a statewide grocery chain. It had been easy enough for Len to charm the wife’s schedule- a state elected official -from a staff member and knew she was taking the family for a camping trip in Arizona for some sort of astronomy event. Which gave Len and Mick an entire weekend to indulge in Len’s favorite role play.

He prepped for it by disabling the security, cameras and motion sensor lights earlier that day and had gotten a spare key made to help sell the authenticity of it. Plus some cash and liquid assets that were just lying around, using Len’s veteran thieving definition of the term. They led into it- Mick playing the cheating husband and Len his ‘mistress’ -by going to some fancy gala followed by dinner at a high-end restaurant, with Mick plying Len with all sorts of fancy gifts throughout. They drove to their chosen home in the most absurd car in the husband’s vehicle collection- Mick loved the butterfly doors, Len couldn’t help mentally listing all the shady collectors they could sell it to -with Mick’s hand resting on Len’s crotch the entire way. Occasionally he’d squeeze or rub but it was just so carelessly proprietary that Len couldn’t help arching into it, biting back moans for more.

The best thing about this fantasy, and playing it out with Mick specifically, was that Mick always seemed to know just how ‘owned’ Len wanted to feel. And when the role play was over, that sense of ownership didn’t bleed into their partnership.

Len was on the verge of clawing into the seat by the time they finally pulled up the driveway- prevented only by the knowledge it would affect resale value. Len was too wired to wait for Mick to play the gentleman and get his door. Mick must have been feeling the same because he tossed the spare key to Len so that while Len was unlocking the front, Mick’s hands could wander freely over his hips and ass. Len was glad for his prep work because he would have been extremely distracted to pick the lock and disable the security otherwise.

When the door swung open, Mick spun Len around and, in a move that always left Len gasping with a rush of arousal, lifted him until Len wrapped his legs around Mick’s waist. “Like being a fucking tease, don’t you?” Mick growled, pressing his face against Len’s neck as he moved them into the house. “It’s like you were daring me to strip you down and take you in front of everyone all night. Was that what you wanted?”

Len just moaned, hands everywhere, trying to touch every part of Mick within reach at once.

“Gonna lay you out on the biggest damn bed in the place,” Mick growled, shutting the door behind him with a heel. “Won’t be wearing nothing all weekend but my wife’s most expensive jewelry. Maybe a fur coat while I suck champagne off your body.” Len shuddered, hands tugging at smooth material of Mick’s sports coat. “Gonna take such good care of you, baby, don’t gotta lift a finger for nothing. I’ll feed you anything you want, I’ll carry you to the tub, rub you down with oils. And I’m gonna have you anytime and any way I like. Every time my cock so much as twitches when I look at you, I’m gonna sink right in that tight ass or sweet mouth and use you till I cum all over you.”

“Yes,” Len whispered, breathless against the side of Mick’s head, rutting helplessly against Mick’s stomach as he was carried in. It was only about 10% an act. “Please,” he dropped kisses along Mick’s face and head, “please please please-”

“Begging already?” Mick’s hands flexed and Len rocked into them. “Wanna lick you open,” Len’s trousers were too smooth for Mick to get the grip to pull his ass cheeks apart but his intentions were still obvious and it made Len whine, “until you’re shuddering and sobbing for me to fuck you. Just a question of where. The couch? Kitchen counter? Maybe outside, see if I can make you scream loud enough you wake the neighbors.”

Len wanted to say anywhere Mick fancied- while cursing himself for not thinking to include the jacuzzi in prep -but something that had been on the edge of his awareness finally broke through the lust. He pushed away from Mick who, feeling Len tensing in his arms, obediently lowered him to the ground. “What is it?” Mick asked quietly.

“I didn’t leave the lights on when I left.”

They both went on the alert though neither went for their guns just yet. They didn’t normally carry weapons while on playdates, unless the roles they were taking had a reason to have them, but this was also technically a job as well and Len didn’t like doing those unarmed. Chalk another one to paranoia, he mused to himself while straining to get any sense of where another person could be lurking.

The two of them slid over to the nearest wall, Mick keeping an eye on the entryways opposite them, Len on the ones they approached. The second doorway revealed the ‘guests’. Len pulled back from the corner and mimed to Mick that there was a man and a woman in hushed discussion, the man holding a small lamp as a makeshift weapon. Mick nodded, not yet tensing up for a charge, waiting for Len to decide how they should handle this.

Unfortunately Len recognized the two, the man being one of the homeowners. Len and Mick could, of course, just shoot the place up, strip it of its valuables and head out with no one the wiser but Len had really been looking forward to a chill night of being pampered. The thought of working was almost enough to make him signal Mick to just turn around and leave. If the man hadn’t gathered up enough bravado to start shuffling- noisily -toward the hall, Len might have actually done that. Instead he signaled at Mick to hold and he crossed his arms, as if he was bored waiting for the man to confront them.

