#Remember we promised each other a 'formal event' thread?

[therapardalis]

[Lucifer Quote Meme from @dimensionalspades' Julian.]

"You’re quite adorable when you’re flustered." ------------

"And what," Thera countered, tone as arch as the eyebrow she lifted along with, "makes you think I'm flustered?"

Truth be told she was a little bit warm, but not so much that Julian would be able to tell unless he was pointing a tricorder at her - practiced medical eyes or not. "I'm not about to get worked up over one of Quark's ... embellishments."

The 'embellishment' in question was moving around behind her now, entirely too close and entirely too muscular, removing the coat from her shoulders while all but breathing in the scent of her hair. If he'd been even remotely real he probably would have earned a sharp elbow for his trouble, but Thera wasn't going to fuss about a hologram in her personal space; any more than she had about the sultry smile and enticing kiss on her hand that this one had already thrown in.

"I thought this was meant to be an elegant dinner, not the fucking Hellfire Club ..."

[pearlsephoni]

ItaFushi Week 2021, Day 1: Sharing a Meal

Can also be read on AO3!

Rating: G

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: ItaFushi (Itadori/Fushiguro)

Characters: Yuuji Itadori, Megumi Fushiguro, Nobara Kugisaki

Word Count: 1,855

Summary: In the aftermath of the ambush during the Goodwill Event, Yuuji is faced with the grief he left behind when he was in hiding.

A/N: Author’s notes can be read on AO3.

All things considered, Fushiguro had been lucky. He had escaped the curse spirit ambush with bad injuries, sure, but nothing a little time with Ieiri and an afternoon in bed wouldn’t fix. Or at least, that was what Gojo had told Yuuji. 

But Yuuji still couldn’t shake the guilt that had weighed on him since he’d popped out of the cart and been faced by Kugisaki’s angry tears and Fushiguro’s shocked stare. He could ignore it well enough when his focus was needed for his and Todo’s fight against Hanami. Now, though, alone in his room with a silence that was only broken by the occasional shuffles from Fushiguro through the wall...Yuuji felt both leaden and restless, exhausted and buzzing with energy, nervous and excited to see his friend. 

A text from Kugisaki was what finally pulled him out of bed. Against Ieiri’s recommendations, Kugisaki was determined to have a pizza lunch to celebrate their survival of the event’s first day, and Yuuji was only too happy to wire over his share of the delivery price. 

Yuuji: make sure you order meat pizza!  we need meat to recover from today! 

Kugisaki: u need vegetables too, idiot. thx for the money! 

“Don’t use my money for veggies, asshole,” Yuuji mumbled as he made his way next door. 

He’d forgotten his nerves over facing Fushiguro, but they crashed back into him when he faced his door. He knew, logically, Fushiguro wouldn’t be mad at him. He wasn’t the sort to hold a grudge like that. But he also knew, logically, Fushiguro would be well within his rights to still be pissed over Yuuji being alive for weeks without telling him. He’d seen the anger flashing in those blue eyes whenever Yuuji mentioned something that had happened, but it was just as quick to go away as it was to rear its head. 

At the end of the day, though, Yuuji was alive. However Fushiguro felt about the secrets between them, he had to still be happy about that. 

That thought finally let Yuuji’s back straighten and his fist knock against the door. “Come in.” 

“Yo, Fushiguro!” Yuuji called as he opened the door. “Woah! You’re looking good!” 

He really did. Sure, he was wearing pajamas and in bed while the sun was in the sky, something that he would never do in good health. But his back was straight as he sat there, and Yuuji couldn’t see any blood or bandages, and he distinctly remembered how battered he had looked before Panda carried him away. 

Fushiguro apparently didn’t agree. “Please stop saying that when I’m injured.” 

“Hey, I say it other times too!” 

“That’s not the point.” 

Yuuji was too focused on wheeling Fushiguro’s old desk chair over to the bed to notice the intensity in his eyes and the light dusting of pink on his cheeks. “You didn’t eat yet, right? Kugisaki’s grabbing some pizza for us, so we can have a pizza party!” 

“Shouldn’t we be eating something healthier after everything that happened today?” 

“Nah, we should have something tasty! And I told her to make sure to get a pizza with lots of meat, so you can get better fast!” He plopped into the chair, making the old thing creak with his weight, before he caught sight of Fushiguro’s gaze on him. “...What? You feeling alright, man?” 

He reached out to press his hand against Fushiguro’s forehead, falling back on instinct from his days by his grandfather’s bed. He didn’t think about how Fushiguro would respond until it was too late, the other boy’s hand wrapping around his wrist just as his fingertips brushed his forehead. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t-”

His words died on his tongue when Fushiguro didn’t let go. Instead, his fingers found Yuuji’s pulse just as Yuuji’s heart jolted in his chest at the feeling of their skin pressing together. “W-what’s going on, Fushiguro?” 

“Quiet.” Yuuji’s jaw clacked shut automatically, leaving him silent and flushing as he watched Fushiguro. The other boy’s fingers were firm against his wrist, and with each passing second, he slowly, gradually relaxed, until his forehead came to rest gently against Yuuji’s limp hand. “You’re really alive.” 

“Huh? Yeah, of course I am! Didja think I was a zombie out there?” Yuuji winced under the hard stare he received, his cheerful smile faltering at the grief that still tinged that blue gaze. 

“That would make more sense than you suddenly coming back to life,” Fushiguro grumbled. “You were dead, Itadori.” 

“I…I know.” 

“No, listen to me. I saw Sukuna rip your heart out, and I couldn’t do anything to save you. I was useless, and you were dead. I saw you die. And then suddenly you came back, and we didn’t even get to talk before you were risking your stupid life again. You told me not to worry, you said you wouldn’t die, but I couldn’t believe you. How could I?” 

The words left him in a rush, as though they were spilling out faster than he could say them. He was speaking more than Yuuji had ever heard him speak before, and his throat clenched with guilt the more Fushiguro spoke. By the time he fell quiet again, Yuuji could barely choke out the words, “I’m sorry.” 

“…Don’t apologize. I don’t blame you.” 

“Still. I’m so sorry, Fushiguro. I didn’t…I didn’t think…” Fushiguro’s fingers loosened around his wrist, but before he could pull away, Yuuji grabbed at his hand. “I swear, Fushiguro,” his fingers tightened around Fushiguro’s, “I swear I’ll never make you feel like that again. I’ll keep training and I’ll get stronger and I’ll make sure you never go through anything like that again. Or, I mean…not because of me.”

“Okay,” Fushiguro murmured after a moment of searching for something in Yuuji’s eyes. “Then I promise the same.” 

“Okay!” A relieved smile broke across Yuuji’s face, and he distantly noted the dusting of pink that appeared on Fushiguro’s cheeks. “Okay. Good!”

“Ughhhhh, gross.” 

Their hands jerked apart and their gazes jumped from each other to the door, where Kugisaki stood with a pizza box balanced in one hand. “I go get us this delicious pizza, and you repay me by making me a third wheel?” 

“What’re you talking about?” Fushiguro grumbled, barely audible over Yuuji’s excited, “Pizza’s here! What kind did you get?” 

“A kind that you better eat. I’m not gonna grab another one.” 

“Not even for your bedridden friend?” 

“Shut it. You don’t get to guilt trip me, you sneaky liar.” Kugisaki’s voice was flippant, but her eyes flashed with a genuine hurt that Yuuji recognized from Fushiguro’s eyes just moments before. “Still can’t believe Gojo-sensei didn’t let you tell us you weren’t dead.” 

“Yeah, I’m...I’m really sorry, Kugisaki.” 

“You don’t- it’s just-” She let out a huff as she dropped the pizza box onto Fushiguro’s lap and dragged a stool to the other side of his bed. “Can you at least tell us what happened to you? You were gone for weeks, dude.” 

Yuuji was quiet for a moment, his eyes fixed on fingers that plucked at a stray thread in the blanket while he searched for the right words. “I…I lost a friend. During my first mission after training. Did you hear about that?” 

“Yeah. Gojo told us,” Fushiguro said, his voice soft.

Yuuji's eyes drifted back up to Fushiguro’s as he nodded. “I really thought I could save him. I thought I could bring him here, introduce him to you guys and help him finally have a happier life. But he was turned into a curse and killed before I could even do anything. Just like that, he was gone. I didn’t know I could feel so angry and sad and useless. And I didn’t realize you could’ve felt the same way after…after you saw me die, Fushiguro.” 

His voice caught, forcing him to stop and clear his throat. In the brief silence, Kugisaki solemnly handed him a slice of pizza, a gesture that was so out of place, yet so earnest, that Yuuji couldn’t help cracking a small smile before he continued. “A lot of people died that day, and after all of it, I still couldn’t put up a good enough fight. I still had to rely on Nanamin. I think...I think that’s why I was so reckless today. I saw how badly I hurt you guys by not telling you the truth, and I wanted to prove to you all and to myself that it was worth something. That I at least got a little stronger.” 

There was another moment of silence as the other two watched him, letting him blink away the threat of tears and making sure he was done talking. Then, finally, Fushiguro spoke. “You did. You got a lot stronger. I didn’t think you could pull off that kind of growth, but you proved me wrong.” 

Yuuji squinted at him with a small frown. Those words seemed genuine, and he couldn’t see any sign of mockery on Fushiguro’s face, and yet...“Hey, you trying to call me a slow learner?” 

“You’re fast in many ways, Itadori-kun,” Kugisaki sighed, “but not when you have to use your brain.” 

“What the hell! I spill my heart out to you, and you decide to bully me? What kind of ‘welcome back’ is this?” 

“It’s not a ‘welcome back’ for you, it’s a ‘get well soon’ for Fushiguro.” 

“Please don’t pull me into this,” Fushiguro muttered, “You two just wanted an excuse to get pizza.” 

“Besides,” Kugisaki continued loudly in an attempt to drown out Fushiguro, “you still need to do me a favor before I truly forgive you.” 

“Huh?!” 

“Carry my bags for me on my next shopping trip, and all will be forgiven.” The hand that wasn’t holding pizza reached across the bed for Yuuji to shake, as though they were sealing a business deal. For all her bratty formality, Yuuji could see the “favor” for what it truly was: an invitation, a sign of forgiveness in and of itself. Kugisaki wanted to spend time with him, a far cry from the girl who had sighed at the first sight of him. 

Yuuji’s cheeks ached from how wide his smile stretched as he eagerly took her hand. “Deal!” 

“Pleasure doing business with you, Itadori-san.” 

“And with you, Kugisaki-san.” 

“Are you gonna eat this pizza,” Fushiguro muttered, trying and failing to bite back his small grin, “or are you gonna keep this up until it’s cold?” 

Yuuji obediently bit into his slice as he eyed the other boy. “Hey, Fushiguro,” he mumbled around his mouthful, “you’re gonna come with us right?” 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.” 

“I need someone to keep me company when Kugisaki’s stuck in the dressing room.” 

“Itadori, you-” 

“Gojo will probably make me come to babysit you two anyway,” Fushiguro said, cutting off Kugisaki, who glared daggers at Yuuji, “so yeah. I’ll come.” 

Gojo was a flimsy excuse, one that crumpled under the widening grin on Fushiguro’s lips. That grin almost turned into a proper smile when Yuuji beamed back at him. “Good!”

[merrock]

HAPPY FIRST OF MAY!

Good morning, Merrockites! Since it's the first of the month, I just thought I'd get into the habit of doing a post to kick things off and to remind people of things we have going on in town, any changes players should be aware of, and maybe a refresher of some rules that we need to work on all the way around.

HAPPENING IN MAY:

camping weekend (april 28 - may 2) -- wrapping up on Monday, all characters have been invited out to spend the weekend camping at The Glen. Starters can be done until Monday evening if you are interested in getting threads in for this event, and can be continued as long as you and your partner like.

flower festival (may 15 - may 21) -- happening at Lavender Lane, the flower festival will be full of work shops, games and activities, have lots of refreshments and snacks, and you'll be able to make some pretty things, too! not to mention having lots and lots of flowers to choose from to plant at home.

mini events -- on may 5th, cinco de mayo will be observed at paco's! for mother's day, bring your mom out to overlook for some brunch. everyone gets a pizza party sponsored by the benefactor on may 20th. and lastly, on may 30th, join us at cityview for a memorial day picnic! MORE INFO HERE!

EXTRA BIT OF FUN:

Although we've wrapped up our spring task, we've added May's development task to the list! These, as usual, can be done any time, they don't have to be completed by the end of the month, we just try our best to offer you something new to do each month to help you develop your characters and have a little bit of fun along the way. You can also check out February, March and April's prompts on this page, if you're interested!

RULE CHANGES AND REMINDERS:

i'll kick this one off by saying it's always a good idea to read over the rules if you're unsure of something, every group has different rules, so there's nothing wrong with asking questions if you have any.

please remember that while I absolutely don't mind chatting in messages, if you need something from me that requires me to be online, I prefer that you do so through the inbox/ask box. it's easiest for me to keep track of everything that needs done through there!

as mentioned last month, we made some small changes to new character pick-ups. roles 1-4 can be done within one week of each other, but to pick up role 5 and onwards, we're asking you to wait two weeks just to be sure your characters have settled in.

we have finalized our decision on activity checks / requirements! because of some concerns with activity lately, i am making the new requirement 1 week. if you haven't been active at all in one week, you will be placed on check and receive a strike (warnings are still five days). we do not have a requirement as to what is expected in that one week, but please note that if we see you are repeatedly logging in to only do one reply and then dip out, we will reach out to talk to you. it's okay if it happens every now and then! just not with every check. we just want to see everyone doing their part to keep this group active and fun!

