#but then again i am not as cultured as blanc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

superblysubpar · 1 year ago

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She does it again baby! JELLY. We both know I cried reading this again, and for anyone wondering, like, I'm literally crying because her writing is just that powerful in this series. I feel like your heart is just open and poured into the pages, it's raw and passionate and it's a story worth being told and read over and over again. With each facet of reader and Eddie's past revealed, each line a slow peeling of layers I fall more and more in love with this world you've created 💛

This description gives me goosebumps and brings tears to my eyes every single time I read it. I'm there, I feel the fear and confusion 💔

Simply put, I am in love

*giggles and kicks my feet while twirling my hair*

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go.

THIS DESCRIPTION MAKES ME SIT DOWN WHERE I AM AND REREAD IT AGAIN 💛

In the past six years at Stax, you've delved into Ozzy's addiction, engaged Thom Yorke about climate change, and held the hand of a teary-eyed Taylor Swift as she cried over her ex. Your words have canonized the music that has woven the fabric of our culture. Eddie Muson is going to see you're not the same girl with stars in her eyes and headphones pressed to her ears.

YEEEAHHH YOU GO BABY 💛

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

YEAH I DO

He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

Eddie waits for Jonathan to wander back into the hall before he crosses the room in three big strides, stopping directly in front of you, closer than what would be considered polite. But this is Eddie, and it’s all part of the game. Your hands move to your hips as you straighten in defiance. The scent of mint on his breath reaches your nose as his index finger barely brushes your skin as he lifts the gold circle and bar necklace that rests at your throat.

"Harrington’s money has sure got you spoiled, princess," he mocks, giving it a light tug, causing the anchor end of the chain to rise up the valley of your breasts. When your eyes flash, his lips pull to the side, twisting in a smirk.

I went through several emotions so rapidly and intensely throughout this part. I'm like in love with their banter and childish fighting and their refusal to just kiss and forgive each other. I'm turned on by the grabbing the necklace and their bitchy attitudes. I'm heartbroken by the sitting close on the couch and the fingers around the wrist. I'm happy for Eddie to be so successful and he's so cute in his big ass fucking studio he *bought* and-

I hate him and I want to kiss him and also like he's having the night reader wishes Steve would remember and want to and AHHHHHHHSBABAJAJAJQ

As Steve's voice trails off, leaving you on your own in the dimly lit atrium, the room continues to hum with conversations, laughter, and intimacy. You pick up your wine, the cold glass feeling delicate in your fidgety fingers, the crisp acidity of the sauvignon blanc offering little comfort. Dining alone shouldn't feel strange. People do it all the time, relishing their own company as they leisurely turn the pages of books or savor each bite. It's a skill you've yet to master, haunted by an irrational discomfort under the imagined weight of judgmental eyes, a residue of being the girl no one would sit next to in Hawkins. It's absurd, of course, but that old fear lingers, an uninvited companion.

This part was so beautiful to me 💛 I just...ugh. the not being comfortable being alone yet being alone for your life and the imagined judging and god my heart is just breaking and I related to it so much.

The mauve vinyl reflects the lamp light as you place it onto the waiting turntable. With a twist of a knob and a careful drop of the needle, the soft crackle emanates from the speakers, filling the room's quiet spaces. A honeyed voice purrs the lyrics as you settle sideways into the old leather chair rescued from your parent's basement. Legs dangling over the patched arm, you reach for the half-smoked joint in the ashtray beside you, lighting in time for the drumbeat to pound out a steady rhythm while the mild burn travels down your throat and into your lungs.

And cue the waterworks. I just felt this so hard, Steve taking the call and reader going to escape into her music. Oh my god 💛💔

Forgotten sons, Forgotten dates, & Florence.

Masterlist

TW: 2012 AU, Older!Eddie, Older!Steve, Femreader, Second Chance Romance (not a slow burn), Love Triangle, Smut, Mentions of DV, 18+ No minors WC:8554 beta'd by @superblysubpar

The slow roll of red and blue lights reflects on the big picture window in your living room, casting a glare across the TV screen. Shifting from your stomach, your head turns to meet the anxious expressions worn by your parents. The handful of popcorn you were holding falls to the beige-colored carpet where you’d been sprawled.

‘Honey…” your dad’s concerned voice cautions, but it’s too late. You are on your feet, greasy fingerprints transferred to your flannel pajama pants as you walk straight toward the door.

“Honey, don’t. It’s not our business.”

As the door swings open, a gust of frigid November air washes over you. Your bare feet meet an icy sting from the frozen boards of your porch. The staticky voices from police radios crackle through the cold night air, their words blending into an indecipherable hum as they float down the street. The wood underneath your feet turns to the scrape of cement as you leave the warm safety of your home and run down the rain-washed street towards the ambulances and police cruisers. Fallen red and yellow leaves stick to the pavement, their colors vivid in the flashing lights reflecting off the wet road.

Time stretches like a rubber band, lengthening each moment. People in uniforms hurry past, paying you no attention as you call out his name. The smell of damp earth mixes with the acrid scent of diesel from the idling vehicles. Bright lights from inside the house spill out into the dark from the open front door.

“Eddie,” you cry out again as a hand closes over your elbow, tugging you back.

“You can’t be here.”

You struggle, attempting to break free from the policeman's grip as he pulls you away. Your head turns, and your eyes finally find his. Frightened doe eyes peer back from a pale face tinged with blue. Sitting in the back of the ambulance, he looks much smaller, like the world has pressed its full weight down on him. The gray blanket covering his shoulder doesn’t protect him from the shattering of the only life he knows.

“Eddie,” you whisper his name, your voice trembling. He tries to stand, shrugging off the woolen blanket, his hand reaching out as the EMT seals the doors. The ambulance roars to life and speeds away, leaving you alone with the taste of salt from your tears mingling with the cold, crisp air. A gurney rolls past, bearing a figure lying motionless beneath a white sheet. Only a portion of her face is visible, her features obscured by a patchwork of black and blues, her dark hair falling to the side like a shroud.

"I've got her."

Your dad's strong voice breaks through the chaos as he sweeps you up from the policeman's grip. He holds you close, carrying you away like he did when you were much younger, your face buried in his shoulder, tears dampening the fabric of his jacket. The world blurs as his steps bring you closer to home. You cry for the boy who will face the rest of this world alone.

“Egg-white omelet with tomatoes, mushrooms, and onions. No spinach. And I’ll have a side of bacon, very crispy but not blackened,” Nancy says, handing her menu to the waiter before shifting her eyes toward you.

“Two eggs over easy, please–avocado toast and the fruit salad.”

“I’ll do the brioche french toast with the salted caramel and bananas. And extra whipped cream, please. Oh, and a side of sausage links.”

“What?” Robin asks after the waiter has left. “I’m hungry.”

“We just worked out,” Nancy scolds.

“I did hot yoga. I need to replenish,” Robin explains, raising a mug of tea to her lips.

After moving here, a night out always ended with breakfast at The Friendly Toast, welcoming the sun as it rose over the city. As habits and routines changed, it evolved into a standing brunch for just the ladies after morning gym sessions. The diner’s retro black and white flooring and red vinyl upholstered seating still bears the same traces of syrup as it did all those years ago, but the food is good, and the wait is never long.

"Was it the hot yoga or you're Saturday night with Taylor," you tease, earning a dreamy smile from a pink-cheeked Robin.

"Yoga actually wasn't that hot this morning," Robin admits, biting her lip, reaching for the creamer pitcher at the center of the Formica table.

Now that you all have a bit more cash to spare, Nancy leans towards the idea of brunching in a bougier spot in your shared Gold Coast neighborhood, but Robin is a stickler for traditions. The charm of Nancy Sinatra playing over the speakers and the selection of boozy milkshakes are what win your vote.

The food arrives quickly this morning. “Three hot plates for three hot ladies,” the waiter winks as he delivers generous portions on the ceramic oval plates. The smoky scent of bacon mixed with the sweetness of caramel. He pulls a silver canister from his apron pocket, giving Robin’s dish an extra squirt of whipped cream.

“Oh, he’s getting a very good tip,” Robin says, placing her napkin in her lap.

Laughing, you pick up your fork and break the yolk, letting the soft yellow drip onto the smashed avocado. Nancy rolls her eyes and picks up her beeping phone.

"No phones," Robin chides around a mouth full of French toast.

"Sorry," Nancy says, tapping out a quick reply before placing her phone face down on the table, "My brother is driving everyone crazy.” She unwraps her silverware before continuing, “He wants us all to come to Florida for Christmas since it will be the first one in their new house, but Hawkins is so much easier for everyone. Holly is still in school, and Jonathan doesn’t want to take that much time off from work.”

“Sounds like Steve.” Your eyebrow lifts as you take a bite.

“Steve only works so hard because he wants to take care of you,” Robin says, pointing her fork in your direction.

“He adores you,” Nancy agrees, “You're lucky.”

“I know.” You pick at your eggs. It’s moments like this that make it clear they’ll always be Steve’s friends first.

“Did you get the Bulls tickets for his birthday?” Nancy asks, before picking up a piece of bacon with her fingers and biting into it with an audible crunch.

“I ordered them last week,” you tell her, taking a bite of pineapple.

“I hope you got extra,” Robin says, dabbing some whipped cream from the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

“You're not thinking of going now?” Nancy looks at her, surprised.

“No. Not for me,” Robin says, waving her off, “I’m sure he’ll want to invite Eddie now that he’s back in town.”

You sit up straighter in your chair, just the mention of Eddie's name has tension rippling down your spine. “I got him six tickets. He’ll have three extra to invite whoever he wants,” you say, settling the matter.

“Let me know how much I owe you for me and Jonathan,” Nancy tells you.

“I got it,” you assure her, “Just buy him a foam finger or something.”

“It’s his birthday. You’re really not going?” Robin prods, her voice carrying a note of judgment.

“Not if I can help it. You know I don’t like sports.” It's the same answer as the first time she brought it up, a few weeks ago. “He’ll have more fun with people who appreciate it. I’ll celebrate with him when we’re alone.”

“Say no more,” Nancy says, raising her hands as she looks down at her plate.

“Come on, Nance,” Robin laughs, “You used to celebrate with him in the exact same way.”

“Robin,” Nancy whispers through clenched teeth, darting her eyes toward you.

“I don’t care, Nance. It’s ancient history,” you chuckle. Steve’s high school relationship with her ended with a lot of heartache, but they obviously weren’t right for each other. The friendship that they share today is different from his and Robin's. She understands the pressure that he's under.

“I’ve always wanted to know,” Robin says, her eyes glinting with mischief, “Who is better, Steve or Jonathan?”

“Don’t answer that,” you chuckle, patting Nancy’s hand as her face cycles through several shades of pink.

“I won’t,” she glares at Robin. “Oh, wait. I don’t owe you,” she says, turning back to you and shifting the conversation, “You owe me. I can’t believe you scooped us on Eddie’s studio opening.”

Sighing heavily, you fill your mouth with a big bite of your breakfast, but the taste is off now. This story is a relentless storm cloud, always hovering, disrupting the peace. He's only been here a week and here's another argument. Hurricane Eddie. He must be pleased, relishing the storm he's brought into your life.

“Spectrum doesn’t even write about music,” Robin points out with a slice of banana at the end of her fork.

“It would have been a great piece for Chicago Lifestyles. We even could have hyped it up on an episode of Chronicle,” she complains, mentioning the human interest show that Spectrum runs profiling things happening in the city. “I’m the one that organized his welcome night, and this is the thanks I get.”

“Don’t look at me." You raise your hands in front of you.

“Why did he tell you and not me that he was moving here?” Robin adds her own touch of gripping. “I should have been in charge of that.”

“Because then it wouldn’t have been a surprise,” Nancy tells her, “You’ve never been able to keep a secret.”

“But you’re very pretty,” you chuckle, diffusing the situation.

“Thank you. I am,” she responds, swirling her last bite in caramel before popping it into her mouth.

Your laughter blends with the background din of conversation and the gentle clinking of silverware as you savor the last bites of your meal. When the check arrives, Nancy insists on covering the bill, urging you to put your share toward the cost of Steve's tickets, and Robin leaves behind the promised very generous tip. With your plates cleared and goodbyes exchanged, the three of you leave the crowded restaurant.

As you trail behind Robin and Nancy, your phone starts vibrating with an incoming call. Fumbling through the pockets of the jacket you're carrying, you step out onto the bustling sidewalk, teeming with people entering and exiting the diner. Lost in distraction, you collide head-on with a solid chest. Strong hands instinctively grasp your biceps, preventing you from stumbling further. As your gaze lifts, you're met with the chestnut eyes that have been the wind, stirring up your world.

“Whoa. Careful, doll,” he says, surprise lacing his tone.

“What are you doing here?” You demand.

Flecks of gray paint pepper the tangle of dark curls pushed back from his face, joining the streaks and spatters covering his ripped jeans and a long-sleeved white tee, his wide eyes drinking you in.

“He’s meeting me,” Robin says, appearing beside you. “I’m taking him to meet an artist he’s commissioning. See, I can keep a secret.”

He’s still holding you, his eyes locked with yours, each ridge of his fingertips searing into your skin, the pressure of grip alternating like he’s reluctant to let you go.

“I’m late,” you murmur, pulling away from his touch and turning in the opposite direction to walk down the road toward your car.

"I’ll be right back,” he tells Robin before his footsteps echo on the sidewalk behind you. He waits until the restaurant is just out of sight.

“Doll-”

Keeping your pace purposeful, you push past people heading in the opposite direction, feigning deafness to his voice amidst the sound of traffic.

“Doll, just wait,” his hand brushes your elbow, but you spin before he can secure a grip. “Jesus. Will you give me a minute,” he mutters, frustration etching lines on his forehead as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What do you want?” You ask, cradling your jacket closer to your chest.

“I had no idea you were here. I wasn’t trying to ambush you back there,” he tries to explain.

“It’s fine, Eddie.” Your eyes glance at the people passing around you. “You made it perfectly clear you’re going to go wherever you like.”

His tongue peeks out, wetting his top lip as he shakes his head. “Look, I wanted to tell you I don’t want you to do the interview.”

“Wow, okay.” Your eyes scrunch as the sting of rejection overpowers the butterflies filling your stomach.

“No,” he winces at his choice of words. “I want you too.”

“You’re giving me whiplash here.” You finally meet his gaze.

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you. Talk to you, but I don’t want you doing this interview hating me because you were forced into it.”

“It’s a little late for that-”

“No. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. I can tell them…I can say I changed my mind.” His words carry a weight of earnestness, a sincerity that chips at the wall you’ve built between you. The instinct not to trust him, to remember all the times he’s let you down, wars with the truth in his eyes, begging you for acceptance.

“We are both professionals. I can write it.” Your foot taps a quick rhythm against the pavement, as your face stays blank with defiance.

“If you’re sure...” he trails off, his eyes burning into yours as he waits for your answer.

The words form and reform on the tip of your tongue until the truth slips past, “I don’t hate you, Eddie,” you admit just above a whisper.

“Well, that’s something,” he murmurs, searching your face.

The buzzing from your pocket resumes as the world shifts back into focus, breaking through the momentary understanding.

“I’ve got to go,” you tell him, motioning towards your car. “The magazine will call and set something up soon.”

He blows out a breath as his shoulders lower. “I guess I’ll see ya round then,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

You nod, turning in the direction of your car, leaving him standing on the sidewalk to watch you walk away, the city filling the space between you.

Steve’s assistant is at his desk, fingers flying across the keyboard as he speaks into a headset. With a pleasant smile and a wave, you pass by him, pausing at the double doors to knock once under the brass nameplate reading Harrington. You turn the knob without waiting for a response. Steve is seated behind his immaculate metal and glass-topped desk, not a paper out of place. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him frame a breathtaking view of the city's skyline while the afternoon sun casts long shadows across the plush beige carpeting.

"Damn." He pauses with his coffee cup suspended halfway to his mouth, eyes roaming up and down your body. ‘Someone's a lucky guy.”

Biting your lip, his compliment has a smile lifting your cheeks. The velvet blazer covering over your shoulders crowns the plunging black silk tank you put on this morning. Its lacy edges trace the curves of your breasts, while your faux leather pants and ankle boots make your legs look miles long and hug your curves just right.

“Yeah, well, big assignment today,” you reply, running your fingertips along the edge of his desk.

Steve’s brow furrows, etched with a deep V. "I was talking about me. Date night tonight, or did you forget?"

The blood drains from your face as you respond with a forced smile, "Of course, I didn't forget." The lie tastes bitter in your mouth. “I always want to look pretty for you.” Spinning his chair, your knees find their place on either side of his thighs as you straddle his lap. Your fingers gripping his starched collar. The notes of sandalwood from his cologne hit your nose, mixing with the scent of coffee. His features soften as his hands glide to your hips, and you tip your head and press your lips to his. “We’re meeting Robin’s new girlfriend tonight, right?”

“Taylor,” he confirms with a nod. “You’ll like her. She paints naked while listening to Jane's Addiction.”

“And how do you know this?” You laugh, your lips meeting his for the second time.

“I met her the other day when I took Robin to lunch.”