He jumped the corner with a “Ha!” and startled to find people there though Len was far enough out of lamp-swinging range he didn’t even try. “Who the hell are you?”

“What I want to know,” Len drawled irritably, “is why are you here?”

“This is my house!”

“And you should be in Arizona with the rest of the people that live in this house.” Len’s eyes flickered to the woman as she stepped out behind the man. “Instead you’re here with a call girl.” He held out a placating hand to the woman. “No offense, Rosanna.”

The woman- Rosanna -just chuckled and waved it off. “That’s literally my job, can’t really get offended by that.”

The man looked at her in shock. “You know these people?”

“Yeah. They got me away from my shitty pimp and helped me get a decent job.”

“How’ve they been treating you, by the way?” Mick asked. “Didn’t know you picked up clientele all the way out here.”

“Well, you know. If they can pay, why not. Job’s been great. I get medical and dental insurance,” she told her client conversationally while he was looking at them all like they were crazy. “I get final say in my clients and, for the first time ever, I get vacation days. It is the best.”

“Good to hear it,” Len said with a faint smile.

The man, however, didn’t share in the satisfaction, face red and livid. “Did you bring these two into my home?”

“What? What a stupid thing to think- why would I bring some guys to rob the place when I was going to be here with you?” Rosanna turned to the two. “You are robbing the place, right?”

“Yeah.”

“After fucking on every surface here.”

“Possibly multiple times.”

“What is going on?” The man hollered, obviously disliking how the conversation was out of his control.

“What’s going on,” Mick groused, “is you ruined our date.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Rosanna clapped her hands, laughing. “I knew those rumors were true! Angelique is going to be so disappointed!”

“It’s a pretty open relationship and we certainly don’t mind a third every now and again.” Len’s tone was mostly playful but it was also the truth.

“I’ll pass that along.”

“Excuse me!” The man slammed the lamp against the wall, not caring that one of the fancy arms bent, a couple drooping crystals falling off. “Who are you, what are you doing here, and how do you,” he thrust the lamp at Rosanna, “know them? Do you fuck them, too?”

Rosanna drew back, stepping away from the man, one hand on her hip, the other poised to go from gesticulation to eye-raking in a split second. “Oh, you absolutely are not trying to shame me for having sex when you specifically hired me to fuck you and behind your wife’s back, at that.”

“‘Sides, if I spent as much as she’s worth, she’d better be experienced enough to give me the best night of my life,” Mick added. Len gave him a droll look. “Obviously not counting nights with you.”

“Charming,” Len drawled, but he was mildly amused by the addition.

“That doesn’t mean I need to know about it!” He protested, voice getting shriller the more evident it became no one actually cared about what he had to say.

She rolled her eyes to the heavens. “This is why I don’t fuck men outside of work.”

“Neither would I,” Len said.

“I’m calling the police!”

Without having to look at each other, both Len and Mick pulled out their guns in a smooth motion and the man froze. Having spent years working the worst parts of Central’s red light districts, Rosanna wasn’t the least bit fazed. “That would be a supremely idiotic move on your part,” Led said conversationally, “as you would have to explain to the police why you’re here with a call girl.”

He hesitated. “I… I could just say she’s with you two.”

“And when the police look up her information and find her place of employment which would have a record of your patronage?”

“Well, she could be helping you guys rob me.”

“So you’re gonna tell the cops you hired an escort, who attempted to rob you.” Mick said, giving the man a bored look. “What’d you tell your wife why you didn’t go out with the family again?”

“And do you really think someone wouldn’t be leaking a juicy story like this to the press?” Len asked. “Considering, if we don’t decide to just shoot you before you even make the call, we’d be long gone before the cops even got here, word of your infidelity getting out will be a lot more damaging to you and your wife than it could ever be to us.”

As the man floundered, jaw moving uselessly, Len weighed his choices. Killing the man was a possibility but he didn’t really want to deal with the investigation that would follow suit, especially since Rosanna was on record for being in his company. Tying him up and throwing him in a spare room while Len and Mick went about their original playdate idea was tempting but it wouldn’t be the same. Len would have the man’s presence constantly in the back of his mind. While the haul that Len got earlier in the day wasn’t terrible, it barely justified the travel. But then the Ozarks had a couple other disgustingly rich people he’d been eying before settling on this place. If they picked their targets carefully, they could do a b&e spree and be halfway back to Central before anyone realized what happened.