THINGS BEHIND THE SCENES:

the residents page is being redone! kinda. and no, you won't see any changes if you go look, it's a secret. i'm just tweaking it aesthetically in my spare time and getting everything a lot more cohesive. once that's done, i promise to share it with you!

fun events are coming up, like a beach party, emergency services carnival, a big ole summer bash, and a very formal gala! i'm also tentatively beginning to plan our summer trip, and figuring out what we'll be doing for that, so stay tuned for more information.

our next kind of "team event" is being worked on, and is in early stages. it probably won't be a sport, but... does require some smarts. so think on that one for a little while!

and lastly, i am going to be working this week on a new promo blog. we've had a lot of writer spots open up over the past few days (it's okay! we're also hopeful to see some of our faces return!), and i want to really get us out there in a way that also isn't going to end in tumblr sniping us. but it's being worked on.

That's about it from May. I mean, oops, me. We're looking forward to a sunshiney, fun month ahead, and hope to see some new, exciting faces on our dash, and watch you guys grow and have fun, too! xx

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions II

I've just finished a book and it made me cry so happily I thought I'd post a fanfic to commemorate it. Also I'm probably going to start an AWAE/AoGG account soon because I cannot fathom living my life without a space dedicated to my darling loves. Anyway that isn't relevant to the post. This is just a fun little fic I've been writing on the side to try incorporate more descriptions into my writing (I'm a known dialogue whore). I see fit to write it whenever I feel like, so updates may be far and few between, however I do hope you enjoy whatever does come out. I adore this moody ansgty side to jercy. It's been fun to explore.

Masterlist, cat-eye aquamarine

Leave me alone.

[we have known loneliness forever]

Why did I ever agree to this?

[so we do not quite know what it is like]

I never asked you to say yes!

[to want]

Fuck you.

[one another]

-lonliness is a two-sided conversation//badpoetry

Percy doesn't even look at his husband. Doesn't acknowledge his perfect hair, or blazing eyes, or how close they're sitting. He just stares directly out the car window, arms folded across his chest. The rolling hills and wild lavender dance past his vision as the car bounces along the gravel road. They are almost to their destination, to solid ground and quiet, peace. Despite the circumstances he is excited to be back at the cabin his family has owned for so many years. He relishes in the fact that he can escape somewhere that is untainted by the rest of his life. Throngs of people, and public demand, and never ending scrutiny. 

He is nothing short of pissed that he has to share his safe place with someone he despises so sweetly it is honey on his tongue to talk to them. But his mother had insisted if they were to act like a married couple they would have to go on a honeymoon and he had only agreed if he could choose the place. She wanted to send them to some private beach in Spain where they could pretend to be alone, oblivious to the paparazzi that were sure to follow, and the people who wanted to meet not one but two crown princes. It was his final stance that if he were being forced to spend time with his husband, it would at least be where he could enjoy it.

"Prince," A crackling voice says through the speakers.

Percy clicks a button on the arm rest, "Yes Mr James?"

"The security team has secured the area, would you like us to drop the bags off before you head inside or after?"

"Whenever suits you Mr James, I'm going for a walk."

Jason who had since then, fallen asleep, jolts awake as they go over a particularly bumpy area.

"And your husband Prince?"

"Ask him yourself, I'm sure he has much to say on the matter." Percy huffs, turning away.

"Prince Grace,"

Jason glares at Percy unimpressed with his dismissal and his rudeness towards the driver.

"Yes James sir?"

"Would you like your bags dropped off before or after you enter the area?"

"Before please, I feel it will help me settle in much easier if everything is already there."

Percy wants to scoff, who talks like that? This pretentious, stuck-up, goodie two-shoes is who. He wants to stick his tongue out, settle their rivalry like five year olds battling to see who can scowl for longer. Mostly, desperately he just wants to get out of this damn car. His leg bounces in time with the bumps, and his hands fidget in his lap. For all his princely training nobody ever managed to get him to sit perfectly still. His mother had finally given up and started carrying drawing pads and pencils wherever she went.

"Can you stop moving!" Jason growls.

"If it bothers you so much get out and walk." He spits back.

An eye roll is the reply but by then the car finally rumbles to a stop and a security detail is opening their doors.

"Princes,"

"Thank you Madison, Arlo." He manages to grit before he stomps off down the path and disappears into the woods.

"Where are you going?" He hears his husband yell. He doesn't bother to reply, someone will tell the Prince.

He kicks at the dark soil and pulls breath after breath into his lungs. He needs to calm down. Just then his ears catch the soft bubbling of a stream and he heads in the direction of the noise. The woods are quiet and cool. A soft breeze flutters between velvety leaves and needled pines, stirring the undergrowth. He wants to become one with the trees, become a branch that sways in greeting and grows friends, and feels the wind wrapping around it every evening. He just wants to stop being human for a little while. 

And then the stream is underneath him, soaking his fancy shoes and fine thread socks. He laughs, tugs them off and sits down in the middle of the cold, flowing water. He can feel it run into him like ice in his veins. He dips a finger in, then another, his whole hand and shudders at the smooth caress. It has been so long since he just got to be. Here in this little stream, pants soaking, hands turning blue he has never felt so faraway, out of his body. The world narrows to his fingertips, to the bead of water running down his ankle and joining its family once more. His brain is far and long forgotten, simply taking up space in his skull. He decides right then and there that if he ever comes back to this world he'll come back as a rock in the stream. To live in this beautiful, ever-moving world, where the cold is a kiss and you can never meet the same drop of water twice seems a good life indeed.

Just then he hears a rustle behind him. In an instant he’s on his feet, pulling a dagger from his suit jacket, a white-knuckled grip on the hilt.

"Whoever you are come out right now. I am not in the mood."

"Relax," A deep smooth voice says, "It's just me."

"Oh," He pulls his lips up in half disappointment, half relief it wasn't danger. "What do you want?"

"Mr James wants to know if you want five or ten of the guards here for the remainder of the time here."

"I want zero." He frowned, "I just want to be left in peace for the next few days."

"Well it's not an option so choose." Practical, always so practical.

"Leave five here, there's three other cabins about half a mile out on either side of ours that should be enough space. Everyone else can go home."

"Of course, I'll leave you to it then." Jason nods, stands there awkwardly for a moment longer and then disappears into the greenery once more.

Percy doesn't know what to do, doesn't know whether he should scream or cry or laugh.

He hadn't let himself think too hard about the events of the last few weeks. He had shoved every feeling but contempt and general dislike deep deep down into his cage and threw the key into the deepest parts of his ocean of thoughts. He wasn't sure he had the strength to unpack everything that had happened. When his mother had came to him all those weeks ago a heartbroken look in her eyes he knew whatever had happened would be nothing short of a disaster. Within the week he was promised to Crown Prince Jason Grace of Caelum and had been shoved into endless, meetings in which wedding arrangements and economic agreements had to be made.

He didn't even meet the Prince till the night before they were to be wed but by then Percy had despised the whole ordeal so intensely he hadn't any happiness or hope left in him to be kind to the Prince. And even if he did gave some it would have vanished completely upon their introduction. Jason looked at him with such calculating authority he had reminded Percy of an old tutor who thought children should be seen and not heard, and learn whatever was given to them without question. Jason had been stiff, and unyielding, and looked just as unhappy or even unhappier to be meeting him. At dinner Jason only spoke when spoken too, he didn't fidget even once, and worst of all he somehow still managed to charm his mother in about five seconds. One dimpled smile, and a cute story about his first time riding a horse and Queen Sally Jackson had accepted him as one of their own. Percy on the other hand was ignored the entire dinner, and on the walk in the gardens, at the insistence of his advisor, they hardly said two words to each other. Whether it was because Jason was lost in his own world or letting his displeasure for the whole ordeal simmer and burn into their company as Percy was he would never know. Either way the walk ended with a gruff, formal goodbye before they headed to their rooms.

Percy shuts out the politics of the arrangement and how his life has turned into this unrecognizable hurricane of chaos. He cups some of water in his hands and drops it over his curls. Letting it drip down his temples and catch on his collarbones. The coolness soothes him, as water has always done. Finally when his blood is no longer boiling with hidden anger he steps out of the stream, picking up his discarded shoes and socks and sinks into the earth with each step.

The cabin has a soft orange glow in the windows, and the many cars that escorted them have disappeared. He throws his belongings by the door, shucks his pants off and steps inside. The interior is just as he remembers it. Where the castle was dripping with opulence and royalty, the cabin was simple and stripped to the bare essentials. He had always loved the place. Even when he was little and his mom would whisk him away for a secret weekend. She would pack hoards of cookies and ice-cream and light the fire immediately. They would sit on the soft, fleece rug, her with a book and him with his sketchpad, sipping cocoa and spooning ice cream straight from the tub. Then he didn't have to be the prince one day inheriting the crown and she didn't have to be the Queen dealing with every problem under the sun. They hadn't been back in a good few years and he misses everything about the space. He is silently grateful that Jason has lit the fire. Something familiar to hold onto.

"You're back." The Golden Prince says.

"Astute observation." He rolls his eyes but the blonde doesn't look up from whatever he's doing.

Percy walks into the space, shrugging his suit jacket off and unbuttoning his wrinkled white shirt. He hears a sharp inhale and glances up to see a red cheeked Jason staring at him.

"Why aren't you wearing any pants?"

"Oh," He laughs softly, "Yea they were wet so I took them off before I came in."

He sputters and blushes, glancing down and then peaking back up again.

"You alright there Prince?"

Jason clears his throat, and Percy watches that golden Adam's apple bob. His skin prickles with heat and he knows its time to go.

"I'm going to shower. I'll give you a tour afterwards if you want."

"That would be great."

With a nod in which they both avoid eye contact and general pleasantry he disappears into one of the three rooms of the cabin.

His shower is scorching, water pummeling against tired muscles. His mother always says a good shower and steaming cup of tea can fix more problems than a board of professionals. So far she hasn't been wrong.

"Hey," He walks back into the lounge sometime later, looking down as he ties the string on his pants, "You ready?"

The house is dead quiet, save for the crackle of the fire and the soft wind that whispers in the grooves of the floor.

"Jason?" He frowns, moving to stand in front of him.

The Prince is fast asleep, head lolling forward, book still clasped in his hands. Percy takes in his husband for the first time. Unobstructed by either of their waking emotions, or the general hustling that had shrouded their lives. Jason, he grudgingly admits, is beautiful. His hair looks soft and golden, and when it catches the light of the fire he's sure it's made from sunshine itself. And his skin is such a startling contrast to Percy's rich brown colour. The Prince's body, now folded into an awkward bent angle as he lay across the velvet-cushioned chair, is lithe and graceful. Corded with muscle but somehow still smooth in a way only an uptight Prince with a personal trainer may ever achieve. At least, he thinks sordidly, if I'm forced to marry someone he is as darling as Jason.

The blonde stirs softly, hand twitching, before he settles back into his position. As awkward and unhappy the two are with each other Percy can't leave him here. He's sure the Prince will bend into a chair himself if he slept like that all night long. So he gently taps his husband's shoulder, waking him almost immediately. Jason has never been a particularly heavy sleeper, and it is worse when he finds himself in a place he doesn't know. He blinks up at the world, blue eyes bright. They reminds Percy of the cat-eye aquamarine, the gemstone sat at the base of every crown ever made for his kingdom. He wonders what it says that the colour of his husband's eyes are also the colour he most associates with home. Just as quickly he expels those thoughts, content to bask in his clear dispassion and irritation for as long as this should last.

Jason scrubs a hand over his face, "Sorry you wanted to take me on a tour?"

"No, no there's time for that tomorrow. Why don't you head up to bed."

"Oh, okay. Goodnight then,"

"Goodnight Prince," He says stiffly.

"Sleep easy."

A nod in return and they both retire to their rooms, content to put the last week far behind them. Bury it under dreams, and hopes, and the promise of a tomorrow where nothing has tarnished it yet.

Percy left his window open, watched the tree outside it sway gently. Maybe tomorrow he would climb it and become acquainted with the birds in the nest.

He falls asleep, finally, to the chirp of crickets and the soft rustle of whispering leaves.

[hiddenwashington]

As time goes on, more and more people find themselves stranded in Washington DC, away from their homes and families. But as the seasons change and the weather grows warmer, it becomes easier to see the bright side of things. The sun is shining, the days are longer, and the sounds of birds singing and children playing fill the air. Coats and boots are shed in favor of sandals and t-shirts, students are finishing up the school year, and the relief is clear in all their faces. Young couples and families with children wander the streets, enjoying the sun on their faces, and groups of teenagers lounge on blankets in the parks or by pools.

