#this is my fashionable entry onto this site | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

felassan · 4 years ago

Text

Dragon Age Library Edition Volume 1 annotations & additional pages/art compilation

Dragon Age Library Edition Volume 1 is a hardcover collection of some pre-existing Dragon Age comics that was released in 2014. It comprises of all issues of The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep. In places, it includes additional annotations/commentaries by the illustrators and authors, as well as a few additional pages with additional art. iirc these additional annotations and pages/art aren’t featured or available anywhere else (in the franchise I mean; other people have probably put them online at some point I’m sure).

From what I can see at least, Library Edition Volume 1 is no longer in print, and as such listings for it on resale sites etc are.. price-inflated & prohibitively expensive (~£100+, which I’m sure we can all agree is just not reasonable or accessible to most people). Due to this, I’ve compiled the additional annotations and pages here in this post. Thank you and credit to @artevalentinapaz, who kindly shared the material with me. This post has been made with their permission. The rest of this post is under a cut due to length.

These commentaries are in the context of The Silent Grove, Those Who Speak and Until We Sleep. If you notice any errors or annotations missing, or need anything clarified, just let me know. I think the annotations are in chronological order. In places I elaborated in square brackets to help explain which part of the comics an annotation is referring to. A note before you proceed further: some of the topics referenced in the annotations/additional pages are heavy or uncomfortable. The quotes here are word-for-word transcriptions of dev/creator commentaries, not my personal opinions or phrasings.

(Also, I do recommend always supporting comic creators by purchasing their comics legitimately. I own each issue of these comics having bought other editions of them all legitimately. The reason I put this post together is because this specific Library Edition volume has been discontinued and the consequently-inflated cost is so high, rendering the additional material inaccessible to most.)

-----

The Silent Grove annotations

Illustrator Chad Hardin: “I used to be an environmental artist for video games, so I built a 3-D model of Antiva City using the program Silo. Many of the buildings are simple cubes, but a few are more detailed. Overall, I spent the better part of a day building it, but I used it again and again throughout The Silent Grove to maintain continuity in the backgrounds.”

Script Writer Alexander Freed: “Even working with David Gaider, it took me several drafts to find Alistair’s voice. His narrative had to convey his humor and self-doubt from Dragon Age: Origins while suggesting a newfound weariness earned during his years on the throne. For readers familiar with the character, he needed to seem like a changed Alistair - but Alistair nonetheless.”

Chad Hardin: “If you read a lot of comics, you might wonder why the majority of the heroes wear skin-tight suits. Well, I can tell you: they are easy and quick to draw. In video games, you build the model once and then animate it, so details don’t slow you down. In comics, everything has to be rendered by hand. Varric and Alistair’s outfits were quite detailed. It took me a long time to get used to them, and even longer to memorize the designs until drawing them was second nature - Varric’s knee armor in particular! Oy vey!”

David Gaider: “One of my favorite scenes in the entire series [when Varric and Isabela are disarming traps and picking locks together while Alistair looks on]. Isabela and Varric, doing what rogues do. I had a suggestion for how to put it together, but Alex managed to make it fit and did a great job with it.”

Chad Hardin: “I never used to keep any of the artwork I created for comics. I would just hand the pages over to my agent to sell. This page [when Alistair, Varric and Isabela are in a tavern together, with hookah in the foreground] I kept for myself. I love the hookah-smoking elves in the second panel and Isabela’s face in the last panel. I rendered the first four chapters of The Silent Grove in grayscale using ink washes, gouache and Copie markers.”

David Gaider: “For a little while, Varric [in these comic stories] was supposed to be Zevran from Dragon Age: Origins, which would have made sense, Zevran being Antivan and all. I know that some fans would have loved to see him, but the dynamics of the group just didn’t work as well. Then a planned cameo later had to be cut for space. Ah well, Zev, another time.”

Alexander Freed: “Isabela at her most dangerous [climbing up the side of the cliff]. This scene - featuring a scantily clad, dripping-wet woman who tends to flaunt her sexuality - could easily have come across as exploitative, but Chad did a lovely drop portraying Isabela as purely focused and deadly.”

Chad Hardin: “Isabela rising out of the water and scaling the cliff with the knife in her mouth is one of my favorite parts of The Silent Grove. It is one of those moments where the writing really inspired the art. Hats off to Alex and David. This is another page I kept for myself.”

Colorist Michael Atiyeh: “This is one of my favorite Dragon Age pages. Chad is such an amazing artist; I feel very fortunate to have had the opportunity to work with him.”

Chad Hardin: “I love that this page [when a guard spots Varric and shouts ‘Intruder!’] made it in uncensored. So many times in comics, I draw something and some stuffy lawyers come out of the woodwork and tell me to tone it down. Dark Horse and BioWare always let me have fun, and this turned out to be one of my favorite pages with Varric and Bianca. Any guesses to which word he is mouthing in the second panel?”

Alexander Freed: “Note the simple decency of Alistair as he gives his cloak, without comment, to Isabela. For all his flaws, he’s genuinely kind at heart - a rare enough trait in Isabela’s world that I think it’s much of what she values in him.”

Chad Hardin: “I love the opening panel to this chapter [the opening panels to Chapter 3, when the team are on a ship at sea]. It’s the image I use on the homepage of my website. This page was a gift to my cousin Wendy, who loves pirates. Seascapes with sailing ships might be clichéd in fine art, but for me it was a first.”

David Gaider: “I wanted to have this story center on the group travelling to a Witch of the Wilds other than Flemeth, and originally I had set it somewhere else - until I remembered a Codex entry from Dragon: Age Origins that offhandedly mentioned a witch in the Tellari Swamps. Brilliant! It’d look like I planned it all along. I didn’t.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love opportunities where I can show a change in the time of day as you move from panel to panel [when the ship heads towards and the team arrive in the Tellari Swamps]. I feel the palette of each panel is very distinct and beautiful.”

Alexander Freed: “Why did Alistair choose two people he barely knows to be his companions on this quest? We never make this explicit, but of course Varric is on the right track. Alistair wants to surround himself with people who don’t know him and won’t judge him, yet it’s Alistair’s idealism that Isabela and Varric work to preserve.”

Chad Hardin: “Another page where the writing inspired the art [when the group suddenly encounter a dragon]. I love the dragon bursting onto the scene and Isabela’s stare. Some writers will try to cram six or seven panels on a page like this and the pacing just doesn’t allow the artist to give each moment the right punch. Can you imagine if the first panel was crammed into a single square inch?”

Chad Hardin: “Yavana was one of the only characters that we did no preliminary sketches for. I don’t know how that happened, but thankfully it worked out.”

David Gaider: “I love how Yavana looks like a cross between Flemeth and Morrigan. Flemmigan? She’s totally Chad’s design, and it’s great. Typical for these witches, she never says things straight. In my mind, this Alistair is the one who did the Dark Ritual in Dragon Age: Origins - and I was half-tempted to have him lose his cool in this first scene [opening panels of Chapter 4] with her. Too early, though.”

Alexander Freed: “Through this whole sequence [the page when Varric aims Bianca at Yavana], Yavana is dropping cryptic hints and Alistair is refusing to play along. He’s met Flemeth and Morrigan - he knows Yavana won’t give him a straight answer, and he won’t give her the satisfaction of asking needlessly.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Sometimes it’s the little things on a page that spark my interest. Here [when the team navigate vines and mud to get to the temple], the sunset panel came out great and the mud looks really thick and gooey. It’s fun to focus on these details and make them stand out.”

Chad Hardin: “I hated drawing this scene [when Isabela gets kicked] where Isabela gets the boot to the face. Call me old fashioned, but I was raised to believe that only a coward would ever hit a woman (even a battle-hardened pirate adventurer). I draw at home, and my girls often watch me work in my studio. This was a page I didn’t want them watching me draw. I do like, though, that Isabela gets up, yanks the arrow out, and then soldiers on (and later extracts brutal revenge).”

Michael Atiyeh: “Poor Isabela. It seems I gave her more bruises and black eyes than any of the other characters. [when Isabela is yanking the arrow out]”

Chad Hardin: “It’s always interesting to go back and look at artwork because it reminds me of what was going on in my life at the time. I inked this page [opening panels of Chapter 5] at a ‘draw night’ session at an anime convention in St. George, Utah. I was one of the special guests, but I missed the first day because I was at my grandfather’s funeral in Las Vegas, Nevada. Seeing this page brought back those memories.”

David Gaider: “‘Bianca says hello.’ [quoting the panels being referenced] I adore Varric. I was tempted to have him narrate the entire series [in reference to these three comics], but then again I liked the idea of having each series center on one of the trio’s viewpoints. This book belongs to Alistair, but that doesn’t stop Varric from getting all the best lines.”

Alexander Freed: “Claudio, of course, is not a terribly sympathetic figure. But I wanted to emphasize that he takes this fight as personally as Isabela - he sincerely loved Luis and blames Isabela for the man’s death. I think it’s important to give every character, even the most loathsome, some dignity. [when Isabela and Claudio are fighting]”

Chad Hardin: “Payback! Here is where Isabela extracts her revenge on Claudio [when Isabela stabs Claudio]. I never enjoyed killing off a character so much. I particularly enjoyed putting the look of shock in his eyes. He had it coming. There is something satisfying about killing a ‘made man’.”

Chad Hardin: “Every now and then when drawing comics, I wish I could animate some panels and watch them as a cartoon. It would be great to see this sequence [when Yavana catches Claudio’s soul] in full motion as Yavana snatches Claudio’s soul, makes it reenter his corpse and then extracts information from him until he bursts into flame. It was a very Hellboy-ish moment. I enjoyed the movie that played in my mind while drawing this scene. Hope everyone liked the result.”

Chad Hardin: “As I mentioned on page 17, I rendered the first four chapters in grayscale, which made the black-and-white art look great, but had a neutralizing effect when it came to colors. By the time I drew chapter 4, I had seen the effect it was having and decided to stop using the grayscale so the colors would pop. When I saw this page [when Alistair says to Yavana ‘And we helped you find it’] in print, it confirmed to me that I made the right decision. I honestly feel this art was the best of The Silent Grove.”

Chad Hardin: “I practically painted these pages [when Yavana says ‘It is permitted. Tonight and only tonight’] in thumbnails hoping it would help me choose how to render them in ink. It is so hard trying to figure out how to get a full range of value out of just black and white. There are some artists and inkers that make this look easy. Mark Schultz comes to mind. Michael saved my bacon. Colorists really do so much work when it comes to rendering; this page came out awesome because of him.”

David Gaider: “Here we reveal the existence of Great Dragons (as opposed to High Dragons), and also that Yavana was the source of the return of dragons to Thedas after their departure for so many centuries. But why? There’s the rub, and not even Alistair can trust that she’s telling him the truth.”

David Gaider: “Here’s the controversial scene [Alistair killing Yavana]. I think some fans don’t like that Alistair did this, and have said they consider it out of character. I don’t. From his perspective, Flemeth and her daughters have been toying with the world for reasons that can’t be trusted. They dragged Maric away from his family, from him. One might think his judgement foolish, but considering what Alistair was capable of deciding even back in Dragon Age: Origins, it’s certainly not out of character.”