Len lifted his gun to point at the ceiling. “Mick, tie him up.”

Mick made a disappointed noise but holstered his weapon. The man, startled, made a feeble swing toward Mick who just caught his wrist in one hand and grabbed him by the throat with the other. He proceeded to bind the man with the cord from the lamp, hands behind his back.

“What- stop, you can’t- what are you doing?” Mick wrapped his arms around the man, lifting him off his feet and taking him to a plush, carpeted area. He pulled off the man’s trousers and bound his feet together with them.

“Hope you don’t gotta pee,” Mick said conversationally before giving him a patronizing slap on the cheek.

Len holstered his own gun. “We’re off, I suppose.” The man’s protests rose and Len said, “We’ll have the cops come check up on you in the morning. If we remember to call them.” With a parting smirk, and a wave from Mick, they turned back toward the door. Rosanna, going over to pick up the purse she left on a side table, followed after.

“You can’t just leave!”

“Uh, yes I can.” Rosanna barely looked over her shoulder at her bound client. “One of the clauses in your contract says I’m allowed to walk away at any point if you’ve done anything I find objectionable. And I very much object to being slut shamed and you wanting to frame me for robbery. Fine print, by the way, also states that while you’re free to complain, if my boss believes you’re in the wrong, you do not get a refund.”

“Goddamn,” Mick said in admiration. “That job is amazing.”

“I know, right?”

They took the car still parked outside as a consolation prize, Rosanna getting into the backseat. While Len doubted the man wouldn’t be dumb enough to report the car stolen tonight- if he even got himself free -he didn’t want to take the chance of hanging onto it for too long. Which meant instead of selling it to a collector, he’d have to see if any of his contacts knew of a chop shop in the area and settle for that.

“Anywhere you want us to drop you off?” Len asked Rosanna as he scrolled through his locked and coded phone list.

“A decent hotel is fine. I’ll call work in the morning and they’ll reimburse me for the room and getting back.”

“Here.” Len passed a gem studded watch that Mick had ‘gifted’ to him earlier that night- which Len had stolen from the house earlier than that -to Rosanna. “For ruining your job.”

“It’s alright,” she said, accepting the gift anyway. “He’s tediously boring and sloppy, anyway. His wife is way better with her hands.”

Mick nearly drove them off the road laughing so hard.

Interloper

The bartender, in full view of Mick, filled up a glass with a rather fine brand of bourbon and placed it down in front of him. His second free drink of the night. He took it without looking around, assuming it was from Len and they’d be kicking this playdate into gear any moment now.

His outfit for the night was a bit more leather daddy than Mick was into, leather pants tight enough to make Bowie jealous, belt with a heavy buckle sitting low on his hips, boots that nearly went up to his knees, a biker jacket done up just enough for people to notice he wasn’t wearing anything under it and a heavy chain to help direct people to that fact. Honestly it wasn’t exactly comfortable and Mick could feel sweat gathering in annoying places but he wouldn’t deny that he liked the looks it was getting him.

It did a good job of mentally preparing him for Len’s chosen scenario of the big, dominating guy getting his tables turned by some sweet-faced mousey beauty that would tie him up and take him on the ride of his life. Mick’s pants were not at all hiding how that anticipation was turning him on.

“It’s a crime for someone like you to be sitting alone.”

The voice was a tip off, some east coast accent rather than one straight out of Central’s slums, but it still surprised Mick to turn and find someone other than Len taking the seat next to him. He was young, too old to be twink but still heavily playing into his youth and slender build. It was very faint but Mick could detect traces of make-up on the other man to help sell the illusion. Between the nice clothing, well manicured hands and carefully styled hair, he had plenty of disposable income or at least the willingness to make sacrifices for those things.

He leaned in close to Mick, elbow on the bar so he was bracketing Mick on one side. “How are your drinks?”

So that’s where they came from. Mick hid his disappointment as he examined what was left in his glass. “Not bad.”

“Thought you looked like the bourbon kind.”

Really Mick could drink just about anything no matter how bad it was. He definitely wouldn’t be passing up free drinks- ones that he knew were clean, anyway.

“Waiting for someone?”

Mick shrugged. “Someone interesting.”

“What do you consider interesting?”

Mick gulped the rest of his drink, resisting the urge to look around. While guys didn’t normally hit on him even inside gay bars, it happened often enough it no longer surprised Mick and it wasn’t like he and Len were exclusive, sexually speaking. But he never had anyone come up to him during a playdate before and he didn’t know if he should be turning the guy down or just playing along.

“I guess,” Mick said slowly, “if I think he can keep up with me.”