In an attempt to lift everyone’s spirits further, a letter goes out to every citizen of the city, creamy white envelopes addressed in perfect cursive. Once opened, you’ll find a beautiful invitation, gold writing decorating pure white stationary. A gold bow wraps around the center of the paper, with pressed flowers tucked into the ribbon. And though there are no postal markings, stamps, or even an address beyond the name of the recipient, it is clear upon reading where the invitation came from.

You are cordially invited to Washington DC’s summer masquerade gala, beginning May 16th. Hosted by our own President Leia Organa, the masquerade will take place in the White House. Food and drink will be available to all who attend, and of course there will be live music to dance to. This is a gala, after all, and what’s a gala without dancing? There will be photographers roaming the ballroom throughout the night, along with aerial and acrobatic artists performing in various parts of the White House for your entertainment.

In addition, later in the night, there will be an auction held for anyone interested. There will be plenty of exciting items to bid on, and it’s for a great cause! All the proceeds will go towards improving the city funded housing for those who arrive in Washington with no place to go. In addition, there will be one very special item available that will be revealed as the grand finale!  All we’ll say for now is that it’s something that can grant what many of our citizens deeply desire. We promise that it will be worth the suspense!

This will be a formal event, so be sure to look your absolute best, and don’t forget your mask!

This invitation will grant you access to the White House, so keep it on you at all times!

As the invitations are received and the citizens get excited, rumors begin to swirl. What could this mystery item being auctioned off be? Many speculate it’s some sort of magical artifact. Some say it can return someone to the world they came from, some say that it can restore the lost memories of a loved one, and others still claim it will give you protection against some of the city’s more… dangerous tricks. But no one knows for certain except those involved in the planning, and they aren’t talking. Soon, the whole city is abuzz with gossip, and it only increases as the gala draws closer. Even those who have no desire to participate are curious as to what it could be, and excited for a night partying in the White House!

The White House will be closely guarded by secret service agents the night of the event, and they plan to make sure everyone is on their best behavior. They will explain to you upon entering the gala where you’re permitted to go and what is permitted. The White House itself is decorated in black and gold, with lanterns keeping the room dimly lit, adding to the mystery of who is behind each mask.

The event will take place mainly in the East Room, with bar tables set up in corners for anyone in need of refreshments, and smaller tables spread around both the edges of the room and out in the gardens, and a huge dance floor in the center of the room. There are floral centerpieces and candles in glass jars at each table, and there are silk curtains along the walls. In the State Dining Room, there will be long serving tables full of all the food you could want, extravagantly displayed on silver platters. Feel free to linger there, but know that all the fun will be taking place in the East Room.

The auction will take place in the blue room for anyone interested, with a small auctioneers platform set up on one end of the room, and rows of chairs for the guests who choose to participate. Upon entering the room, you will be given a paddle with your number for the auction. Feel free to exit and reenter at any time, just be sure to keep track of your paddle so you can claim your winnings from the Green Room the end of the night!

Also open are the gardens and the South Portico, for anyone in need of some fresh air. The garden paths and the balcony of the portico are lined with fairy lights, creating a beautiful atmosphere for an evening stroll if you’d like a moment away.

All other areas of the White House will be locked off, and guests are not permitted to access them.

tldr ; a summer masquerade and a mysterious auction are being held at the white house here in dc, a party for everyone to forget their woes, and a shot at gaining something many citizens desire. president organa has arranged a gala for one night, to allow all the citizens a night of enchantments and intrigue! you are invited, along with the rest of the people of washington, to the white house for a night of drinks, dancing and enjoyment! find a date, come with a group of friends, or even go on your own, just make sure you look your best and remember your invitation, or secret service won’t allow you inside!

OOC INFORMATION

hey there angels! welcome to hiddenwashington’s ninth event! we thought it would be nice to do something a little shorter and a little more lowkey after our big event at the beginning of the year! we are so unbelievably excited to get to release this one for you all, and we can’t wait to see what your characters make of it! continue reading below for more information on what’s going to be happening, and please drop a like on this post so we can know you’ve read it all!

DATES :

may 16th - may 20th may 22nd

in character the event will last for only one night, but we guarantee it will be a night packed with fun, excitement and just the right amount of drama!

please feel free to have your characters begin planning their outfits and dates/groups now and get excited! 

WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THE GALA :

below is a short list of things your characters will be able to see and experience once they enter the white house! everyone will have plenty to do and explore, whether their intentions are innocent or a little more mischievous :

a basic layout of the white house : first floor (where the gala will take place) , feel free to explore more following this link , while most rooms will be locked off, that doesn’t mean that guests can’t get “lost”, or sneak off in search of “the bathroom”. just be sure to watch for secret service agents.

food and drink : free food, desserts and beverages will be available to everyone, so please help yourself and enjoy!

dancing : of course this is a gala, so go wild during a faster number, or finally extend an invitation to someone special to dance to one of the slower songs. request songs from the band and enjoy in every way you can!

the gardens : the gardens will be open to the public for those looking for a moment to enjoy the warm weather, so feel free to take a stroll!

outfits : dress to impress, whether in a gown or a tux, whatever fits your style best. and feel free to post outfits and looks now if you so please!

get creative : there are more guests than agents, and they can’t watch everyone, so feel free to explore and slip away if you wish!

WHAT TO EXPECT FROM THE AUCTION :

if you choose to take part in the auction, there is a list of terms that may be helpful right here!

there will be multiple things up for auction, starting from little trinkets and paintings, to experiences and electronics, and finally the most valuable item will be available at the end of the night.

the final item to be auctioned off has been rumored to bring to life what one desires most. be that a loved’s memories to return, a way to return home, a large fortune, revenge on someone who has wronged them, or even peace among everyone. whatever you’ve desired, it can grant just that.

please keep in mind that money is still being used for this auction. make it reasonable for each character. if your muse is struggling for money, they wouldn’t be able to bet over thousands of dollars. if they are swimming in cash, would they help out those around them? will they scheme to steal the final artifact for their own gain? remember, anything is possible, but don’t make it feel implausible. 

TAGGING AND PLOTTING

once the event begins, please hold any and all non event threads. you may pick them up once it’s over, or start fresh with your characters cheerful and relaxed after a magical night.

please tag all interactions/starters/outfits with hwevent09 !!

feel free to have your characters start talking about the gala and auction and discussing it with their friends or potential dates! think of this post as the invitation arriving to your character! all of dc is now aware of the gala being planned and the city is filled with excitement and of course, gossip!

keep an eye on the main for any more information regarding the event, including after it’s begun! 

you are free to decide how your muses feel about the event and what they plan on doing at the gala! but just know that we do ask that every character shows up at the white house that night, even if it isn’t something they’re really excited about. come for the food and drinks, the dancing, your friends or of course, the auction! whatever gets your characters there is fine by us, but the event is mandatory!!

and as always, have fun, get creative, think outside the box and enjoy this fun new event!!! we cannot wait to see where you all take this exciting opportunity! and please, again, like this when you have read it all! ♥

[tsaritsa]

THE KING AND QUEEN OF AMESTRIS – AN EXCLUSIVE LOOK INTO THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR

by Violet Whittaker and Laura Richter for PRIMA Magazine (photographs supplied by Wolffe Photography)

“We never thought this day would happen.” It’s the event Amestris has been waiting for with feverish anticipation – the wedding of Führer Roy Mustang to Lieutenant-Colonel Riza Hawkeye. Violet Whittaker and Laura Richter follow the pair on their wedding day and gain some insight into the private lives of the most talked-about people in the country. 

It is a new experience for the leader of the nation, after a frantic year of picking up the mantle left in his wake by a country transformed almost overnight into a democracy. Nobody could say that the transition, led by the former Führer President, George Grumman, was not without its issues. But even as then-General Roy Mustang was sworn in after a historical vote that saw the Amestrian public having a say in their future for the very first time, nobody could have expected this new presidency to usher in such a feeling of hope and anticipation for what lies ahead. Mustang’s views, well-articulated from his campaign and debates, resonated deeply with the country – resulting in a landslide victory that proved the man and his vision for the future were unparalleled.

But it seems he’s met his match in his bride, the woman who has been one step behind him for almost his entire career in the military and politics. Riza Hawkeye, is a force to be reckoned with in her own right, with a much-decorated military career spanning back to her tender years as a teenager. An ever-present shadow in the background of many a press photo, Lieutenant-Colonel Hawkeye oversees her fiancé’s security detail – a job, she admits, that never seems to stop even when she’s off the clock.

On a quiet Thursday morning, the craggy, snow-dusted tops of the Cremil Ranges provide an unforgettable backdrop to today’s event. The blushing bride and groom are radiant since tying the knot in a gorgeous, relaxed and deeply personal ceremony overlooking Lake Mély, the place where they became engaged just over a year ago. It’s a sentimental moment to reflect on their romantic – and emotional – exchange of vows.

“When I saw her for the first time I choked up a bit,” the Führer confesses to PRIMA, never taking eyes off the now First Lady. “I was blown away. I knew I would be, but more so than I thought. She was beautiful.”

There is no pomp, no circumstance and none of the stiff formalities one might expect with such a high-profile wedding. Instead, it is a ceremony filled with laughter and joy, influenced by the couple’s own down-to-earth, understated and old-fashioned romance.

Flanked by his groomsmen, a beaming Roy is positioned under an arch that was created especially for this event. The groom waits patiently as the guests take their seats. But nerves that never made themselves known on the political ground seem to take over Roy, looking exceptionally clean-cut in his Mikhail Abel suit, keeps sneaking glances at the point where Riza will emerge.

The groom has spent the morning with his old military buddies at a friend’s house in the idyllic town of Lyford, East Province, while Riza, 32, gets ready with her small contingency of bridesmaids at the nearby Watkin Lodge, where the reception will be held afterwards. In high spirits, she manages to laugh about the less-than-favourable weather forecast as the radio plays in the background. Between each song, you can hear the messages of congratulations from the public being passed along by the radio hosts.

“We’re unbelievably humbled by all the support,” she says, fiddling with her earrings – which are, in a nod to tradition, her ‘something old’. Her veil has been borrowed from her maid of honour, a modest piece with delicate lacing detailing the edges. Her new wedding dress follows in a similar fashion – a simplistic A-line design that allows the bride’s beauty to shine through. The high neck and long sleeves are a choice that will undoubtedly be imitated by other brides, despite her protests that she is nothing of a ‘fashion icon’. Her simple, uncluttered approach has quickly made an impression with the public, with garments being sold out within days after she’s pictured wearing them.

However, Riza admits that she found herself a little stumped by the ‘something blue’.

“Honestly, I should’ve just worn the dress uniform – that would’ve covered it nicely.” The pragmatism is a refreshing change that reflects not only on Riza’s character, but the overall direction in which the Mustang’s wish to guide the country towards. In the end, her bouquet has been threaded with forget-me-nots, with bright yellow splashes of coronella and pink peonies.

Before long, cars are arriving, and last-minute adjustments are being made before the bridal party sets off for Lake Mély. The freshly-woven crown of clover is the last accessory to be added, pinned into her hair with care.

As he sees his bride finally appear, Roy’s eyes light up and that familiar, dazzling grin plays across his face – though this time it is a lot softer and meant for only his bride. Guests beam, and in some cases, shed tears as Riza walks past. But the real waterworks come out when their vows are spoken, small speeches that can only scrape the surface of a relationship that has gone back decades. There is large whooping from the guests when Roy calls Riza ‘his queen’, and similar cheering when Riza takes a moment to compose herself mid-speech, blinking furiously and promising in no uncertain terms that she will follow him anywhere.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt butterflies in my stomach,” Riza tells after the ceremony, smoothing down the silk of her dress. “But it wasn’t nervousness. Why would it be?” Here, she shoots a rare smile to her new husband. “It’s like you’ve been imagining this insurmountable obstacle and then you actually see it and realise it’s not as bad as you thought. I remember seeing you standing there and all I could think was – ‘oh, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you’.”

Both openly admit that marriage was never on the cards for them originally – with their positions as superior and subordinate for so long during their careers in the military, working together meant that any feelings the couple had for one another had to be buried deep, and never explored. “To say that there was a day when I didn’t love Riza Hawkeye, and then a day where I did is completely wrong,” Roy says. “Ever since I met her, I knew she would be a person who would have a monumental impact on my life. But we both knew that there were more important things to do than complain about where our choices left us.”

The two of them share a long and complicated history, most notably marred by the Ishvallan Civil War. Both served during the conflict, and the pair have always remained tight-lipped about their experiences there. But the choice to share their wedding with the public was not an easy one to make.

“We appreciated that there was a lot of interest,” Roy says diplomatically. “And we wanted to acknowledge the widespread support we’ve received following the announcement of our engagement.”

The following reception is rumoured to be legendary, but strictly a private affair. For the guests invited, it is sure to be a party filled with plenty of laughs and stories (both inspiring and embarrassing) about the couple. For the rest of us? Perhaps a reminder that love can be found and expressed in unassuming ways, and that you don’t need big flashy displays to reflect the years of quiet devotion that all of us can only dream of one day having.

The entire team at PRIMA Magazine wishes the newlyweds all the best in their new marriage.