Chad Hardin: “[same scene as above] This was a controversial page, and there were a lot of people who thought it was out of character for Alistair to kill Yavana (I didn’t see it coming - I mean, you just don’t kill a Witch of the Wild), but here is the thing: this page is Alistair acting as a king. Yavana has been manipulating him, trying to play him like a pawn, and he just can’t allow that. There’s too much at stake, for himself and for his subjects.”

Alexander Freed: “The end? An end, at least [the trio walking off into the distance]. The series needed a note of closure while leading into Those Who Speak (which wouldn’t arrive until many months later). David tweaked the ending in the outline several times, and I did my best to balance resolving Alistair’s emotional journey without resolving the quest. It’s not as clean as I’d have liked, but fortunately, now it’s all in one volume...”

Those Who Speak annotations

Alexander Freed: “Capturing Isabela’s narrative voice was much easier for me than capturing Alistair’s - partly because I’d already written The Silent Grove, and partly because of my own writing proclivities. Rereading now, I wonder if I laid on the (mild) profanity a bit too thick. I’ll leave you to judge.”

David Gaider: “I like the additional detail Alex and Chad put in, letting us see more of Qarinus and more of Isabela’s crew. Alex wanted to give her crew more of a presence, and let her first mate have some face time, so they weren’t just parts of the scenery. Good call on his part.”

David Gaider: “I’m really fond of the formal getups Chad made for the party. Isabela’s actually comes from a concept we didn’t use from the cancelled Dragon Age 2 expansion, if I remember right. And Maevaris came from me asking for ‘someone who looks like Mae West’ - with the wonderful outfit all Chad’s doing.

Chad Hardin: “Maevaris. I love Mae. When David and Dragon Age art director Matthew Goldman spoke to me about designing Mae, they wanted her to be fully female with the exception of her biology. They told me to think ‘Mae West’. Well, when I think of Mae West, I think of her... womanly shape. So, drawing Maevaris was always walking a fine line between portraying Mae’s identity and her biology. The process endeared her to me.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Just like in The Silent Grove, we are introduced to another gentleman from Isabela’s past [when the team meet Lord Devon and Isabela threatens him]. As was the case with Claudio, he will meet his fate at her hands.”

Chad Hardin: “When I was drawing Titus, my kids asked me why I was drawing ‘angry Jesus’ or ‘evil Jesus’. I can’t remember which term they used exactly, but it made me chuckle. I was going for a mix of Rapustin and Joe Stalin, but ‘evil Jesus’ would do.”

David Gaider: “I’m not sure it’s apparent here [when Alistair says ‘I’d really rather not’], but Alistair was supposed to be using one of his Templar powers on Titus (that’s why Titus recognizes what he is on the next page) and disrupting his magic.”

Alexander Freed: “Isabela is witty and charming enough that it can be easy to forget that she’s not, in fact, a nice person. Even after finishing the outline, David was concerned about making her too unsympathetic - but I loved his approach in this series. The dark deeds Isabela commits - this murder included [Isabela killing Lord Devon] - are what make her guilt tangible and no easy matter to overcome.”

Alexander Freed: “I thought the notions of Isabela’s pride in her captaincy and dedication to her crew were some of the most interesting aspects of her character in David’s story. In scenes here [when Isabela is on her ship saying ‘Keep them focused and keep them sober’] and elsewhere, I did my best to emphasize their place at the core of Isabela’s world.”

Chad Hardin: “Most of the time I draw from imagination, but because of the complexity of this page [Qunari trying to board Isabela’s ship] I decided it would work better if I had photo reference. On this page are my nephews Jared (Varric) and Adam, my niece Melissa, my kids Erica, Tasey Michaela (Isabela) and Chad (Alistair), my friend’s daughter Amy, my wife Joy, and the neighborhood kids as Isabela’s pirate crew. (The crew member mooning the Qunari is out of my ol’ noodle.) I paid their modelling fee in pizza and root beer. Also, I had originally drawn cannons on Isabela’s ship, so if there are parts of it that look slightly wonky, chances are there was a cannon there.”

David Gaider: “Ever since the BioWare artists finally did a concept for female Qunari, I’ve been itching to include one in the game. It’s always slipped through my fingers, so I was going to be damned if I’d have a Qunari plot in a comic - without the same technical limitations - and not have one present.

Chad Hardin: “I had no idea this was the first time anyone outside of BioWare had seen a female Qunari.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I really like the lighting in this sequence [Isabela in her cell thinking ‘I haven’t eaten in days’], especially the strong white light and the characters in shadow.”

David Gaider: “The entire sequence of Rasaan interrogating Isabela was something I plotted out in detail when this series began. Here they discuss names - something treated in a manner peculiar to the Qunari, considering how much importance they apply to what things are called (and not called), because it forms the core of their identity. Isabela brushes it off, but as we find out later it’s also at the core of her identity. I liked that parallel.”

Alexander Freed: “To balance out the relatively static talking pages elsewhere in the issue, I hoped to make the interrogation and flashback sequences beautiful and full of information. I proposed an approach to Chad, and he wisely reshaped it into what you see here [the page with the scene where Isabela says ‘I’ve made a lot of stupid mistakes’]. Anything that succeeds on these pages should be credited to him; anything that fails is my fault.”

Chad Hardin: “Probably the most challenging spread I have ever done. My friend Stacie Pitt was the model for Isabela on this page, and my wife Joy was Rasaan. I saved these pages [around the scene when Rasaan says ‘Mistakes can be corrected’] for myself.”

David Gaider: “Sten from Dragon Age: Origins becoming the new Arishok of the Qunari was something we'd planned even during Dragon Age 2. This was a great opportunity to show that, and also to show that Sten didn’t acquire horns even despite the makeover the Qunari received in DA2. Hornless Qunari are considered special, and Sten is no exception.”

Michael Atiyeh: “I think that David, Alex and Chad handled Isabela’s flashback [to when she was sold by her mother] in an interesting way, and it created a nice flow to the story.”

David Gaider: “This was a controversial scene [what happened to the slaves Isabela was transporting], the end result of a lot of discussions between me and Isabela’s original writer on the team, and it went through a lot of revisions over that time. It needed to fit with the story Isabela told the player in DA2, but fill in the blanks of what she didn’t tell. We didn’t want Isabela to be someone who became who she is because she was ‘broken’ but instead as a result of her own actions - yet also not be completely beyond redemption.”

Chad Hardin: “These were hard pages [as above] to draw. It was difficult knowing that events such as this are part of human history, such as the Zong massacre in 1781, where the British courts ordered the insurers to reimburse the crew of the Zong for financial losses caused by throwing slaves overboard when faced with a lack of water. Horrifying beyond words.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Here, Isabela visits here crew, and I wanted to play up that she was in the light and they were in a dark cell. The light streaming through the bars gave me the opportunity to highlight Brand, who also had dialogue in the scene.”

Alexander Freed: “I struggled to find a way for Varric to contribute to victory without distracting from Alistair and Sten’s big fight. I’m happy with the solution: a brazen lie seemed appropriate to the character without taking away from the main show.”

David Gaider: “I believe my original plan had Isabela’s and Alistair’s fight scenes happening separately, but I like how Alex intertwined them in the script and I especially like how this ends up highlighting the differences between their characters when their fights are resolved. Isabela is defiant, revealing her name not because Rasaan demands it but because it’s her choice. In both cases, mercy is strength.”

Michael Atiyeh: “The brush I created for the clouds really gave them a nice watercolor effect here [on the deck of the ship, Sten calling Alistair ‘kadan’]. That brush has become a staple in my toolbox.”

Alexander Freed: “With the strong theme of names running through these issues, I liked the notion that Isabela had outgrown being, well, ‘Isabela’. When her name comes up in Until We Sleep, it’s largely played with ambiguity.”

Until We Sleep annotations

Alexander Freed: “The story of ‘Arthur’ is one of my favorite minor sequences [Varric infiltrating and fighting his way into the fortress]. It tells us something about Varric and it delivers plot information - and it’s also a reminder that our heroes kill an awful lot of people during these series and cope with it in their own ways. In general, writing Varric let me skirt the edge of metacommentary, which I greatly enjoyed.”

David Gaider: “Varric, as always, is my ‘voice of the narrator’. Here he’s expressing some of my own amusement at Alistair’s growing list of peculiarities [‘Your majesty is quite the special snowflake’]. To think, back at the beginning of Dragon Age: Origins he was just the player’s goofy sidekick who grew up in a barn.”

Michael Atiyeh: “By the third series, Until We Sleep, I really started to have a complete feel for what I wanted the final art to look like. As an artist, it’s important to continue to evolve and grow. The close-up of Sten’s face [same page as above] is a perfect example of how I wanted the rendering on the characters to look.”

Alexander Freed: “David’s outline called for a short, somber reveal of the Calenhad story by Sten. Fueled by my desire to avoid ‘talking heads’ sequences, I scripted it as a full-on storytelling flashback. David made sure the history worked (at least from the Qunari point of view), and Chad did a beautiful job handling it in a mere two pages.”

David Gaider: “Blood is important in Dragon Age, as a theme. Here we tie in the dragon blood that was mentioned all the way back in The Silent Grove and explain what it means at last. I was a bit hesitant to tarnish the legend of Calenhad the Great in this way, but I comfort myself with the knowledge this tale is but a viewpoint and not necessarily the entire truth.”

Michael Atiyeh: “Titus melting the attacker is a great example of classic comicbook storytelling and exactly what made me fall in love with the medium.”

David Gaider: “I was really happy with how Chad handled the reveal of Mae as transgender [the scene with Mae in the cell]. My worry was that Varric finding her disrobed might be potentially titillating, but I think he handled it nicely. I only wish there was more time to have Mae properly respond to being exposed in this manner, even to a friend.”

Chad Hardin: “I originally drew Mae as female [same scene as above], then changed her anatomy, so the psychological violation and humiliation she felt would be the focus. Hope that came across.”

Chad Hardin: “When in doubt, have Bianca shoot it [Varric shooting the artifact].”

David Gaider: “This scene [Varric and Bianca the dwarf] with Varric was one I wanted to do for a very long time. We’ve hinted that Varric’s crossbow was named after a real person, someone he never wants to talk about. Now I finally had the chance to show why.”

Chad Hardin: “Of all my Dragon Age pages, this scene was hands down my favorite, because Varric is my favorite. It was awesome to get to draw Bianca in her dwarven form. These scenes give you a glimpse of the love Varric and Bianca shared. It doesn’t tell you the whole story, but you can assume plenty from what is shown. You get to see Varric mostly naked (you’re welcome), but most of all you witness Varric’s heartbreak. I felt privileged to draw it. I got so obsessed with drawing this page I did an entire watercolor painting based on the last panel [Varric gets up to leave, ‘This isn’t right’ - ? or perhaps the scene where he opens the door to leave].”

Alexander Freed: “Unreliable narrators are always tricky - done wrong, they can just confuse the reader. But I’m fairly happy with Varric’s lies throughout this series, most of which are used to downplay the emotional cost of events rather than whitewash the events themselves.”

Michael Atiyeh: “This palette worked perfectly [Varric standing in front of the doorway/portal in the Fade proper], but I can’t take all the credit because BioWare provided reference for the Fade. I added the hot orange energy for the doorway, which looks great with the sickly green sky.”

David Gaider: “This scene [Isabela’s Fade nightmare] was actually inspired by a fan named Allegra who did a cosplay as a Qunari version of Isabela. I knew I wanted something like this for Isabela’s Fade section of the comic, but it didn’t really solidify until I saw the cosplay.”