The young man’s eyes lit up, mouth curling up in a way that was distracting. “And how do you figure if he can?” He ran a hand along the seams of Mick’s jacket, up to where it parted and revealed his bare chest. “Match you drink for drink?” His finger traced over Mick’s skin, dragging the edge of his fingernail and raising goosebumps in his wake. “Someone that will do any little thing you say?” His hand slipped under the jacket, flicking at the hard nub of Mick’s nipple. “Maybe take him somewhere for a test run?” He licked his lips, eyes dropping to the prominent bulge of Mick’s crotch.

Mick’s heart picked up, trying to figure out how to bow out of this before he got in too deep.

“Get your skanky hands off my partner.”

He couldn’t help letting out a breath of relief, turning to find Len glaring icily at the interloper. He was hardly intimidating in full hipster gear but Mick relaxed just having him there.

The young man pulled back, glowering right back. “Who the fuck are you?”

Len took the opportunity to force his way between the two. “The guy giving you the chance to walk away on your own two feet.”

He looked over Len’s shoulder at Mick and Mick just held his hands up. “He’s the boss in this relationship. He says no, then that’s all there is to it.”

The young man looked absolutely affronted. “Wait, are you seriously some asshole’s bitch?”

Len was too close to throw a decent punch but had plenty of room to get a good crack in with his elbow. The other man fell against the bar, blood streaming from his nose and Mick laughed in delight. “I don’t tolerate disrespect to my partner. Especially when you were desperate to gag on his cock in front of the whole damn bar not a minute ago.”

With his expression twisted into fury, the young man pulled out a switchblade and in an instant, Len had him by the wrist, smashing it down onto the bar hard enough he dropped the knife. With his other hand, Len grabbed the back of the man’s neck, slamming him into the bar as well. The poor idiot gasped from the pain of the impact as well as the strain the angle was putting on his shoulder.

Len leaned down and hissed into his ear, “I see you near my partner again, you’ll spend the rest of your life carrying your dick in a handbag.” He pulled back abruptly and the man slide to the ground. “Get out of my sight.”

He scurried out of the bar and Len turned to Mick. His eyes were narrow and jaw hard but Mick knew him well enough to tell when Len wasn’t angry at him. Mick could feel a big doofy grinned spreading over his face, hopelessly aroused by his partner. “Fuck, I love when you’re pissed.”

Len gave Mick’s clothing a pointed look. “Who picked out your outfit?”

“Lisa.”

Len’s lips twisted like he was deciding if he should thank her or yell at her for it. “Tell her not to do such a good job next time.”

Mick laughed loudly, hooking his foot behind Len’s knee, drawing his partner in between his thighs. “I dunno. Always love seeing you get hot over me. Staking your claim.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I always keep my cool.”

“Right. Damn near snapping someone’s arm out their socket is ‘keeping cool’.” Mick tilted his head, nosing along the side of Len’s neck. “Bet I could heat you up some more.”

“We’ll see.” Len’s voice wasn’t nearly as calm as his words, breathy and rough and Mick growled in response. Len grabbed Mick by the jacket and pulled him off his stool. “You going to backup your claim?��

Mick grinned, wide and victorious, ignoring the shocked and bewildered stares of those around them. “Always do.”

Sure, the night didn’t go as planned but Mick still got drilled so thoroughly he couldn’t sit right for a few days. That was a win in his book.

Change Up

The bartender held out Mick’s regular order. “Waiting for someone?”

“We’ll see who comes around,” he replied, accepting the glass as it was passed to him. The bartender stepped back with a nod. It had become a kind of pass phrase through the years at their regular places, alerting those who knew to run interference on anyone that might infringe on Mick and Len’s playdate.

Technically it wasn’t a playdate this time around as Len was in jail. Or rather was getting out of jail. The two of them had split up again about a week before he got picked up on, as Mick found after asking around, a bullshit charge. The police trying to put the fear of the law in him by tossing him in the clink for a couple months, never mind the fact that it just gave Len a chance to network with the crooks there. Fifteen, twenty years ago being on his own in prison might have made Len nervous but he built too strong a reputation by now. No one was willing to cause him trouble or allow others to cause him trouble, not when knowing Len would systematically ruin their lives in return. Or face Mick’s fiery vengeance as, outs or not, no one fucked with his partner.

So now here was Mick, sitting in a bar the two frequented on the day Len was supposed to be released, pretending he wasn’t waiting to see his partner again.

“This seat taken?”

Mick looked over his shoulder, heart aching at the sight of Len. He was looking a little pale, a little ragged, the bags under his eyes dark and his cheeks more gaunt than they should have been. Mick’s blood boiled and he gave a short shake of his head; opening his mouth would risk him breaking character at that moment. Just because other criminals knew better than to fuck with Len, that didn’t mean the guards would extend him the same consideration. Iron Heights, after all, was one of the more notoriously draconian prisons in the country for a reason.