(this piece was originally written for @royaizine​ and i finally remembered to upload it here! this is in the same fashion as my ‘hawk’s eye: definitive interview’ piece. please go and check out what everyone else did in the zine! there’s some truly spectacular writing and art created bc of it <3)

[eclatanthq]

event 003. a night in paris masquerade ball

it’s beginning to look a lot like the holidays in amiens and with the promise of snow, the city of love, lights and good fortune is getting ready for their annual end of year ball. this year, it’s a special event that is sure to draw in a big crowd. not only will a portion of the proceeds go to support small businesses in amiens but the other portion will go into a scholarship fund for the daughters of aiden bardet. as a small town, the community has come together to create a night in paris at city hall complete with french music, an eifel tower in the garden, and delicious french cuisine. tickets are hot and are $150.00 each ! but hey, it’s for a good cause.  here is what a ticket will get you:

one guest. everyone is dying to get in! bring someone you want to dance the night away with !

dinner & dancing. entertainment provided by club éclatant.

top shelf alcohol.

photobooth photographs to remember the night forever !

WHEN: the actual event, in real time will take place on tuesday,december 31st at 9:30 p.m. until January 1st 3:30 a.m. HOWEVER, for threading purposes, the event in rp time will begin friday,december 27th. (threads can be ongoing until January 3rd giving everyone enough time to participate/jump in) WHERE: city hall in amiens, louisiana. for aesthetic purposes, we have included photos under the cut. WHO’S INVITED: the whole city of amiens. everyone is encouraged to participate!

members,

this event will take place between the dates of friday, december 27th and friday, January 3rd. current non-event threads need not to be paused, but please do not start new non-event threads during this time to avoid confusion. this is a formal attire event so feel free to post photos of your character’s wardrobe! oh and don’t forget your masks! please use the tags eclatantevent003 and eclatantstart003 for event related photos, posts, and starters. participation is not mandatory but it is encouraged.

members, please “like” this post so we know you have read it!

[meowloudly15]

Stranded: Day 9 - BREAD HINDRANCE

First | Previous | Next

Gwen felt exhausted, even though it was hardly 5 in the evening. Everything had taken its toll on her, especially the unceasing atomic disjunctions.

“So, what do you say we get shawarma before saving the world?” asked Peter B., trying and failing to sound chipper.

“What’s shawarma?” asked Peni.

“Hah, it’s only the best type of food anywhere ever, besides pizza bagels, of course! C’mon, I know the best spot! At least, I hope it exists here!”

Peter B. led the spider-gang through the streets of Manhattan to a restaurant called the Shawarma Palace. They ate there in silence.

It was the perfect excuse for Gwen to ponder what Peter B. had told Miles. “A leap of faith,” he had said. And he was right, for once.

What was her leap of faith?

...

Monday evening was the hardest evening she had ever spent crimefighting. Gwen hadn’t bothered to go out over the weekend after Peter had died. Putting on the costume that day felt strange, like she was wearing somebody else’s clothing. Torn clothing, actually. Before she could set out, she had to repair the damage done to her mask. It took her 90 minutes to fix it, sacrificing part of her bedsheet.

With her promise newly made, Gwen set out to fulfill it.

It was easier said than done.

Her first foe was a mugger who was threatening a young man at knifepoint. Gwen assumed that the takedown would be simple and painless. It was neither of those things.

She misjudged her leap and landed squarely on the victim of the mugging. The young man hit the ground with a loud thud and a softer crack. He didn’t make any effort to get up, even after Gwen stepped off of him. The bell in her head started up again.

The mugger took Gwen’s shock as the perfect opportunity to attack. He stabbed her in the upper arm. She yelled and kicked him in the gut. The mugger stumbled backwards, dragging the knife down her arm. Gwen winced and clasped her hand over the wound.

Before she could react, the mugger stood up and rushed her again. Gwen stepped aside and grabbed the man’s right hand, crushing it. He screamed. Gwen finally disabled him with a punch to the jaw.

She helped up the mugger’s victim, who was in a great deal of pain. “I’m so sorry, sir. Are you all right?”

“My head… owww...”

Gwen managed to half-carry, half-escort the whimpering victim to the emergency room. A kind nurse bandaged her stab wound while she was there.

She set off again. This time, she walked, since her injured arm wouldn’t allow her to web-swing.

“You’re that super-freak who killed the kid!” yelled a middle-aged woman on the other side of the street.

Gwen gave her a sarcastic salute. “Yeah, hi, nice to meet you too. I’m your friendly neighborhood Spider-Woman.”

“Go burn in hell, mutant!” hollered another guy.

Gwen rolled her eyes behind the mask. She wasn’t one of those creepy mutants. At least, she didn’t think she was.

“I’m no mutant, dork, though judging by your face, you might be,” she replied acrimoniously.

The bell in Gwen’s head grew louder, fueled by the untrusting gazes and half-heard whispers of passersby. She broke out into a run to escape it.

She darted down the street, running faster than she thought was physically possible, until she collided into somebody. That somebody was a woman, a tall, stocky, pink-haired lady with tattoo-covered arms.

“What’re you doing in those funky clothes, girl? DashCon’s not until February.”

“Oh boy,” Gwen muttered.

The tall woman squinted at her. “What’d you call me?”

“Uh, uh, nothing, ma’am!”

The woman grinned, showing a missing tooth. “Now that’s the kind of respect I like to hear. You’re the superpowered girl who killed the boy, huh? I recognise you from the news.”

Gwen nodded nervously, slowly edging away.

“A’right. Then how’d you like to join our gang?”

Gwen’s eyes widened. Of course she didn’t want to join a gang! She wanted to be a hero, not a villain! Why did everybody think she was the bad guy? That wasn’t her plan!

“No thanks, ma’am,” she blurted out. “I’m actually trying to stop people like you.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed again. “All right, superhero, have it your way.”

Gwen squared up.

“Chill out, I’m not gonna fight a kid. Pick on somebody your own size.”

Gwen relaxed and walked away.

She immediately remembered her promise and whipped back around. The bell clattered in her skull.

“Sorry, Pink Panther, but you’re going down!”

Gwen shot a web at the woman. It adhered to her back, and she used it to yank the woman over to her. However, the woman was both ready and angry. She pulled out a gun, flicked off the safety, and fired.

Gwen didn’t know that it was possible to dodge a bullet at point-blank range. She also didn’t know that a bespectacled lady in her late thirties stood a few yards behind her.

Gwen crushed the gun with her hand. She knocked down the pink-haired woman with a foot to the neck. She ran over to the lady, who was bleeding from a bullet wound in her gut.

She carried her to the hospital, but it was too late.

The bell let out deafening clangs.

Gwen didn’t remember how she had climbed to the highest strut of the Queensborough Bridge, nor did she recall how long it had taken to get there. Even less did she know how many people had heckled her or given her untrusting looks along the way, although she was vaguely aware of it happening. She was trapped in her own thoughts, not caring what happened on the outside.

All the same… she did care. And she knew what had brought her to that place.

She had broken her promise. She had tried so hard to succeed but had failed nonetheless. Everything she did resulted in her hurting others! Everything! Why, oh why couldn’t she do anything right?

Connecticut City didn’t need a hero like her. Connecticut City didn’t need her. She wasn’t a hero. She couldn’t be a hero. She would never be one.

Gwen took off her gloves and pocketed them. She pulled up her mask.

She watched the murky water swirl below, then raised her head so she could watch the sun sink below the horizon. The clouds were a beautiful mix of purples and oranges. Somehow, the mess of colours blended beautifully and reflected off of the water, giving it a glow that disguised its pollution. The fading sunlight cast shadows across the far side of gleaming steel buildings.

Any city, no matter how ugly, looked better if it was partly encased in darkness.

Gwen wasn’t scared. She knew that the fear would come later and would end abruptly.

The question was, would it work?

There was only one way to find out.

“Hey, new hero!” yelled a voice from below. It was a man, an elderly man with a small white moustache and large, distinctive glasses.

“I believe in you!”

Gwen pulled down her mask and dove from the bridge.

Time slowed down, and Gwen retreated into her mind.

The old man believed in her. Why? What was there to believe in? Didn’t he know?

He had sounded so hopeful. What hope did she have?

It was the same hope that had led Gwen to get back up and to stop Peter from hurting himself and others. It was the same hope that had led Gwen to believe that she could become a hero. It was a hope that she thought she didn’t have but which resided in her all the same.

She needed to get back up.

She needed hope.

Gwen pulled a glove back on and fired a webline.

Her feet skimmed the water.

She soared into the air, carried by a thread. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, heightening a confusing mix of fury and triumph. She yelled. Her voice sounded clear and wonderful and alive.

It was time for her to fly.

...

Gwen remained lost in thought after leaving the Shawarma Palace. (The food wasn’t as bad as she had expected it to be.)

As much as she wanted to disown it, hope was the one thing that kept her going. Belief was the one thing that let her get up. That, and a stubbornness which stubbornly refused to stop being stubborn.

GAYNESS IMPEDIMENT

Since she wasn’t paying attention, Gwen clotheslined herself on a pole adorned with a rainbow-patterned flag.

“Hey, you alright back there?” asked Ham.

She peeled herself off the pavement. “Yeah, I’m good.”

The Spider-Gang reached a crane which overlooked Kingpin’s large apartment building.

Sp//dr scanned the building. “Kingpin has a private elevator from his penthouse to the collider below the building.”

Noir watched the crowd of affluent-looking people entering the skyscraper. “We can count on having an audience.”

The gang proceeded to peer into the penthouse.

LINCH KING

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” everybody said simultaneously.

Of course, the penthouse was the location of a banquet. In honour of Spiderman.

“What a pig,” Gwen spat.

Ham narrowed his eyes. “I’m right here.”

“Hold on,” interrupted Noir. “Look at how the waiters are dressed.”

They were all wearing Spiderman masks to conceal their identity. And bow ties, because it was a formal event.

“It can’t be that easy.”

It was that easy. After sneaking through the unlocked door to the roof, the Spider-Gang happened upon a bin full of adhesive bow ties. Peter B., Noir, and Gwen each took one.

“Uh, what are ya gonna do with Peni and me?” asked Ham.

“I’ve got an idea,” replied Peter B. with a mischievous intonation. He grabbed a large square tray and one of those food-covering domes from the closet. “Do you have any glue?”

“I think this will work,” said Peni. She pulled a handful of gumballs out of Sp//dr.

Eww.

After five minutes of vigorous chewing, the tray was attached to the top of Sp//dr’s dome. Peni tucked herself safely inside of her robot. Noir draped a white tablecloth over the tray, and bingo: instant serving cart.

When Peter B. gestured to Ham to go under the food dome, he refused.

“C’mon, where else are you gonna hide?”

“For Pete’s sake, I won’t do something so undignified!”

“Nobody will see you! We’ll keep the lid over you the whole time.”

Ham sighed. “Fine.”

And so the Spider-Gang entered the banquet undisturbed, posing as waiters (and a waitress, and a serving tray, and a roasted pig).

“It’s that easy,” commented Peter B.

Did they have Easy Buttons in this dimension?

LINCH KING

“I just wanna thank MJ for being here this evening,” said Kingpin from his dais.

Peter B. stopped in his tracks and turned to look at the woman in question.

“MJ?”

Oh boy.

Gwen snapped her fingers in front of Peter B.’s face. “Pay attention!” She pushed him back towards the “cart”. “It’s not your Em Jay, Peter.”

Peter B. seemed to relent, but then he swung the “cart” back towards Em Jay’s table. “Excuse me, but I gotta…”

Gwen intercepted the Spider-Cart. “Peter! No! Remember the mission.”

She wasn’t getting through to him.

“Trust me, I’ve been there. You gotta move on.”

“C’mon, it’ll take one second!” he pleaded.

BREAD HINDRANCE

Peter B. let go of the Spider-Cart and started to jog over. He stopped in his tracks upon seeing Em Jay standing directly in front of him.

“Hello,” said Em Jay.

“Oh. Wow.”

“I was just wondering if we could have some more bread at Table 12.”

Peter B. remained stock still, frozen by… was it anxiety? Guilt? Well, it was something, and Gwen was not going to get involved in whatever it was. She could only hope that he’d realise that the mission was more important than his not-ex-wife.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just… I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, don’t be sorry.” Em Jay chuckled. “It’s just bread.”

Gwen couldn’t stop herself from facepalming. Noir looked on, as impassive as ever.

“I… I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I didn’t even try.”

Em Jay looked uncomfortable. “Yeah, uh, that’s fine. You know, I should really get going.”

“I know I could do better! If I only had the chance to get you… the bread that you deserve!”

This situation would probably be hilarious if it weren’t so important that Peter B. not act like a moron. Gwen needed to take action before it got worse.

“Are you okay?” asked a disconcerted Em Jay.

Gwen stepped up to pull Peter B. away. “Ma’am, we’ll get you some bread right away. Just sit tight.”

Em Jay nodded and walked away. She looked relieved.

Peter B. continued to wax poetic. “For you, they should fill this place up with fresh bread.”

Had his shawarma gone bad?

Gwen led Peter B. back to the Spider-Cart. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Good, ‘cuz we’re not getting her any bread.”

The Spider-Gang left the dining hall and headed into the kitchen.