Chad Hardin: “Isabela is more affected by her encounter with Rasaan than we were led to believe. A portent of things to come?”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love this shot of Mae in the fourth panel [on the page where Isabela is affected by vines]. I would be remiss if I didn’t mention what a great character she is in the series, and Chad captures her beautifully in this shot.”

Alexander Freed: “I saw this issue as a sort of downbeat victory lap. Over the course of the previous series, our protagonists largely came to terms with the inner demons the Fade confronts them with here. The fact they’ve come so far lets them win this last battle... but they still have scars that will never completely disappear.”

David Gaider: “Maric was in the first two novels I wrote for Dragon Age. Seeing Chad’s rendering of him as a regal, grown-up version of Alistair made me incredibly nostalgic. Some characters you just never let go of.”

Alexander Freed: “I feel Varric’s lines (‘tell yourself the stories you need to tell’ but ‘never live your own lies’) are the natural endpoint of all the exchanges he’s had with Alistair, starting from the end of Chapter 1 of The Silent Grove. And of course it plays off the story of ‘Arthur’, as well.’’

Chad Hardin: “I’m happy with the way Titus came off in these pages [Titus attacking and saying ‘The last magisters of Tevinter were so close’]. He looks threatening and powerful when fighting Alistair, Isabela and Varric, but genuinely confused by his inability to defeat Maric. Bye-bye, evil Jesus.”

Alexander Freed: “I can’t help but feel for Titus. He was unthinkably corrupt, but I see him as genuinely motivated by Tevinter’s glory. (The fact Alistair reads zealous ideology as a lust for power says a lot about both characters.)”

Michael Atiyeh: “I love the seamless transition of color from Titus’ magic to the dragon breath and then back into the orange remnants of his magic in the smoke. This was a really fun panel to color [Titus saying ‘Die by what wrought you’].”

David Gaider: “‘You are not the dreamer here. I am.’ I always have a scene or a line that’s in my head when I begin a tale, and this line of Maric’s was one I wanted all the way back when I started working on The Silent Grove.”

Chad Hardin: “I love this page [Maric and Alistair clasping hands]; Mike’s colors are spot on. We get to see all our heroes in an ideal state for the last time. This is the last Dragon Age page I saved for myself.”

David Gaider: “This scene kills me [Alistair destroying the Magrallen]. I knew it needed to happen; I knew I wanted it to happen even back when I began the story. Alistair lets Maric remain in the Fade rather than dragging him back to a world which has moved on. Alistair’s ready to move on, but forcing him to give up that hope... it makes me feel like a bad person.”

Chad Hardin: “Heartbreak for Alistair as he realizes that once again, as a king, he must kill: this time, his own father (granted, the Magrallen did most of the work). I really like how Maric crumbles away in the end. This was my last page, and the emotions on the page and in my studio were very final. Altogether, this was a year of my life in the making. On my last page, I wrote a thank you to everyone involved, the crew at Dark Horse and the crew at BioWare. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank them again. It was a thrill. Finally, a huge thank-you to the Dragon Age fan community, whose support was overwhelmingly awesome.”

Michael Atiyeh: “As the story came to an end, I knew I was going to miss these characters. Writing these annotations reinforces the fact that I hope to work with this great creative team again one day. Many thanks to Dark Horse and BioWare for the opportunity to work on Dragon Age.”

Alexander Freed: “The tension between the art and the narration on this page [the one with Alistair sitting on his throne while nobles argue] is something you can only pull off in comics. Neither tells the full, bittersweet story alone. Similarly, these issues wouldn’t have been possible without everyone on the team; thanks to David, Chad, Michael, and everyone I lack space to list!”

Additional pages / art

Library Edition Volume 1 also came with some additional pages, with additional art and commentary. These are as follows (I’m including them for the sake of completion, click the links to see):

1. Alistair and dragon concepts

2. Rasaan and Maevaris concepts

3. Sten, Titus and Yavana concepts

4. A series of cover pages 1

5. A series of cover pages 2

In case anyone has trouble reading the notes that accompany these images, I’ve transcribed them below:

1. Dragon Age Sketch Book

Alistair Concept

Dragon Age / Dark Horse

Chad Hardin: “The headshot of Alistair is from a finished sketch with a rejected armor design. In order to save time, the redrawing was completed on the computer, where tweaks and changes are quick and easy, if somewhat less glorious.”

[Dragon] Head #1 / Head #2

Chad Hardin: “Everyone liked this dragon sketch so much that Dark Horse printed it for signings at conventions. You can see I did multiple proposals for the dragon’s head. It was more effective than drawing the body over and over.”

2. [arrow pointing to Mae’s sleeve] concealed [I think that’s what it says anyway] daggers / shurikens?

Chad Hardin: “When designing Rasaan and Maevaris, I wasn’t exactly sure how their roles would play out in the series. Maevaris’ outfit was inspired by brothel madams of the Wild West. I thought it would be cool to have some weapons concealed in the formal wear. These never came into play in the series, but they were there in my mind.”

3. Chad Hardin: “Although we only see Titus in his battle garb in one issue, I really liked the design of his armor. The sketch of Yavana was done on the fly and served as both a rough preliminary sketch and as a panel layout. You have to work hard and smart in comics to keep up with the deadlines.”

4. Cover Artist Anthony Palumbo: “This was my first assignment for Dark Horse, and I was both excited and nervous. I drew pencil sketches of the main characters, scanned them and played with different arrangements, poses and color schemes in Photoshop.”

5. Anthony Palumbo: “Fellow illustrator Winona Nelson helped me by sitting for photo reference. I created the mock-jewelry with gold-painted Sculpey. That’s a quick photo of my own gaping maw, to help with the image of Varric.”

#dragon age #bioware #video games #artevalentinapaz #alistair theirin #fav warden #morrigan #queen of my heart #long post #longpost

63 notes · View notes

damnusillygoose · 4 years ago

Text

JERZA FANFICTION

A/N: This entry is a part of Sugar and spice, valentijn evenement 2021, theme 2: spice and smut.

A huge thank you to every single talented author who put their effort to take part in this event: Alastair, AsgardianHobbit98, GustavonkaLondon, HisagiKirigakure, Iceburg-sanCPX, Kakashi97, Kairomone, Kamil the Awesome, Karkatsbabe, Max333, Nazaki-Sama, NekoPantera, Phoenixreal, Potashiamu, RavenStyx, Sailor Silver Ladybug, Seth's Kiss, SerenaJones585, SesshomaruFreak, Spunky0ne and Yatsu Narurasuke

Link to ffn site:

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13823258/1/Jerza-college-AU

They could blame it on the fact that most lectures got cancelled today and hence, they had more time to kill or they could blame it on the fact that there was not a single soul present in the library or they could blame it on the fact that they had chocolate smoothie in the canteen today, but it remained as a matter of fact that Erza and Jellal were extremely horny today. Lust was oozing out like vapors from every fiber of their being.

'Erza', he whispered as his back slammed against the bookshelf behind the desk of reception, the books in the top shelf rankled from their collective thrust.

'I love how husky you sound when you whisper my name, Jellal', she said as she ventured raptly into his eyes as if stripping every fabric, every inch of clothing from his body. She pressed her boobs against his muscular chest while their tongues fought each other for dominance. She wanted to feel him even more. Their warm clothes were posing as a hindrance when all she wanted to do was touch and lick every part of him. Their breaths mingled as they continued to smack their lips against each other repeatedly, Jellal slid his hands from her waist to squeeze her ass suggestively.

They were only 2 months into their relationship and they were trying to take things slow on Erza's request but with the way their relationship was progressing, they could easily extrapolate onto a new level seamlessly.

'Not here, Erza. It's the fucking library!'

'Huh? Are you complaining? You squeezed my butt in the first place.'

'No, you started groping my inner thigh when we were revising the 'national income'.

'No, you licked your lips!'

'…. what?'

'You licked the whipped cream foam from your lips and it made me fucking crazy alright! I wanted to smack your lips right there and then!'

'Erza…. I drank the smoothie in the canteen…which was one hour thirty minutes before we entered the library…'

'…So?'

He moved towards her, cornering her into a cage as he thrust his palms right above her head, against the wall, his lips barely making any contact with hers, he didn't understand this woman at all.

'You are one hell of a horny woman Erza. And I love it'

----------

'This wasn't my fault that we were caught, Jellal'

'It certainly was since you were moaning so loudly when I was nibbling your ear. And how come levy recognized your moans right away?'

'…. maybe it was her intuition?', at least she tried, albeit in a lame manner.

'I think, maybe because you guys have your dorms next to each other and you probably finger yourself while reading the erotic novels she lends you.'

Goddamn, this man was fucking sharp.

'I-I don't know about that', she rambled her wordage as her lips threatened to deceive her.

'hmp', Jellal smirked knowingly, he knew her inside and out-no matter how much she tried to lie. He was observing her for the past two years, flirted with her for about 7 months before incurring the courage to confess her. So, did she apparently. They knew each other like no one else did. An intimate space which was only shared by them-emotionally and physically.

'And that ear nibbling! Dear god Jellal! I can't help it! That was my sensitive spot. It made me go crazy!'

'Everything makes you go crazy it seems, first it was the smoothie, then my lip smacking and then the ear nibbling'

'hmpmh, y-you-I hate you Jellal', moving her lips to make an adorable pout as she nudged his shoulder, making him stumble in his steps lightly.

'You won't when I start pinching your nipples when we get into my room. Wasn't that a part of your fantasy? I'll do my best to fulfill that', he whispered the last part so only her ears, which turned crimson from embarrassment, would comprehend his vulgar verbiage as he grabbed her hand firmly leading them to join the queue near the bus stop.

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

The bus was hurling along the slippery road, courtesy to the light drizzle which started suddenly. Magnolia was experiencing a heavy monsoon season and it was advisable to carry raincoats as the downpour could start without any warning.

The wind howled as the turbulent raindrops splattered against the window of their seat. However, there was a greater quagmire which Erza was toiled at.

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

The doorknob clicked as two partially drenched individuals entered a flat. Jellal's flat, which he shared with Ultear and Meredy, was redolent of a serene stillness- rendering out that both of them were indulged at their respective part-time jobs or finishing lectures at university. They closed the door and left their umbrella at the doorstep while dropping their bags on the mat. Jellal led her to his room and switched on the lights for the convenience of vision. Erza borrowed one of his shirts, which was practically now hers because she loved to wear it often, and hurried to the bathroom to take a quick shower.

Jellal smiled at her petite form when she returned-pausing to drop her a brief kiss, he took a towel and made a haste to take a shower himself.

She settled herself on his bed and switched off the lights. She still felt embarrassed to show her naked body. Though Jellal was extremely patient and considerate of her, she did want to go all the way with him this time. The wall clock ticked, reminding her of the fact that time was running out and she needed to be quick.

This time, she encouraged herself, this time for sure, we will do it! I will not chicken out I will not chicken out I will not chicken out I will not-

'Erza'

She jumped quietly when she felt his breathe against the skin of her neck, drawing goosebumps over her spine, an electric spark which passed from her neck down to her arms, ending up in her stomach which was churning with an abrupt, incorrigible lust.

She was so enraptured in her musings that she didn't even take cognizance of the fact that he had already finished his bath.