“Ahh," you respond with a playful grin, your thumb tracing along the stubble that lines his jaw. "That explains it."

“So, just an hour at the gallery, okay? We’ll have a drink and say hello-”

“If Robin lets us go,” you interrupt.

“Just an hour,” he reiterates, “Then I’m taking you to dinner alone. And we’ll go home for dessert,” he promises as his lips find their way to your neck.

“Hmm. Where are you taking me?” You ask as your eyes flutter closed.

"I'm not sure," he mumbles against your neck, “My assistant booked the reservation.” His lips trail lower, his grip tightening as his phone suddenly dances across the glass surface of his desk, its baseball jingle shattering the moment.

He picks up the phone, checking the number before setting it back down. “I’ll call them back,” he says absently before turning back to you. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but I have a conference in fifteen minutes. What are you doing here, Ace?” He asks, his eyes glancing towards the desktop screen that has been chiming with incoming emails.

“I’m meeting Jonathan. He’s driving over to CursedSound,” you say, climbing off him. “Thought I’d come say hi before I left.”

"Okay, you can tell me about it tonight," he responds, his tone distracted, as if he might not have truly registered your reply. He adjusts his glasses before refocusing his attention on the screen.

“Alright.” The clacking of his keyboard drowns out your quiet tone. You smooth out your shirt, sensing that you’ve been dismissed. He squints behind his glasses, tugging a handful of hair. Worry nags at the edges of your thoughts–he’s pushing himself too hard.

“See you tonight,” you call over your shoulder as you leave his office, not bothering to wait for the response that won’t come.

"All set?" Jonathan asks as he slides behind the wheel of his Volvo XC, his camera equipment already secured neatly in the back.

"Yup," you reply, clicking your seatbelt into place and settling into the plush leather seat.

"You know you didn’t have to come today," he comments as he maneuvers onto the bustling streets of the Loop, navigating the notorious Chicago traffic. "I’m just taking a few shots of the inside before it’s all put together and maybe a few portraits for the digital content."

"Yeah, I know.” You glance at him, offering a warm smile. "But I wanted to run through my outline for the series with him so he can be fully prepared," you explain, pulling your phone from your pocket and opening your email.

Eddie hadn’t reached out or texted once since the diner. The clock ticked slowly all week long, surrounded by magazine articles and album inserts, piecing together clues about what Eddie had been doing for the last eleven years while your outline came together, his silence crawling under your skin like a nagging itch. Maybe press for the studio had been all he was after, and his interest after all this time had nothing to do with wanting to see you again. Well, this time, he doesn’t get to dictate the terms, to decide if you’re useful or if you should be discarded like a day-old newspaper. Given the circumstances, showing up uninvited and unannounced seems fair.

After circling the block once, Jonathan finds a space to park across the street from the old brewery.

"Is this it?" You ask, using a hand placed over your brow to shield your eyes from the sun.

The older building stands out amidst the sleek, modern high-rises that dominate the commercialized neighborhood. Its rough limestone-clad facade wears the scars of time, with colorful graffiti adorning any surfaces within arm's reach of the fire escapes and a rather questionable-looking bodega with covered windows attached to the corner. However, the copper-framed bay windows gleam with a warm, aged patina, and the asymmetrical turrets, adorned with stamped rosettes and scallop patterns, give it a soul hiding beneath the urban decay—very Eddie.

"I wonder how much he’s paying to rent for this place?" You mumble.

"I think he bought it," Jonathan says, coming up beside you, weighted down with bags full of equipment.

You follow Jonathan around the corner to a rusted metal door adjacent to a brushed steel sign displaying the CursedSound Recordings name and logo, securely affixed to the brick wall. He presses the buzzer next to the door, and a screeching bell reverberates from inside. Metal grinds against metal as the locks release, and the door swings open.

"Right on time, Jon," Eddie greets, his eyes widening when he catches sight of you standing behind Jonathan. Your lips raise into a smirk as you stride past him, catching a whiff of the smoke and leather that cling to his skin as you enter through the open door. The short hallway opens into a bigger space. The heels of your boots clack against the scuffed parquet flooring as you move further into the room. Sofas and chairs covered by sheets surround a custom reception desk in the dimly lit room. Dust motes float in the beams of light that pierce through the rips in the brown paper-covered windows, revealing that this is inside of the bodega.

"This, uh... this will be the lobby," Eddie offers, gesturing vaguely around the room before his fingers rake through the curls at the back of his neck. He’s clad in a pair of expensive jeans that seem tailor-made for him and an open light grey dress shirt with a white tee underneath. His hair and beard are freshly trimmed but not too short, giving off that effortless California cool vibe. He’s grown into himself, carrying a confidence that comes with age and success. He looks good – it's annoying.

His stare prickles on your skin as he blinks at you like maybe you’re really a ghost of his past come to call.

"Is there more?" You ask, your tone haughty.

"Yeah. The studios are upstairs." He nods toward the propped open door, revealing a stairwell behind. He takes one of the heavy bags from Jonathan before following him up the stairs. You grip the green-painted metal railing as you climb the grey-bubbled stair treads, pausing at the landing to take in the view of the street. The city moves by at the same blurring pace, unaffected and unaware of the collectives of its inhabitants. Someone should stop and look once in a while.

The door at the top of the stairs leads to the wide hall that smells of drywall and paint. The deep red wall-to-wall carpet, the kind you’d find at a theater, looks new and plush, a contrast to the stark walls primed but not painted. Heavy black doors with the silver letters – A, B, & C denote the entrance to each studio.

Jonathan sets the bag he’s carrying down by his feet and eyes the room. "Mind if I look around?"

"Knock yourself out," Eddie tells him, placing the other bag beside the first. "Studio C is the farthest along."

Jonathan crouches to unzip a bag, pulling a camera from its depths, fitting the strap over his head before he wanders to the first door marked A and lets himself in.

"Didn’t expect to see you here today, doll. You aren’t on my calendar til next week." Eddie turns to you once Jonathan disappears from sight.

"I came to see what I was working with."

"By all means." He waves you forward.

Moving down the hall, you choose the door on the opposite wall – Studio C. The carpet is different in here, a rich velvet blue. The glass wall that is already in place reveals a spacious live room with strips of soundproofing covering half of the walls and more neatly piled on the floor. An isolation booth, where artists can focus on their vocals without distractions, has been framed out but remains unfinished.

"Well, what do you think?" Eddie asks.

An Interesting question. Your eyes wander, exploring the mixing room, where an impressive-looking soundboard remains veiled in plastic. A newly painted mural dominates the entire back wall – graffiti art portraying a massive skull shedding tears made of music notes that cascade onto yellow-bricked path winding through a cityscape. It exudes raw emotion and authenticity, just like the music that will soon resonate within these walls. You can already sense it murmuring from deep within, poised to fill the voids in people's souls, for that's what music does – it's an indelible tattoo on the heart, amplifying both pain and joy. This music – his music, will endure.

Standing in the room's center, you take a slow spin before locking your gaze with Eddie's.

"What a dump."

A deep furrow appears on Eddie's forehead as his lips press into a disapproving line.

"Should I be wearing a hard hat?" You raise your hand above your head and inspect the sturdy ceiling like it might collapse at any moment. "Has a building inspector been out?"

He crosses his arms over his broad chest as his eyes narrow, pausing for a breath as his lips part. Jonathan strolls into the room, unaware of his interruption, surveying the space with a thoughtful expression.

"Nice art. Is this the guy Robin hooked you up with?" He questions Eddie, who remains locked in his scowl.

"Yeah, it is. He’s coming back to do a wall in the lobby," he answers without looking away from you.

"That will look great," Jonathan says, nodding. "I’m going to set up some lights and get a few shots in here."

"I make my own money, Eddie." You remove your chain from his hand. "You sure have a lot of opinions about my life, considering you don’t even know me."

"I think I know you, plenty–"

He steps back when Jonathan reappears, bags in tow. He sets them down lightly before casting glances back and forth between the two of you, "Have you gone over your outline?" He asks.

"Not yet," you reply, flashing a sweet smile up at Eddie.

Jonathan clears his throat, growing slightly impatient. "Well, this won't take me long, and I'll be ready to head back. Why don't you go downstairs? I don't want you in my shot."

As you stomp down the stairs behind Eddie, the echo of your boots reverberates off the empty walls, the window glass reflecting an image of the unassured, sad girl you left in Hawkins. He’s wrong. He doesn’t know you or the lengths you’ll go not to be her anymore.

The reception area sits in hushed stillness, broken by the distant hum of traffic outside and the gentle ticking of pipes like a clock counting the seconds. Eddie pulls the sheet covering an orange velour couch, sending a light cloud of construction dust into the air. Without waiting for an invitation, you take a seat at one end of the sofa. He settles next to you, spreading his legs wide and crossing one over his knee, his arm landing on the top of the cushions behind you. He’s sitting too close, the heat of his thigh pressing against yours, the spice of his cologne surrounding you. Close enough to see the light stubble on his jaw as he swallows. You shift forward to the edge of your seat, creating some space between you.

"You can’t even sit next to me anymore?" He asks, his tone a mix of disappointment and irritation.

"I’m sitting next to you right now." you point out, straightening your back further.

"Then relax. Jesus. You used to get mad if there wasn’t a seat for you next to me."

"Well, we’re not in high school anymore, Eddie."

"I’m not talking about high school," he murmurs, looking down at his lap before he raises his eyes to lock with yours.

The first few notes of a song you never wanted to hear again ripple to the surface, dragging up memories that should have remained weighted down in the cold depths of things forgotten. He disarms you so effortlessly, whether with a smile or his words. This was all a big mistake.

"I'm sorry," his fingers encircle your wrist, knowing he crossed a line he shouldn't have. You pull your hand away from his grip, and he quickly changes the subject before you have a chance to stand up and leave. "Did you want to tell me about the article?"

Lips parting, you pause to exhale, the sting slowly dissipating. "My editor…" you clear your throat, reaching into the pocket of your blazer for your phone. "My editor wants a series. There will be three featured articles." You tap on the screen bringing up your notes. Eddie raises his eyebrows and leans in, trying to read over your shoulder, but you angle it away as you continue, "That means I'll need three interviews…will you stop," you say when he tries again to see the screen.

"It's about me. I just want to see it," he argues, leaning further into your space.

"My god, you're like a little kid." Switching the phone to your opposite hand, you hold it at arm's length, "Haven't you grown up at all?"

His lips turn up until his dimples are on full display. "Why would I want to go and do a thing like that?

The exasperated scoff that leaves your throat is accompanied by your eyes rolling to the side.

"Not like you," he admits, his gaze roaming over you from head to toe. "After you interviewed Win Butler, he told me he couldn't have denied you the truth, and I'm beginning to understand why. Harrington’s got good taste. You've only gotten more beautiful."

Your features remain even as a gentle heat rises up your chest. "I'll be sure to pass on your compliments. I'm sure Steve will appreciate it. Three interviews," you say, displaying that number of fingers, dragging his attention back to the matter at hand. “The first will be on your past – early career, your move from Hawkins to LA. Then we'll move on to your present. Why you chose Chicago.The work you're putting into the studio and any projects you have booked when you open." You refer back to your notes, and this time, his eyes don't leave your face, intent on studying you. "The big finale will be the future. Where you see the studio in five years, your predictions on the direction of the industry. "

With a final tap, you show him the mock-up displayed on your screen, "I’m titling it Behind the Mixer: The Past, Present, and Future of Eddie Munson's Cursed Sound." You look up from your phone, your gaze locking with his.

His eyes are hesitant before he breaks your connection to look down at the device in your outstretched hand. "Wow, I'm impressed, doll." A rosy tint colors his cheeks. "It's so professional. Not used to seeing my name printed like I'm somethin'."

"You’ve had plenty of press," you remind him. "What did Rolling Stone call you? The man with the ear for platinum."

"Yeah, that's true. I've been written about before." He looks up, brown eyes burning into yours, your heads now just a few inches apart. "But never by you. They weren't your words."

The weight of his stare is too heavy. You turn your head to look around the room. Liar. The familiar itch prickles beneath your skin.

"I’ve read everything you’ve written," he prattles on as you cross your arms over your chest, your fingernails leaving half moons in the fabric of your jacket.

"I buy a subscription to Stax every year. I get Wayne one, too. Do you know he saves every–"

“Stop, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “You don’t need to do this.”

“Do what?” He asks, his brows sinking.

“This.” You wave your hand between you. “Whatever this is. I’m going to write a good story. You’re getting what you want.”

“What I want?” He looks surprised. “You think this is about the article?”

“Isn’t it?”

His mouth parts, words teetering on the edge of his tongue, when Jonathan's footsteps cause the stairs to groan under his weight. "Finished?" Jonathan inquires, "I'd like to wrap up with a few shots of Eddie by the sign."

"We're done," you confirm, slipping your phone back into your pocket.

"No, we're not, doll," Eddie argues, "Actually, you go ahead, Jon. I'll give her a ride home."

"No, you won't." You stand, not sparing him a glance. "I have somewhere else to be."

"We're losing the light," Jonathan laments, camera in hand, gesturing for both of you to follow.

“You got big plans tonight? Sure you aren’t looking for an excuse not to finish our conversation?” Eddie presses, trailing behind you as you step through the side door out onto the street.

“Believe me, it’s definitely finished,” you state, firmness lacing your words, stepping aside to get out of Jonathan's way.

"Just stand in front of the brick," Jonathan directs, "To your left," he motions with his hand.

“And not that it’s any of your business," you let an air of condescension lace your tone, "But I have a date tonight with my fiancée.”

“Relax, Eddie. Don’t look at the camera," Jonathan instructs when Eddie's jaw clenches.

Eddie's thumbs hook into the pockets of his jacket. "Sounds romantic," he snarks. "How long have they been engaged now, Jon? Two years? And we still haven't received a wedding invitation. Someone's having cold feet. My money's on Harrington."

"His name is Jonathan. No one calls him that, Eddie." You cock your hip, crossing your arms.

"I'm sure he would tell me if he minded," Eddie retorts, matching the irritation in your voice.

"I don't care," Jonathan sighs, "Can you just move around a bit and look down."

You narrow your eyes, inspecting Eddie as he gets into position."Did you cut your hair again?"

"I'm a thirty-two-year-old man. Sometimes I do that," he responds, scratching at his beard.

"Tip your chin to the right," Jonathan instructs from behind the camera, the shutter clicking in short bursts.

"Well, it looks stupid."

"Okay, I think I've got it," Jonathan says, lowering the camera. "Jesus, what is it with you two? If I wanted to listen to bickering, I’d go home to Nancy," he complains, with a red face. "Let's go."

The rush of water as it overflows from the upper stone basin into the fountain's pool blends the conversation of the other diners at the 3 Arts Club into the background. The atrium is dimly lit, relying on the massive crystal drop chandeliers cascading golden light and the flickering hurricane lanterns spilling candlelight onto the marble-topped table you're seated at. Steve smiles, holding your gaze as the waitress sets the plates in front of you. Swirls of green in his soft eyes are set off by the towering olive trees behind him, that give off a subtle woody aroma.

“For a minute, I thought we weren't going to make our reservation.” He unwraps his silverware from the cloth napkin and places it in his lap.

“We almost didn’t,” you point out, “I think Robin wanted us to stay and join them after Taylor’s show.”

“I’m glad we didn’t. I want some time alone with you.” He reaches across the table, fingers closing over yours.

“Thank you for bringing me here. This place is really beautiful.” Your gaze sweeps upward toward the towering glass ceiling, where the night sky glows a deep plum hue painted by the lights of the city.

“Is it?” he asks, his eyes locking onto yours, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. “All I see is you.”

Your cheeks warm, a shy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. “Eat your salad, you charmer.” You roll your eyes before looking up at him from under your lashes.

The side of his mouth lifts as he lets you go to pick up his fork, mixing the shavings of parmesan in with the crips romaine and the delicate bites of chicken. Your phone vibrates against your hip through the pocket of your blazer.

Eddie: What I said had nothing to do with the article.

Without answering, you place your phone on your thigh, picking up your fork to break off a piece of salmon. The honey and black pepper melt on your tongue as you take your first bite.

“What did you think of Taylor?” Steve asks, spearing a few of your truffle fries with his fork and setting them on the edge of his plate.

“You were right. I liked her,” you tell him as a faint buzzing emanates on your thigh.

Eddie: If you would quit running away, I would have told you that in person.

Run away? A knot ties itself in your stomach as you blink down at the message on your screen, only hesitating for a moment before tapping out a reply.

You: I didn't run away. I had something better to do.

"Did you like the blue watercolor of the thistles she did?" He asks as you look up, placing your phone face down on the table.

"It matches the blue of the built-ins in your office. We could get rid of that old chair from your parent's basement. Redo the whole thing." His eyebrows lift hopefully as your phone rattles on the marble.

Eddie: Is that why you're texting me right now because you're busy doing something better?

“You're not touching my chair. My entire office is off-limits. I like it the way it is,” your voice comes out too sharp. Your gaze flickers between Steve and the glowing screen of your phone as you type your response.

You: Good point. An error on my part. Goodnight.

“I can always hang it in the guestroom. Who are you texting?”