Len sat on the stool next to Mick, gesturing for a drink that appeared in short order. Mick couldn’t look away, committing every bruise, every vaguely discolored patch of skin to memory. Len would never tell him who was behind them but Mick had plenty of friends on the inside. They’d give him at least a few names.

“See something you like?” Len asked, giving Mick a flirty, sideways look. It was his default character, the one they used when neither wanted a complicated role play. It wasn’t all that different from seductive, playful Len asides from the fact that it was in public. It was pretty guaranteed to get Mick going in short order. This time around, however, it wasn’t quite what he wanted.

On a whim, Mick decided to do something they rarely did on either a playdate or a job: he switched up the play. “I knew you were doing this to yourself.” He cupped Len’s face, familiar and gentle, feeling the rough stubble prickling his palm. “Don’t know why I thought your workaholic tendencies would stop when I left. You look terrible.”

Len huffed in quiet laughter, leaning into the touch slightly. Mick quietly thrilled at the fact Len just went with it. “This wasn’t any more your fault than the other times were. I did this to myself.” He turned his head, brushing his lips against Mick’s hand briefly before leaning away. “I get why you left. It’s not your responsibility to take care of me all the time.”

That… hit a little closer to home than Mick was prepared for. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Pretty sure you’ve done your share of taking care of me, too.”

“Not nearly enough. I’d give you the world, you know. It’s the least you deserve.”

“Does the world include you?”

Len’s eyes widened in surprise and while there was always some tiny kernel of honesty in all their playdates, Mick wasn’t certain how much was in this one. Not for Len or himself. “You- it- I can’t keep dragging you down.”

“You don’t.” Mick rested his arm on the bar, hand blatantly in Len’s space. After a moment’s hesitation, Len placed his hand over top of Mick’s. “Honestly, I do better when I’m keeping an eye on you. Have something to focus on, something to keep me busy.” That wasn’t lighting fires. “So,” he wove their fingers together, “I’m thinking about taking you home. Make sure you’re fed, tame that mop of yours a bit,” Len chuckled, touching his hair that had gotten long enough for the curls to edge into unkempt angles. “Then, when I know you’re rested, I’ll use you like a toy.”

Len spluttered and laughed, looking young in a way Mick hadn’t seen in too damn long. “So that’s the truth, huh? You’re willing to take care of me so long as I repay you in sex.”

“Sounds like a good deal to me.”

Still grinning, eyes still shining, Len pulled Mick from his stool. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

#dccoldwave #dccoldwaveweek2018 #fic 2018 #leonard snart #mick rory #was going to post this earlier but the format looked like shit on mobile #so i had to wait to get back to work to put it up here #at least it got on ao3 at a decent time

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gaiatheorist · 8 years ago

Text

Testing boundaries.

OK, I did it, I went ‘out’. No big deal for most people, but I’m not most people. I’m socially awkward, and have, historically, had a tendency to get catastrophically drunk, to avoid just lurking in the corner, like an unwanted ginger standard-lamp. As it turns out, I don’t ‘need’ the booze, which was fortunate, because it was quite expensive.

I’d seen the ‘flyer’ for the Twitter meet-up a few weeks ago, and just dismissed it with “Can’t go.”, because it was 2 hours travel away, and an unnecessary expenditure. Some time on Thursday, I’m not entirely sure when, I started looking at train-prices, and dabbling in the arena of ‘could go, if...’ That’s abnormal behaviour for me, and I’m still not entirely certain whether it was turning-away-from this episode of poor emotional well-being, or holding my nose, and jumping straight into it.

Crowds freak me out, unfamiliar locations make me uneasy, I don’t cope well with excessive noise, flashing lights, and the proximity of unknown-people. I know, let’s travel to another city, alone, and spend a few hours in a pub, with a bunch of strangers! Add to that the facts that I’m probably more neurotic-protective than most, and never really went ‘out’ much on my own for 20 years, and my anxiety probably burned off the three glasses of wine before I eventually threw myself back in through my front door. (Without falling out of the taxi, which I did last time I was ‘out’. No, for anyone familiar with my back-story, or PIP-assessors, I didn’t fall off the toilet, either.)