'What are you thinking about so intently, love?', he whispered tenderly, moving his lips along her cheeks.

She felt his fingers, cold from the shower, tugging at her chin, pulling her closer to him. She stuck her tongue out and captured his lower lip , sucking the juicy flesh fervidly.

Her eyes shut themselves in bliss when his hands tugged at her(his?) shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside nonchalantly. Her breasts, now free from the pathetic fabric, bounced in an enamoring fashion, drawing shivers over her back.

Despite the darkness, Jellal could very well make out the outline of her nipples, luring him in to ravage them with his parched mouth. Erza gasped loudly when he pulled her back against his chest, making her sit completely within his legs.

She could feel it harden. She could feel his member throbbing painfully, only few inches away from her quivering core. Two separated souls, yearning, begging to commix their existence incessantly.

He drew his breath sharply when she submerged herself into him, her cheek against his, her tongue delineating random patterns across his pulse.

She was being daring today, he reckoned.

Their cuddle session was a ritual, a practice to make each other comfortable with their nude form. He raced his palms against her sides as they moved forward to fondle her soft navel, his thumb gently tracing the area around her belly button.

They could never keep their lips away from each other. Their hunger knew no bounds, their lips were engaged in a fervent battle with each other, his soft strands tinkered her eyelids as she caught hold of the back of his head to pull him even closer to her. Their gasps and moans reverberated throughout the room, rivaling the spurt of raindrops outside.

He caught hold of her face with his hands when she changed their current position and settled herself in his lap, facing him completely, her bosom pressed against his chest entirely. She caught his hand, kissing it lovingly while moving her lips to kiss his strong foreman, his biceps and finally his broad shoulders

His free hand had an easy access to her back, her soft butt and the warm flesh of her inner thighs. She rubbed her core against his thigh eliciting rough gasps from his end.

She was so warm down there.

Her hands landed to grip his shoulders firmly as she threw her head back in uncontrollable pleasure when he slipped his warm palms over her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumbs. He carefully comprehended the outline of her breasts as he lurched his mouth passionately upon them, trying to take in as much as he could.

The sound of his lips smacking her boobs evoked an odd analogy of that of a baby sucking milk from their mother's bosom. He really did appear like a baby who was sucking her boobs hyper-actively. He moved his eyes to take a look at her face embellished with a blush. He smirked.

'Jellal, Jellal', she reiterated his name like a sacred prayer. Her chest heaving from pleasure, as she clutched upon his back for her dear life.

Erza's brain was in a deadlock. She left her limp form in his care as he ravaged her boobs, sucking and licking and fondling them again and again. Jellal, now ready to test the waters, moved his fingers down to her raging core, cautiously-without any haste, to get her steer clear of the fact that he was in no hurry to have sex with her. Her comfort was of paramount importance to him after all.

The sheets ruffled as she laid down on the mattress and he ran his lips across her navel, her lower abdomen which was precariously close to her vagina. Overcome by a sudden surge of trepidation, Erza covered her sex, pressing her thighs together in embarrassment

'J-Jellal, please…. It's kinda dirty down there.' She whimpered. She was insecure of the fact that her private parts weren't as clean as they show in porn even when she knew they go through a meticulous course of makeup and brush up. There was an unhealthy image stuck in her mind.

'it's not, my love. Let me have a look at it. If you won't communicate me your desires, I won't be able to fulfill them. I am just as you, a little clueless in matters regarding love.'

She hesitantly removed her hands and let him spread her thighs open, she still couldn't digest the fact that she, a person insecure of her body image, would let another human being look at her most intimate parts so easily.

'You cut your nails, right?', she asked breathlessly.

'Yes'

Jellal repeatedly kissed her navel, her palm, moving upwards to kiss her forehead, capturing her lips in an alluring kiss, long and deep, to make her feel at home- trying his best to wash away her stress, to calm her bickering nerves.

But that didn't tame the tempestuous dissonance in her mind. Her mind was at war, stringing every negative thought, every insecurity, every anxiety of hers along the surface. Sex is a game of emotional balance for women. Once you lose it, you end up losing the game.

Jellal kissed her eyelids softly as he raced his fingers downwards to her vagina. He got hold of her right thigh, lifting it a little higher. He cautiously brought his fingers forward, taking note of nervous her state, and slid his fingers into the warm folds of her vagina.

'You're so wet Erza'.

She really was, well she was.

She was vehemently at the mercy of her emotional turmoil. She could find no way, no fucking method to calm herself. Her eyes became damp. Her unsettlement became very much evident to Jellal when her vagina started becoming dry all of a sudden. If he were to proceed ahead- Erza would probably suffer some vaginal pain. He stopped.

She brought her legs upwards, bringing them closer to her chest, walling her trembling form like a barnacle.

'I am sorry, Jellal', she sniffled.' I am sorry'

'Erza', he caressed her trembling state reverently, 'it's okay Erza. Look at me. Come here.'

He urged her to get on top of him and as soon as she did, he enveloped her in arms, waiting for her heaving to normalize. She was trembling and she wasn't able to look him in the eye. She was ashamed of herself for being this gutless.

'I love you so much. You are my baby, the best part of my life', he repeatedly whispered soft reassures in her ears, peppering her face with soft snuggles, rubbing his palms along her arms, her back-anything he could reach and touch, letting her know-reminding her again and again that sex can wait but her becoming comfortable in her skin is much more important-not only for their intimacy but for her emotional health as well.

She didn't respond initially, didn't react for a while but as the rational aspect of her personality started surmounting the muddy swamps of her anxiety, she reached for the light at the end of the tunnel- his soothing voice and his delicate pampering.

She sniffled as tears ran down her face, her lips twisted themselves to utter an apology.

'I don't understand. Why are you apologizing?'

'for chickening out once again…'

'it's okay', he embraced her tightly, 'We can try another time. I am in no haste. Should we spend more time in nude to make you feel more comfortable?'

'Maybe. I guess'

Somehow deep inside Jellal's heart, some needless misapprehensions started mushrooming.

Did I make her uncomfortable? Was I a creep? Did she get turned off by me? Did I do something wrong?

As if miraculously sensing his plight, Erza looked up from his collarbone-straight into his eyes.

'It wasn't due to you sweetheart', she whispered, cupping his cheeks, 'it's me'.

'I…. don't understand'

'I got scared when you tried to finger me. I got scared about what was about to happen next, about when we would finally do it, whether it would hurt the first time or not, whether it would fit or not…. I-I just got scared.'

Those were some irrational fears but valid for someone who was going to experience sex for the first time. Sex isn't all rosy tinted.

Sex is trial and error. Sex is communication. Sex is cooperation. Sex is mutual pleasure.

He didn't know she was harboring these thoughts but he decided to pick this topic later on. They could deliberate upon it afterwards. Right now, his priority was to make her feel safe. He ran his palms, combing her crimson tresses with his fingers, trying to calm her breathing, trying to make sure she feels comfortable.

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

'There you go', Jellal said as he handed her a cup of herbal tea. She was sitting upright, wearing his shirt, against the wall where his bed was situated. She thanked him while holding the warm beverage carefully.

It had gotten a little colder as the storm didn't plan on stopping any time soon. He had received a call from his flatmates that they could get late due to trains being delayed. He didn't mind that since he wanted to clear up things with Erza once she felt like talking about it. So, he waited. He didn't push her. Instead, he tried to change the topic by opting to watching some funny vines on YouTube with her or the new show on Netflix which she was excited about.

Things weren't awkward between them but they weren't exactly smooth either. There was an issue which was bugging Erza constantly.

'Are you angry?'

'Never', he smiled, giving her temple a warm kiss.

'Is this a deal breaker for you?'

'its not Erza, really it's not'

'but it's the second time I did that… '

'As I said earlier, I am in no hurry to have sex with you. I just want you to be comfortable first. The rest can wait'

She didn't want to make analogy, no use in making a juxtaposition of Jellal and that idiot. But she felt he had to tell him.

'My ex..', Jellal stiffed at the mention of that asshole. That asshole who destroyed her self-esteem, 'It was a deal breaker for my ex'

'Your ex was an idiot ,sweetheart'

'Why didn't I meet you earlier Jellal?' she asked him desperately.

He had no answer for that, being at a loss of words. It was a question he often asked himself. Why didn't they meet earlier? Her ex damaged her self-esteem. His ex cheated on him. They both had terrible past experiences. Had they met each other earlier, they would have never been subjected to such torture… or is it?

'Erza, your experience was painful but do you think it was in vain?'

It was as if someone opened the lid of her jar of rational lucidity. The next words she uttered spilled themselves naturally.

'No', she smiled ruefully. She remembered her desperation. Her desperation to take her ex out of her mind. She used to internally scoff at people who cried from heartbreaks and now that she herself experienced this phenomenon herself, she wanted to visit and apologize to every single person she subtly mocked. Physical wounds could heal themselves habitually, but there was no fucking immediate ointment for a heartbreak. She remembered her struggles, the days she used to get headaches from crying herself to sleep, the days when she used to feel numb even when being surrounded by friends and family. It was excruciatingly painful but she learned a great lesson out of it. It helped her to regain her self-respect and heal herself without any unhealthy coping mechanism.

'No, it wasn't Jellal. It surely wasn't', she voiced her opinion in a different tone now, resuscitated with how far she had come and that her worth wasn't solely based on her sex appeal.

'And do you think we both would have matured this much if it weren't for those experiences?', probably not.

He always knew how to calm her down with his words.

'Why are you being so saint-like today?', she grinned, finally.

'Well, I don't know about that', his lips curved themselves while giving her a wink.

'Things… are so easy with you Jellal. Like, we talk about stuff we don't tolerate and place our opinions well, there is no suffocation-only peace.'

'Honestly Erza, it may seem like an overused phrase but I don't think I have ever connected to someone this well. It's almost unbelievable. Do you remember when we initially started talking to each other, before we started dating?'

'I do, we once talked for 5 hours straight on call. Crazy days!'

Laughter spilled in the, now well illuminated, room as they both decided to trace the timeline of their journey together.

'We had mid- semester break and hence we had the liberty to stay awake till early morning', he reminisced.

'I remember watching the sunrise with you at call at 5:30 A.M. I never talked to anyone for this long'

'We… have come a long way from back then, haven't we?'

'We surely have Jellal', she took his hand in hers and held them together firmly, resting her head, contently, on his shoulder.

Their mugs lay forgotten on Jellal's rack of books as they decided to take a quick nap while snuggling close to each other.

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

Later that night when she abruptly mustered some guts, now fully in control of her stable state, she lifted her arm and gently drew her slender finger tips across his naked back. The sheer lust in her eyes being evident from the sublimate rays shone upon her from the window. One look from her. That's all it took for Jellal to spring into action.

Gasps and moaned reigned supreme as they tried to touch each other as much as they wanted. She felt the embrace she received from him, slowly eradicate her anxiety, aiding her to take control of the situation.

Their bodies, covered in a sheen layer of sweat, trembled and wobbled concurrently as they tried different positions, different angles to find the most suitable one which matched their lust.

She was a little embarrassed, but so was he. They were in this together, as a team. Clumsily, and laughing at their mistakes, they managed to finally experience this sensation called 'sex'.