His question captures your full attention. “Sorry. It’s for work.” You switch the button at the top to silent and set it back down on the table. “You bought it, didn’t you?” You ask, sinking your fork into a few fries before dipping them in aioli.

His eyes crinkle at the corners as he takes a big bite of his salad, avoiding your question as he chews.

“Steve, the house is going to be a museum to her ex-girlfriends. We’ll be able to give guided tours.”

He laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Art is an investment. Even my dad agrees.”

“Oh, your dad, huh? I didn’t know he agreed with anything. Can I have a bite of your salad?” Your fork hovers over his plate as you catch the light of your phone screen lighting up out of the corner of your eye.

“Yeah. Go for it.” He pushes his plate closer to you. “How was the salmon?”

“Good. You want some?” You ask around a mouth full of lettuce.

“I’ll try a little,” he says, swapping around your plates as you set your fork aside and pick up your phone.

Your eyes narrow at your screen as your jaw clenches and your heel taps beneath the table.

Eddie: I bet Harrington took you somewhere real fancy. He’s probably hoping it will get him laid.

You: He doesn’t have to hope. Don’t you have anything better to do than annoy me?

The wait for a response is short-lived as an image pops up on your screen. Sockclad feet are propped up on a coffee table beside a take-out box of tacos and a half-drained glass of beer, its foam running down the side. A hazy view of a television screen in the background.

“Is that still work? Who’s texting you?” Steve asks, his eyes speculative as he leans forward and glances at your screen.

“It’s just Eddie,” you dismiss the question with a wave of your hand as you darken the screen. "What about you? How are things with the radio launch?"

He studies your face a moment longer before his features soften, and he answers, "My workload has more than doubled. City Beats has as many divisions as Second City collectively, and I’m overseeing all of it.” His elbows land on the table as his hands tug through his hair. “I’m coordinating with marketing trying to promote it all across the city, and today, Richard called me into his office and said he wants me to meet the sponsors with Ted. Doesn’t think he can handle it on his own. Says I’m more advertiser-friendly.” He uses his fingers to quote the title.

“Can you tell him no?” You reach across the table for his hand. “It’s too much, Steve–for anybody. You've been working like this for months.”

“I can’t. The launch is in a few weeks, then I'll talk to Rich—” He stops mid sentence as his ringtone breaks through the peaceful ambiance. Pulling his phone from his breast pocket, he squints at the screen in the low light, a frown making him look more weary than usual. “I’m sorry, Ace. I need to take this.” He stands, giving your hand an apologetic squeeze before walking towards the entrance. “Hi, Richard. No, you're not disturbing anything…”

As you reach for your phone, Eddie's name sits at the top of your notifications, and this time, the distraction is welcomed.

Until you read it.

Eddie: I read your album review of Lungs. You really stunk up the page with that one.

You: Lungs by Florence and the Machine? That was two years ago!

Eddie: I told you I read all your work. x

You: And what exactly did you take issue with?

Eddie: You trashed her. You said her vocals were overpowering and meant to cover up mediocre musicians. Said she was an alt Britney Spears.

Your nose scrunches with wince, recalling the words you choose to print.

You: I wrote what I felt at the time.

Eddie: The album sold 3 million copies. Don’t worry, Flo forgave you.

Eddie: Eventually

You: I doubt Florence Welch reads Stax.

Eddie: Well

Eddie: I had a copy.

You: YOU SHOWED IT TO HER!

Fury. Blind, hot, raging fury rolls through your veins. Your hand smacks onto the table with a resounding crack, causing the silverware to clatter and plates to rattle. A few diners stop to look at you, and you give them a bashful smile as heat creeps up your neck.

You: I’m going to hurt you. Slowly.

Eddie: Relax. No need to get kinky. It’s all water under the bridge. I worked on that album, and I intentionally asked for that bold, unapologetic vocal style. It was meant to be raw. It seems like the fans agreed. But, hey, everyone gets it wrong once in a while. Maybe you were on your period or something.

Your fingers dance across the keyboard, a torrent of response surging, ready to pour out, but you restrain the urge to send them – every ugly word remains unsent. His three dots flicker on the screen, and another message swiftly follows.

Eddie: The only reason I remember it was because her album dropped the same week you got engaged. At first, I thought it might be personal, but I wondered why after all these years. Then I realized you were probably far too busy writing Mrs. Harrington with big hearts around it in your diary to be worrying about me.

Words, false as a cracked melody, slip from your fingers with practiced ease, but beneath it all, guilt settles in your chest like a haunting refrain, its weight growing heavier with every truth left unsaid.

You: I don’t remember if I knew you worked on that album.

Eddie: I’m sure you didn’t.

He went down this path searching for something. Unspoken lyrics to a hidden refrain that have long evaded his grasp. Whatever he’s uncovered and what it means to him isn’t clear, but for now, he’s letting you off the hook. Relief sweeps over you like the final notes of a song, the recording skipping and cracking, ushering in something new between you– a tune you haven’t heard before.

Eddie: Thanks for clearing it up. I should let you get back to your date. Steve probably has steam coming out of his ears.

You: He had to take a call.

Eddie: He left you all alone? It’s a good thing I was around then.

Steve approaches the table, his smile painted on but not quite reaching his eyes. You discreetly slip your phone away into your pocket.

"Investors from Tokyo," he explains with a sigh. "Richard wants me on all the calls with them until we launch."

You reach out, your fingers tracing the contours of his stubbled jaw, "You're exhausted, baby."

"I know." He turns into your touch. "I've already paid. We can go if you're ready."

He takes your hand as you rise from the table, leading you through the restaurant and out onto the street. His arm goes around to waist to hold you close as you walk home. His hand occasionally dips lower than your waist as he presses a kiss to your temple. It's easy to take the comfort he offers.

His warm, eager lips meet the sensitive skin of your neck, kissing, nibbling as he pushes you against the inside of your front door, sliding your blazer from your shoulders until it catches on your elbows.

"I thought you were tired," you gasp as his mouth journeys lower, leaving sparks of heat behind. His lips trace the curve of your collarbone, descending to the crest of your breast, where delicate black lace meets flushed skin.

"Not for this." He moves down to one knee, removing your boots one by one. "Never for you." They hit the hardwood with a clatter, their sound reverberating up the stairwell.

He moves back up your body, cursing when he struggles to find the zip at the back of your pants. Your laughter earns his smile as your head rolls against the thick oak door, your fingers searching for purchase on the soft material covering his forearms.

“Steve,” you breathe, your voice a heated whisper, just before his mouth finds yours.

The baseball rounding of the bases blares from his pocket like a hammer shattering glass. He pulls back, breathing hard, closing his eyes as he leans his forehead against yours. The ringing continues, too loud, echoing off the quiet walls of your home. His apologetic eyes lock with yours before he steps back, pulling out the ringing device.

“Fuck.” His knuckles turn white as his grip tightens, Richards's name lighting up on the screen. He holds it a little higher for a moment like he’s preparing to smash it on the ground.

"It's okay, Steve." You move closer to his side. Your hand gently glides down his arm, offering reassurance. "I've got a little work to do anyway. Take your call."

"Yeah?" he questions, his thumb hesitating over the accept button.

"Yeah, go ahead." You smile, giving his arm a squeeze.

Steve answers the call with a hint of annoyance in his tone, "Richard." His voice gradually fades as you make your way down the hallway to the small office you've claimed as your own, tucked away behind the kitchen.

With one hand pushing up the creaking door, your fingers fumble along the wall for the switch to the banker's lamp perched at the corner of your desk. A faint light filters in as the first raindrops ping against the glass, leaving meandering trails down the black-paned windows dominating an entire wall. You approach the peacock-blue shelving that Steve had crafted to house your ever-expanding collection of CDs, records, and books. Running your fingers over the album spines, you find the one you're looking for and slide it out of its protective sleeve.

The soft haze reaches your brain, quieting the uncertainty as the scratch of the guitar joins in with the melody. Curls of thick smoke spiral and twirl with your exhale, dancing through the air. You sink deeper into the embrace of the leather, taking a few more deep puffs before returning the burning joint to the ashtray and pulling your phone from your pocket.

You: Yeah, Eddie. It’s a good thing.

Song 4 Coming Soon. Follow @tornupdates for notifications

AN: Sorry I'm a day late. The holiday weekend kept me busy. I'd love to hear from you. Comments, reblogs, and asks are always welcome and appreciated. I'll be doing some traveling soon, so updates might be affected but I will be writing.

Hugs and kisses for all my kittens - Jelly

P.S. To the lovely person who suggested Linger. I can't find your ask because my brain is broken or Tumblr is. I just wanted to know that your song inspired an upcoming scene in chapter 5 that I'm so excited to write. I can't imagine this story without it now. So, extra big thanks.

So everyone keep sending me your song suggestions, please! I promise I'm listening to everyone.

#jelly does it again #eddie munson series #torn series #modern eddie munson

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angeliqueshelleyartist · 1 year ago

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A Bewitching Tale

SOURCES & SIGNIFICANCE, BLOG POST #1

I adore character art with story driven and expressive elements; art that isn't just nice to look at but leaves me wondering about the character: how did they end up in that situation? What is their world like? How do they interact with everything that makes their world? What is their personality, their talents, their roles? Such things can be what collectively create the visual narrative of a design, particularly when combined with storyboards or additional panels depicting the character in context using abstract knowledge of concepts, such as 3D objects that are universally known, to relate information to the viewer (Cohn, 2013).

I am in love with this character concept by Alexander Skripnikov (2023), (fig.1). It's a humorous portrayal of a witch who seems to lavishly enjoy causing a little mischief with her undead powers, also using them in unconventional ways as a means of transport; a pallbeared coffin is a refreshing alternative to the classic broomstick!

Fig. 1 Witch by Alexander Skripnikov

The personality sketch panels on the right are a great way of portraying the practical use of her magic and her traits. The panels also help build the visual narrative around this character, but also impressively, these elements are also presented in the main concept through design. Her dark suit has stylistic nods to 17th century fashion (when witch scares were at large (Schons, 2022)), as seen with Wenceslaus Hollar's etching "illustrating the commonwear of 17th century ladies in England" (1640), (fig. 2).

Fig. 2 Etching by Wenceslaus Hollar

Skripnikov seems to push the classic design in a way that captures the fear and terror of women gaining more independence and power by creating a more masculine cut and using a ruffled cravat: the cravat, with its regal and militaristic origins, was donned mostly by men at that time (Le Blanc, 1828). Skripnikov's character, while defiant in her style, still embraces the feminine with a long wide skirt, emphasised waistline and a delicate shoe, (although men also wore delicate heels at that time (Peoples, L. 2015)).

The brass buttons, large belt buckle, utilitarian bag and magical tools hint at an independent and handy woman. The defiant smile and confidence of her posture, despite what must be a ridiculously heavy prop, further reinforce that independence and strength.

The coffin prop is both hilarious and brilliant. She's ditched the broomstick, which can be representative of housework, and seems to be able to summon undead men to do her bidding: a satirical turn of the tables, and a good use of Levi-Strauss’ (1908 - 2009) binary opposition of Man vs. Woman in cultural narrative structures, which is seen again in the panel where she is summoning her army to chase off the men with pitchforks, probably engaged in a witch-hunt.

The coffin and ornament in the shape of sacred geometry are in the Gothic style famously used in cathedrals. The style choice is wonderfully blasphemous for a woman with a god-like ability: she holds the literal the key to unlocking the chains of death and also hints at proficiency with the ability through the pose of her fingers manipulating the flaming skull.

Overall, this design seems to be a fun take on the classic narrative of women embracing what was once feared of them; summed up in, what seems to me, the exaggerated point of her traditional witches' hat as a playful middle finger to extreme patriarchy. Which in turn may describe the challenges and role of a Witch presented in a character concept piece that uses history, pop culture, shape and colour to tell a narrative that is a blend of universal and individual experiences. All this may be conjecture on my part, but therein lies my next argument, is what I experienced analysing this work intentional on Skripnikov's part beyond the shared abstract knowledge? Were they just creating a fun design and had subconsciously included these symbols? Controlling the experience of the viewer is something that directors and artists struggle with, in trying to solve this problem Rico Garcia et al. (2022) have created an AI powered electroencephalography (EEG)-based emotion recognition system, which can by-pass audience biases by directly reading electrical activity in the brain and thereby intuitively guide the viewer into the emotional state the content creator desires by selecting from multiple outcomes. This sits more in the realm of interactive storytelling, but with the way technology is advancing, I can’t help but feel excited about the future integration of AI to guide viewers into a desired emotional or cognitive state perhaps even through a series of images/panels or changeable props in concept design or comics.

Concept art is already evolving to be more than representations, for example 3D animations that can relate more information, or perhaps even working simulations for pre-visualising interactive media, but at the heart of it is visual narrative and how much can be conveyed from the simplest design to the more complex. While technology may not be advanced enough to non-invasively alter experiences in every electronic medium, for now by being aware of the cultural and psychological impact of visual narratives, my concept art will become richer and more informed and can break the barrier of the expected, or intentionally embrace the familiar, and somewhat guide the viewer into my intended narrative.

References:

COHN, N. (2013). 'Visual Narrative Structure'. Cognitive Science. [Online] Volume 37. (Issue 3). pp 413-604. Available from: https://doi-org.ezproxy.herts.ac.uk/10.1111/cogs.12016 [Accessed: 06 October 2023]

LE BLANC, H. (1828) The art of tying the cravat: demonstrated in sixteen lessons, including thirty-two different styles, forming a pocket manual … preceded by a history of the cravat from its origin to the present time … and remarks on its influence on society in general. [Online] London : Effingham Wilson. Available from: https://archive.org/details/b22018967/page/12/mode/2up [Accessed: 02 October 2023]

PEOPLES, L. (2015) A History Of Men In Heels In 18 Stunning Pairs. [Online] Available at: https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/history-of-men-in-heels [Accessed: 02 October 2023]

RICO GARCIA, O.D., FERNANDEZ FERNANDEZ, J., BECERRA SALDANA, R.A., WITKOWSKI, O. (2022). 'Emotion-Driven Interactive Storytelling: Let Me Tell You How to Feel'. In: MARTINS, T., RODERIGUEZ-FERNANDEZ, N., REBELO, S.M. (eds) Artificial Intelligence in Music, Sound, Art and Design. EvoMUSART 2022. Lecture Notes in Computer Science, vol 13221. Cham: Springer. pp 259–274 https://doi-org.ezproxy.herts.ac.uk/10.1007/978-3-031-03789-4_17

SCHONS, M. (2022) Witch Trials in the 21st Century. [Online] Available at: https://education.nationalgeographic.org/resource/witch-trials-21st-century/ [Accessed: 02 October 2023]

Image References:

HOLLAR, W. (1640). Ornatus muliebris Anglicanus, Plate 21; The severall habits of English women, from the nobilitie: to the contry woman, as they are in these times. [Etching on Paper]. Available at: https://www.robzangerrarebooks.com/pages/books/273/wenceslaus-hollar/ornatus-muliebris-anglicanus-plate-21-the-severall-habits-of-english-women-from-the-nobilitie-to [Accessed: 02 October 2023]

SKRIPNIKOV, A. (2023). Witch. [Digital Artwork]. [Online]. Available at: https://www.artstation.com/artwork/xYGBY2 [Accessed: 02 October 2023]

#Sources and Significance

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pleb-the-original · 1 year ago

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Day 6: Fresno Night Crawlers

(Never though I'd be doing a sequel but I mean it fits too well to not. Still think its extremely funny that out of all the cryptids in the world to fall head over heels in love with to the point of plushies and art, its the walking pants from California)

Status Report #26: Project FNStatus: Surprisingly Successful Additional Notes: First of all, thank you once again for your advice. Sometimes it can be easy to lose track of how many resources are available to me at a given moment. After contacting my friend from an earlier report, the process of study has gone much smoother. My partner has also grown much closer to the Nightcrawler where it even follows her around. With the combination of these two, the Nightcrawler has become much more comfortable and thus has begun showing off more of its abilities. I have already mentioned its penchant for languages, but we have also learned it can mimic any sound or speech it hears. However it seems to only extend this power to “comedic” sound bites it hears and music. Believe me, you do not know pain until you have to concentrate really hard on something only for your new pet to come in singing the latest in pop. We have also discovered that despite its physical makeup, it can either summon invisible hands to manipulate its environment or it has latent psychic abilities. We have not been able to determine effectively which hypothesis is correct due to the rare nature of when the Nightcrawler decides to activate this power. However I am leaning towards the psychic powers hypothesis due to the fact that the Nightcrawler managed to completely compress my assistant into a ball and bowled her into said friend. We’ve also seen it create temporary magical facsimiles of items that disappear whenever it is done with them. Specifically in order to pull off a joke. We have seen no upper limit to the size or complexity of these illusions especially after it managed to create a working WWI era tank only for it to shoot out confetti after my partner’s date went well. Finally, on rare occasions we have noticed that the Nightcrawler can summon more of its kind. There doesn’t appear to be an exact signal that it uses as we have recorded a whistle, a car horn, and a sound akin to a wolf howl that have been used to summon more Nightcrawlers. It only has done so so far whenever it deems necessary to complete a joke. Due to the nature of this creature, we have deemed it necessary to construct an observational area with enrichment tools and various items of play in order to observe the Nightcrawler’s abilities. Alongside this new habitat, we have also begun engaging more in internet culture so we can gain a proper understanding as to how and why the Nightcrawler has adapted the way it has. With great help from our friend of course who has said worldly knowledge. This project will definitely stretch into the long term but I have a good feeling about this project. I must admit however, I think me and Obsidia are growing attached to the little guy. Embarrassing as it is, but I already bought a crotchet plush off of etsy of a Nightcrawler. For research purposes! Not anything else. Nope. Now then, I must conclude this report. Blanc appears to have gotten into the chemical lab again.