First | Previous | Next

[datura-foxglove]

a gift for both

Thank you @bsd-secret-santa for organizing this event and answering a lot of my questions! Merry Christmast @neonfigs, I hope for a happy holiday to you, from you secret santa hahaha XD I hope you are satisfied with this DaAku fanfics!

(Akutagawa and Dazai meeting each other in christmas party)

Everything in that huge ballroom repulsed him.

The bright and colorful lights that hurts his eyes, the cheerful conversations that not quite overwhelmed the soft background music, the mouth-watering scents of various kinds of dishes arranged like art on the tables, the carefree smiles from both the mafia and the agency people…

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke stayed on the corner of the room, the only one who radiated aura that repulsed others just like how they repulsed him. The only taint in the painting of myriad colors and happiness.

He covered his mouth with his hand, familiar tinge of copper coated his tongue as his lungs racked from another cough fit. He stubbornly washed the taste down with water from the glass he had acquired earlier when a waiter foolishly approached him with a tray. The only reason why the weak waiter dared to approach him at all was the oath that both Mori and Fukuzawa agreed to in order to have this party. An oath to have both sides refrained from hurting and killing anyone for tonight, the night of celebration party for surviving their latest catastrophe. Any old grudges and strife must be forgotten for this night only, a night of peace after days of gruesome war against the Hunting Dogs. Every member of mafia couldn’t disobey that oath, for they didn’t wish to humiliate their Boss. That was why Akutagawa had to bear the muzzle that restrained his fangs, replacing his usual black coat with ridiculous party get up that Chuuya had coordinated himself. Gin had said that he looked good, but Higuchi was clearly unable to look at him without stuttering like a fool.

But Mori’s order wasn’t the only thing that forced Akutagawa to leave behind his coat, his only absolute safety and most treasured possession, to attend this party that he wished nothing to do with. No, Akutagawa’s reason to attend the party despite his misgivings, was the possibility that man would also attend this party. Akutagawa had done more terrible and more dangerous thing for that person that this sacrifice of comfort was laughable, yet he still stayed in that party. His sharp eyes looked for each corner of the room, hoping to see even the shadow of that person…

His patience was nearing his limit of having to hear the joyful laughter of the weretiger, so near to him but unable to silence with his black beast when his phone suddenly rang. His annoyed growl made everyone around him flinched and backed away, avoiding his ire as Akutagawa yanked out his phone from his pocket. However, all of that barely contained anger went down the drain the moment he saw the name of the caller. Without wasting any more precious second, Akutagawa accepted the call and hurriedly brought the phone to his ear with shaking hands. It felt like he waited forever until he heard that voice. The only voice that would erase everything from his mind so that he could focus on the owner of that voice alone.

“Hi, Akutagawa-kun.”

The messy and tangled thread of his mind slowly unraveled the moment he heard him calling his name. “Dazai-san…” he stood up straight and his eyes sharpened until people around him felt like he could cut them with just his gaze alone. “Do you need anything from me?”

Dazai calling him meant that he got an order for him. An absolute order that Akutagawa would risk even his life to fulfill, no matter what kind of order that was. He waited attentively, like a soldier ready to strike. However to his confusion, Akutagawa heard laughter from the phone. He had never heard Dazai laugh before, at least not from genuine amusement.

“No need to be so tense, I don’t have any order for you.” Akutagawa felt his heart sank to his stomach. Dazai must be able to see his face, because he heard that laughter again. “Don’t look so forlorn, Akutagawa-kun. I do have a request for you though.”

“What is it, Dazai-san?” Akutagawa immediately responded, the only response he would give to anything Dazai wished of him.

“Look up.”

Akutagawa raised his head, his eyes scanning the second floor balcony. Among the fewer people partying their life away on the second floor, he saw his former mentor casually observing him with both arms leaned on the railings. Just like Akutagawa, Dazai had discarded his usual beige trench coat with a formal suit. The left side of his hair was brushed behind his ear, which made Akutagawa’s heart stopped beating for a second. He knew Dazai looked good usually, his female fans back when he was in the mafia proved that, but it was unexpected that just a change or hair style could completely shut down Akutagawa’s brain for a moment.

He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. Dazai noticed it too, but other than a smirk he didn’t say anything. He heard the call on his phone suddenly got cut off and Akutagawa felt the same disappointment and anger as that day when Dazai and the weretiger tricked him to chase after the wireless communication device when in the end Dazai hung up on him.

Dazai stood up straight, just like Akutagawa thought. He was going to leave him again, gaining amusement from how Akutagawa chased after every scrap of attention Dazai deigned to give to him. To his surprise, instead of just leaving cruelly like always, Dazai’s hand raise in front of him. He made a motion as if grabbing something from the thin air and pulled it gently towards him. Unconsciously, Akutagawa’s foot moved on it’s own and he stepped forward.

He saw a glint of satisfaction in Dazai’s eyes and that pushed him to move his foot again. Step by step, he walked closer. When he reached the stairs, Akutagawa had already forgotten everything. The party. Boss’ order. His own disappointment. Everything was unnecessary, so he discard everything away to chase after his former mentor. He even didn’t realize that he had started running, only his body’s hard trained instinct that enabled him to evade the other guests in his chase. He saw Dazai walked away, but his hand was still making that tugging motion.

As Akutagawa chased after that man’s shadow, he realized that Dazai was tugging the invisible chain that bound both of them together. Chain that Akutagawa wore himself years ago, in gratitude for giving a meaning to his life. That deep respect that wouldn’t be erased, no matter how the harsh Dazai trained him to life in the mafia. No matter how many times he was betrayed.

He ran and ran, his barely able to think mind in awe of how Dazai could keep the distance despite how relaxed he walked in comparison to Akutagawa’s frantic sprint. Dazai led him towards a secluded part of the hotel, outside of the noisy ballroom. Akutagawa remembered the blueprint of the hotel for emergency situation and his mind helpfully informed him that they were in the lobby. The mafia rented the whole hotel for tonight’s party and the whole staffs were busy servicing the party, so no one was in the lobby since there wouldn’t be anymore guest coming. But there should be guards patrolling the area…

“I had distracted the guards. We have around fifteen minutes before any of them back.” Dazai turned around and faced him, finally stopping. Akutagawa’s feet also halted, his whole body frozen when he had the full attention of his former mentor. “Let’s talk for a bit.”

Akutagawa didn’t know what to do. What was it that Dazai wished to say to him that he went out of his way to ensure privacy for them? His mind thought of many possibilities and only one seemed the most plausible in his mind.

“Do you want me to kill someone for you?” Akutagawa could only think that. Dazai was working for the Agency now and he may be unable to eradicate anyone without consequences like when he was in the mafia. He knew that Dazai could kill someone and leave no trace behind, but using him was the easiest. Akutagawa was infamous for his reputation as the mafia’s rabid dog, people wouldn’t bat an eye if he killed. Although… he had promised the weretiger to not kill for a while, in order to challenge him again. Of course, he could discard that promise if that became an obstacle in fulfilling Dazai’s order. Although, that would leave a bad taste after his hard work for months in restraining himself from killing his targets.

Dazai smiled, as if expecting his words. “No. Beside, didn’t you make a promise with Atsushi-kun to not kill? I had heard about it, how you managed to keep that promise until now. Even when your opponents were the Hunting Dogs.” Dazai closed his eyes, his expression became a bit more genuine. “I am proud of you.”

Akutagawa’s whole body froze, his widened eyes stared at Dazai in disbelief. “What…?”

“Before, no matter how many times I ordered you to restrain yourself, you keep showing no mercy and killed your opponents.” Akutagawa barely able to hide the wince as he remembered Dazai’s harsh punishment, and from the way the smile disappeared from Dazai’s face he knew that he couldn’t hide it from Dazai. “But you have grown now. You are able to keep to your words, no matter how hard you have to retrain your natural killing instinct and how much more difficult it was to fight tough opponents.”

He remembered the fight with the Hunting Dogs, of how much he had to restrain Rashoumon from targeting vital spots in his enemies’ body. Despite how his hesitance dulled his blade and made it easy for his enemies to corner him.

“You are still in the process, but you will someday outgrow the shadow that I left behind.” Dazai’s words were like hammer that completely destroyed him. “My role as your mentor is over.”

Rashoumon responded to the turmoil in his heart and raged, tendrils of black beast ripped from his clothing, familiar and strange at the same time. Akutagawa was used to pain. His life was full of painful experiences, but everytime he managed to grit his teeth and bear it. But this pain, like there was an invisible blade stabbing through his chest, was unlike any other. He couldn’t deal with the burn behind his eyes nor the way his heart felt like it would break into pieces. So Akutagawa sought for comfort from other feelings that he knew better.

Anger.

Hatred.

“Why!?” Akutagawa screamed, his eyes wild like a mad beast finally unleashed. “Why do you keep leaving me behind? Why—“

He felt a touch on his cheek, and the tranquil that washed over him was familiar. No Longer Human forced Rashoumon back, leaving him defenseless without his most powerful weapon and shield. Akutagawa hissed as he pulled back his fist, trying to prove to Dazai and himself that he wasn’t weak just because his Ability was nullified, but Dazai caught his fist as well.

“Calm down. I said that I am no longer your mentor, but that doesn’t mean that our relationship is over.” Dazai kept his fist and Ability sealed, but it was his words that completely bound him. “This just means that we are equal now.”

Akutagawa slowly pulled his hand back, staring at Dazai in disbelief. “Equal…?”

“I have done a lot of horrible things to you in the past out of necessity and I know you won’t blame me for it because you thought it made you stronger. I can’t make things right if you don’t even wish for it in the first place.” Dazai caressed his cheek, making Akutagawa shivered. He didn’t know if it was from the skin contact or Dazai’s words. Maybe both. “So let’s start over from the beginning. I am not your mentor and you are not my subordinate.”

In despair, Akutagawa reached forward and grabbed Dazai’s suits. “But… if I am not your subordinate anymore, then what am I to you now?” His meaning to life, his only ambition and desire, was to someday meet Dazai’s expectation of him. If Dazai wasn’t his mentor anymore, the meaning of his life would be forever unattainable.

Dazai gently touched his trembling hands, the gentleness unfamiliar to Akutagawa that he couldn’t help to flinch. The shine in Dazai’s eyes darkened a bit at that, but his touch stayed gentle. “Now that you are no longer my subordinate, you are someone precious to me. Akutagawa-kun, you always stay loyal to me, even after I have left you behind in the mafia. I don’t deserve that loyalty, but you give it to me anyway. I had expected you to discard me as you seek power, but you keep me in your heart still.”

Dazai leaned forward, until his lips were right beside Akutagawa’s ear. “I want to see more of your growth, with me by your side.”

Akutagawa could feel warmth radiated in his chest from Dazai’s words. It made butterflies flew around in his stomach and the corner of his lips twitched outside of his control. Dazai leaned back, his widened eyes stared at Akutagawa in somewhat stunned look. It took Dazai a few moments before he smiled. An awe filled him, similar yet different with the awe he felt when he looked at calligraphy.

“What a beautiful smile.” Dazai chuckled as he said that. “Is that my Christmas gift?”

Akutagawa was shocked. He didn’t realize that he had smiled at all. He shook his head to protest, because he was sure that Dazai’s smile was much more beautiful than his.

“Now that I have received such a nice gift, I have to give you one too.” Dazai whispered, a sharp glint appeared in his eyes that made Akutagawa instantly wary. “Close your eyes.”

Akutagawa closed his eyes, still used to instantly obeying whatever Dazai ordered him to do. Dazai made a rueful sigh sound, but he didn’t comment on it. Akutagawa waited for what Dazai had planned, but nothing prepared him when he felt something soft and warm touched the corner of his lips, light like butterfly’s wings.

Akutagawa immediately opened his eyes, his gaze immediately fell on Dazai’s face right in front of him. There was a naughty smirk on his face, although that smirk disappeared quickly when both of them heard the footsteps of the guards returning.

“It seems time is up. We should return.” Dazai walked ahead of him. Akutagawa thought he would be left alone with his brain still is mush with what happened earlier, but Dazai turned around and offered his hand to him. “Will you go back with me?”

There was no longer invisible chain binding Akutagawa to this man, yet he still feel the pull to follow him. His hand gingerly accepted Dazai’s, both of their cold hands warmed by each other. Dazai pulled him along gently with him and Akutagawa stepped beside him, walking side by side as they returned back to the still ongoing party. All the way and even after they returned, their hands still intertwined with each other.

(A bit of bonus, since I can’t decide between this fic and the other I had made. You can take this as a sequel from the first one, although it’s not really related.)

Akutagawa woke to the sound of Gin cooking in the kitchen. He looked at the clock by the side of his bed and frowned. It was rare that he slept for more than three hours. The morning chill made his chest uncomfortable, but he ignored the discomfort as he started his morning routine.

Gin had already prepared his breakfast, light and just the bare minimum, with a plate of figs as dessert. Just the way he liked it. They ate in silence, with sometimes Gin talking about her upcoming missions as he nodded along.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Akutagawa pulled it out from his pocket, expecting sudden missions. To his surprise, a short message from Dazai was the one that appeared on the screen. Gin hid her knowing smile behind her mug, making Akutagawa wondered if he was that easy to read.

Still, the butterfly on his stomach fluttered as he read the message.

“Today is Christmas. How about a date?”