In the aftermath of the convulsion their bodies endured, they slept peacefully bundled together, spooning each other, in layers of quilt, not wanting the heat to escape their love nest. The smell of their orgasm reeked strongly into the room as they heaved in sync, incorrigibly from their snuffling. Skin to skin, his smell infused with hers, not giving a thought regarding how she looked like at the moment- all she concerned was about the man who held her lovingly in his arms, about the man who was coddling raptly into her collarbone, about the man with whom she reached her ecstasy with, about the man with whom sex wasn't a tool to jerk off but a method to delve deep within the soul of one another.

As the fulminating downpour dismissed its actuality, it left a cold trail of precipitation in the air. The corollary tailwind rolled across the vast expanse of the city, lulling two gentle souls, inside a cocoon of new found intimacy, into a warm slumber.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please leave a review! It will encourage me to write more. Constructive criticism is appreciated!

#jellal x erza #fairy tail #jerza #jellal fernandes #fairy tail 100 years quest #jerza week #jellal fernandez #fairy tail jerza #jerza fanfiction #fairy tail 100 yq

34 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 5 years ago

Text

WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN!

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 10,358 @spideychelleweek

Spideychelle Week Day 4: Meeting Again After High School

Summary: The fact that MJ bought a ticket to this event doesn't mean she wants to be here. It's a favour for a friend, who is not the man someone in the room is about to win a date with. No, that guy isn't her friend, just a date-skipping, heart-breaking ex from high school. Whatever. She's out of here the second they draw the name. It better not be hers.

“If my name gets drawn, I’m going to murder you,” MJ informs Betty when her friend leans against the bar for a breather. She swallows the end of her drink. “Just so you know.”

“You won’t get picked,” Betty assures her.

She isn’t looking at MJ, but at the rest of the people assembled in the hotel’s large event room, a space generously donated for the occasion. It better be one of them, MJ thinks. Anyone but her.

“I could.”

“You won’t,” Betty insists, turning and flagging the bartender to request a glass of cranberry juice.

“Daring,” MJ mutters.

“I’m working, remember? Anyway, look around. Entry was fifty dollars―”

“That I remember. You’re totally paying me back for doing this.”

Betty rolls her eyes and continues. “It was fifty dollars per entry and how many times do you think they put their names in?” she asks MJ, pointing a subtle finger at a clump of socialites.

“Jeeze, hope nobody blew their allowance,” MJ retorts sarcastically. She’s tempted to get another drink, but more alcohol in her system isn’t going to help her get through this. It may, however, help her get over it afterwards, when she’s back in her apartment.

“Well, one of them’s hoping to blow more than their allowance,” Betty says with a knowing little cock of her head.

“Yikes, Betty, you speak to your grandmother with that mouth?”

Betty ignores her and takes a sip of the cranberry juice the bartender sets before her. She places the glass back on the bar, staring at it for a minute, before she winces―pre-regret, is the emotion MJ’s learned to identify the look as―and asks the bartender to add a splash of vodka.

“I have a lot riding on this,” she tells MJ after a heartier swig of her newly-adult drink.

“I know you do,” MJ replies in a softer tone.

“The event was my big idea and I didn’t think my editor would go for it and now we’ve done so much promotion and if it doesn’t work out...” She turns sharply to her friend. “Do you think it won’t work out?”

“It’s already working out. You got a great turnout. Hell, you got me here.”

“You’re my emotional support though. You don’t count.”

“Ouch. Is that what you tell your fiancé when he comes to these things?”

“I wouldn’t have to. Ned would kill to be here. He’d be laughing his ass off. In, like, a supportive way,” Betty clarifies.

“Guess their friendship’s still strong then,” MJ mumbles. She frowns when the bartender removes her glass. Now she has nothing to do with her hands. She thumps her elbows onto the bar.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know it is. I know he’s still on your radar.”

“He is not. Besides his picture in your paper―”

“It’s not my paper,” Betty corrects, but she’s flattered. Tonight’s event should land her a promotion and that’s one step closer to the editor-in-chiefdom she’s striving to attain by 35. Though she’s still got six years to capture it, she loves to come in ahead of a deadline.

“―I haven’t seen him in years.”

“Well, you’ll see him tonight.”

“Will I?” MJ glances sideways at Betty. “Is he even here yet?”

“Fashionably late,” is her friend’s positive spin. “But it’s fine because I built a twenty-minute buffer into the schedule just in case.”

“You’ll need it. He’s allergic to punctuality.”

Betty sighs so loudly that MJ sits bolt upright.

“Can’t you even say his name?” she snaps.

“Are you ok? Do you need me to find you a paper bag to breathe into?”

“Shut up. God, what time is it?” Suddenly frantic, Betty checks her watch, twisting it around her wrist. She glances up at the stage, where a man in a generic black suit is stepping out to scattered applause. “He’s not supposed to start his speech for another fifteen minutes! Sorry, I have to…”

“Go on,” MJ encourages. “Boss them around. Sort it out.”

“If you see Peter arrive…”

“You’ll be alerted by my loud screeches of aversion,” she promises. Betty hesitates at that, so MJ gives her a gentle shove.

When the back of her friend’s pale pink gown disappears through the crowd, MJ rotates on her stool to observe the room. She still hasn’t said his name and she wishes she wasn’t so aware of it. It’s come out of Betty’s mouth a hundred times today. Besides that, it’s printed on signs around the room, along with his face―unmasked, naturally, to help move tickets. Good looks are always for sale and the newspaper Betty works for isn’t above leveraging that. The money raised by this event is for a good cause though, MJ has to allow that much. Two new clinics to service the city’s vulnerable homeless population, one staffing mental health professionals and the other a safe injection site as NYC combats the opioid crisis. It’d just be nice to attend a fundraiser that wasn’t somehow all about him.

She slips from her stool and realizes cutting herself off at one drink was a good idea; she has unforgivingly-high heels on tonight, the kind that make grown men cry, and her balance is still intact. MJ’s not using the intimidating height the shoes give her to compensate for the secret fear being here inspires. She’s not. Smoothing the front of the silky material of her pants, she lets them fall back into place before circling the room. There’s an art to it, moving through the wealthy strangers without actually mingling, and MJ thinks she’s gotten pretty good at making people scared to meet her eye... until a lackey from the mayor’s office steps directly in front of her and presses a leaflet, featuring the evening’s itinerary, into her hands. MJ sighs and slaps it down on the first tall cocktail table she passes. She doesn’t mean to look, but the white letters on a red background catch her eye: WIN A DATE WITH SPIDER-MAN! No thanks, MJ thinks, walking quickly away in search of Betty. I try not to make the same mistake twice.

Half an hour later, with the mayor’s long-winded speech running over before finally wrapping up, MJ watches her friend step up to the podium that’s just been vacated, clapping and beaming. It’s not her stressed smile either. Fuck. MJ exhales slowly. That smile says everything’s going smoothly, which tells her Peter’s here. Where is he? How did she miss him coming in? In spite of herself, she cranes her head around to look, not paying attention to Betty’s speech that thanks everyone for coming before shifting into introducing the guest of honour. She’s heard it before. Helped her friend practice. MJ was open to that kind of thing, weeks ago, before Betty pressganged-slash-guilted her into buying a ticket for the fucking Spider-Man lottery. She’s right though―they’ve sold thousands of tickets. She’ll never win. If she’s really lucky, Peter will never even know she was at this thing.

Which is definitely what she wants, MJ reminds herself, adjusting the lapels of the tightly tailored blazer she’s worn with no blouse underneath. For him to not notice her.

When Peter steps out from a side door with a big wave and a nervous smile, she’s deaf to the fanfare. Belatedly, she starts to clap, glancing around and dropping her hands when everyone else does. She doesn’t want to be the last idiot clapping. He’d spot her then for sure. As she watches him mount the low stage and let Betty guide him into position, MJ thinks he looks fairly anxious. Like, he looks nice, presentable, but unsure of himself. It’s the nicest suit she’s ever seen him wear, but his all-purpose one back in high school didn’t set a high bar.

He says a few words, voice coming out high at first as his eyes dart around the crowd (MJ steps slightly behind a very tall man and tells herself she isn’t hiding), then Betty takes over again, lightly touching his arm and eloquently rescuing him while keeping her event on track. She’s exceptional, MJ thinks. Distinguished master-of-ceremonies and gregarious gameshow host at the same time. MJ couldn’t do this job, which is why she switched from journalism to a literary agency three years ago. She’s better at negotiating than pleasing, better at handling people one-on-one. Except for him. She sees Peter step to the side and try to look excited as Betty holds a red pail (ok, a little lame―one of the interns failed in prop acquisition) for the mayor to submerge his hand into and pluck out a name. MJ had him one-on-one, looking only at her, with no sea of people. She was fifteen, unaware of his secret identity that still was secret at the time, and things didn’t work out. People think dating a superhero is such a fantasy. Disappointment was the boring reality.

A name’s drawn and MJ starts clapping along with everyone else. It takes almost half a minute for her to realize the name was hers.

They want to get her on stage, but she balks. Betty makes an excuse into the microphone, something about MJ not wanting to take attention away from the evening’s mission. The fact that landing a date with Spider-Man wasn’t the evening’s sole mission might come as a shock to some of the whining voices around her. Normally, she’d glare at them or make a sarcastic comment about their noble motivations, but she can’t. First of all, she won’t jeopardize the success of Betty’s event. Second, her human wall has stepped aside and Peter’s looking at her. And MJ’s looking back. Betty gracefully wraps things up on stage, her diamond engagement ring catching the light stunningly to add glamour to her showmanship, and then she, the mayor, and Spider-Man himself are descending into the crowd.

Does she flee? Is this MJ’s one chance to run?

But no, Betty weaves through to find her and grabs her hand like she knows what her friend’s plotting.

“You have to find someone else,” MJ says hurriedly. “Draw another name.”

“I can’t. You won fair and square.”

“I didn’t want to win.”

“I know.” Neither of them are looking at each other; they’re both looking in the direction Peter will inevitably approach from when he escapes the impromptu meet-and-greet.

“Tell them I’m sick.”

“Wouldn’t work,” Betty says. “The date’s not tonight.”

“Tell them it’s the beginning of a prolonged and ultimately fatal sickness.”

“Not very on-brand for Spider-Man to skip out on a date with someone terminally ill.”

“I’ll make it extremely clear that it was my decision. Would you take a last-minute opinion piece on why I hate Spider-Man and publish it tomorrow?”

“Babe, you don’t hate Spider-Man, you just don’t forgive the people who hurt you.”

Betty’s assessment is presented so casually that it startles MJ. It’s absolutely accurate, but she’s horrified that she’s been so easy to read. That’s the problem with having close friends. They know you and on top of that, they bully you into entering contests to date your high school ex. She’s never making a friend again.

“Yeah, I know,” MJ sighs, and then Peter appears, shaking one last hand, before turning their way.

“I owe you, I owe you, I owe you,” Betty hisses. “Please don’t make a scene.”

People are looking. Jealous weirdos.

“Hey, MJ,” he says, eyes catching hers. She breaks that shit off immediately, looking up and away from him.

“I go by Michelle now.”

“She doesn’t,” Betty cuts in.

“Oh... ok,” Peter says with obvious and understandable confusion. “So, you wanna...?”

He goes to put a hand on MJ’s back and she dodges it.

“What the hell are you doing?” she demands.

He glances uncertainly from her to Betty and back.

“Betty said they’d need to take a picture of me with the, uh, winner.”

MJ laughs bitterly.