Research Team 1

#writing #creative writing #prompt list #cryptidinjuly #cryptidinjuly2023 #cryptid #fresno nightcrawler #sequel story #writeblr

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sarcasticsparkles · 3 years ago

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Miraculous Ladybug is Bad

Alright! Since I’ve been told my grievances with the show are just whining and complaining, I will now make a whole post proving why this show is objectively bad.

Reason 1: Underage Ass

There is a lot of highlighted underage...parts on these characters. Many people would say this is just skintight outfits and that would be normal. Typically I would agree. HOWEVER, someone on the MLB team, Winny, was exposed about a year ago for drawing NSFW art of underage children and Thomas Astruc stood by this person. That is the cause for so much concern.

Let's look at some of the most egregious examples. If I looked at all the times Ladybug's ass was highlighted in horrifying detail, I would be here all day, so here are just a few OF MANY examples

Let’s add some highlighted breasts and stomach lines into the mix! Oh let’s not forget Lady Noire! Her outfit was so stupidly skintight you can see her belly button, crotch lines in many frames, and this one it’s kinda blurry but YOU CAN SEE NIPPLE OUTLINES!

And now Ladybug. You can see the highlighted details of her entire back and like... why is her ass like this? SHE IS 14.

Ladyfly didn’t exist for long and already she’s been subjected to that name and this nonsense.

Thought Chat Noir was safe? Well, you thought wrong. It still happens with him.

Reason 2: Whitewashing

I’d go more in detail on this one, but just look at Rena Rouge, Carapace, and Pegasus. It’s not hard to spot.

Marinette is also extremely whitewashed. Yes, I am aware biracial people don't all look the same and such, but Astruc has marketed this show and claimed on Twitter that this is about Asian representation. Still, Marinette shows no indication besides her Mom that she is Asian or even remotely interested. She doesn't know the language and the one time she had a chance to learn about her culture, she was taking advantage of her parents so she could go to Shanghai to stalk Adrien. This would be tolerable on its own, not all biracial people are the same, and others have their opinions, but again with how this was framed to be.

Reason 3: Marinette is the worst protagonist of all time

Did you know that according to French Law, Marinette has 186 years in prison? This number is because of her stalking! Her crimes include but aren't limited to stalking, unprovoked assault, trespassing, breaking and entering, vandalism, theft, the list goes on.

All of her movies are tied to her lust for Adrien. I went more in detail on this in another post, but her “love” is actually the literal definition of lust.

Here are some examples of these crimes in detail. Motive doesn't count, don't give me that, these are crimes no matter how you slice it, and no, being Ladybug is not going to excuse this.

In the Christmas Special, she beat the crap out of an old man because he was around Adrien. She says she thought he was akumatized, but given her track record with people who breathe around Adrien and how this man did not look akumatized at all, it’s hard to believe. And given her strength, she very well could have killed this man.

Stealing Adrien's phone in Copycat.

Breaking into Adrien's house in Chat Blanc and Bubbler and trying to break in during Oni-Chan.

Stalking in general, given how many photos she has on her shrine, is not all something you could get online. They seem largely taken during scenes. Also her entire schedule of Adrien’s that she has on a whole thing in her room AND in a little notebook she carries on her person at all times.

And in general, she is a terrible person in sabotaging any competition she has around Adrien. God forbid another woman breathes in Adrien's direction. And her treatment of Luka? She downright admitted to cheating on him, and while it wasn't literal, she still had her shrine up of Adrien and KNEW she still loved Adrien. Then in Crocoduel, she told Juleka to uninvite her brother to his own birthday party. I could go on and probably will later.

And her treatment of Chat Noir? I checked, and you can find the ENTIRE CYCLE OF ABUSE IN THE NEW YORK SPECIAL! People always say Chat is the abuser when everything he's done is a puddle compared to a lake.

And the main issue? SHE NEVER GETS ANY PENALTIES FOR THIS! She has committed crimes and, in general, been a terrible human being, but she never faces any repercussions! Nobody calls her out, she is never punished, and she gets an awesome reward most of the time! She teaches people that stalking and abuse are good!

Oh, let’s not forget Crocoduel was the very next episode after Chat Noir tried to kill himself. Ladybug brought on a much more powerful Tiger hero. That’s like the classic villain move of “I can always replace you.”

UPDATE: We have now had her stalking and abusive tendencies treated as a serious thing in-universe, proving it is not just exaggerated for “comedy” purposes. The writers did this and tried to justify that Marinette can do this because she has trauma, but goes out of its way to say nobody else can use their trauma to explain their behavior.

UPDATE 2: Gabriel won. We can’t say for certain how much Marinette is leaning into Gabriel’s lies and allowing Adrien to believe his abuser was a good person actually, but what can be said without any doubt is she didn’t tell him he was a sentimonster, which he has a right to know. Regardless of what you think of Marinette, there’s something to be said that a lot of the fandom sees Lila as more likely to tell Adrien the truth than Marinette is.

Not to mention that what tie does Marinette even have to the plot? Her plotline is "I want that famous dick!" but like...until season 4, what connected her to the Agreste plotline that couldn't be replaced with literally anyone else? Adrien is the one with ties to the plot and has the skillset to become the guardian, he is the one with more relation to Asian culture. Not much but certainly more than Marinette. Why is he not the main protagonist?

Reason 4: The plot or lack thereof

Nothing happened in the first two seasons of this show. If you combined seasons 1 and 2 and removed the blatant filler, nothing would change for the plot. And this ties into my point of "Why is Marinette the main character?" by this show's actual plot of the Agreste family is on the backburner for way too many episodes of Marinette foaming at the mouth over Adrien.

No, seriously, here are some charts of the screen time between Marinette and Adrien that I did with my former partner while timing this whole show, which let me tell you is a grueling task.

The show focuses so much on Marinette, when I am serious that her only storyline is not tied to the plot. The main plot of this show with the actual villain is put on the backburner for this little stalker.

Okay, if Marinette had a tie to the plot that wasn't her lust, and there was a real reason she had to be Ladybug and not literally anyone else, then go ahead and keep her. But she has no ties to the plot that matters and no reason to justify her existence since all she brings is a detriment.

Also, there is barely a timeline for this show! Season 1 was jumping all over the place but seemed to be over a year, but then in season 3, we're told EVERYTHING was over one year? Excuse me?! You're telling me the season that went from September to February in like 10 episodes was actually all in the span of 4 months?!

I will be updating this list, please know. I am not done.

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous critical #marinette salt #mlb salt

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sweetcloverheart · 3 years ago

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Unpopular Opinion Time

I think the issue with how canon portrays the LadyNoir side of the lovesquare that causes such a disconnect within the fandom between people on how “justified” the ship is in and out of universe is the fact that Ladybug never really shows any responses to the shiptease/in-cast support of it that indicates her considering Chat Noir as being a dating option for her.

That is to say, we never really see her indicate that, were Adrien no longer an option for her (and the whole Hawkmoth no longer being a thing), that Chat would potentially have a chance. Putting aside the culture barrier with France in regards of how relationships are portrayed and the “lost in translation” aspects of the dub that also cause a lot of clashing within the fandom regarding the ship and scene interpretations, I honestly can’t remember or think of any point in the episodes where Ladybug blushes or get flustered at the idea of people thinking she and Chat are a couple, and anytime it is brought up, she shuts it down immediately with a blunt “We’re just partners” rather than a tsundere teased or embarrassed “W-we’re just partners!”, or pretty much rolls her eyes at the idea of dating/liking him, even indirectly (No offense to anyone, but it’s super telling that Marinette’s immediate response in “Ephemeral” after Chat tells her he’s Adrien is to laugh). Like, I understand the series is likely going for a slowburn here - Marinette is still pinning for Adrien after all, even after becoming friends with him and their brief individual stints of dating other people. There’s also the fact that she’s been made Guardian of the Miraculous and is still very high-key traumatized from Chat Blanc, and thus wants to avoid any possibility of putting them back on track to that timeline, which would involve pushing him away and keeping the crush one-sided. When you put all that into consideration, Chat not being on her radar is reasonable, as well as her being fine with the flirting and banter (when she’s not upset/stressed about stuff) to a point. We still have another season on the horizon and possibly more in the future, and with the main team reduced to two again, we might actually see some more bonding between them that might give way to hints/build up on Ladybug’s side that she’s starting to fall for him. There’s also the fact that the episodes are all nonlinear chronologically, so it’s pretty hard to really tack down how the ship develops anyway (unless you are very organized, determined, or prone to bouts of hyper-fixation like I am)

But when you consider the fact that it’s been four full seasons (and two movies with a third one in the works) with Marinette not showing anything close to attraction or even a small miniature crush forming, you gotta wonder when we’ll actually get anything, and as the more impatient/burnedout of us start to pace the deck, they will start to notice scuffs and chips (and holes) on the ship they never realized were there to pick at while they wait. Four seasons, with one or two episodes having Marinette interact with Chat out of costume and her still not feeling anything that might be considering a budding crush in the works. Adrien starts dating Kagami in season 3 to try and get over his crush on Ladybug, and Marinette doesn’t even consider Chat to move on with (not that I would encourage it considering the circumstances), and asks out Luka instead. “Prime Queen” has her very bluntly (and angrily) dismissing any ship moments in the previous season as either “just doing her job” or saving his life from an Akuma (”Dark Cupid”), and honestly seems more...annoyed then flustered by the insistence (though it’s understandable considering how pushy Nadia was being with her questions even before the LadyNoir gallery reel). “Oblivio” gives some good credence to Marinette being able to like Chat the same way she does Adrien if circumstances allowed it and they “met first”/”forgot” their crushes on each other’s other identities, but since their memories were erased from up until the start of the episode, it also indicates that the only way Chat would have a chance is that Ladybug/Marinette was basically given the Master Fu Season 3 finale treatment and “forgot” her experiences as Ladybug/with Chat, and she immediately dismisses the situation once her memories return anyways and backtracking on yet another Identity Reveal (though the same can be said of Adrien towards Marinette/Ladybug too, so it balances out kind of). “Kuroneko” was probably the closest we got to Ladybug genuinely becoming flustered with her partner (despite not knowing it was him getting her all hot and bothered, though it’ll maybe be funny joke they can laugh about post reveal), and despite being a very pro-LadyNoir episode showing that Ladybug can only do her best with Chat despite him being in love with her, and that having “Adrien” around constantly as her partner would distract her, it also sort of negates its own premise by the fact that it basically implies that she’ll only get that way with anyone but Chat Noir (or, at it’s most negative interpretation, that Chat could only get her to crush on him by faking it and being the “false Adrien” he shows off in front of his father (and yes, the episode does state that Cat Walker and Chat Noir are just facets of who Adrien is as a person, and I agree with it, I just also see this interpretation as also being possible). ), though you could also say that it’s just that Marinette is professional enough to keep her feelings separate from her work when it comes to Chat and heroing (and that’s a very fine and valid thing for her to do) because they’re been together so long, but is difficult when it comes to other people.

Basically, any and every chance they have to show “Oh, maybe she is developing a little crush on Chat” is either used to make a joke of the idea, Chat’s crush, or the fact they still don’t know their other “crush” is behind the mask - It’s always “We’re just partners” and “I trust Chat” with nothing ever going further than that. Much as I want to say “it just hasn’t hit her yet/it’s not time yet/we still have more episodes”, it doesn’t really help serve the ship when only one side of it is expressing any fluctuating romantic interest while the other’s opinion is left so vague/up to interpretation. It says something that we get more insight on Marinette and her ex’s feelings toward each other post breakup than we do on her views of the superhero identity of her actual endgame partner as a romance option.

As said before, the ship is clearly trying to be slowburn, and that’s fine, but you think they’d maybe give some tiny crumbs to the audience - showing Marinette catching Chat on patrol and having her gaze linger, having her blush as Ladybug at one of his flirt-puns, having her respond to a question about her and Chat’s relationship with “We’re just partners and good friends, but...” “But?” “...No, never mind.”. Something that shows Marinette/Ladybug being okay/receptive to the crush becoming more beyond the comedic “Oh you silly goose who’s in love me but I will never love you back because the plot says we can’t mutually crush yet I’m in love with your civilian self.”. So far the only real development we get is on the Chat side, and we know he’s in love with her already. I want to know what Ladybug thinks of maybe dating Chat, even as a cute counterfactual-scenario, even as a passing daydream, even in some made-up akumaless scenario world! SOMETHING!

That all said, Season 5 will probably, as previously stated, give some progress on LadyNoir’s relationship as they try and get the stolen Miraculouses back from Hawkmoth, but I honestly would be fine to see Ladybug just blush at Chat once during then. Once. That’s it. Just one episode of her blushing Thomas and Zag, that all you have to do here....

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spunkpunx · 4 years ago

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Bittersweet Bundle Of Misery - Graham Coxon

Plot: Reader is dating Alex James, and finds herself miserable, but finds comfort in a tumultuous affair with his friend, and guitarist, Graham Coxon.

I will probably do a part 2.

Word count: 5153!

Warnings: Drugs, Alcoholism, Smut, Angst, Smoking

April 1996

Alex loved France. Not only that, but the French loved him, specifically the women. I didn't need to understand his words to recognise the flirty tone in his voice when he spoke to the waitresses, the bar staff, in fact, basically any attractive woman who fluttered her eyelashes at him. I wasn't sure how to feel about it. Of course, I knew Alex well, so I was never under the impression that he would be a devout, faithful partner, but I also never expected him to be so explicit in his relationships with other women. We both considered the relationship open, but Alex was the only one who seemed to take advantage of that situation.

I found solace in hanging around with Graham. The tour was stressful. We both struggled. We all drank, but for Graham it was a necessity. I spent more time with Graham than with Alex, but of course he didn’t care. The words “jealous” and “possessive” were not in his vocabulary, but then again, neither was “monogamous”.

I was tired and miserable. The venues where the band played could be stubborn about sound-checking themselves. This resulted in a lot of arguments, as I was strictly instructed that the band were only to have their own sound technician (me). Alex and Damon could be rude. Since I’d been dating Alex, nobody took my work seriously. I stopped being a technician with almost seven years experience on tour, and became “Alex’s girlfriend helping out”. The crew could be horribly sexist at times. Even Ivan dismissed me when I brought him a problem.

“Get one of the other technicians to look at it,” he said, after I told him that one of the venue’s sound guys had wired the bass into a guitar amp and not the subwoofer. He must have turned up the volume to compensate for the sound and blown the speaker.

“I know what I’m doing! I’ve worked with this band for years!” I ended up snapping. I heard one of the roadies mumble something about a period and it sent me over the edge. Sometimes I got so angry it was like I didn’t have control over my impulses anymore. I told them all to fuck off and stormed out the room, kicking the door with a tremendous thud as I left. After I’d cooled down and returned, the crew tiptoed around me like I’d overreacted. After the gig, Ivan came over to speak to me.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to undermine you. You’re one of the best sound techs we’ve had,” he apologised, giving me a friendly pat on the shoulder. I appreciated the apology, it was the first one I’d had since the tour began.

Alex and I had an argument that night. We argued often, but this was explosive. He came into my room, coked up and horny, sitting next to me on the bed and pressing wet kisses to my neck.

“Are you over your little tantrum?” he asked, kneading my breast a little roughly. I pulled away.

“Little tantrum?” I repeated, surprised at his tactless words. “Everyone has been treating me like shit recently Alex.” He shrugged, running a hand up my thigh over my jeans, toying with my top button.

“Whatever it was. Ivan was trying to help and you just went mental,” he laughed, like it was all a big joke. He pressed his lips against mine and I pushed him away.

“It’s your fault I’ve been feeling like this!” I snapped. “If I didn’t start dating you then people would actually treat me like a professional! All of a sudden Damon is asking the drum tech to check the mic volume before they go on!”

“All of a sudden it’s my fault?” he asked, voice raising slightly. “Just cause you overreacted and bit Ivan’s head off?!”

“You don’t get it Alex! If you were ever actually here you’d understand how I was feeling, but you’re always off snorting lines and banging these fucking French girls!” I shouted at him.

“Well maybe I’d be here more if you actually put out instead of just going off at me!” he yelled back. I stood up, walking across the room with my hair clenched in my fists. I wanted as much distance between us as possible.

“Put out?” I looked at him incredulously. “So you’re only here if you can have sex with me? This relationship only exists so you can rely on me having sex with you whenever you fancy?!” We were both properly shouting now.