Dazai didn’t have to ask. Akutagawa would drop any unimportant things if that meant he could spend time with him.

“Yes, Dazai-san.”

“Great, I will wait for you at the station at ten then.”

“Understood.”

Akutagawa put away his phone and stood up, already about to leave for the station when Gin stopped him by pulling his coat.

“It’s cold outside, it’s better if you wear more layers. It will be bad if you get sick while you are with Dazai-san.” Gin reasoned, her smile kind. “It won’t take much time at all. I will help you.”

Akutagawa relented as his sister wrapped him up with scarf and thicker coat, the material warm and light. Gin picked a pair of black gloves to keep his hands warm. In the end, he looked almost ridiculous with all the extra layers despite Gin’s insistence that he looked really great.

Despite still having a lot of time to spare, Akutagawa almost sprinted outside if not for Gin walking halfway with him as she was going to her work.

When Dazai finally appeared just in time, Akutagawa had been waiting. He frowned when he noticed how pale Akutagawa looked. Dazai stripped off one of his gloves and touched Akutagawa’s skin, his frown deepening when he felt how cold Akutagawa’s cheek was. He took Akutagawa’s hand and brought him inside of a café nearby. Akutagawa didn’t resist as Dazai made him sat in one of the tables, wrapped him in a blanket the café provided, and ordered a hot green tea and hot coffee for both of them.

Dazai sighed as they wait for their order. Akutagawa thought that Dazai would reprimand him, but Dazai kept silent. Wordlessly, Dazai pulled Akutagawa’s gloves off and then hold his hands. The warmth of Dazai’s hand felt really nice on his cold skin.

“I got tickets for calligraphy art exhibition.” Dazai’s thumb caressed the knuckles of his hands. “You still like those, right?”

Akutagawa nodded. Even if he didn’t like it, as long as it was with Dazai he would follow wherever he would go. But he was honest when he said that he still liked calligraphy. The strokes of the blank ink on a white paper was the closest thing Akutagawa could feel to awe at any beauty.

Dazai’s frown melted into a small smile. “Good. I already reserved a place for dinner, but do you have somewhere you want to go for lunch?”

“Anywhere is fine.” Akutagawa nodded. As long as he was with Dazai, anyplace was fine.

“That is actually the hardest to choose, you know?” Dazai chuckled a bit. “There is a restaurant nearby the museum, do you want to try that place?”

Akutagawa nodded again, probably to Dazai’s expectation. Their conversation was interrupted when a waiter brought their orders; a coffee for Dazai and a hot green tea for Akutagawa. Dazai let go of his hands so Akutagawa could hold the better source of warmth, but Akutagawa preferred the warmth of Dazai’s hands than the hot cup of green tea.

They talked a bit more, their conversation light as they relearn everything about each other. Some things had changed, while others remained the same. Akutagawa etched everything Dazai told him in his heart, memorizing every words. It wasn’t long at all, but they finally left the café after finishing up their drinks and Akutagawa’s body had warmed up.

The cold bit into his skin when they braved the cold weather outside of the café, but this time Dazai stayed close and held his hand. Akutagawa felt like he turned into a sponge that absorbed any warmth given by Dazai. The walk from the café towards the museum was quite long, but spending it with Dazai by his side made it barely noticeable. The warm air inside the museum made the two of them breathe a sigh of relief, although Akutagawa’s attention was quickly distracted by the myriad of calligraphy proudly displayed on the walls.

They took their time to visit and appreciated each one of the calligraphy. Each calligraphy, even with the same kanji, had different brush strokes that attracted his interests. When Dazai excused himself to search for a toilet, Akutagawa revisit each one of his favorites and made sure to remember the calligrapher in his mind.

They left the museum hours later, not noticing how time had gone. It was too late for lunch, so they bought a nikuman at the nearest convenience store that they shared. Both of them ate very little, so they didn’t want to ruin their appetite for dinner by eating too much.

Dazai broke the hot white bun in two and offered one to Akutagawa as they walked. “There is still time until dinner, do you want to go somewhere? I won’t accept answers like ‘anywhere is fine’.”

Akutagawa froze a bit, completely troubled. Dazai’s teasing smirk didn’t help at all. Akutagawa tried to postpone his answer by taking a bite of his steaming bun, but Dazai only waited patiently, not letting Akutagawa escape at all. When he had eaten the last bit of his nikuman, Akutagawa finally remembered something. “How about the traditional garden?”

Dazai knew which one Akutagawa talked about. “The one Kouyou-nee likes? Since it’s winter, there will be less people there.”

Akutagawa nodded. He preferred places with less people than the crowded ones. “Can we go there?”

“Sure.” Dazai smiled and took Akutagawa’s hand once again. “Anywhere you want.”

The act of kindness, no matter how many times Dazai had showed this side of him, had never failed to send his heart aflutter. His cheeks reddened and he followed beside Dazai as Dazai took him to the station.

They went to the park. Then they had dinner in a nice restaurant with a secluded room for privacy. The food was delightful and not heavy enough that his stomach protested at the end of the meal. The whole time, they had small talks about everything and nothing at once. It was a really nice date for Akutagawa, he even got a dessert takeout for Gin. Time passed by so quickly, surprising Akutagawa when the sky was dark the time they left the restaurant.

The end of their date was slowly coming. They had to return soon because tomorrow their presence would be demanded by their work place. The Port Mafia for him, and The Detective Agency for Dazai. The peaceful day they enjoyed would soon be chased by days of fighting once again. Today was like an oasis in the harsh desert of their life.

When they reached the station where they met up in the morning, Dazai let go of his hand. His hand felt achingly empty and cold without Dazai’s to hold. But Akutagawa gritted his teeth and endured his dissatisfaction. Both of them looked at each other, hesitating to say goodbye.

At last, Dazai smiled wistfully. “Merry Christmas, Akutagawa-kun.” Dazai took out a small box of present that he hid on the pocket of his coat.

Akutagawa’s eyes widened. He didn’t expect that both of them would exchange any gift. “I—My apologies, I didn’t—“

“It’s alright. I already received it.” Dazai leaned over and brushed his lips on Akutagawa’s cheek. “Today is the nicest gift you can give to me.”

Akutagawa’s cheek burned on the spot where Dazai kissed him. His trembling hands accepted the small box, his breath hitched when the paper that enveloped his gift had a print of calligraphy on it. “Is this--?”

“A set of calligraphy brushes and charcoal ink.” Dazai grinned. “Make sure you show me your calligraphy soon, okay?”

He had never tried calligraphy himself, despite his interest in it. But now that Dazai was expecting him to do it, the fire of determination burned him. He would make sure he could create a calligraphy art that would make Dazai proud of him. “I understand.”

Dazai sighed, although his eyes watched Akutagawa with fondness. “See you again, Akutagawa-kun. Say ‘hi’ to Gin for me.”

Akutagawa hesitated, which made Dazai frowned a bit. He saw Dazai opened his mouth to ask what’s wrong, but Akutagawa quickly stepped forward. He grabbed Dazai’s coat and pulled him closer to plant a kiss on Dazai’s lips. Dazai’s eyes widened for a moment, before mischief bloomed in those dark eyes and Akutagawa was surprised when Dazai deepened the kiss. It was just an innocent kiss, but it took his breath away unlike the way his illness usually did. It felt way more pleasant… and it warmed Akutagawa’s heart and body. Akutagawa whispered ‘Merry Christmas’ to Dazai’s lips as Dazai kissed him again.

They would have to part ways soon, but this moment, this single moment… was all that they need.

[abby-studies-art]

Hello everyone!

As promised before, I will be posting an exhibition review below for the Montreal Museum of Fine Art’s Exhibition “Once Upon a Time… The Western”. This is a part of my final exam, however before you are thrown headfirst into the art world, I thought I would talk about what an exhibition review is and how to conduct one as an artist.

An exhibition review is much like a movie review, and as an artist or art student, you will right several over the course of your academic career. They discuss the themes and motives of the exhibition and the artworks featured, as well as the use of space and curation technique: what is the art like? How is it displayed?

Before you go:

Pick an exhibition, in most cases for your courses you will be required to pick one you can attend in real life, and I personally prefer those. If you are going to discuss a space, you should be able to go stand in it for best results.

Read some other exhibition reviews! The best part of an exhibition review is that it is about your feelings and your experience of the gallery, and shows through in other writings. You can also get a good sense of what kinds of things to talk about although I will try to help you there.

BRING A NOTEBOOK AND PENCIL! Seriously. You will not remember everything you need if you don’t write it down, and most galleries won't allow you to use pens near the art, to prevent potential vandalism.

With that being said…… WRITE THINGS DOWN! If you like a piece, or the way it’s displayed, or something about the gallery, make note of that! Your reactions, your thoughts, those are important things to have when you want to begin writing. You should also feel free (unless the museum or gallery forbids it) to take pictures of the works that particularly stick out to you, as well as the artist's description. You can also take pictures of the gallery space to help you remember what you saw, or if you are a drawing person, you can make sketches of the space and the works.

While you are there:

If the gallery has a guidebook or a pamphlet for the exhibition, take one! It will be a good reference for later and may provide information like the featured artist list and the names of the curators.

READ THE EXHIBITION DESCRIPTION. This will describe the goal or theme of the exhibition in the curator’s own words, and it is often up on the wall.

Take your time. Try to take in the exhibition as a whole. As you walk through the space, ask yourself some questions: what does the gallery space make you feel or remind you of? Can you relate it to the theme of the exhibition? How does the artwork shown relate to the theme? Is there any art that you don’t feel fits the theme? Would you arrange it differently? Who is making the art, does it all come from one group? Write down your answers because that is basically an exhibition review.

After your visit, while writing:

Talk to other visitors! Especially if you went with a class or a group for a school assignment. This will help you understand your own ideas, and hear what others thought. They may have different perspectives that you can use to inform your own writing, even if you do not agree.

Read exhibition reviews written by others! If you don't have access to other gallery visitors, then the internet can be a great resource, as many writers will post there. There are many art journals that operate online and they are worth checking out, I promise.

Visit the Museum website! There may be a full list of works shown for the whole show which can help refresh your memory.

While writing: don't be afraid to be honest! I have written many reviews about exhibitions I enjoyed, and I have written just as many about ones I did not. Share your opinion, but be sure to tell people why: if you didn't like the art, why? If you loved the use of space, why?

Language When Writing

We have arrived at the other aspect of the project, which involves confronting some frustrating situations and circumstances. If you are writing this for submission to a university, you will be required to write using some pretty stuffy and inaccessible language. This kind of “Formal” writing will often be required for a good grade.

However, this kind of voice used in academics can leave a lot of people out of the conversation. And in my opinion, art should not be exclusive, because are is universal. Everyone needs to be welcome in the conversation.

Because of this, I have written the following exhibition review using much more common language, in the interest of including everyone who comes across it on the internet. Hopefully, that will also make it easier for you to see how the writing is structured and give you some ideas on how to write this kind of review.

And if you have a thought or comment or if you have seen this show as well and want to talk about it, instead of sending me an ask, leave a comment! If someone has left a comment or question below and you feel like you have something to add or the answer, please feel free to respond! My goal is to foster discussion that welcomes everyone.

With that in mind, please be respectful of others and their opinions. You are allowed to disagree, but please keep it civil. Violence or inappropriate comments will be reported and blocked because this is meant as a positive platform for discussion.

The exhibition review is under the cut! Thank you so much for reading!

The exhibition, “Once Upon a Time… The Western” calls itself an “in-depth, interdisciplinary look at western genres”. It boasts multimedia displays, complex discussions of history, and a massive exhibition space made up of a maze of rooms and hallways. They use this space to discuss the romantic stereotypes that developed in the artistic representations of the west, and they’re  continued effect today. The show is co-curated by Mary-Dailey Desmarais and Thomas Brent Smith, curator of modern art at the MMFA and Director of the Petrie Institute for Western American Art respectively.

The massive space is split up into a maze-like array of rooms, but it not hard to navigate. Each one has one entrance and one exit, meaning that even if you didn’t spend $7.00 on the audio guide, your tour of the exhibition will still have some structure. They move through chronologically, organized very carefully into parts, so it really is quite easy to guide yourself through and gain a good understanding of the themes the exhibition aims to discuss.

The first few rooms, following the Hollywood thread, are organized into “The Set” which discusses the landscape of the west, which served to inspire the artists, “The Cast” which covers the tropes and stereotypes of the mounties, cowboys, vagrants and native americans that would all be manipulated and romanticized, “ The Real Characters” which serves to showcase the real-life celebrities of the west, like Buffalo Bill and Billy the Kid, and “The Drama” discussing the so called “common” events that litter the plotlines of the hollywood western: kidnapping, train hijacking, robbery, battles, and runaway stage couches. While the first rooms do well to represent different media and art styles, they also address both side of the western story: that of the fictionalized settlers, and that of the displaced and abused indigenous people.