“This just keeps getting better.”

Betty mutters a reminder: “No scene.”

So she acquiesces, following Betty over to the spot she previously decided on for the photo, next to one of the signs for the event. MJ doesn’t let Peter touch or guide her and he doesn’t try again. A photographer―signaled by Betty―approaches and she tactfully poses her friends to make them look friendly without physical contact. Betty gestures for her to smile and, for her, MJ manages a brief closed-lipped one, standing stiffly at Peter’s side. She’s a little curious about what his face is doing; is he being Spider-Man, beaming and happy to be here, or is he as uncomfortable as she is and just faking it until this evening is over?

After a dozen rapid clicks of the camera, the photographer and Betty walk away, Betty seeming to tell him what else she’d like shots of. Peter can return to his adoring fans, but he hasn’t yet and with Betty occupied, MJ’s floundering for a polite way to excuse herself. She makes the mistake of meeting Peter’s eye and he gives her a soft smile.

“You look so good.”

Heart seizing, she turns and marches for the exit, leaving him standing there.

―

“Thanks for taking the time to say goodbye,” Betty says over the phone, sarcasm perky and damning.

MJ groans. She stretches out on her couch and mutes the TV. It’s the morning after the event and she’s unproductive, not that it has anything to do with seeing Peter last night.

“I’m sorry. I had to get out of there.”

“You know, I think you’re the only person in this city, aside from criminals, who runs the other way at the sight of Spider-Man.”

“I didn’t run.”

“You didn’t stick around either. Peter could’ve used you there.”

“I’m not even going to respond to that.”

“Look, MJ,” Betty sighs, “I’m on your side, but do you really think it’s impossible that he’s grown a little since high school?”

“I haven’t seen any proof of that,” MJ huffs. “What I remember is him always showing up late, if he showed up at all, and let me remind you that he was late last night.”

“It’s the nature of his work.”

“Sounds like you’re defending him and therefore on his side.”

“The world is on his side and not all of us are stubborn enough to disagree with seven and a half billion people!” Betty exclaims. “Fine, I am on Spider-Man’s side, as an admirer of the good things he does, but as a friend, I’m on your side. A hundred percent.”

“You’re still making me go through with this date, aren’t you?”

“I have all the details right here in front of me, if you―”

MJ hangs up. Betty will forgive her.

―

The date takes place in the middle of the day in Central Park. It’s been two weeks since Peter allowed himself to be auctioned off, which has meant two weeks of MJ pleading with an immovable Betty to find a replacement and about two hours of stoic acceptance (just this morning). The time and location were selected for them based on what would result in the best pictures. Oh yeah, there’s a photographer here again, ready to spend the next three hours (three hours?) trailing them around the park to take candid shots of their afternoon. The paper’s planning a big image gallery for their website. According to Betty, this follow-up to her event will be their main photo story of the summer. Fucking excellent. All MJ could really do to prepare was wear comfortable white sneakers and a light denim jacket in case a wind came up or something. She’s already regretting that, with the sun right overhead in the sky and the air totally still around her. She moves her hair off her neck and turns to the photographer.

“He’ll probably be late,” MJ warns.

She, like the photographer, was early. Wanting to get today over with, she paid more attention to her willingness to participate (which might not last) than to showing up a full forty-five minutes ahead of the scheduled time. If this was a normal date, that might look like enthusiasm. Peter, in contrast, probably forgot this is happening today. He’s probably asleep or off somewhere being... Nope, here he comes, bounding up the path. Why did MJ wear the jacket? She’s so overheated.

“Hi,” Peter greets the photographer first, shaking her hand. Perennial people-pleaser, she thinks, but she did the same when she arrived. It just feels so natural to be judgemental towards him.

“And is it MJ or Michelle today?” he asks her.

Ooh, there was a little bite to that and MJ raises her eyebrows at it, though, if anything, she’s impressed that Peter’s developed some measure of a backbone.

“Michelle,” she says. She doesn’t offer her hand. He doesn’t reach for it.

The photographer’s probably great at her job, she wouldn’t have been given this assignment otherwise, but patience must be her next best quality; MJ knows she and Peter aren’t making today easy for her. Things are tense between them, their body language is awkward, their attempts at conversation are worse. She’s done a great job at keeping him out of her life, despite their best friends being engaged, and she really doesn’t want to ruin that by talking about her work, her hobbies, her family, her apartment, her aspirations. None of it. That doesn’t leave a lot and MJ isn’t encouraging Peter to share details of his life either. She’s spent such a long time striving to remain ignorant of everything Peter-related. Basically since they graduated high school.

The best photos of them will probably be at the pond, where they fed ducks and MJ felt her expression soften, if not quite break out into a smile. Then, there was the ice cream. There should be a few useable shots there, seeing as eating doesn’t require smiling, meaning MJ’s lack of a grin won’t seem odd. The best images will probably come from right after. MJ’s ice cream dripped on her jacket, which seemed like divine intervention at first―she finally had a reason to remove it that wouldn’t look like she was trying to get Peter to watch her take her clothes off―until he stealthily grabbed the jacket from her hand while she was trying not to dump the rest of her ice cream. He hasn’t given it back. Probably looks so fucking chivalrous, carrying it around for her and all MJ can do is feel exposed and too aware of her bare shoulders in her green tank top. The self-consciousness makes her grouchy and there’s still an hour of this date to go.

“Michelle, I know you don’t want to be here,” Peter informs her while the photographer’s a short distance away, changing out her memory card, “but this isn’t about you. You could at least try a little bit.”

Her face floods with angry heat.

“I don’t want to be here? Neither do you. You wish I was anybody else.”

His head jerks back.

“What? No, I don’t. If anything, I’m relieved.”

“Are you?” MJ’s suspicious.

“Well, I was when the mayor picked your name. I thought it might be nice to catch up with you rather than have to entertain some rich stranger. You don’t know how exhausting that is.”

She laughs and he spins towards her, clearly upset.

“Why do you have to react like that, like what I do is a joke?”

MJ holds up her hands.

“I’m sorry being with me is so tiring for you. I guess that’s why you were never around when we were supposed to be together.”

“We’re talking about high school now? You know why I missed dates.”

“Or showed up late, or left early,” she continues for him.

“Nobody knew then, dammit! I was all on my own, trying to be me and Spider-Man and, at the time, being him felt more important. Now, I can apologize for that, but I can’t fix it.”

MJ snorts.

“Would you even want to?”

“MJ,” he says, giving up on calling her by her full name, “we were fifteen.”

“And that means what? That it wasn’t a real relationship?”

A laugh bursts out of Peter that the photographer may have caught because MJ can hear her snapping photos of them again. Hopefully, she can’t see the wounded, incredulous look on MJ’s face from that angle.

“It means I was crazy about you and I had no idea what I was doing.”

“You could’ve told me about Spider-Man,” she says, lowering her voice and smoothing her expression as the photographer circles them.

“I kept trying to figure out how,” he admits. She studies his face in silence for a few seconds. “You dumped me before I could.”

“Yeah, well, it wasn’t very much fun being ignored.”

“I know. That’s been my life ever since.”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“Please. You aren’t ignored.”

“I meant by you.”

She opens her mouth but finds herself shaking her head instead of speaking.

“MJ...” Peter starts.

“Don’t,” she tells him. “Not... right now.”

MJ starts walking again, but not before seeing his eyes turn hopeful at the way she left things open. Peter skips to her side. They look sideways at each other and the atmosphere feels suddenly lighter. It’s been a long time, but also, maybe not so long. It pleases and terrifies her to see that he’s still Peter, even with the fame he’s gained over the years.

“Would you want to have dinner?” he asks quietly. “I think it’s pretty obvious that we have some things to sort out.”

She eyes him, wary.

“When?”

“Tonight?” Peter proposes. “Why not, right? I don’t know what these last two weeks have been like for you, but I don’t want to have to do that again. Sit around and wonder what you were thinking and how you could possibly still be so mad at me.”

MJ’s already told him she won’t get into that again at the moment, but now that he’s offering her an opportunity, she’s unsure if she wants to discuss their history at all. Maybe fourteen years later is still too soon.

“I’m wearing shorts,” she says, like that’s a feasible excuse. Peter looks down as if to confirm that.

“It’s not like I’ve never seen your bare legs before. MJ, come on,” he laughs when she strides away over the grass.

What is this looking like to the photographer? Playful? Adventurous? God, MJ doesn’t envy her or the person who’ll write the story, trying to weave a narrative out of this.

“You can go home first and change.”

“And where am I meeting you?” she asks, like she’s considering the idea.

“My place? Because it’s private,” he explains quickly at the look on her face. “I assumed you would’ve had enough of being watched for one day. If we went to a restaurant or something, everyone would stare.”

Ok, that’s reasonable, she supposes. She still doesn’t rush to agree.

“Just to talk?”

“Just to talk,” Peter confirms, jumping ahead of her and walking backwards so she’s forced to look at him. “I can make dinner too. What do you like? I have to buy groceries anyway.”

MJ halts.

“I’m not picky.”

“That means pasta, unless you say otherwise. Remember, I was raised by an Italian woman.”

“Fine.”

“Ok.”

Peter nods and gets out of her way so they can walk side by side again.

“By the way, all I meant by the leg thing was that I’ve seen you wear shorts before.”

He’s grinning. Such a little liar. MJ laughs loudly, surprising herself.

“Yeah, sure, Parker.”

They walk along in companionable silence for a few minutes, running down the clock on this date. Suddenly, Peter’s head tips towards her and he mumbles something. She asks him to repeat himself.

“Can I touch you now?”

“What?”

“Like, touch your back or hold your hand. Just so whoever puts this article together has something to work with.”

Yes, it’s the same thing she was thinking a little while ago, so she should agree to it, but she was also thinking that before he made another reference to her bare legs, and all the implication behind that comment. Would she say the fact that he brought it up surprises her? Yes. (Does that night still cross his mind?) Would she say there’s any sexual tension between them now because of it? Of course not. (Is she the only idiot here who just realized the feelings she swore she buried before junior year were in a very shallow grave?)

“Gimme my jacket back,” she says. When he does, she sighs and offers her hand in exchange.

―

“Theoretically,” MJ says, hunching and twisting to check her pinned-back hair in the bedroom mirror she hung a little low, “what would you wear to a first date at a guy’s apartment?”

Betty’s gasp comes across loud and clear on speakerphone.

“MJ, you have another date today? I know the one with Peter was technically fake, sorry to all the readers who are definitely going to ship the two of you, but don’t you pace yourself? I had no clue your dating life was so, um, active that you had to squeeze two in on the same day. And don’t tell me how that sounded. I hear it now.”

“None of that was advice.”

“You don’t really want my advice. I bet you’re already dressed. You just needed an excuse to call me because you’re nervous and too proud to ask me for a pep talk.”

“Ok, stop making me feel so fucking transparent!”

“Who’s the guy?” Betty wants to know. “What do we know about him? First date at his apartment, that’s―”

“It’s Peter.”

“I’m sorry, did you just say it’s Peter?”

“Yes, it’s Peter, so you don’t have to worry about me going over to his apartment.”

“But... how do you know where it is?” She can almost see her friend’s panicked expression.

“He texted it to me.”

“He has your phone number?”

“Why do you say that like it’s the most scandalous part of this situation? We exchanged numbers at the park this afternoon.” MJ steps back, still studying her reflection. She’s done the top half of her hair up and it looks pretty even.