“That’s what relationships are! That’s what love is! The only difference between friends and relationships is sex!” he replied, seeing this as perfectly valid reasoning.

“So all I am is sex to you?” I asked, my voice now dangerously softer but still dripping with venom.

“No... That’s not- Stop twisting my fucking words!”

I calmly picked up my cigarette carton and lit one, letting his point ferment.

“Get out,” I spat. He glowered at me, standing up and leaving the room, slamming the hotel room door behind him.

As soon as he left the room, hot tears started spilling down my face, not tears of sadness but of rage. I felt overwhelmed. I smoked a cigarette, then another, the deep inhalation subduing my frustration. I heard a soft knock at the door.

“Piss off Alex!”

“It’s not Alex,” came Graham’s gentle reply. I stood and opened the door, wiping at my cheeks with the back of my hand.

“Gra,” I huffed in relief at his presence.

“I heard you were arguing, I wanted to see you were okay,” he said. It didn’t surprise me he’d heard it. Graham’s room was just across the hall, and we’d not been quiet. “Pub?” he offered, smiling slightly.

“Yeah alright, I’ll just grab my coat.”

We found a small bar not too far away from the hotel. Neither of us spoke particularly good French, but Graham knew enough to order some wine. The Parisians didn’t drink the same way the British did, and both of us were a little too embarrassed to try and order two pints of beer and a pack of cheese and onion crisps. Instead, we sat with a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses, hidden away in a back booth and laughing at our clumsy attempts at the French language.

“It’s so embarrassing walking round with Mr Culture speaking fluent French like it’s the most natural thing in the world, meanwhile I struggle asking the man in the shop for a packet of fags,” I complained, chuckling.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what were you arguing about before?” Graham queried.

“Oh, just...” I paused, unsure whether to tell him or whether he’d just agree with Alex. “Well you know how I lost my temper before?” Graham nodded, sucking his lips into his mouth like he always did when he was listening. “Well he made a joke about it, and it pissed me off. I dunno, I feel so tired and miserable recently, and the way everyone has been treating me like I’m totally incompetent at my job is so difficult. Alex is never there, he just swans around doing whatever he wants, meanwhile I just feel so overwhelmed,” I spilled, not even intending to share that much. Something about the build up of emotions in my life and Graham’s reassuring presence at the end of the table made me feel the sudden need to tell him everything. “I just don’t feel happy anymore.”

“I know how you feel, kind of,” Graham reassured, placing his hand over mine, while I took a large swig of wine. Looking back, I think that was the first moment I thought about kissing him. Of course I didn’t, we stayed out most of the night and then stumbled back to the hotel drunk. But I actually considered that maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad if I was dating Graham, not Alex.

October 1996

I never expected the knock at the door. It was a cold night in mid October, so when I opened the door wearing only a large t-shirt and odd socks, the biting breeze nipped at my bare legs. Graham stood there awkwardly, wrapped up in a fleece lined jacket and his eyes slightly glazed in his drunkness. I didn't ask any questions, just greeted him with a hug that lasted a few seconds longer than usual, then invited him in.

Graham wasn't a happy man, but I myself was hardly a ray of sunshine. I sat down next to him on my old settee, lighting a cigarette and refilling my wine glass. I offered him a glass but he shook his head.

"What's up Gra?" I asked him softly, reaching out to cover his hand with my own. He let out a dejected sigh.

"I can't do it anymore (y/n)," he explained. "The band. I'm starting to hate them all. The press, the tours, the people. It's way too fucking much. Damon won't change the music we do, he's being a controlling bastard, and then Alex, fuck." Graham pulled at his earlobe, something I noticed him do often when he was feeling nervous or stressed.

"What is it?"

"He's out living his playboy lifestyle, shagging around, doing lines, drinking champagne. Meanwhile, you just sit around pretending like everything is fine!"

I dropped my hand from his. I wasn't ready for this criticism, especially not from a man who was currently drunk every second of his life.

"It is fine, Gra."

"No it's not, because he barely gives you a backwards glance when he goes out and I have to watch it," he complained. He turned to me, looking over my face like he was drinking it in. "I think you're so beautiful."

"What?"

"So, so fucking beautiful," he repeated. Graham was bad at eye contact, but right now he was drunk, and looking at me with such a sinful look in his gaze. He glanced over my lips, and the small flip in my stomach as he did was my only sign. There had been moments over the past year where Graham and I had shared similar glances, but neither of us acted on impulse, until now.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against his. Immediately his hands slipped around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. His tongue slipped into my mouth, and as he deepened the kiss I pushed his jacket off of his shoulders. He assisted my movements, pulling it off to fall lazily on the floor.

His hand travelled down to my underwear, tucking a finger beneath the waistband of my knickers, pausing to see if I stopped him. I did, but only to pull his t-shirt over his head. I had seen Graham without a shirt before, but now I took in his lithe physique and broad shoulders. He slipped his hand to my clit, rubbing it in slow circles. I gasped at his touch and he leant down to brush his lips against my ear.

“You turn me on so much,” he whispered honestly, slipping two fingers inside me and curling them up. I moaned into his neck, pressing a kiss against it. Alex never really bothered with foreplay so this felt like heaven. After a minute he pulled his fingers out to push me down against the sofa, as I pulled him into another hungry kiss. He pushed his hips against mine and I let out another soft moan while he smiled into the kiss. Soon the desperation over took us and I fumbled with his belt, helping him remove the rest of his clothes before he pulled my t-shirt over my head, drinking in my body.

For a second he tucked his hands into my hair, holding my face behind my ears and stroking me cheeks with his thumb, before kissing me playfully on the nose. He pushed himself inside me with a slight groan, watching my face as I let out a satisfied sigh. I felt so appreciated, the way he looked at me was so tender. Unlike my day to day misery with Alex, this felt so raw, so right. He cupped one of my breasts with his hand, kneading it gently as he softly kissed and nipped at my neck. I felt sweat beading along my thighs, pressed into his body as we lay on the sofa, fully naked with the exception of our socks. He picked up the pace, and I could tell he was trying to control his urge to finish as quickly as possible. He rubbed my clit with the rough pad of his thumb, causing me to let out an unexpectedly loud moan as I clenched around him and my body shook. This brought him over the edge and he finished inside of me with a string of swears. He looked at me slightly panicked.

“Are you on birth control?” he asked, and I laughed, nodding, still out of breath and thrumming from my orgasm. He rested his forehead against my own and we lay there for a moment, panting, letting it register what had just occurred. I didn’t feel guilty at all, although I could tell Graham did. Alex had said so many things to me now that I couldn’t feel regret for sleeping with his friend, not when the moment was so sweet. Then he seemed to be pulled back into reality.

“I’m sorry,” he apologised, standing up and looking for his boxers. “I didn’t mean to do that, it wasn’t the plan.” I furrowed my eyebrows slightly.

“The plan? What was the plan?” I asked.

“I was going to tell you I love you, but you weren’t supposed to... You were going to tell me to piss off and then I could lay it to rest. I’m sorry. I’m drunk.” He pulled his boxers up and started looking for his jeans, but I reached out for his hand, pulling him round to look at me. I was still naked, knees drawn up to my chest on the sofa. I saw his eyes soften, his behaviour calm.

“Gra, I don’t want you to go,” I pleaded, my voice coming out a lot quieter than i intended. Alex and I had had another argument, and I was already feeling so lost until Graham showed up.

He paused, looking at out two hands together. I held my breath, waiting for his response. I needed him to make the irresponsible decision. Eventually, he nodded, and I nipped to the bathroom to clean myself up. When I came back in, clean and wearing a t-shirt and knickers, Graham had settled on the settee with the telly on, he’d also pulled his t-shirt on. I came to sit next to him, and he rested his head on my chest slightly while I began to run my fingers through his hair and he hummed contentedly. The show was boring, a late night crime drama. Within a few minutes Graham was snoring softly on my chest. I sipped my wine and smiled to myself.

November 1996

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Graham rolled over with a groan of pleasure, panting with sweat on his brow. I turned on my side to face him and he pulled a stupid face, still lying on his back. I let out a sigh and turned over, away from him.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, concerned, moving closer and pressing a kiss onto my shoulder. One of his large hands rested on my waist and I suppressed the urge to sniffle.

“We don’t love each other though do we?” I said rhetorically.

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, if we loved each other, then I’d leave Alex and you’d stop drinking so much.” I felt so bad saying it, but it was true. Even as Graham arrived in a better mood today, there was still an alcoholic taste on his tongue. We’d been seeing each other for over a month, and I knew I wasn’t breaking up with Alex any time soon.

“Maybe you’re right, but still, it feels nice to say, doesn’t it?” he pointed out, nuzzling his head into my neck as he ran his hand round to lay against my stomach, pulling my back closer to his chest.

Sometimes it felt like Alex must have known about me and Graham’s relationship, because he suddenly changed last month. Of course, we still argued. He still enjoyed champagne and cocaine and plenty of women, but god he was good at apologising. After arguments he’d always pull off the perfect apology. He’d me out to an expensive restaurant and completely overlook every gorgeous woman there. He’d make a point of telling the waitress that he must be the stupidest man on earth to have an argument with his ‘beautiful girlfriend’ and would try and show me off to every person in the room. Sometimes his apologies were less flashy, sometimes they came in the form of a home cooked croque monsieur in the morning, and kisses all over my face. Alex had the ability to make me feel both completely worthless and wonderfully special, but when he made me feel so special the guilt always tainted my mood.

In fact, it was at this moment a knock came at the door. I sat up in slight panic. Graham looked at me in confusion.

“It must be Alex,” I told him in a hushed voice.

“Shit.”

The knock came again. I pulled on a shirt from the cupboard, padding through my flat to the living room.

“Hey, (y/n). I know your home,” he said through the door.

“Can you come back later, Al?” I asked, doing up a couple of the buttons. “There’s someone here at the minute.”

“No, just open the door,” he persisted. I sighed, walking over and unlocking it. I stood there in a just the oversized shirt and some underwear I’d pulled on. My bedroom door was shut, Alex wouldn’t mind as long as he didn’t know who was in there.

“I’m in the middle of something,” I said slightly exasperated.

“Fucking hell, you look good,” he grinned, looking me up and down before pushing his way past to get into my flat.

“Hey, don’t come in!” I protested.

“It’s fine, love. I left my keys somewhere here, I just came to grab them,” Alex replied, going into the kitchen and picking them up off the side. He walked into the living, cheeky smile on his face. “Hey, can I say hello to whoever is in there?” he teased, stepping towards my bedroom door. I rushed forward, pushing him away while he teasingly stood his ground.

“No you cannot, it’s weird. If I come into yours while someone’s there you look like a philanderer, but when you come here guys think you’re my pimp or something,” I argued, managing to get him across the room toward the front door.

“Okay, fine,” Alex agreed, dropping his hands to around my waist. “Kiss goodbye?” he requested in a silly voice, tilting his head to the side. I rolled my eyes, but agreed. He pressed his lips to mine for a moment, dropping his hand to squeeze my arse jokingly, and I pulled away to give him a lighthearted smack on the arm and hurrying him out the flat.

When I walked back into my room, Graham was still nestled beneath the duvet, his head poking over the top.

January 1997

"You have to be joking, right?" came the surprised voice of Blur's bassist. Alex was stood in the doorway of a backroom at Groucho's. His pupils were like goddamn dinner plates, as per usual, but for once he was acting surprisingly sober for someone so off their tits. We'd been caught, and as Alex cast a disbelieving look between myself and his bandmate my heart dropped down into the bottom of my stomach.

I had been dating Alex James for just about two years, and had known him for four, and although our relationship wasn't defined as such, it was a rather open one. This, however, seemed to be a breach of our agreement. This wasn't a random person, or even a distant friend, this was Graham.

When Alex had walked in, he'd come across a scene that was a little bit more than over friendly. The guitarist had his hand underneath my skirt and was kissing my neck while we laughed drunkly. Of course, then came the interruption, and we had jumped apart at the arrival of my boyfriend. I sat awkwardly, chewing my lip, feeling like a naughty school kid. Nobody spoke. It was difficult to know what to say. There was no chance of convincing him it was less than he thought, I'm sure our guilty faces spoke volumes. After a pause that went on for way too long, I tried to speak up.

"Al-" I began to reason but my voice was cut of.

"No," he interjected. "I can't fucking believe it. You're my mate, Gra. You're in the band. Of course, the quiet, sweet one. Works for you doesn't it? 'Cause this whole time you've been fucking my girlfriend," Alex snapped. I saw Graham look down, his jaw clenched slightly. I wanted to reach for his hand but I knew it wasn't the time.

"Alex,” I warned but he scoffed at me.

"Piss off with that, (Y/N)," he scolded with an incredulous laugh. "Get your stuff from my place tomorrow, but don't come too early 'cause I'm bringing home that blonde girl from the bar tonight," he told me harshly, leaving the room, probably to go practice his lines in the bathroom.

I sat back down next to Graham, my frown mirroring his. I tipped my head onto his shoulder, and he pulled me into him with a comforting arm. It was difficult to pin down my feelings, although guilt was the presiding one. I felt especially guilty for not finding the ability to care that Alex had just split up with me. I felt tears prick my eyes, unable to stop myself from crying. Graham tilted his head to me, brushing the tears from underneath my eyes with his thumb, and pressing a kiss onto my forehead. I tried to pull him in for a kiss, to distract myself from my current feelings, but he turned his head away.

“Now’s not the time,” he told me gently.

February 1997

I didn’t expect to still accompany the boys on the American tour, in fact, I was aware Alex had greatly argued against it, but Ivan had insisted. I was under contract to the record label and familiar with the set up and how the band liked things. I rather have stayed in London to be honest.

Before we left, Blur released their self titled album, kicking it off with a 'secret' gig at the Astoria to a sold out crowd of two thousand people. The mood was so elevated, all tensions seemed to be erased. A huge after party went down. It was packed with Britpop royalty and went completely out of hand. That night I even stupidly assumed that things would go back to normal, water under the bridge.

I only listened to the album two days later. It was totally different to anything they'd done before. I recognised the influence of the underground bands Graham listened to, although the tone seemed slightly ironic. The album seemed fast paced, but then, halfway through the album came an unexpected softer number, Graham's soft voice coming into my living room through a layer of crackly voice effects. The first verse was despairing. I knew Graham was struggling with his alcohol, but I'd been doing so awfully myself that I didn't even realise how bad it had gotten. It was the chorus that really ruined me though; heartwrenchingly honest and bitterly optimistic. I didn't care if he'd written it about me or not, but that last line hit me somewhere deep in my heart and put tears in my eyes. By the time the song had ended I was a sniffling mess on my living room floor and brimming with such a strong sense of love.

We left to France two days later. The crew were acting strange with me. Everyone knew that I’d now slept with two members of the band, and there was lots of implication I was going to try a third. Damon was acting well off with me and usually I found myself sat with Graham receiving glares from both Damon and Alex. We had to go through Paris and then Tokyo before we arrived in the US at the beginning of March. Things were okay when we all got drunk enough, the boys tended to forget about my crimes against the band. We did sing alongs at our hotels. Alex got a bit arsey when Graham fell asleep with his head in my lap in Tokyo, but he’d happily bring girls to drink with us and happily snog them while I was sat there. I didn’t mind, the part of me that cared was so easy to shut off now.

I loved Japan, and the Japanese loved Blur. Damon was particularly popular with his blond hair, blue eyes and pretty face. The reception at the airport was always brilliant. There would always be a crowd of teenage girls desperate for a signature off their favourite band member, I think one of the Gallaghers already said it, but it was like a second wave Beatlemania. I usually sat back with Ivan, watching the boys deal with their fans, especially Graham. While Alex and Damon used a charming smile, Gra always seemed so unsure what he was doing was right. It was very endearing. I wanted to stay as far away from fame as possible.

Me and Alex’s breakup was extremely high profile. Of course, why we split up was a public mystery, only adding to interest levels. We kept our relationship fairly private, although I had experienced the odd incident with paparazzi, but the Blur management team saw great opportunity for promotion with our split. I was hounded by music journalists for weeks, and photos of me suddenly started appearing all over the gossip magazines. As much as I didn’t want to be stuck on tour with Alex, I had to say it was a relief to leave it behind.

Graham still came to my hotel room late at night, but for both of our sakes he left way before the sun rose. That part was the hardest, when he climbed out of bed to get dressed and leave. I’d watch him put on his clothes, peeking my head over the bedsheets and not speaking. He’d press a kiss to my forehead and tiptoe out the room, back to his own. Then I was alone. I think that fear of being alone was what kept me from ending things with Alex, because staring up at the ceiling after Graham left was the most saddening feeling in the world. I couldn’t say I love you to him anymore, even if I did. When I was still with Alex, it was just a phrase, but then it had become an empty promise. I was far too scared to bear my soul to him like that. I think it upset him slightly, when I wouldn’t say it back, but he never mentioned it.

It was moments like that, lying alone in bed and feeling totally isolated, with nothing but the rushing thoughts in my head, that I would have given anything for Alex to burst into my room and pick a fight with me again. Sometimes I wanted him to loose his temper, to see me across the room and to shout at me, to call me names. His willing acceptance of the situation hurt me most. His ability to move on like it was nothing.