Yesterday, I went ‘out’, this waffly-blog is likely to be the very dull story of how I didn’t get murdered, or wake up in a gutter with my pants on inside-out. I know I ‘should’ have saved the money I drew out of the cash-point, but, in my off-centre logic, it was ‘spare’ money, left over from last month’s salary, and I virtually never do anything for myself. (Yes, there was a really weird side-thought about ‘What if the washing machine breaks, and I have to do my laundry in the bath for a month?’ I wouldn’t be doing my laundry in the bath, washing machines are relatively easy to reverse-diagnostic repair.) Welcome to the less than wonderful world of ‘What if?’

First up “What if somebody takes a photo, and I look half-dead?” Well, that’s easy, I DO look half-dead, but I tend to dye my roots on pay-day anyway, so I’ll at least look less like I’ve walked through cobwebs if I do show up in the background of someone else’s photo. I’m not ‘big’ Twitter, nobody’s going to want to snap a selfie with me to prove they’ve met me.

Next, “I have NOTHING to wear.” Don’t be an idiot, you have cupboards full of clothes, as was demonstrated by pulling EVERYTHING out of said cupboards, and raging at myself for putting things ‘out of the way’ instead of ‘away’. I’d wanted a particular top, I’m not as emaciated as I was this time last year, but I didn’t want the glockenspiel look, people have a tendency to try to make you eat pies when they can see your ribs, and if you complain that wheat doesn’t suit you, the automatic assumption is an eating disorder. I’m a pain in my own arse, because once I’d found ‘that’ top, I decided I didn’t want to wear it, and settled on another one.

“Is that going to be enough money?” It’s going to have to be, and that will ensure you don’t go overboard with the drinks. (Half-grinning, because it turned out to be exactly the right amount of money to cover my slight miscalculation.)

“Where’s my make-up?” Ah, remember when you threw a tizz about the ‘expectation’ that women should tart themselves up, and smear tonnes of crap on their faces to be deemed acceptable? Remember your ‘refusing to be aesthetically objectified’ tantrum, when you threw the make-up in the bin? It’s in the bin. Your entire make-up collection now consists of the one mascara that hasn’t completely dried out, a black eyeliner pencil that needs sharpening, and the boy has had off with the sharpener, and several red lipsticks. Challenging.

“Why is my hair so shit? Why won’t it behave?” It’s shit because you’re overwhelmingly stressed, which in turn leads to you not eating properly, the combination of stress and poor diet is responsible for the fragile hair, and the hair-loss. It won’t ‘behave’ because it’s part of you, it is ‘behaving’ entirely as it always does, which is like a dead ginger mop. (Interesting couple of minutes on the train, where I realised I’d used some gel the boy had left here to stop the frizzy-cloud effect, but not scrunched it through, leading to stiff tendrils here and there, and a very difficult to manage urge to shout “It’s not spunk!”)

“What if I miss the train?” Just get the next one, you nine-tonne mega-idiot, you’ve already allowed additional time for when you invariably get lost. “What if there are no seats on the train?” In that case, you’ll regret wearing five inch heels a bit sooner, won’t you? “What if I get on the WRONG train?” Seriously? This was getting tedious, bearing in mind I hadn’t even left the house. Occam’s razor is applied to my thought process even less often than razors are applied to my skin. I’m Stig of the Dump, and I ALWAYS start at the most ridiculous-unlikely, and work my way back from there. I’ve generally completely forgotten what the ‘problem’ was, by the time I’ve explored all the disturbing tangents my brain likes to send me off on. “What if I trip over something?” can very quickly morph into “What if I’m murdered, I don’t think I closed the living room curtains, and next door will assume I’m ‘in’, and nobody will realise I’m missing.”

Given the cyclic nature of my peculiar anxieties, and the fact that I’d imagined myself murdered and dumped in the canal about seventeen times before I even put my impractical boots on, the logical thing to do would have been not to go. I’m not logical, and I’d set myself the ‘task’ of travelling, alone, from the arse-end-of-nowhere to Leeds, having a couple of drinks with a load of strangers, and then finding my way back without my head being discovered in a bin, and my body only being identifiable by my tattoos. No, I don’t know why, either.

Neurotic-protective. I’d let different people know where I was going, which is awkward, because of the cross-over. I was ‘going’ as @GaiaTheorist but I’d also notified two real-world people, and alluded to my plans on my tiny, locked Twitter account. (Not Fakebook, though, the ex is on there, and the boy would flip shit if he knew I was trotting off out unsupervised. Oh, and there’s the “Well, she can’t be THAT ill if she can go out!” tangent.) Welcome to the messy web that is me, remembering to use the hashtag on the Gaia Twitter so I could be ‘tracked’, but not mentioning the # on my quiet-Twitter in case I was cross-referenced-outed. I’m like a really shit James Bond.