“Right, at the park, on the date that you said would be the first and last time you cross paths this decade.”

“Maybe it’s like Cinderella and we get an unlimited number of meetings until midnight.”

“What if you stay later than midnight?”

“No reason to,” MJ assures her. “We’re just going to talk for a bit and eat, I don’t know, spaghetti or something.”

“Romantic.”

“Only if you’re a couple of dogs in a Disney movie.”

“Ok, now I’m curious,” Betty confesses. “What are you wearing to this absolutely not earth-shattering spaghetti dinner? If you say jeans, I’m staging an intervention.”

“Why not jeans?”

MJ says it to provoke her, reaching awkwardly around to fasten the hook at the top of her dress’s zipper.

“I love jeans,” her friend says, “but this isn’t a jeans occasion.”

“No?”

“MJ, quit it. Promise me you’re wearing something nice.”

“Don’t worry, Mom, I’m wearing something nice.”

“Good. Put some condoms in your purse.”

“Betty!”

“Just one condom? MJ, it’s always better to be pre―”

MJ hangs up on her again. She’ll have to make up for this one.

―

His apartment isn’t what she was expecting. It isn’t a dump, but… Peter (or at least his alter ego) has to be one of the most renown living New Yorkers. MJ was picturing a space somewhere between ‘tasteful showroom of a modern furniture store’ and whatever the Spider-Man equivalent of Paris Hilton’s interior design sense is―red instead of pink and framed pictures of himself everywhere. This place isn’t any nicer than hers. Actually, it’s a little shabbier around the edges. She must have left her poker face at home because Peter (who, in her experience, is largely oblivious to her feelings) seems to know exactly what she’s thinking.

“I give most of it away,” he calls to her from the kitchen. He paused in his cooking to let her in, but he’s back at it while she tours his cramped living room.

“Give what away?”

He laughs.

“Whatever they try to give me. Free stuff, prize money for being chosen as Hero of the Year or something. I don’t know. I stopped paying attention. I just donate everything.”

“Are you trying to come off all noble and shit?” she accuses. She’s smirking though, with her back to the kitchen.

“No, just trying to guess at the questions you want answered. You don’t do much of your thinking out loud, you know that?”

“Why should I?”

She picks up a framed photo of Peter and Ned at the beach. When she sets it back down, she notices that the one beside it, clearly from the same day, is a shot of Peter and Betty doing a synchronized leap on the sand; Ned must be the photographer. What makes her almost knock it off the shelf is her jerky reaction to seeing Peter in nothing but swim trunks. With a surreptitious glance in Peter’s direction, MJ steadies the frame and steps away, face hot. Yeah, she’s seen his body before―when they were teenagers. Another decade and a half as a career ass-kicker and justice-bringer hasn’t exactly hurt his physique.

Ok, so he looks like a damn underwear model. Whatever. MJ can compartmentalize that and move on.

Joining him in the kitchen, she toys nervously with the box she brought. There’s a chocolate cake inside and she’s too wound up from nerves to be able to tell if it was the right thing to get. Is it too childish, like she sees this evening as some kind of Sixteen Candles throwback to the romance of their youth? Is it too decadent, like she’s trying to show up Peter’s cooking skills? God, she doesn’t know. MJ starts to wipe her clammy hands on her dress before spinning and hiding them behind her back instead as she leans backward into the counter to watch him.

She doubts this guy has experience cooking for an audience (and secretly, she’s relieved at the thought that there hasn’t been a parade of hookups through here). There’s food on his short-sleeved button-down, utensils gripped desperately in both hands, and his feet are bare. Not that it’s a problem, in his own home, it’s just weirdly vulnerable. Although, MJ’s are bare too. It’s summer and she wiggles her toes freely, anxiously, wanting to both have something to do and to stand here observing him without getting involved. Being in Peter’s apartment is already so involved.

“Can you grab the bowls for me?” he suddenly requests and MJ jerks, realizing she’s been staring at the way his shirt hugs his shoulders.

She does it without replying, retrieving the bowls from where Peter points and handing them off with a civil little nod. The closer she is to him, the quieter she seems to get. It feels wrong and like the complete opposite of what happened earlier today. This is her opportunity for closure, isn’t it? If this is really the end, like she told Betty it would be, then that’s why she’s here tonight; they’ll hash things out and spend the rest of their lives peacefully keeping their distance―as opposed to maintaining it irritatedly, the way MJ’s been doing. Why else would she have come?

“Aw man,” Peter sighs as he dishes up their food. He’s just noticed the stains on his shirt.

“Yeah, you were a bit of a hurricane in there.”

“Sorry,” he says, setting the bowls on his tiny kitchen table, “I’ll… I’ll just… You can start eating. I’ll be right back.”

MJ’s going to refuse for the sake of good manners, but her mouth closes almost as quickly as she opens it because Peter starts unbuttoning his shirt faster than he turns away. She almost knocks over her water glass. He might be the one with food on his clothes, but she’s a fucking mess tonight. Quickly, she averts her eyes as he stumbles to the door that must conceal his bedroom, presumably for a fresh shirt. She can only try to calm her heartrate and twist her bowl back and forth on its placemat in his absence. Conclusions. Endings. Closure. Renewed attraction, MJ thinks―staring down into the colourful splay of thin sauce, vibrant vegetables, and bright seafood―is not on the table.

And it really might have worked out the way she planned if Peter had redressed completely in his room, instead of walking out still pulling his t-shirt down. Instead of shuffling towards her as he tugged it into place. Instead of catching her staring at his naked stomach.

She’s flustered by being caught, hands fluttering over her silverware, and by the feeling of him looking at her. Why is he doing that? To make sure she knows he caught her? She’s embarrassed enough. When she reminds herself that she’s a successful, independent adult and not the teenage girl whose heart was broken gradually by neglect, she has the strength to glance up. He isn’t looking at her anymore. They eat dinner like regular people. If anything, they’re more courteous versions of themselves, skimming the details of the personal lives they didn’t discuss earlier in the day. He’s curious about her job; she asks after his aunt, her last memory of whom is a smiling face behind a camera on graduation day. This must be part one of how this goes: catching up.

Towards the end of dinner, when chewing has loosened MJ’s face enough to let the smiles slip out and the wine Peter eventually remembered to open has added more colour to his cheeks than their afternoon in the sun, they slide smoothly into part two: reminiscence. They’re not drunk, there’s just something awfully tempting about the freckles strewn across his nose. Self-policing the way she’s drawn to him makes MJ gawky and making conversation gets dicey. One minute it’s football games and decathlon practices, the next it’s the dates he missed and the passive-aggressive responses she gave him. He’s wounded, she’s flippant. He all but orders her to stay seated while he clears the table; she tosses her hair over her shoulder and swishes out of her chair to get the cake.

“You could’ve called me to say you weren’t coming,” MJ snaps, trying to unknot the ribbon securing the box. She presumed it was purely decorative; it turns out to be shockingly sturdy. “One of those times. Any of those times. But you just… never showed up.”

“I was preoccupied. I was saving people, on my own,” he retorts. She hears the dishes clatter into the sink. “I thought you were the one person I wouldn’t need to explain myself to.”

“I didn’t need a justification, Peter, but it would’ve been nice to know why you were never there.”

“Yeah, and it would’ve been nice if you could’ve been a little less selfish.”

His words land like a slap and she spins around. Likely spotting her movement from the corner of his eye, he turns from the sink opposite, bracing his hands behind him.

“I was selfish?” she echoes. “Because I was fifteen and naïve enough to think that when I finally let somebody in, they’d do the same and be there for me?”

“A lot of people needed me!” Peter insists. His chest is heaving.

“What have they ever given you in return?” she demands. “Money that you won’t take? Awards you can’t use? A date―” She laughs and gestures to herself, hands sweeping her body. “―you sure as hell never asked for?”

“That’s not nothing.”

“It is nothing! I gave you everything!” MJ shouts at him. The roar of it doesn’t stop her so much as convince her that she’s started something she can’t stop. “I went home with you after that party because your aunt wasn’t going to be there. Because you told her you were spending the night at Ned’s.” It’s controlled fury in her voice now and Peter doesn’t try to halt the recitation. “We were so shy with each other that we barely managed to hold hands in public, but I fucking felt something that night, so I got on your bed and said I was ready and when I woke up afterwards, you were gone.”

“There was an emergency,” Peter murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” Her voice isn’t loud, but it flicks out like a whip. “What was it? Can you remember? Do you remember it better than you remember us taking each other’s virginities because, honestly, Peter, I think my memory of realizing I’d been left all alone in that apartment is stronger than what happened before that.”

“Don’t. Don’t say that.”

“So it’s nice, actually,” she continues sarcastically, “if us having sex only comes in second place for you too.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“I. Don’t. Believe. You.” Well, she hasn’t cried, so that’s something. She points beside him, hand shaking slightly, at the black block holding a selection of knives. “Pass me a knife.”

“What? No.”

“It’s to get the stupid cake box open. Pass me a fucking knife!”

Peter pushes away from the sink, hard, and holds her eye as he nudges her out of the way and snaps the ribbon with his hands. She’s breathing heavily.

“I don’t know if you like chocolate ca―”

“No,” he says firmly. “We’re not done talking about this. You hurt me. I never meant to leave you there, ok? I came back and you were gone and then the next day you dumped me. It tortured me that I left. It seemed like I was doing the right thing, going out to help people, but how could the right thing have made me lose you? I thought about that night constantly. Not the part where I walked out on you or you walked out on me, but the good part, and I felt guilty about that, like… like I wasn’t supposed to enjoy it? Because it must’ve been wrong since things went downhill for us so fast after that.”

“A mistake,” MJ summarizes. Voice flat. Dead, even. All these years she’s kept that memory and meanwhile, he’s been thinking it never should’ve happened.

“It wasn’t the mistake. I was.”

As mad as she is, she can’t let Peter put this on himself. It just wouldn’t be factual.

“You couldn’t be a mistake. It’s not in your DNA.”

“I never felt like that again,” he admits, offering her something in return for her reassurance. “The way I did the night we were together.”

“You haven’t had sex since then?”

“Oh, no, I have, it’s just never had the same…”

“I know,” she sighs and ignores the look he darts at her. She can’t stop him from replying though.

“Your sex life’s missing something too?”

“That is absolutely none of your fucking business.”

MJ flips the cake box open and crosses to the knife block, extracting a blade with a smug smile. She returns and slices the cake cleanly.

“Plates, please,” she instructs.

“You asked me first,” Peter points out.

“I didn’t make you answer.”

They are not talking about this, she will not talk about this. Not when she’s seen too much of his skin and they’ve finally dumped some of the baggage they’ve been lugging around this hellish airport of a somewhat-grown-up life. No, she’s far too attracted to him right now, with his glorious abs and his emotional intelligence. MJ is going to serve the cake and secure herself some goddamn closure.

“I just think it’s interesting,” Peter observes. He leans on the counter beside her. Sonofabitch, look at those forearms. “That neither of us has experienced anything like that with anybody else.”

With the flat of the blade, she lifts a slice and lays it on its side on the plate he lazily holds up for her.

“Probably just a numbers thing,” she says lightly.

“Meaning we are gonna have sex like that again?”

“Not with each other. Don’t get your hopes up, Parker.”