March 1997

Things went downhill once we arrived in America. Everyone was jet lagged from the flight and we were mainly travelling around on a tour bus. Being in such close confines did have a habit of getting on everyone’s nerves. I was sharing a tour bus with some other sound technicians, which was a nightmare. I was the only woman on tour, and every morning I got up an hour before everyone else so I could get dressed without being stared at by a group of blokes. Unfortunately, I was also going to bed in the early hours of the morning anyway, so I was feeling twice as exhausted as usual.

Suddenly, Alex seemed a whole lot more pissed at me than before. Any time Graham and I were even in the same room, he would glare until one of us left. He couldn't help but leave snide comments.

The other issue with being on tour was privacy. I barely got a second alone with Graham. Damon had walked in on one of our few opportunities, while Graham had his head between my legs, and aside from it being very embarrassing, since the incident Damon had been twice as off with me as ever before. Eventually, Graham and I settled for cuddles and conversation, this seemed to cause the least tension.

One night in Detroit, we all went out to a bar. I found in America all anyone ever wanted to know was 'what you did'. Of course, this was in reference to career, but I'd recently found entertainment in replying "nothing much". I spoke to lots of American's, receiving regular compliments on my accent. We drank lots, Alex ended up taking a very attractive blonde girl to the tour bus, leaving the rest of us to continue our evening by drinking enough to knock out an elephant. At one point I wobbled outside for a cigarette and some fresh air.

I stood by the back door and the bins, inhaling the smoke and letting the cold sober me slightly. Then, a very drunk Damon stumbled out the pub, proceeding to bend over by the wall and vomit onto the floor and his trainers. I rushed over, putting a hand on his back and trying to shuffle his feet away to avoid where he was being sick. He finished throwing up and swatted me away.

"Piss off (y/n)," he slurred. "It's your fault it's like this." I stepped back, surprised at his words.

"What?"

"You cocked everything up!" he whined, leaning against the wall for support. "You broke Alex's heart, and now he's mad at Gra, and now Gra's in love with you and you're going to hurt him. Fucking hell, (y/n), look at him! Can't you see what it'd do to him!"

I couldn't help it. For what seemed like the millionth time in the past month, tears prickled my eyes. I never usually cried, but now all my emotions lay very close to the surface.

"I don't want to hurt Graham, Dames. I never wanted to ruin anything," I sniffled, taking a drag from my cigarette to try to calm my wavering voice. "I love Gra, I really do, it's just... complicated."

Damon's eyes softened slightly, and then he fell over into his own sick.

#graham coxon #graham coxon x reader #blur band #britpop #90s imagine #smut #blur #britpop imagine #alex james #alex james x reader #battle of britpop

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kairos-polaris · 4 years ago

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Miraculous Ladybug. Ah, the show that can't deliver its promises, teaches the female mc wrong lessons, is so sexist and racist it hurts and still calls itself "woke" and says they promote "girls power". I was so angry I wrote it at 1 am with little to no light to see what I was writing.

Mlb has a lot of problems. I won't be talking about the plot because it will be too long.

So here we are!

✓ Who is the main villain? Is it Chloé/Lila or Hawkmoth? The grownup man who chose to terrorise Paris and abuse people in their most vulnerable times? Or two teenagers who need a more strict discipline and help from adults, not their peers? Both Chloé and Lila made mistakes but they're kids who can change. I don't want to say they don't have to be punished for their actions, they do. You can't change a person if they don't want to and making them face consequences of their actions is an important part of growing up. If Mlb writers really cared about teaching their viewers that people can change, they will start a redemption arc for Chloé after Antibug and after Volpina for Lila. But, apparently, they decided that letting kids change their behaviour and grow up to be a better person is boring, right?

✓ Gabriel Agreste. Abuser, control freak, magical terrorist. And yet some people believe he deserves to win. He's not only a bad person but a bad villain too! Most of his actions have no sense and work only because the writers said so. Why did he think that creating a supervillain is a good way to lure out a superhero? They could be in different country/city. Both Miraculouses could be hidden in someone's attic! Plus from New York special we know that other heroes exist. How could he be so sure they wouldn't be the one to fight his champions?

And why did he akumatize himself? He had no way of knowing that Ladybug saw his book. He saw Adrien take the book. All he had to do is to say something like this: "It's a very important book Adrien. Your mother found it years ago in her attic. This book was a great inspiration for me". His akumatization was too convenient for the plot.

✓A lot of people blame Marinette for causing so much akumas. Are you okay people? Hawkmoth is the one who creates akumas. What a surprise! No one other than him can do that. Repeat after me: upsetting someone doesn't equal to using their feelings for your own gain. Chloé deliberately humiliated or angered someone and it still doesn't count as causing an akumatization because it wasn't her goal. I don't mean to say it wasn't wrong but she didn't send an akuma. She is a spoiled rich brat who doesn't care about the consequences of her actions. Lila came close to actually causing akumas but it's still Hawkmoth who sends out butterflies and uses completely natural and normal feelings and emotions against everyone. Please, don't shift his blame on teenagers.

✓ Sexism is everywhere. From civilian interactions to heroes' costume designs. So here's a list of problems I've remembered at 1 am:

Writers show Lila or Chloé trying to kiss Adrien or invading his private space in a bad light. How dare they harass him? And then we have Chat Noir act the same towards Ladybug! And unlike Adrien Marinette actually says "no, I don't like you. Don't touch me like that". Adrien knows that he makes her uncomfortable but he doesn't care. "She loves him but can't accept it" isn't a good reason to continue harassing her. No means no. Not "continue asking me" or "I'm playing hard to get". Disgusting.

Only rivals Marinete has (excluding Hawkmoth because he's Ladybug's rival) are her love rivals. Lila, Kagami, Chloé. Why can't we have a character who rivals Marinete in her passion: designing? It's not "girls power" to have girls in question fight over one rich white sad boy.

The whole Gamer episode. Marinette won fair and square. She deserved to take part in the tournament. Was it okay for Max to be upset? Yes, he spent a lot of time training. Was it okay for him to be angry at Marinette? No, it's not her fault she was better than him. Some may say that she entered because of Adrien (another issue I will mention later) but it doesn't make her less skilled.

Every girl who has a crush is shown obsessive. Marinette, Chloé, Lila, Kagami - Adrien, Rose - Prince Ali, Ondine - Kim. We weren't shown Alya having a crush on Nino but I'm sure she would be just as obsessive because writers can't believe girls can have crushes and not be obsessed with them. I would also like to mention that having two characters of colour with no previous chemistry is kinda racist.(I could have just missed it because I'm not good at noticing flirting. If you noticed Alya and Nino flirting before Animan I would edit this part). They also don't talk a lot if it's not about Adrinette. Their purpose is to push main characters to each other. That's it.

Boys are really nice to their crushes even when akumatized. Both Silencer and Evillustrator were gentlemen. Nathaniel literally took Marinette on a date! Exceptions are Adrien and Felix. Adrien is just perfect (not my words) and Felix is Adrien's evil twin. He was used to: a)show how great Adrien is; b) say "Ladybug would punch Chat if she were truly uncomfortable"; c) to make fans hate him because they prefer PV Felix and Astruc hates him. Do you know why point b is the most harmful? Because it enforces the stereotype that women are always willing and consenting and they have to go to ridiculous lengths to take that consent back.

Suits. Every girl has a skintight suit with little to no details. And did you see how skinny Rena Rouge is compared to Lady WiFi? Or how Ladybug's suit has only one colour? The show doesn't even try to make clothes look more fashionable. They have three (!) designers, two models and Chloé is the Style Queen's daughter. They didn't even try!

✓ Making fun of Marinette's anxiety so often. It's offensive to people who have the same problem.

✓ Master Fu. He's an awful person who pushed his responsibility on children without explaining anything. There was no point in hiding his identity. What if they were akumatized? Well, Paris would be doomed anyway. No Ladybug to purify akuma, no cure. And we saw how dangerous akumatized Chat was in Chat Blanc.

Do you know what would happen if he revealed his identity in the beginning? There would be no Stoneheart 2.0, Marinette and Adrien would have a better understanding of their powers, a support system, a reason to get away to transform.

✓ Chat Noir and Ladybug not knowing who the other is. I've already explained why the akumatization excuse doesn't work. How can you trust a person you don't know? They would be able to support each other in their civilian lives. But they wanted a love square and that's why revealing won't happen in a looooong time.

✓ Sexualisation of minors. Have you seen Mister Bug? Or Lady Noire? They are 14/15! It's gross and disgusting to lust after teenagers. And what about numerous shots of Ladybug's backside? Or how thin Marinette is?

✓ Teaching wrong lessons. First they bash Marinette for not trusting Chloé and then they bash Marinette for trusting Chloé with the bee. How dare Marinette not have fun while fighting her friends? And then several minutes later: How dare she have fun while fighting her friends? Or how she was basically told her feelings don't matter by Madame Bustier in Zombizou. And blaming her for everything bad that happens in the show.

✓ Marinette's whole character revolves around Adrien. It's most obvious in the future special about China. She will go there not to learn about her heritage and her mother's culture but to be with Adrien. Almost everything she does as a civilian is about Adrien. They don't let her move on even when it's hurting her. Wouldn't it be much better if she tried to grow as a person, spend more time on her hobby. Maybe find Hawkmoth?

✓ Another issue is that they don't even try to find Hawkmoth. They treat only symptoms and one day it won't be enough. We had one episode where they were close to finding him. But Gabriel was akumatized so no lead again. Very convenient for the plot.

Why does Mlb have such a big fan base? Why is it so popular? So much wasted potential it physically hurts. But the most important question is why do I spend so much time and energy on this show? Please, send help. I can't continue doing this.

#mlb #mlb writers are sexist #mlb salt #adrien salt #lila and chloe deserve better #lila and chloe are teenagers #they're not evil #mlb characters deserve better #gabriel agreste salt #gabriel agreste is an awful person #marinette deserves better #make characters face consequences of their actions #marinette isn't the only one who makes mistakes #miraculous ladybug #miraculous lb #sexualization

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mealstobelievein · 4 years ago

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Part 5 - Daphnel Stew

On Today's Episode of Mastering the Art of Fodlan Cooking, we're exploring the challenge of Daphnel Stew.

On its face, this is an incredibly simple dish: "Minced poultry and onions boiled with salt. The simple recipe lets high-quality ingredients speak for themselves."

With great simplicity, however... comes great potential for being completely and totally boring. So the challenge here is an exercise in making Daphnel Stew anything but. I decided I wanted to use fresh, clean flavors to amplify the richness of high quality ingredients, so I started looking at fresh herb options. Working within the focus of my cultural definitions that I made prior, I targeted French flavors and cooking techniques for House Daphnel-- Their proximity to Faerghus allows a slightly more Northern flavor than the other Alliance houses, and also the flavor profiles I was going for lend themselves nicely to French cooking.

Mini cuisine lesson: If you're cooking poultry in a French style, and you want herbal flavors, you have one absolutely amazing option: Fines Herbes, a mix of Parsley, Tarragon, Chives and Chervil. If you're daring, you add Thyme.

So that pretty much settled it. Everything else, at this point, was amplifying the flavors of the chicken, the onion, and the herbs.

For the onion, I did a fairly brief but hot roast. I didn't want to caramelize and add sweetness, but I did want to get some of those lovely "brown" flavors going.

Next, I needed a high quality chicken stock. Again, I'm a tryhard, and I had some homemade stock in the fridge that had simmered for literally two days, extracting all possible flavor out of vegetables and rotisserie chicken carcasses, so that was easy. If you're not inclined towards a meal that requires multiple days of direct cooking, that's totally fair-- get the nicest stock, or chicken bone broth, that you can afford, and you'll be fine.

Finally, a few additional flavoring agents: Salt and pepper, and a clove of garlic. I really do mean *ONE* clove-- I know most people who cook are going to insist that you can't have too much garlic. But if you can specifically taste garlic here, you're doing it wrong-- You want to add body and amplify the main ingredients, not compete for attention.

That's literally it. Simmer for a couple hours, add the finishing herbs, thicken the stew, and you're done. Crusty bread makes a fantastic side here.

Next time, on Cooking Professor: HOLY SHIT IT'S CHEESE TIME! I'm going to a fancy farmer's market on Saturday that has cow cheese I can eat (weird protein allergy issues mean that I can't have most storebought dairy) and I am BEYOND hype. Be on the lookout for all the cheese dishes: Garreg Mach Meat Pie, Onion Gratin Soup, Cheesy Verona Stew, and Gautier Cheese Gratin, all coming up soon.

Recipe:

-2 Onions -1 lb Ground Chicken -3 Cups High quality chicken stock -1/3 Cup Acidic white wine (Sauvignon Blanc) -1 clove garlic, minced fine -Salt and Pepper (to taste) -Parsley (4 sprigs plus 1 Tbsp chopped) -Thyme (4 sprigs plus 1 Tbsp chopped) -Bay leaf -1 Tbsp Tarragon, chopped -1 Tbsp Chives, chopped -1 Tbsp Chervil (if you can get it), chopped -2 Tbsp butter or margarine -2 Tbsp flour

1. Roast the Onions: Cut roots and tops off of the onions, about 1/4 in from the ends. Cut a cross in the top of each onion, about two inches deep Place root-side down (so that the cut cross is on top) on the baking sheet at least 2 inches apart Drizzle with Olive Oil, season with salt and pepper Roast at 400F (205C) for one hour 2. In a Dutch Oven or other heavy bottomed stew pot, brown the ground chicken, breaking up as you go, until chicken is no longer pink. 3. Roughly chop the onions (I cut into quarters, then cut each quarter in half) 4. Add the onions and garlic to the chicken, stir to combine 5. Pour the wine and chicken stock over the combined onions and chicken until the ingredients are just covered. 6. Create a boquet garni (French for "bundle of herbs" I guess?) of 4 sprigs of Parsley, 4 sprigs of Thyme, and a Bay leaf, and add it to the pot. You can just throw the suckers in there, but it'll be a bit harder to remove at the end. 7. Bring to a boil, then decrease heat until the stew is simmering. Simmer for 3 hours. 8. Create a beurre manie (More French cooking terms!) by kneading the butter and flour into a paste. Whisk into the stew to thicken the broth, a little at a time. 9. Combine the remaining chopped parsley and thyme, and the tarragon, chives, and chervil, and add to the stew. Simmer for 5 minutes to infuse the herb flavors. 10. You're done! Recommended side: Artisanal European-style bread

#fire emblem three houses #garreg mach #cooking #unofficial cookbook #recipe #officers academy #blue lions #golden deer #black eagles #best thing ive ever made

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jovialyouthmusic · 4 years ago

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Special Delivery 3

I’m going to start with an apology here. This is not great literature, it’s just an exercise in writing about what I know and wrapping it up in a fluffy romance that will never happen. It’s pure self indulgence, but if you’d like to read some fluff with a bit of British culture thrown in for good measure, go ahead and read. If you want me to take you off the tag list, please ask, no offence taken. If any of the words or terms are unfamiliar, please ask, as I make no changes to suit American readers.

Word count 2572

Previous chapters can be found here and here

Fabio and I visit the local fish and chip shop, and I explain what’s on the menu.

Warning - mentions the death of a parent.

3 Takeaway my heart...

Once parked outside my terraced house, I unlocked the door and Fabricio helped bring our rucksacks in. He left his boots and jacket by the door, which opened straight onto a room that had once been two small rooms, now knocked into one large one with the stairwell exposed. I was looking forward to moving to a place that had a porch where wet and muddy clothes could be left, although I was fond of my cozy little house. I went to the kitchen to unpack the lunch boxes after directing Fabio upstairs to the bathroom. He was soon back downstairs as I let myself sink into the couch by the window that looked out onto the street.

‘You have a nice place.’ he said ‘It’s small, but this room is…’ he searched for words and gave up ‘I like it.’

‘I chose it a few years ago.’ I answered. ‘It was hard making enough money to get a mortgage, but my parents helped’

‘Ah yes. They are - not here any more?’ I shook my head.

‘No, Dad died just after I bought it. If I hadn’t got this place I might have moved in with Mum, but I think we would have driven each other crazy, much as I loved her.’

‘Family is muy importante. Mi madre, mi padre - I love my parents, they have helped me so much.’

‘Me too.’ I smiled ‘Mum passed away a few months ago. I can pay my house off now, and I’m going to rent it out for a little more income’

‘Passed away?’ he asked.

‘Uh - she died.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. You said before. You are sad?’ his expression changed to one of concern.

‘It’s okay Fabio, she was getting older and a little confused. I was just beginning to think of moving in to look after her, but I went to visit one morning and she’d passed away in her sleep – very peaceful.’

‘I think we would all like to go like that.’ he said. ‘Now, you are hungry, yes?’ he patted his stomach.

‘I am.’ I replied ‘Tired and hungry, but I really enjoyed our trip.’

‘Yo Tambien – me too.’ he smiled ‘It is difficult to travel, there are not many busses’

‘It is easier if you have a car.’ I admitted ‘But sometimes it gets very crowded with visitors.’ He nodded.

‘There are some takeaways near here?’ he asked ‘Perhaps we should not have pizza this time.’ he grinned.