On the settler side of things, the first few rooms discuss the power of art, especially photography and painting. Both of these mediums presented a visual for the settlers arriving on the continent and greatly contributed to inspiring the writers and directors of Hollywood. One of these paintings, Thomas Moran’s The Mirage (1879, oil on canvas), is a perfect example of this amazing scenery: sweeping valleys and towering mountains dwarf the riding party that cross the scene near the bottom of the canvas. This goes on into an exploration of the heroes and antiheroes that shone on screen, in front of these backdrops. The Cowboys, vagrants, mounties, sheriffs, some of whom are based on real outlaws, going about their lives thwarting the kidnappings, preventing (and orchestrating) bank robberies, getting into bar fights, and living free in the open air, as shown in Charles Marion Russell’s Free Trapper (1911, oil on canvas).

The story told of the roles of the indigenous people is much more traumatic and horrifying to consider. Pushed out of their homes and lands for the sake of white colonial settlers, and massacred when they resisted, the remaining indigenous people were then further mistreated in art and film. The men became villains: holding up trains and threatening passenger, kidnapping and holding hostage “innocent” settlers, and stealing women from their husbands, as shown in The Captive by Eanger Irving Course (1891, oil on canvas). The indigenous women were romanticised and sexualized and abused. This villainization and sexualization would continue up to the present day.

The “Drama” room is also the beginning of the second and third themes of the exhibition: the different varieties of westerns in Hollywood, and the effect of various world events on the genre, and modern indigenous responses to the representations of their ancestors, and the lasting impression those representations left on North America. The “Drama” room gives way to a series of smaller rooms, which discuss two major directors (complete with dramatic, shadow lettered names) John Ford and Sergio Leon. Ford was a famed director, and his 140 films were inspired directly by the 19th-century painters explored in the first few rooms. His film, Stagecoach (1939, film),  Leon came after the second world war, participating in the more international sect of western films, including the “Spaghetti Western” Sergio Leon's films came at the end of the western genre as it had been known up until that point, and his characters were tropes of themselves. Their exhibition rooms include movie release posters, massive timelines detailing their filmographies, and on the right sides of both, a screening of clips from their films for visitors to sample.

Separating the two men’s rooms is a room that discusses the effect of the end of the second world war had on the western genre. Heros became anti-heroes; brooding and outlaws, living isolated on the fringe of society. This isolation was meant to relate to the men who were returning home from the war, who themselves also felt isolated, and of course the constant threat of an atomic bomb.

Moving from these viewing rooms, we approach one of the final rooms of the exhibition. This room talks about the next age of the western after the post-war western: the western genre’s interaction with the counterculture of the 1960’s in response to the Vietnam war. The cowboy character was played with especially, in their gender and sexuality. Andy Warhol’s film, Lonesome Cowboys (1968, film), played with this heavily in order to dramatize homosexuality in Hollywood. And finally, the indigenous were shown as the victims of a violent colonial attack, much like the citizens of Vietnam were casualties of the war.

The other end of this next-to-last room, and continued into the last room, we see modern era indigenous artists responding to these representations of their ancestors. Here the multimedia aspect of the art truly shines, especially in Llyn Foulkes’ the Last Outpost (1983, mixed media) and a number of other indigenous artists, including Wendy Red Star and Gail Trembloy.

The very last room lead into a sort of entrance to the gift shop, which I referred to as the “bonus room”. It had a few seats and was showing clips of modern westerns, including Django: Unchained (Quentin Tarantino, film, 2012) and True Grit (Ethan and John Coen, film, 2010). I felt as though more could have been done with this room, as the clips were hard to follow if you were not familiar with the films (I was not) and so it was hard to relate what were shown on screen to the rest of the exhibition. This room did lead into the gift shop, which had a few large cabinets of indigenous art for sale, providing visitors with the opportunity to support real indigenous artists. Among the handmade works was a few true treasures: a cast of Miss Chief’s praying hands by Kenneth Monkland, edition two of only ten made.

Overall, the exhibition met the expectations it set at the entrance. The decision to lay everything out chronologically made it seem much more like a story and recalled the films that it was aimed at critiquing. Some of the lighting was dark in some of the rooms, especially those with projections of films, which made it harder to read the information in some cases, but this was a minor issue that did not greatly affect the impact of the works being shown.

The show also aimed to explore the mistreatment of indigenous people during colonization and continuing today. While I was glad to see this aspect of the western explored at all and I was encouraged to see modern indigenous artists benefiting from the exhibition and sale of works, it should be noted that as someone who benefits from colonialism, I cannot accurately form an opinion on the representation in the exhibition.

The exhibition will be showing until the fourth of February in 2018 and is worth visiting for its interesting and depth look at the western genre and all its implications.

[kusunogatari-a]

[ Winter Wonderland (Secret Santa 2017) ] [ @sennenryuu ] [ Suigin Ryū, Kurogane Chitose ] [ Verse: White Hands of Healing ]

Though the village is already blanketed lightly in uncounted flakes, snow continues to fall as the sun sets. Along the streets, lamps let it catch the light, reflecting and sparkling like so many crystals. It’s as though the stars from the heavens shed upon the earth.

And despite the wintery weather, shinobi and civilians alike trudge through the building deluge of white. Tracks soon trample the snow into pathways, troughs through the village thoroughfares. Hands hide in mittens, faces tucked behind scarves as thick coats stand between the travelers and the cold. Crowds linger around the open shops toting wares of warmth: tea, coffee, and even spirits that help ward away the chill as breath forms fog born of talk and laughter.

Among them, awaiting her turn, happens to be Ryū. Staring out through the narrow gap between hood and shawl, greys take in the masses. Most are at least glancingly familiar - she sees a great deal of the village through her days. Occasionally she risks freeing a hand from her pocket to wave, though few make the time to stop and visit. It’s hardly a night for standing about. Already through her boots, the tips of her toes are chilling.

It makes her homesick for the hearth in the manor, but for now, she’ll have to settle with the kotatsu here, in the little house in Konoha.

Lost in her thoughts, it takes a bit longer than it should to realize a growingly-familiar head of red hair in the corner of her gaze. Eventually glancing, there’s a small jump of surprise. “Ah, Kurogane-san!”

The greeting is muffled through her scarf, and Ryū braves the cold enough to pull it down beneath her chin. Freed, lips give the elder a smile. “Forgive me, I didn’t notice you there!” Apparently the promise of a warm drink is tempting even for the kunoichi.

Chitose returns the look, brow raised ever so slightly. “...Suigin-san,” is her reply, giving a small decline of her chin. “It’s no trouble. I wished not to disturb you - you seemed entranced in thought.”

So she was caught being spacy. Sheepishly smiling, Ryū seeks to disappear back into her scarf. “I was, ah...thinking of home. It’s a lot warmer there this time of year than here in Konoha. That is, until you hike up above the snow line into Kōri no Mori…” The sentence trails off before she realizes she’s getting off-topic. “...a-anyway, I suppose for now I thought I’d keep my hands warm with some tea on the walk home! I just...didn’t anticipate such a line.”

Giving a hum, Chitose nods. “It does not snow in the land of my birth. It is still a strange sight to me: snow. Nor do we have a winter matsuri. I have yet to attend.” There’s a tilt of her head toward a nearby banner announcing the festival’s beginning in two days. “We pay our respects within the shrine upon new year’s day, but that is the extent of winter festivities.”

Ryū can’t help but blink, a bit taken aback at the kunoichi’s words. It seems she typically doesn’t have many to spare. Still, she eagerly latches onto the conversation, glad to learn more about her companion. “It’s really rare any snow reaches the bottom of Kusunoki no Tani. It only did so a few days during all my time back home, and it never lasted long...usually just through the night. It’d be melted by morning. But the further up you go, the more common it becomes. Most of the upper peaks are covered year-round. But the runoff is what keeps the falls and rivers from drying up. I do my best to find a jinja on new year’s - either one here in Konoha, or the one back home.”

Still, there’s a pause at the admission. “...you’ve never been to the winter matsuri…?” Blinking, she blurts before thinking. “I’d be happy to go with you, Kurogane-san!” Only after she speaks does she realize she’s being impolitely forward. There’s a hesitation before she stutters, “T-that is, ah...if you want to go! You certainly don’t have to!” After all, there must be a reason she’s not gone in the past.

But Chitose doesn’t rebuke her. “It is no trouble, Suigin-san.” A small pause, and then, “...I would enjoy that. Perhaps we can speak more at length about our homelands. I admit to a curiosity of your own. In a small way, it reminds me of mine. There may be similarities we can find.” Another pause. “...a kind of...common ground.”

In spite of herself, Ryū perks up, brightening. “I...would enjoy that very much!”

It’s then her turn at the counter arrives, and the healer quickly orders her tea, standing off to one side as Chitose does the same. Only once she’s finished does Ryū offer, “Would it make sense for us to meet at the kita jinja? We can start there, and then head into the matsuri proper, ne?”

“Certainly. I shall try to arrive ahead of time, as not to miss the opening ceremony.” Cup in hand, the kunoichi gives a polite dip of her head. “Until then, Suigin-san. I do hope you stay warm.”

“You too, Kurogane-san!” Mirroring the gesture, Ryū watches her go with an elated hint of a smile.

This should be fun…!

Two typical days of work pass before the evening of the festival. Thankful to be part of the staff off for the opening night, Ryū adorns a kimono padded against the cold: white with silver threading depicting mist-draped mountains and soaring owls. One of many that lingered in the manor, and one of few that fit her properly. Obi in place, and with her tabi socks and zori upon her feet, she checks her reflection one last time, pulling at a stray lock of hair that refuses to remain in her updo. It can’t much be helped - the waves are always a mess, anyway.

With only a small clutch to hold ryō slipped in her sleeve, Ryū leaves the residential district behind, heading north and hoping she’ll be neither too early nor too late. Evening is just beginning to fall, festival attendees already flooding the streets commonly used to visit shrines scattered throughout the village. There’s just a hint of falling snow: enough to dust passersby and give them a glittering coat. The flakes, unseen against all that she is, go unnoticed by the healer as she makes her way to the jinja.

As she expected, Chitose is already there. Her own garment is a wine red, hemmed by a river and a reed-ridden village along its banks. Eyes like flame look to Ryū as she ascends the steps, abandoning her relaxed posture. “Suigin-san.”

Hem lifted above the snow, Ryū can’t help a sheepish smile. “If I may, you’re more than welcome to call me Ryū, ne? After all, a matsuri hardly needs such stiff formality!”

There’s a blink, as though she hadn’t considered that. “...very well. Then allow me to match your courtesy - please, address me as Chitose.”

“Gladly!”

Together, the pair approach the chōzuya, cleansing themselves before entering the shrine proper. Dozens of others mill about, hands clasped and offering prayers for the upcoming year. Ryū spends several minutes simply standing with eyes closed, taking in the atmosphere. It doesn’t feel the same as home. The mostly-untouched valley hardly has the human interference of a village like Konoha. Even so, she eventually rests palm to palm, offering a prayer for the health and luck of the villagers. And though perhaps taboo to do so, those within the others, as well. After all, her teachings know no borders.

Both of them linger for a time, each lost in their own thoughts and wishes before an unspoken agreement sees them both to the door. Silence reigns as they descend the steps, and it’s not until the light and movement of the stalls within the matsuri grounds that whatever musing spell upon them seems to melt.

Glancing to her companion, Ryū offers a smile. “So! Anything you’d like to try first? There’s the game stalls, food stalls...there might even be a fortune teller around somewhere!”

Chitose considers the booth-laden street. “...perhaps it wise to eat, first. Then we may try the games without the distraction of hunger?”

“Certainly! Just remember, no ninjutsu,” Ryū laughs into a sleeve.

Festival food isn’t the healthiest, but they each find something portable to nibble as they peruse the other booths. Craftsmen hawk homemade wares, and Ryū finds herself hard pressed not to shell out the ryō for a silversmith’s chain adorned with an opal-eyed owl. Her own wide as she studies it, she can’t help noticing Chitose eyeing a wire-wrapped garnet from her corners. This one, however, is set in gold. Glancing between the nin’s matching eyes and locks, she watches Chitose move ahead to the next booth.

“On second thought...how much is this one, ne?”

Carefully jogging to catch up, Ryū offers a small bag, expression barely bated. “Here!”

“...what is this?”

“Everyone needs to have something to remember their first matsuri by!”

Accepting, the redhead peers within before blanching, stopping mid-step. “Ryū, this -!”

Giggling into a sleeve, the shocked reply’s missing honorific doesn’t go unnoticed. “No buts! Consider it a thank-you for going with me, ne?”

“It was you who made the offer on my behalf! For my benefit!”

“But you still said yes!”

They reach an impasse, crowds weaving around them.

“...I will repay you for this.”

Realizing she’s serious, Ryū doesn’t rebuke her. Instead, she offers, “Try it on, ne? I want to see how it looks!”

Glancing back into the bag, Chitose blinks before lifting the chain and pendant and clipping it behind her neck. “...is it suitable?”

“It’s perfect. Now! Let’s go try some games!”

Leaving the events to Chitose, Ryū watches and eggs her on - she’s never been much good at them, anyway. The first few...don’t go entirely well. She knows how the restriction of ninjutsu makes them all the more difficult, but eventually, there’s a prize to be had.

“You choose.”

“What?”

“Consider it a chip at my debt.”

“But you won the game, ne?”

“A small victory - it has been the experience as a whole that is far more rewarding, Ryū-san.”