I set off earlier than I’d originally intended, and stood, freezing cold, wearing make-up in the day-time at the bus stop. (DID I lock the door?) The USB charger-point on the bus didn’t actually increase the battery-power on my phone, because I kept flicking between screens, checking routes that I knew I wouldn’t remember. (What if the battery completely dies?) Two kids on the bus appeared to be having a game of “Who can make the most annoying noise?”, and I had an intense desire to bang their heads together. The man on the seat in front of me for half of the journey had appalling body odour, and I could smell wee from somewhere else. I realised I’d forgotten to put any painkillers in my bag, and hoped that I wouldn’t have to use the hospital codeine, that’s probably expired by now.

The reason for setting off early was to make sure I didn’t get stuck in a queue for the automated train-ticket machine. I didn’t actually know where the ticket machines were, and had a bit of a panic about “What if I buy the wrong ticket, or the machine over-charges me?” I walked into the ticket-office instead, and managed to ask the man behind the counter for the right ticket. No biggie for most people, but, when I’m anxious, I sometimes muddle my words. I was anxious. I didn’t however end up with a yearly Oyster card or anything, so that’s a bonus. I’d also set off early so I could empty my bladder in the interchange toilets. I’d already walked past the toilets, and my fucking stupid head won’t let me ‘walk backwards’. I was half an hour early for the train, standing outside, in the cold, concentrating so hard on not ‘jiggling’ because I sort-of needed a wee that my thigh decided to do that weird tremble-spasm thing it does sometimes. Nice. In those heels, I’m a touch over 6ft, I’d just re-dyed my hair a fairly intense shade of auburn, I was wearing scarlet lipstick and heavy eyeliner, and my leg wouldn’t stop shaking. I had sufficient personal space.

Train. OK, there are seats, so I wouldn’t have to stand for an hour and four minutes, with my left thigh having its own personal disco, I also didn’t use the toilet on the train, due to five inch heels, and the aforementioned disobedient thigh. About ten minutes before Leeds, I found all the stiff bits in my hair, the person behind me might have thought I had headlice with all the fluffing and scrunching going on. (I’m SO 1990s, ‘scrunching’ my hair is still pretty much the only thing I do to it.)

Train station. In a very boring aside, the last time I alighted from a train in Leeds, I walked in the wrong direction for 20 minutes, completely lost, and alone, in a city I didn’t know. It was bad enough then, when I was trying to find a training venue in the daylight, it was dark by the time I hit Leeds, and I was wearing heels and lipstick. I excelled myself by getting lost IN the bus station, which didn’t help with the general panic situation. That tripped-out to me not text-messaging the person I was going to contact, because I ‘had to’ save my phone battery for emergencies. I’m a knob. After several laps around the train station, becoming increasingly aware that 5-inch heels don’t make stairs or escalators easy, I found the right exit. I also ‘found’ a probable homeless man, who offered me the use of his cigarette lighter. Then he asked me if I had a boyfriend. Of COURSE I do. Would I go out with him if I didn’t have a boyfriend? Well, I couldn’t answer that, because I DO have a boyfriend, but thank you very much for the light. Yes, I have a spare cigarette for you. Yes, enjoy your evening too, I’m going to meet some friends now. At that point, I pulled a ballpoint pen out of my bag, and stuck it in the back pocket of my jeans, in case of needing to stab sex fiends/muggers in the eye. Off I strutted, in my impractical heels, with my imaginary boyfriend. In the wrong direction.

I don’t know Leeds at all. I had a vague idea of where I should be going, but I have no sense of direction, and irrational anxiety about being mugged for my phone, so I’d wandered about, trying not to look lost for a while before I caved in, and tried to get Google maps to work. I CAN read a map, but reading a map in stilettos, on cobbles, while you’re having a massive panic about being mugged for your phone is a whole different kettle of fish. I’d saved the photos of the maps on my phone in case I didn’t have enough signal for Google maps, but a static map is only any use if you know which direction you’re walking in, and I didn’t. I managed to get the voice-directions working on Google maps, but couldn’t really hear it over the traffic, cursing myself for not bringing the earphones, but aware that wearing earphones, on your own, in the dark, makes you more vulnerable to muggers, sex-pests, and people who might cut your head off and put it in a bin. I then had an irrational burst of anger at the bits of the instructions I could hear “Walk east...” Which way is east? The sun had already set, so I couldn’t walk away from west to ascertain east. There’s a compass feature on the phone, but that would mean coming out of the ‘map’ app. I had many strange and interesting things in my bag, but not a compass, I only went to Brownies twice, remember?