‘Yes, there are two fish and chip shops and a couple of Indian curry houses, but we can ring them.’

‘Oh.’ his eyes lit up ‘You can tell me what to order in a fish and chip shop. My friends and workmates are not English.’ I smiled, and the thought of going into my local chippy with him suddenly overcame my aching feet and stiff legs.

‘We can go together’ I suggested ‘Perhaps a cup of tea first, and I’ll be good to go’

Walking along the narrow high street with Fabio got me a few curious and envious glances, and together we walked into my favourite chip shop. I went there sometimes as a treat, but too many visits and I would soon be overweight as just about everything they sold in there was deep fried. The shop was long and narrow, and a high stainless steel counter stretched for about three quarters of the length of the shop, the remainder of it being a normal height counter where customers paid and picked up their orders. The air was warm and humid and smelled of the hot fat and frying chipped potatoes and other savouries. Various pieces of battered and fried fish, sausage and other savouries were on display in the glass cabinet.

We entered at the back of the shop to queue. A young couple were in front of us, waiting for someone to take their order, and an older man sat on a ledge in the front shop window, obviously waiting for his. Fabio looked at the food sitting out for display as one of the shop employees, dressed in a white coat and white hat, got a wire basket of cut potatoes and lowered it into a vat of hot fat. Sizzling sounds filled the air and a great cloud of steam went up as the basket was shaken to get everything evenly distributed. The employee, Chris, looked up at the queue of people waiting as another woman with a small child had come in behind us. Fabio made a silly face at the child, who hid behind his mother’s leg, sticking his thumb in his mouth.

‘We’re just waiting on chips.’ Chris explained as Fabio nodded to the woman behind us.

‘You go first.’ he said ‘I don’t know what to have. It’s my first time.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ the woman smiled warmly, and gave me a wink as she squeezed past us, the child trailing after her and staring up at Fabio with wide eyes. He stuck his tongue out and the little boy grinned self consciously. Fabio looked back at me.

‘He’s just like my sister’s boy.’ he said fondly ‘I miss mi familia’ He nodded his head at the glass cabinet ‘So, tell me what all this is.’

‘Okay, this all cooked in advance – if it’s out here it’s not spoken for – it hasn’t been ordered. You’ll want chips of course; I’ll get a large portion to share…and you need some protein – some fish or chicken or sausage, and maybe a salad.’ I pointedly looked at his belly ‘You’ll need to work it off afterwards.’ He laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

‘You look okay.’ he said, looking me up and down, making me wobbly legged again. ‘Do you eat here a lot?’

‘Oh no!’ I said I’d be the size of a bus if I had chips all the time. I just have it as a treat every now and again.’ He laughed.

‘Size of a bus?’

‘It’s just a saying’ I explained sheepishly. ‘I do use a lot of them, sorry if it’s confusing.’

‘No no, is good to hear things like that.’ he insisted. Again he looked at what was on offer. A huge board behind the counter formed a menu with prices clearly marked.

‘Okay, not all chip shops serve the same – here they serve not just fish, but sausage, pies, chicken, burgers and patties. It’s all fried apart from the chili con carne, which is probably the closest you’ll get to the sort of thing you eat at home – I think.’

‘What are you having?’ he asked.

‘I’ll have cod, if it’s big we can share it. I love curry sauce but it doesn’t really go with fish.’ I noticed he was frowning in concentration ‘Perhaps if you have a piece of chicken?’ I suggested. ‘You might like chicken breast, or you could try the sausage’

‘Okay, Chicken breast, and we share’ he decided

‘Right, we can have a side of salad or baked beans, or mushy peas’ He looked even more confused, and I had to suppress a laugh ‘Okay, I don’t like mushy peas or beans with chips anyway. Salad it is. Oh, we can have the curry sauce on the side and dip our chips…’ This time I couldn’t help chuckling as he looked completely lost. ‘Don’t worry, I know just what to get.’ I said reassuringly.

When I ordered the food, Steve told me it would take an extra ten minutes to get the chicken ready, so I took my visitor to the off licence a few doors down to look at the beer and wine available. I picked a couple of bottles of real ale for him to taste, and he chose a bottle of white wine, pleased that they stocked a passable bottle of Argentinian Sauvignon Blanc. I wondered if he would be walking back to his flat that night when he had eaten and drunk what we had bought.

It wasn’t long before we walked out of the chip shop with one bag that clinked and another full of food, heavy and fragrant with the scent of oil and potato and fish. We got back and set out the boxes and packets on the table. I heated up some plates, got out some knifes and forks, and Fabio started opening up the boxes. I put out the chips, and divided up the fish and chicken. He looked at it askance.

‘This is a lot of food.’ he said.

‘I know’ I sighed ‘Chris was very generous with the chips, and the fish and chicken…’ I patted my stomach, recalling the way Chris had shovelled chips into the polystyrene tray and wrapped it up in paper. ‘We don’t have to eat it all, you can take some home.’ He sat up straight and seized his fork, his expression grave.

‘Okay, let’s do this.’ He started to attack the meal, and I did too.

‘Mmm the fish is good.’ he said with relish ‘This is – batter?’

‘Just flour and water. They dip the fish in batter before frying it. It goes crispy and keeps the fish hot. You saw them doing it, remember?’

‘Mmm’ he said, swallowing, and took a gulp of the beer I’d bought ‘Deliciosa – tell me some words you would use.’

‘Okay – you can say the fish is tasty, or delicious – or yummy, or scrumptious.’

‘Scrumptious? I like this word.’ he said before trying the chips.

‘You can put all sorts of sauces on the chips’ I explained ‘Hold on, you can try some’ I went out to the kitchen and returned with some bottles ‘Now I like their curry sauce’ I opened a pot they had given me, and dipped one into the pale brown substance, and held it out to him with my fingers. He took a bite and rolledit around his mouth appraisingly.

‘Not so bad.’ he said. I showed him the tomato ketchup and the brown sauce, and offered him vinegar.

‘Lots of people like to have vinegar put on the chips straight away’ I said ‘but I think it makes them go soggy. I like them crisp.’

‘I like this.’ he pointed to the brown sauce when he had sampled them all ‘It’s spicy but not too much. It’s yummy.’ I nodded.

‘Your English is good’ I said ‘You just mix up the order a little, but I suppose I’d do the same if I tried to learn Spanish. He grinned.

‘I teach you’

‘You should say I will teach you or I’ll teach you’

‘I will teach you, Lisa.’ He waved a chip in the air ‘Say after me Fabio es muy guapo’ I narrowed my eyes at him.

‘That’s a word I see a lot on your Instagram feed in the comments’

‘Say it’ he challenged me. I sighed.

‘Okay, Fabio es muy guapo.’ He laughed, flashing his white toothed smile.

‘Is it a rude word?’

‘Nooo.’ he laughed. ‘It means you think I’m handsome.’ I rolled my eyes.

‘Fabio, you’re a model, of course you’re handsome.’ I tapped away on my phone ‘Okay then – Fabio me engañó, él es travieso’ He laughed harder, shaking his head.

‘Yes senora, I tricked you and I am’ he furrowed his brow, then tapped the word into his phone ‘Naughty - that is a strange word in English. Did I say it right?’

‘Almost perfect, but I went for ‘mischievous’, it means the same.’ I replied. ‘How about me – is my Spanish good?’ He put his hand palm down in mid air and waggled it from side to side.

‘A little not good.’

‘Not so good, or so-so’ I corrected him. ‘We’re close to France here, so at school we learn French – I know in the USA they learn Spanish rather than French, so I don’t know a lot. A lot of British people go to Spain on holiday, but I haven’t.’

‘My parents made sure I learned English.’ he explained ‘It has been useful for work – around the world many people speak it, but British English is different to American English.’

‘Our cultures are very different too, but American culture is taking over a little.’ I said. ‘It’s sad some things are changing or getting lost.’

‘You can show me what is different.’ he smiled ‘If you like – if you have time.’

‘Of course, though moving house is going to be difficult. I’ve taken time off my classes.’ He looked at me in query. ‘I teach Yoga.’ I explained ‘I drive to villages and take classes. It doesn’t pay a lot, but I enjoy it, and I manage. My parents helped me out, and they’ve left me the house and some money, so I can relax for a while. Renting this house will help too, and I might have enough to buy a flat too.’

‘I help you move.’ he frowned and corrected himself. ‘I will help you move – is that right?’

‘Yes, you’re learning fast.’ I said. We carried on eating until Fabio declared he couldn’t eat any more. We hadn’t managed to eat everything, but to do so would have been painful. I heard the catflap slam shut and my ginger tomcat came in to investigate the smell of fish.

‘Ah, el gato!’ Fabio exclaimed. ‘He is yours?’

‘Hello there Ginger, about time you showed up.’ I greeted him. He froze in alarm and stared at my guest, who leaned down, flicking his fingers and making little kissy sounds. After a cautious sniff, Ginger decided he wasn’t too much of a threat and approached him. When Fabio reached out and scratched his ears, he had a new best friend as Ginger melted, just like I had, and fell at his feet, rolling over and exposing his belly.

‘He’s cute.’ he smiled. ‘Ginger.’ he made more clucking noises and carefully stroked the cat’s belly. Ginger writhed on the floor, completely under Fabricio’s spell, but like the typical cat he was, he suddenly decided he’d had enough and leapt to his feet, shaking himself. Fabio took his hand back swiftly.

‘It’s okay, he doesn’t scratch or bite – or hardly ever.’ I said. ‘Come on Ginge, let’s see what’s left in your dish.’ I went through to the kitchen and gave him a fresh dish and a handful of kitty kibble. He set to eating it, noisily crunching, and I straightened up with a groan, my full belly announcing its discomfort. Fabricio stood in the doorway.

‘I will go home.’ he said.

‘You can find your way? I’m sorry, I’ve drunk too much to drive.’

‘Is okay, is not far and the walk will be good.’ he replied. There was an awkward silence and I remembered his promise not to touch me with some small regret. He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Thankyou Lisa, I’ve had a very English day.’ My heart skipped a beat as he leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. As I blushed, he stepped back ‘Like a brother.’ he said gravely. I took a shaky breath and followed him to the front door.

‘See you tomorrow.’ I said as I opened it and he stepped out onto the street. He made a mock salute.

‘Hasta mañana, Lisa.’ he grinned, and walked off to his digs.

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yakumtsaki · 5 years ago

Photo

Welcome, dear readers, to Part 2 out of 3 of the Union Comeback Season Premiere Episode (title under construction, part 1 here). Right off the bat, let me just admit what everyone is thinking, yes, mass-deleting default replacements was clearly a huge mistake. Looking good in the heart boxers, boys, especially Jojo! Very on brand and not at all ridiculous. On a lesser but equally annoying note, our windows have suddenly turned red while the exterior AND interior of the house are purple. Dark days ahead..

..but not for Goro, who has returned home since running away and is immediately being kicked out again. Good to see you Goro, now pack up your shit, D’vorah won the cat heir position so it’s time for you to move to Melody and Daniel’s farm.

-Well I’m a cat so I don’t have any possessions to pack.

Thank you for providing an example of why you lost the cat heirship via this painfully boring reaction to the news of your defeat.

-No, he’s right, we cats don’t have any possessions to pack.

Omg D’vorah shut up. How on earth you boring flops are Alegra/Ronroneo’s grandchildren AND Sophie’s children I’ll never understand. I’m this close to making Maxx the cat heir and he’s not even a cat.

-Correct, I’m a dog.

Worst group of pets e v e r.

Oh look who autonomously woohooed for the first time in a century, I guess those base game heart boxers were simply too hot to resist. If one of you gets knocked up a week away from elderhood I’m gonna have a meltdown the likes of which the world has never seen.

-For the love of God, can we get some privacy here?

I’d love nothing more than to give you two bozos eternal privacy by never looking at either of you again, but the headmaster is here for Wulf so put some clothes on-

-WHAT THE FUCK. Why do we keep getting new headmasters instead of the ones we’ve already terrorized into submission?? Now we have to ‘show BJ a good time’ and ‘maybe we could give BJ a tour’, I’d honestly rather give BJ a bj and get this shit over with, I’m tired of threatening headmasters with murder. Hopefully it doesn’t come to sexual favors but if it does, Wyatt, you’re up.

-Pourquoi moi???

Pourquoi toi still haven’t gotten promoted and toi sleep 22 hours a day, it’s high time toi pulled your weight around here.

Good, that’s the spirit.

-Bonjour, monsieur Headmastér! I wòuld introdûce yoù to Wûlf but hé is très busý with unpàid çhild labόr.

-Haha, what a hilarious joke, Mr. Union!

-Alright Cinderello, after you’re done cleaning the flooding shower you’re going to need to jump out the second floor window and go study in the crypt, so the headmaster doesn’t see you and ask you any uncomfortable questions about whether I acknowledge you as my son. I have to go help your father charm our guest by giving my trademarked speech on how I never got impregnated by aliens and what a blow it was to humanity’s future.

-Ok Mr. Jojo!

-For the last time Wulf, it’s not ‘Mr. Jojo’, it’s ‘Mr. Union’. God.

-Ah hello there Headmaster BJ, apologies for my lateness, I was tucking little Wulf in bed because I definitely acknowledge him as my son. As I do all 3 of my children and not just Cyneswith. Ask anyone! But not Wulf or whatshername.. I want to say Shenar? Anyway, now that that’s been cleared up, what are we talking about here? The fact I never got impregnated by aliens and what a terrible blow it was to humanity’s future? I assumed as much.

-Haha aliens?! Well you are just a family of crack ups, does your son share this amazing sense of humor?

-Oh yes yes he definitely does, and he is definitely OUR son, that’s exactly how I view him as well, not solely as Wyatt’s offspring just because he appears to not have a drop of my DNA. I mean who even cares about that? Not me, that’s for certain. Yes, Wulf was just telling me the funniest joke while I was reading Cinderella to him before I put him to bed-

-Man, it’s so hard to concentrate on math with a broken leg from jumping out the window and Grandpa’s disembodied head floating around.

Grandpa’s disembodied head??

OH FUCK KOMEI

-What?

Nothing! Looking good! The decision to delete default replacements didn’t affect you in any way!

-Thank god, have you seen Vic with that base game hair? Talk about scary.

Yes, talk about scary indeed. Do you happen to know if the matchmaker performs the occasional exorcism?

-No idea.

Well she hates me anyway so that was solution was dead in the water. I have to go back to the headmaster fuckery now, but I want you to know I’m really sorry for what Salome did to you.

-Sό, monsieur Headmastér, the όnly tràck reçord which est bettér than the όne we havé with bébés wόrking, est the oné we havé with our animàls rûnning awaý!

-Oh my.

-He’s joking, he’s joking Headmaster BJ, we’re both excellent pet owners and excellent parents, if you’ll excuse me the phone is ringing-

-Cyneswith darling! An adult bartender is calling for you and he has the Komei face! You might be 14 but he’s clearly future husband material!

-Be right there, daddy!

-Alright, I think I’ve seen enough here.

No you haven’t! Wyatt, take off your robe!

-No need, I’ve made up my mind..

-..you’re obviously a perfect match for our school!

What the hell? How? Even by our standards we legit didn’t do shit.

-Headmaster Jitmakusol left a very distraught letter regarding your family before he was institutionalized, the gist of it being it is pointless to try and keep you people out of the school, and his successor should simply ‘roll with it’.

Well ok then! Pleasure doing business with you, BJ.

-The pleasure was all mine, please don’t ever contact me again.

We’ll make sure to be in touch.

In the meantime, Komei has recovered his body!

-Why me? WHY ALWAYS ME? CYNESWITH IS RIGHT THERE

-Sorry honey, we play poker for it every night and Victor won dibs on Cyneswith.

-That’s right, the first one to scare everyone gets ghost-bingo!

Are you fuckers playing ghost-poker or ghost-bingo?

-It’s a hybrid, we have a lot of time on our hands, being dead and all, so we developed an overcomplicated gambling system for our scares.

Yea ok congrats Victor, now can you fuck off before you actually do kill one of the kids?? They have 10/10/9 energy, they literally never sleep.

-No can do, if you actually kill someone you get Yahtzee!

How many fucking games are involved in this bullshit?

-We told you, we have a lot of time on our hands. SUCK IT VICTOR, I WIN FOR THE NIGHT

Win for the night? Who cares about that, you have Wyatt cornered, go for the Yahtzee!

-Oh, but you said our games were bullshit!

That’s before I realized Wyatt was awake for his allotted 2 hours per day non-sleeping time. Wyatt istfg bro, are you half French-Arab and half panda?

-Pandàs eàt for 14 hourès idiόt, ne pas slèèp.

Well look who knows a suspicious amount about pandas now! Almost like he’s descended from them.

Oh good, everyone’s favorite couple simultaneously has the day off. How about I take you two out for a nice date at Londoste since you’re about 55 years old?

-How about hard pass on that architectural monstrosity of a restaurant and we hang out for 6 hours in our front yard instead?

-Oui, oui! Très blanc garbagè of us!

Well at least we’re not forgetting our roots.

Alright then, we’ve crossed into white trash territory unironically with the yard pda and we’re also freezing to death, how about we take this inside?