Lacking a retort, Ryū blinks before looking over the booth’s prizes. Beady eyes of plush creatures shine in the strung lights along the stalls, and she quickly points to the familiar form of a snowy owl.

“It is hardly the like of the necklace you considered,” Chitose offers, glancing behind them as though having half a mind to go back.

“Well, no...but while the other was pretty, this one’s much better for holding, ne?” Proving her point, it stays tucked in her arms as they continue to move along the alleyways of stands.

It’s only once the hour grows late that the crowds shift, heading toward open areas to better view the night’s finale: fireworks. Standing near the hem of the gathering, silvers and golds look skyward as it fills with all manners of colors and patterns, the blasts’ concussions felt down to their bones. As the final rockets launch in quick succession, hollers and clapping replace the booms as the heavens fall silent, everyone dispersing as the first night comes to a close.

“Well, the booths will still be open tomorrow, if you feel like going back,” Ryū offers. “But I usually find the night events are better than the day after.”

“Perhaps, this time around, the night will suffice.” There’s a slight pause before Chitose goes on. “...I was glad to come. Thank you, again, for inviting me, Ryū-san. And even more so for the gift you gave me. In time, I will repay you.”

“I told you, it’s far more about the memory tied to it. I’m hardly worried, Chitose-san. Consider your enjoyment of the night credit enough to me.” The healer smiles. “And thank you for the prize, ne? I have to wonder if Fubuki will be jealous,” she laughs into her sleeve. “Though it might also make for a sweet reminder of home. Maybe it will make a good companion for her.”

The kunoichi’s lips lift. “I hope it will. I realize we did not have much proper time to speak...perhaps another day.”

“The crowds make conversation a bit difficult, yes,” Ryū agrees with a laugh. “Maybe we’ll have to try another venue - a quiet tea shop, mayhaps.”

“Then we shall arrange it. At your next earliest convenience, I will ask after you, Ryū-san. Consider it something to look forward to.”

“I will! Thanks again for coming - I’m so glad you enjoyed yourself.”

“I thank you for the invitation...and for your company. Until next time, Ryū-san.”

Once home and relieved of her evening’s outfit, Ryū sinks into a chair, hardly bothered at her summon’s perch upon its spine. “I found you a friend today,” she offers, holding up the little plush.

Fubuki gives a startled screeched, clearly unsure about the toy and its too-large eyes. Leaving her to rove her head in circles in inspection, Ryū can’t help but chuckle before calling it a night.

     SURPRISE! Merry Christmas, Natalie! Apologies for how long this took - Ryū would only let me work in spurts, haha - but hopefully it was worth the wait, and I hope I did your muse justice!

     If there’s any edits I need to make, please let me know - hopefully I stuck well-enough to your prompt! I hope you have happy holidays, and a bright new year, my friend!

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [201]

“Lavellan,” Bull says as he eyes one of the three chessboards in between them.

“Ellana,” The woman interrupts, giving him a tired but overall pleased look through her lashes as she deftly puts him in check on the rightmost board. Again. Bull just hopes she stays aggressive on that one and misses the trap he’s working on building on the far left. “It is going to get confusing if you continue to call me Lavellan. After all, there are many people here named Lavellan, among them one of my top advisors. I permit the use of my first name. From you.”

It’s been almost four years and the Iron Bull has only ever heard her first name when it is preceded immediately by her clan name and then her multitude of titles, each more impressive than the next.

“Ellana,” Bull says and she nods, pleased, re-crossing her legs underneath the linen sheets as she leans forward to examine the middle board. It’s still a toss-up how that one can go, but Bull is putting  a lot of confidence in not losing the left board and pushing a draw.

Mid-way through Ellana and Mahanon’s impressive not-quite shouting match, and mid-way through a very good bottle of wine that Theron was pouring liberally, an old gray-haired woman had thrown open the doors to Ellana’s private office and started pointing fingers and yelling, causing all the elves in the room to blanche impressively.

“You!” The woman, who Bull now knows to be the Master of Mending and Ellana’s personal physician, “What in Sylaise’ name are you doing here? You’ve been gone for almost three years and almost dead as of the past week and your first thought was to come and yell at your older brother?”

“My younger brother. He’s my younger brother, you senile old bat,” Ellana had tried to cut in but the woman had already rounded onto Mahanon.

“And you! The three of you!” The woman turned on them, “Getting drunk off your ass in the middle of the day! Just allowing this to happen! Not a single one of you with the common sense to send her to the mender instead you immediately set in for scheming and politics! Unbelievable. Absolutely the heights of absurdity. Enough! Most Holy I commend you to the halls of restoration this instant. Do not make me call your mother.”

Which had lead to an even more impressive shouting match even as Ellana was physically herded out of the room by a woman who looked three times her age, while the woman at the same time was deftly smacking, reprimanding, pinching, chiding, and lecturing the other three into hunched shoulders and sullen glances.

“The old biddy was the Master of Mending before the previous Heart of the People was born,” Theron had said, “I’m pretty sure she’s an inherited object from the time of Shartan.”

“I feel so sorry for her apprentices, they’ll never get a chance at being Master of Mending,” Lyna had said shaking her head as they all got to their feet, the sounds of Ellana and the Master echoing down the halls, “At this rate her apprentices’ apprentices’ apprentices might not even get a shot.”

“Not even death wants the old crone,” Mahanon rolled his eyes before taking them on a tour of the barracks and armory.

Ellana’s on her fourth day of enforced bedrest and has spent most of it sending pointed comments at every healer and physician that’s come within earshot. None of them even blinked. Bull takes that to mean they’re used to it. Impressive, really.

“Ellana,” Bull says, “What’s the plan?”

“Lyna and Theron are going to arrange for me to submit a formal disruption of the year’s gatherings to the Elder Council,” Ellana says, pressing her thumb against her lower lip as she examines the center board. “We are going to attempt to readjust the schedule of the readings of the Heavenly Eddas. Normally at this time of year we sing of the apotheosis and the devotion. But in light of recent events we believe that it would be best if we change the moth’s readings and offerings to pave the way forward.”

“How so?”

“Well. We want to start with a presentation of Golden Rope,” Ellana says, “Just to begin preparing them for our general announcements and revelations. Ideally this will help them ease into the somewhat…shocking truth. Tell me, the Iron Bull, how familiar are you with the Heavenly Eddas of the People?”

“Not very,” Bull admits, “I mostly studied architecture. I know some things, the more common stories, though. I don’t know any of the full songs and verses.”

“Shall I recite it for you? Golden Rope is rather short, especially translated into common. We usually recite it in Elvhen,” Ellana says, tilting her head as she carefully captures his knight with her tower and then immediately grimaces when he uses that opening to pin her now exposed priest with his freed up pawn. If she moves her priest his pawn is available for a promotion.

Bull nods.

“During the turning of the wheat the Crafter and the Hearth Keeper played a great trick on the Friend of the Dead. Falon’Din and Jun were walking through the fields about Falon’Din’s halls. The sounds of laughter and joy and praise were loud in the air, as with the scents and smells of offerings and candles, for it was Falon’din’s season of gifts and worship. Jun remarked to his fellow that the gifts laid before him were most beautiful and precious. Perhaps someday soon Jun too would have such a grand following in his name.

“For Jun was still a young god, freshly formed from the molten blood of the mountains, so new that the copper of his skin was still rough and unrefined, raw. And those who knew of Jun’s skill with all things that must be made were known. But his rituals were small and whispered to candles under the roaring of the forge and the hiss of steam and the ringing of hammers. The worship of Jun, then, was small and whispered and routine like the brushing of hair or baking of bread. Nowhere near the golden splendor that glowed long in the night for the Friend of the Dead.

“And to this Falon’Din laughed and said to Jun, how foolish of you, Jun. Be satisfied with your pebbles and your whispered thanks. For Falon’din was born of the Daughter of Oceans and the Son of Skies, the gold and glory was born into him. Jun was born of nothing, and so he would always have nothing.

“The two parted ways, Falon’Din to his feasts and his festivities, and Jun to his forge. Humiliation burned in Jun like an ember that refused to go out. And so he went to his wife’s bower and told her of his shame. For Falon’din, Jun had thought, was right. Why would he receive such splendor for his halls when he was neither a true son of Heaven or devoted and purified acolyte of one as Ghilan’nain was?”

Ellana tilts her head and frowns. She’s noticed the trap, Bull thinks as he moves his castle on the far left.

“And what happened?” Bull asks.

Ellana shakes her head and continues, “And the Goddess of the Hearth and all things that grow laughed, and she took his mouth with hers to let him know t hat she did not laugh to mock him, but to discard his woes. Let it be remembered that Sylaise is the Goddess of the Hearth, let it be remembered that Sylaise is also the Goddess of all things ugly, discarded, scorned, and unwanted. For Mythal is the Great Mother, Daughter of the Ocean, lady of the Beautiful and Radiant, the deliverer of Justice. But it is Sylaise we pray to for the taboo, it is to Sylaise we commend children and mothers who die in birth, it is to Sylaise we call out for poisons and plagues, it is to Sylaise we turn for revenge. Sylaise is the Goddess of healing and medicines, of herbs and the wisdom of the house. And so she knows the things you can do to cut a man down where he treads where he should not.

“Let it not be forgotten, that it is to Sylaise we pray to when we are wronged and there is no recourse to heal the slight. For Sylaise has never forgotten that death was not always her nephew’s domain. Sylaise, too, was born of the Earth, but deep within its womb, bursting forth like a seed, like stone, like a mountain. Falon’din’s domain lies beyond death, to the souls of the departed. But it is Sylaise who watches the final throes and the last of the shame. It is Sylaise who makes it long, or short, depending on her whim and favor.

“And so Sylaise knew how to sweeten Jun’s hurt and sour Falon’din’s fun. She took Jun’s mouth and guided him to her, so that he would learn how to upset the Friend of the Dead. For Sylaise loved her husband as he was devoted to her and their shared hearth: her great vats of poultices and his great cauldrons of metal.

“When Jun woke he saw that where he and his wife had lain there was a bed of marigolds. Sylaise remained true to her promise, and Jun understood the way. He picked the marigolds of his wife’s bower and he began to coax and twist and braid and weave the petals together with the magic of both his and her craft. At his forge he turned each golden petal into the finest, thinest strand - the flowers remaining light and gold and fragrant underneath his gentle hands. And at his wife’s feet he listened as she taught him to use her distaff to spin the strands into true thread, and then to twist the strands into a rope.

“Soon between them they possessed a golden rope, made from the fibers of their love. And with Sylaise’ blessing, a kiss upon his brow, Jun went back to Falon’din’s halls to show him of the thing that he had made, for both Sylaise and Jun knew that Falon’din was shallow and vain. He would not stand to see something so beautiful and not have it for himself.

“Sure enough when Jun appeared before Falon’din with the golden rope, Falon’din immediately demanded it for his own.

“Why do you want it? Jun asked, I made it, it is nothing as I am nothing. And here, Jun wound the rope around his strong palms and pulled it tight as if playing with it.

“It is beautiful and I desire it, Falon’din said.

“It is nothing, as you said, for I from nothing and so I can make only nothing, Jun argued. But if you insist on having it I will ask for something in return.

“Name it, Falon’din said, hands already open fo the rope of marigold petals.

“And so Jun left Falon’din’s halls with fresh and fertile ash for his lady-wife’s gardens and rot for her poisons, and for himself, the hide and bone of animals for Falon’din’s altars. But when the rope of marigold petals left Jun’s hands and entered Falon’dins the petals bruised. They withered and they crumbled, molded and rotted, turning pale and then green and then black, crumbling into less than dust within moments. Their magic, gone as Falon’din cursed Jun. But Falon’din never spoke ill of Jun and his work again. After all, Falon’din had traded away all of his offerings for dust. Who was he to talk?”

“Clever story,” Bull says, “Sounds pretty. But why that one?”

“Because it is meant to teach us that there is no inherent meaning in any object,” Ellana says sighing and turning away from the left board altogether to focus entirely on the middle board, “I concede that one. Anyway, the Golden Rope is supposed to tell us that the worth and meaning of an object is personal and is what we make of it. It is not strictly what it is. The marigolds on their own were mere flowers, but for Jun and Sylaise they were a product of their love and respect for one another and so they became a great and powerful rope of their shared crafts. But in Falon’dins hands it lost that power and became nothing because Falon’din only saw it for the golden surface.”

“Supposed to?”

“It can be taken other ways,” Ellana admits, “But the point is that much like the rope of marigold petals, our history and our beliefs are ours, shaped by our living minds and selves. Our gods and religion are what we make of it. Even if they were real people before, they no longer are now. The Fen’Harel of our beliefs has been shaped and molded into a separate entity from the man who walks Thedas.”

“And?” Bull presses, because it’s never so topical with Ellana Lavellan, Commander of the Dales and the Heart of the People.

“And it’s also a reminder that Solas considers all of our accomplishments as a society up until now nothing to the point where he wants to tear them down and build on our ashes and that we repay that sort of thing by shoving said accomplishments into other people’s faces until they choke,” Ellana says. “I was going for subtlety.”

“Like Krem’s favorite war hammer? Right. Subtle. I’m beginning to see the resemblance between you and your elder brother.”

“I’m older, he pushed me out of the way in the womb.”