I found the bar about half an hour before the thing was scheduled to start, and ‘stuck’. I accidentally tweeted a photo of the outside of the bar on the wrong account, in a desperate “Somebody come out and get me?” panic, and then deleted the bloody thing, because I like my quiet Twitter as it is. I didn’t know if I ‘could’ go into the bar before the thing was due to start, so I stood outside, like an absolute pillock, absolutely resolute that I WASN’T going into another bar to sit on my own with a drink, in case someone mistook me for a prostitute. So I stood on a street corner. Like a prostitute.

I eventually made my stupid legs take me inside the bar, and realised I didn’t ‘know’ anyone in there. Well, of course I didn’t not everyone has their face as their avi, do they, and the ‘function’ was in a back area. 17 million people pushed in front of me at the bar, and, when I eventually was served, I didn’t count the change from my allocated £20 for drinks, but it looked like a glass of wine was over £6. (I’m SO Yorkshire-stingy.) Shitsticks, not counting fire-escapes, that I’d have no idea where they came out, there was only one entrance/exit, which disturbed my not-claustrophobia PTSD ‘knowing where the exits are’ thing, and would have led to a panic-loop if I didn’t MOVE.

I moved. I found the event organiser, and introduced myself with “See my comfort zone? It’s all the way back over there.” I babble when I’m anxious, and I was very anxious. I wrote my @-name on a sticky label, and wondered where to put it, not wanting to draw attention to my ‘impressive rack’, but the alternative being my forehead. Then I stood in a corner, like a 6ft ginger spider. Some boys rescued me, and I didn’t realise I was talking to a man I’d followed, and interacted with for years, because I didn’t want to stare at his sticky-label. I drank my wine slowly, because I was only ‘allowing’ myself two drinks, then had a minor panic about ‘spacing’ alcoholic drinks with non-alcoholic ones, and wetting myself on the train home, which was lovely.

Other than Venus’ funeral, that was the first Tweet-up thing I’d been to. Contrary to popular misconception, we didn’t all stand about staring at our phones, but it was still weird. Not in a bad way, in an “Oh, I don’t think I follow you, do you know so-and-so?” way. Pointless fact about me: when placed in a situation where I feel uncomfortable, my default-setting is to make it MORE uncomfortable, which makes the initial uncomfortable-thing more bearable. I used to think that was the alcohol-impulsivity, that would often see me presenting strangers with teaspoons, sweets, or all manner of jumble from my bag, but it’s not, it’s just ‘me’. By the time the only other person there I’d ever met arrived, and asked me to hold her cut-out-ferrets-on-a-stick, and her drink, I’d already produced a neon pink bra from my bag, and was wondering who to give the vibrating cock-ring to. You can’t take me anywhere.

I drifted about, giving people bouncy-balls, and yo-yos, and spinning tops, and mini-slinkies from my bag and pockets, I let lots of complete strangers put their fingers in my craniotomy scar, and I was generally a bit of an arse. Not a complete arse, because I couldn’t risk missing the train home, and ending up sleeping on someone else’s hotel floor. I sleepwalk, and talk in my sleep, and I hadn’t brought a change of pants. I only hugged a handful of people, and I didn’t lick anyone, if I am in any of the pictures, it will only be in the background. I didn’t fall over, and, when I showed one of my tattoos to someone, I did it out of the way, around a corner.

I knew I couldn’t walk back to the train station, so one of my babysitters took me outside, and managed to phone me a taxi. I missed the train I was supposed to catch, and had to get the next one. A gaggle of drunks boarded, and one sat next to me, it was bad enough when she started to do the drunk-wobble-falling asleep thing, it was hideous when she vomited into the aisle, but at least it didn’t splash on me. I’ve been in that state myself, and I don’t ever want to be that drunk again. Her ‘friends’ weren’t interested, which shook me up, and made me wonder where I’d be able to put my phone if I had to perform CPR if she asphyxiated on the vomit, after they just hauled her into the toilet and left her there.

Missing the ‘right’ train also meant I missed the last bus from the city centre, and had to phone a taxi. Warpy-wrap-around-head phoned one from a company that DBS checks their drivers, and text-messages you the registration plate for the car. I had my ballpoint pen in my hand, and was ready to send the text-message out onto Twitter if the driver started going the wrong way. He didn’t, but that’s a worrying train of thought to have when you’re on your own, and going back to an empty house. I managed to cobble together enough money for the fare and a small tip, so had stayed within-budget for the night. I tweeted a photo, to let people know I was home safe, and I’ll periodically flick onto Twitter today, to check if I’m in the background of any photos scratching that spot inside my left nostril.

I did it. There was no real point to doing it, other than to prove I could. I have no unexplained bruises, I won’t be the subject of any gossip, and I managed to get myself there and back without incident. There’s something to be said for going out and not getting drunk.

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