-Non!

-Yes, non indeed! I love how frozen your hands are, dear, it’s like you’re a real corpse!

Oh my G-

-Catch me, Creature!

-Je t'aime, dr. Frankènstèin!

Ok, new suggestion, how about instead of going inside we visit a nice church?

-How abοùt you lôôk awày, pervertir!

Bold words from someone doing Frankenstein roleplay, and I’D LOVE TO, but the kids are at school and the animals are sleeping, so there’s no looking away from whatever the fuck this is.

Oh thank god, Cyneswith is back from school and ready to cockblock her parents as always. First time I’m genuinely happy to see you, Cyn.

-Straight A’s again! Ah, we may only have one child but she is THE BEST. Wyatt dear, come here to congratulate Cyneswith and further inflate her ego. Wyatt?

-Why is he ignoring my straight A’s, daddy?!

-Ugh, he’s probably jealous since everyone is jealous of you, darling. Pay him no mind, let’s go inside so I can give you the diamond tiara I got you for your birthday.

-But my birthday is in four months, what will you get me then?

-A throne to go with it and anything you want from Sihara’s and the other one’s rooms?

-They have no rooms, remember? They both sleep in the crypt.

-Right, well how about I act like I got them presents, give them to you and make them watch as you unwrap them?

-Aw daddy💗

-Je ne pas fèèl bien..

Yes, you’re dying, so it’d be some real Frankenstein shit if you did feel bien.

Is this Komei-clone bartender serious, first he calls while the headmaster is over, now he calls while we’re dying, FEEL THE FUCKING ROOM PAL

..and there we go. RIP Wyatt, it’s been sorta ok having you in the fami-

-WTF HOW ARE YOU ALIVE

-HA. I lièd, I AM hàlf pandà and mon beàr gènes protéct moi!

GODDAMMIT I KNEW IT. Is that why the one child you gave birth to is your exact clone?

-Oui! Wulf est 1/4 pandà, et toi wènt et namèd him WULF.

Well, to be fair, not a lot of famous pandas I could have named him after even if I knew.

-Toi çould hàve namèd him Pandà!

Oh man, Panda Union does have a nice ring to it, especially next to the other names.. ~Shajar~, ~Cyneswith~ and PANDA. Thanks a lot for depriving me of the opportunity by withholding your genetic info.

-Je think Wulf est ontό it..

Onto the fact he’s 1/4 panda? I highly doubt that.

Yea nevermind, he knows.

Oh great, Shajar has brought yet another uggo with a culturally appropriative hairstyle home from school.

-That’s what you get for letting her out of the crypt.

Give it a rest, Jojo, we’ve had enough of your incredible parenting to last us 10 lifetimes at this point.

-And then it goes: I send the thunder from the sky, I send the fire raining down, I send a hail of burning ice, on every field, on every town! I send the locusts on a wind, such as the world has never seen, on every leaf, on every stalk, until there's nothing left of green! I send my scourge, I send my sword, THUS SAITH THE LORD🎵

-Great, thank you, Shajar, for singing the entirety of the ‘10 Plagues’ song from The Prince of Egypt 27 times. I’m really sorry but I have to go home now-

-It-was-nice-to-meet-you noogie!

..Shajar, please, PLEASE see a doctor.

-My sister Shajar may be super popular, spoiled and beloved-

WHAT LMAO

-but I have the friendship of animals and that’s all that matters!

Yea, Cyn, no offense, but it feels like you’re trying to cultivate an underdog Disney princess persona for yourself that is the exact opposite of actual family dynamics around here.

-What makes you say that?

Your tiara and throne vs Shajar sleeping in the crypt come to mind.

-So to be an underdog you need to be a loser?

I mean narrative-wise kinda, yea.

-Message received.

No, no that wasn’t a message-

-Yes it was and I got you, loud and clear.

Oh god.

-WHAT? YOU’RE REJECTING ME BECAUSE I’M TOO PRETTY? MY HEART IS BROKEN! I DON’T THINK I’LL EVER GET OVER THIS

-Uh, who are you again? Shajar invited me over, ordered a pizza and has been hiding in the bushes for 1 hour waiting to noogie the delivery guy.

-I CAN’T BELIEVE WHAT I’M HEARING! I HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO SING ABOUT THIS IN AN ENCHANTED FOREST FOR ABOUT 3 AND A HALF MINUTES

Jfc, where are the ghosts when you need them.

-Mommy has dibs on you tonight, Jojo!

-Mom please no! Your hair is so damn hideous! Just stay in your urn until the default replacement has been put back!

-Ah excellent, I have upgraded my robotic abilities up to cleanbot level!

That actually is excellent, I really want us to fire Kaylynn.

-Cleanbots don’t change cat litter.

..UGH then why even bother, Jojo? The cat shit is 90% of our problems, make something that fixes that or stop wasting airtime with your nonsense. Istg some people.

-Alright sis, how about we go out again tonight and ~play the field~? If I get rejected by a couple more mean boys I can earn my underdog princess badge!

-You are so stupid, Cyneswith, if you want to earn your underdog badge all you need to do is board a doomed ship, Titanic style, and then give the floating door to someone you’ve known for a couple of days while you selflessly and pointlessly drown in the freezing ocean despite the fact you could take turns sharing the door.

-But then I would be dead.

-I know right? Everybody wins. Let’s go get you some tickets.

Yea, let’s not, but let’s get out of here because the ghosts are out of fucking control and you two aren’t sleeping anytime soon.

-Shaj-and-Cyn-in-da-club noogie!

Shajar FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, ENOUGH.

OMG IT’S SOPHIE MIGUEL. SOPHIE MIGUEL IN THE HOUSE

-Whaddup dildos, ‘tis I, Sophie fucking Miguel, the meanest townie teen there is. I’ve only taken 4 steps into this place and I can already tell I’m surrounded by a bunch of beta turbocucks.

SHAJAR GO TALK TO HER!!!!!

-HEY BITCH, I’M NOT A BETA TURBOCUCK, I’M ALPHA AS FUCK. I’M NAMED AFTER SHAJAR AL-DURR! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHO THAT IS?

SHAJ WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, WHAT IS THIS APPROACH

-Of course I do, the first Mamluk Sultana of Egypt. Nice.

OMG THAT SHIT WORKED. LAND THE PLANE SHAJ

-Ohhhhhhhh😍 Do you want to talk some more?? Do you like the 10 Plagues song from the Prince of Egypt???

-Nop, as suddenly as I came into your life, I’m dramatically getting the fuck out for no discernible reason, cause that’s just how I roll. Gone with the wind, baby! I’m like an outdoor cat. You’ll never see me again.

-Oh but I will..

YES YOU WILL SHAJ. I’m so on board this particular Titanicesque crackship that it’s un.real. I mean Sophie Miguel literally came into this place, talked to Shajar for less than one minute and then left the bar entirely, in turn leaving us dick in hand. What.an.icon.

In the meantime Cyneswith.. did this. Game-changing night for everyone!

#gen 2 #ts2

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advernia · 5 years ago

Text

the world in her heart, her heart in his hands

assorted sidenotes for the fic i made in response to an anon-sent aesthetic prompt! oooh boy, i sure took long on this one lmao...... _(:3 」∠)_

prompt #7: steady notes coming from a guitar nearby, fireflies dancing around the clearing, two sleeping bags close together, and a bright full moon briefly covered by a cloud.

so the core idea i had when i saw that prompt got requested was based on jonah’s say i do! route: he says that one day, he wanted to go to the land of reason + see the place alice was born and raised. tbh idk how the prompt even led me to that, but the imagery vibes i got from the prompt hinted of something like freedom. or something like lovers secretly meeting in the woods, which i sort of went by.

OKAY SO I SWEAR I FINISHED WRITING THE PROMPT (day zero!!!) EARLY (by my standards) LMAO.............. like, maybe a week after i got the ask or so? but then when i went about proofreading it i felt that it was... lacking??? i can’t explain it myself, but i didn’t wanna post it yet until i got that feeling cleared out - i tried revising + adding, but it didn’t help so i just started thinking about expanding the fic instead...

thinking about the scenes really took longer than i thought?!?!?! i wanted this request up early but i was stumped on what kind of scenes i wanted to see + how their lengths were gonna be.... plus i was thinking if i should go solely on narration + description........ or maybe more of dialogue...... then i jumped to holy shit what’s my timeline gonna be what cultural whatnot am i gonna emphasize and i think i fussed over those aspects rather than picturing the actual scenes LMAOOO.......................

great disclaimer: i have NEVER stepped into the uk..... or england + london for that matter ahahaha GET REKT tho i want to someday huehuehue....... i heavily relied my research on maps + history websites + train timetables to help me get through the touring parts so do forgive me if i messed up somewhere + butchered history haha..... i was thinking to make things vague, but since i’m always in for emphasizing the differences between cradle + land of reason, i decided to get a little technical with it......

i have to admit that i wrote most of the fic during breaks in work hELLA RAD........... i’m doing my job properly, i swear........ it’s just that when i already have a stable idea of what i want to happen, the scene becomes clearer in my mind. i wanted so! badly! to add scenes of jonah pronouncing words and looking at various things funny!!! jonah and his attempts to communicate with londoners!!! fussy jonah poking around a boutique, him being fascinated + studying displays of gun shops, or him accidentally offending the royal guard + constables LMAOOOOO but i couldn’t seem to write anything satisfactory involving those ideas........... ಥ_ಥ

back to the issue of timeline, i was picturing the london in this fic to be around the 1860s or smth.... but then i remembered that in edgar’s dramatic end letter, he mentions his fascination with electricity aka lightbulbs......... which were, like...... discovered early 1800s but only became common in 1882 ahahaha....... when i realized this i was already writing day 18 oOOPS so i just decided to go on and wing it I’M SORRY _(:3 」∠)_

on timeframe, i know that it’s very highly unlikely that jonah would take a vacation for two months. i bet the mere concept of a one-month vacation is enough to give him a heart attack LMAOOOO but let’s just say that red army told him to take his time in the land of reason, especially when they learn that jonah plans to formally meet alice’s parents. when he hears about this, lancelot tosses in the suggestion of proposing to alice while they’re in the land of reason, so that jonah can tell her parents about that too. jonah thinks it’s a fantastic idea..... so he decides to accept hot damn, a two month vacation!

whole route & lengths of stay (points streaked with red are mentioned within the fic minus nottingham whoops sorry):

london [16 days bc IT’S A BIG CITY LMAO (day 30 - 14). rides a morning train going to bristol on the 14th, arrives there midday.]

bristol [5 days (day 14 - 9). leaves bristol on the morning of the 9th to walk all the way to glastonbury, arrives there come late afternoon / evening.]

glastonbury [4 days (day 9 - 5). leaves midday of the 5th to walk their way to alice’s village, arrives there around sunset.]

alice’s village / ‘actual wonderland’ lmao [5 days (day 5 - 0). located somewhere in between bridgwater, taunton, and glastonbury. month 1 of vacation has ended.]

day log commentary!

thirty. arrival in the land of reason through falling - routes where alice does go back don’t feature her falling down london’s sky, so maybe she’s just... spit out from the hole????? idk haha so i altered it anyway!!!!! the landing scene was initially like this: jonah lands first, he catches alice in his arms, they banter a bit....... and then they suddenly remember the suitcase only for said object to fall right on jonah’s head LMAOOO....... it’s a cradle magical object that looks like a regular suitcase but will always be as light as a feather despite it’s contents + it has GREAT CAPACITY so jonah is actually okay!!!!!! i decided to scrap that scene concept though haha!

twenty-nine. does the hole to the land of reason only open around midnight or smth???? i’m sure it doesn’t, but i went with jonah + alice leaving cradle minutes before twelve o’clock, so when they arrive in london jonah gets to see the big ben signal midnight. is that planned on alice’s part? maybe. on another note, i’m assuming that a high-ranking officer + noble like jonah is definitely used to traveling to other countries so he’s definitely not one for homesickness, but i like the thought of him always feeling all sorts of uncomfortable on his first nights away from home - he doesn’t make a big deal about it bc he gets better three days in or so. idk, it just seems fitting for someone very particular like him.

twenty-seven. if luka’s hair is fucking dyed, my god (no wonder i found those light ends of his hair sorta funny), then here’s jonah excuse to adapt another hair color with the help of magic crystals LMAO - i always stick with a reality ensues standpoint, so his ikeman looks aside, i’m sure londoners would find jonah’s hair color (heck, maybe even his eye color) very unique. alice can’t deal with all that sudden attention lol but she somewhat proud that the man who has effortlessly captured the attention of the people of her world too is the man she proudly calls her lover ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

twenty-three. now that i think of it, what exactly does cradle mean when they say the land of reason? are they simply referring to the city of london, or earth as a whole??? most likely the latter, but i’m pretty sure no one except blanc (and possibly ray bc that globe in his room lol) know exactly how large the land of reason is. anyway, not gonna lie, i wanted jonah + alice talking about novels by maybe the likes of charles dickens, thomas hardy, george eliot or h.g. wells. heck, maybe jane austen and charlotte bronte too!!!! but i had to scrap that bc gaps in understanding cultural & historical references + use of language, figurative and non-figurative.... it’s a shame about the last two though - i’m sure jonah can somehow probably relate to the society depicted in their books since the red territory sounds like your typical breeding place of victorian era nobles lmao!!!!

eighteen. sometimes when people learn / gain a deeper understanding about new things, they have the urge to brag about said knowledge to others - of course jonah wants to show alice what he knows about her world so far haha! calling a train a mechanical beast tho lmao..... he refers to it that way, but i think it’s his target of fascination in london!!! noise and possibly environmental issues aside, it’s very convenient + efficient and can cater to all, but what he finds most impressive that it’s a man-made locomotive!!! that’s something worth incredible praise!!! ( ᐛ )و

fourteen. actual train ride!!! hmmm.... i think jonah only panics maybe a good thirty minutes in when the train starts moving??? alice tries to calm him down by pointing at the passing scenery out the window + idle chatter until jonah finally relaxes himself.... but then he starts to panic slightly again when alice suggests that they look around the train and he’s like: is that even remotely safe??? what about our baggages, can we leave them unattended??? hey, i saw you snicker - how dare you laugh at me!!!

nine. according to google, an estimate of a walk starting from bristol going to glastonbury is 8h 25min. that’s for the present time though - would’ve it been shorter or longer in the past??? idk, but definitely one’s pace during the walk affects the total time, lol. since railroads only started out around 1830s + i made alice a village girl, walking really is her way to go. pedestrianism was still a thing around the 19th century!!! her stamina in other routes tho lol (ﾟ⊿ﾟ)

six. here’s my self-indulgent thing of wanting to add a dance scene, pt. 1 LMAOOOO - the steps in the scene aren’t really from a certain folk dance in england, much less from glastonbury itself... i did look up on england folk dances, but i couldn’t pick one that i wanted to incorporate into the scene so i went with describing some random steps on the top of my head _(:3 」∠)_ ..... maybe someday, i’ll write a proper one..... on another note though, i suppose jonah can adapt quickly to folk dances, but he may come off a bit stiff at first in line / column dances where there’s the switch of partners??? i mean, there are formal 19th century dances that have that same concept, but.... the finesse + personal boundaries are all there lmao - he’s not against the casual intimacy + show of obvious joy in folk + common dances though, it’s just more of that he’s not used to the informality of it all, i think.

five. plot twist: alice does lead jonah to her home, the cottage on a hill like she always described, but what he doesn’t expect is when she solemnly says that she’d introduce him to her parents she leads him to the back of the hill and in the foot of the hill he finds himself staring at her parents’ gravestones as she’s smiling sadly with a bouquet of flowers in her hand OH WAIT WRONG GENRE WASN’T THIS SUPPOSED TO BE FLUFF LMAO - kidding aside, i do hope cybird catches onto the idea of a story event of chosen suitor going to the land of reason with alice to meet her parents or smth!!! they did do a travel event in the jp ver, after all.... but i’m not keeping my hopes up haha....... _(:3 」∠)_

zero. self-indulgent thing of wanting to add a dance scene, pt. 2 - tho it’s in the latter part along with the prompt lmao!!! hmmm, i’m pretty satisfied with how this one turned out tho i had a little problem arranging the first half - the rest i relatively left untouched even after i added the rest of the days to the fic. hopefully, does well as a nice end to the fic itself..... tbh, the thought of summer dress alice + casual shirt & pants jonah both barefoot & running around like children in moonlit woods (don’t do this in real life folks) made me smile a lot. give me more soft-and-not-so-tooth-rotting-fluff scenes, cybird

also!!! since the prompt involved a guitar, i had a certain track on repeat lmao - you can listen to it here, and it’s the second to the last track titled umibe ni yurete (swaying in the beach)! (ノ^∇^)

and that’s all that i’ve got today!!! thank you very much for reading + hope you’re staying safe & well wherever you are!!!!（｡≧◇≦）ﾉ

#rundown.txt #u know what else took me so long to decide on this fic #a title + summary LMAOOOO #i wanted the title to be something related to the prompt but.... so much for that orz #i usually have no problems making them up but #why was this a struGGLE LOLOL

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