He grins and she realizes that, in the process of attempting to dissuade him, she might’ve just flirted with him. Completely by accident. MJ rolls her eyes and gets her own piece of cake. With a jerk of his head, Peter leads her over to his couch. When she sits at the far end, he doesn’t try to get too close, taking the other end. They spend a couple of minutes eating. She’s relieved that the cake’s good and that he seems to like it. He did a nice job on dinner.

“I’m a little embarrassed about the t-shirt,” Peter says eventually. She glances over and he looks down at his chest. The temperature’s changed again though; he isn’t being coy or suggestive, just genuinely humble. “I should own more dress clothes, but… I don’t really have an excuse.” He laughs. “I don’t really like them.”

“You’re fine. You’ve always been a t-shirt guy. Maybe this is an ‘if it ain’t broke’ situation.”

“You look really pretty.”

MJ blushes and feels silly about it. Her eyes drop to her plate and she watches herself push chocolate frosting around before piling it up on the cake she has left.

“I think I might be too old for ‘pretty.’”

“Bullshit.” Peter edges nearer and she looks up at him to see him pointing his fork at her. “You’re not too old to be called pretty and I’m not too old to be excited over chocolate cake.”

“It’s good, right?” she agrees with a smile.

“When you opened that box, I just about lost my mind.” He grins at her. “If we hadn’t been fighting when…”

MJ frowns when he trails off.

“What is it?” Her shoulders fall slightly. “Did you sense something? Do you have to go?”

“Unless there’s a meteor headed for Earth, I’m letting the cops handle things tonight,” he promises. “You just… you have chocolate on your lip.”

He traces the spot on his own face and she wipes at hers. Without Peter touching her to do it himself, this shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the other thing he said won’t let her move on.

“Why should I believe that?” MJ asks. There’s no nastiness in her tone. She sets her empty plate aside and after the final bite of his cake, Peter copies her.

“Because I learned my lesson about priorities really, really well a long time ago.” He shifts closer again and she angles her knees towards him, heart clamoring.

“Are you sure?”

“I think so,” he tells her, face full of honesty. “I’ve never officially tested it because…” Peter shrugs. “…there was never another you.”

“She could be out there.”

“There’s only you,” he says softly, shaking his head. MJ didn’t quite notice when the space between them disappeared, but his hand is gentle on the side of her neck. “And you’re right here.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just happen to take my fake dating responsibilities very seriously.”

“This one isn’t fake.” His fingers slide around to the back of her neck.

“I’ll have to update Betty,” MJ says with airy thoughtfulness as her gaze dips to Peter’s mouth.

“I think you might still have some frosting on your lip…”

Apparently, he can still be as much of a cheesy idiot as he was at fifteen and she’d smile if she wasn’t so terrified. Their lips brush lightly, then Peter seals them together, holding her fast. She cries out a little at his certainty. That’s what it feels like, but certainty in what? In his kissing abilities? In them, here together? MJ isn’t sure where she stands on that issue, only that it’s far from where she started this evening, with her self-delusions on closure and walking out of this apartment either more at peace or completely unchanged. So much for those possibilities. She hadn’t accounted for what their second first kiss would feel like.

They aren’t kids anymore, so she can skip the tentative shit.

MJ grabs his face with both hands, fingers curling beneath his jaw, and kisses him back with a greedy feverishness. There, let him see what she wants. If he rejects her, he rejects her. He’ll never do worse to her than he already has. But Peter doesn’t ease off, doesn’t try to backtrack to a scrubbed-clean Disney kiss that compresses romance to two dimensions. He lets go of her neck and grabs her by the hips, hauling her forward. She takes his shoulders and settles her knees on the couch on either side of him. Right away, he pulls her down and she doesn’t resist, grinding in his lap with her dress accordioned between them. Peter’s hand finds the edge of her skirt and snakes up her inner thigh to cup her over her underwear. In the same motion, he rubs his fingers against her through the lace. She breaks the kiss wetly and pants next to his ear.

“I wanna take you to my bedroom now,” he tells her, still rubbing while she rubs right back, seeking the friction with a jerk of her hips, “unless there’s some other way you want tonight to go.”

“No, I think we definitely better fuck.”

With that unambiguous assent, Peter hitches her hips against his and stands up with his hands secure beneath her ass and thigh. MJ wraps her legs around him and crosses her ankles.

So, this is Peter at 29. His feet slap the floor of his apartment and their mouths meet over and over with passion and imprecision. He makes it from the living room and into the kitchen without hitting anything; the air smells like dinner as they pass through and what wine the pasta in her belly hasn’t absorbed makes her press her abdomen against his cock while she’s still in his arms. He shoves her to the nearest wall and rocks hard between her thighs, squeezed close by her heels digging into his firm ass. At this point, MJ doesn’t particularly care if they do this on a horizontal surface. There’s a lot stoking this fire and while there wasn’t this much heat in their history (they had sex one time and it was gentle, caring, unhurried), the small flame’s kept burning all these years, ready to be fanned high at the first opportunity.

Peter gathers her against him and heads for his bedroom instead. His willpower’s something, with how fucking solid he is in the front of his jeans. (Jeans, Betty! MJ thinks. Goddamn double standard.) He doesn’t stop to turn on a light―taking her right to his bed and never letting her go as he lays her back―but the late summer sun provides a fading glow through his window and the door he didn’t shut behind them lets warm light spill in from the kitchen. MJ’s breathing hard as her hands, trembling with impatience, peel the t-shirt off of the adult boy she knew. Briefly, he hoists her hips to remove her underwear. She’s embarrassed when he draws them down her legs with a look of realization on his face and holds them up for the light to shine through the lace.

“Even with the denial, it didn’t seem impossible that we might end up here,” MJ offers before Peter can comment. She sighs and admits the rest. “I also have a condom in my purse.”

“We won’t need it.”

He dives down, kissing her neck as his hands smooth her dress up her thighs. With her knees bent, it doesn’t take much to make the material pool at her hips. But MJ pushes at his shoulders and Peter lifts his head.

“Like hell are we not using a condom.”

“No,” he says, expression earnest (there’s his face the first time he asked her out), “I just meant we won’t need the one you brought. I, uh, I didn’t only buy groceries before you came over.”

“Good.”

“Yeah?” Peter grins down at her. She nods.

“That means I’m not the only one who…” Felt something. Hoped for more. MJ can’t quite say that yet, so she shrugs and moves on. “Also means I don’t have to go get my purse.”

He agrees by returning his mouth to her throat, sucking until she gasps, then bucking his hips into hers to make her moan.

“Stay right here.”

“Mmm,” she consents, scraping her fingers through his hair.

Noticing him leaning into the sensation, MJ closes her hand into a fist and gives his hair a tug. Peter groans against her neck and wraps his arms around her. With his hands wedged under her back, she can feel him hunting for her dress’s zipper. She’s lying on top of it and there’s the little hook to fiddle with. It's not that she doesn’t think he can figure it out―it’s that she doesn’t want to wait that long.

“Let me do it,” she murmurs, tapping his arms this time to get him to lift off of her.

He looks dazed when he does, flinging himself to the side, which leaves MJ temporarily leaning back with her skirt up and no underwear on. This is completely not how she saw today turning out. It does make her pause and think for a second, to see if this feels wrong or thoughtless or otherwise emotionally harmful to the person she might go back to being when it’s over. Maybe if she waited longer, her inner voice would say something else, but there’s a consensus of tens from the judges (her brain, heart, and vagina) that she should absolutely nail Peter Parker. If they didn’t share this history and he was a guy she met through mutual friends or a dating app who held off on disappointing her long enough for them to get here, would she sleep with him? With those eyes and that ass, yeah, why not? Maybe the rockiness of their mutual past should make this feel worse, but, in this moment, it feels better. It feels like that thing from fourteen years ago. And this time around, she has a confidence in her body that she couldn’t even see on the horizon at fifteen.

MJ scrambles off the bed and turns to look at Peter. On his back with his shirt off in the dying light, he could be selling an expensive cologne. He’s probably been approached. The obvious bulge in the front of his jeans makes it a little racy for ads though. She’ll just have to appreciate it on behalf of Spider-Man fans everywhere. After all, she’s the one who won a date with him.

“The condoms are… where?”

Peter points to his nightstand and her hand hovers in front of the drawer with a second of hesitation. What if there’s some kind of raunchy sex toy in here and she’s about to find out that his bedroom escapades with other women are not something she’s prepared to compete with. Or what if there’s a photo of another ex-girlfriend? She hasn’t had the right to feel possessive of him for a small eternity, but seeing some other woman’s smiling face would be a blow. MJ opens the drawer. Besides the unopened box of condoms, she sees a travel pack of Kleenex, a cord for a cellphone or a tablet, and a couple loose aspirin that he should at bare minimum be keeping in a container, if not in a bathroom medicine cabinet. Overall, she’s relieved. It’s the sort of stuff she would’ve expected if she hadn’t spent the years since high school trying to hate him. She gets the box open and tosses him a condom that he’s alert enough to snatch out of the air. Then, MJ turns to face away from him as she reaches back to unfasten the hook.

“Wait,” he says when she starts on the zipper.

Somehow, she knows what he wants. She drops her hands and takes a step back towards the bed, drawing her hair over her shoulder and twisting it around her hand. Soon, Peter’s hands land on the middle of her back before he lowers the zipper. MJ can hear him breathing. With that done, she shuffles the straps off her shoulders and lets the dress slip to the floor like an exhale. She didn’t wear a bra.

She turns and climbs on top of him. Their kisses are sloppy and demanding and Peter’s got one hand between her legs with the other groping her breast in about a second flat. He discovers how wet she is―it’s wetter than she gets for just anybody―and plunges two fingers inside her, which is really distracting since she’s trying to get his jeans open. Giving in for a minute, MJ holds Peter by the back of his neck, lets her head fall back, and pumps up and down on his fingers while he swears like she’s never heard him swear. No, they never could’ve produced this at fifteen.

Forcing herself to remember that she could have his dick instead, she rides his fingers more shallowly and refocuses on his button and zipper. On the downside, he removes his hand to help her get his jeans and boxers off (Peter, she thinks, you still wear boxers?), but on the upside, those same hands get the condom on with speed and precision. Carefully, she removes the pins that have started to become snarled in her hair and tosses them backwards. Sounds like they skate across his nightstand and fall onto the floor. She isn’t concerned at the moment.

“You like being on top or do you wanna be on the bottom?” he asks, sagged back with his elbows propping him up and MJ perched on his thighs.

“Let’s not ask,” she suggests.

Normally, that isn’t what she’d say at all. She’s big on telling her partner what she does and does not like. Even if it’s someone she’s been with a few times, sex can be a bit of an interaction―you do this for me, I’ll do that for you―with the end goal of both parties walking away sexually satisfied. She wants more from Peter than an orgasm. Not being able to say that out loud doesn’t negate it. She trusts his intuition and, more than that, she trusts this thing between them. Whatever it is, MJ’s leaving everything to it. She’s surrendering control because the thought of cutting this up with questions to make it fit the mould of what sex is like with anyone else makes her sick. She takes a slow breath and speaks again.

“Let’s just… be here.”

He’s nodding so maybe she didn’t sound stupid, or just not stupid to him.

“Ok,” Peter agrees softly. “I’m not gonna fuck it up this time.”

She can’t ask whether that’s a promise to her or to himself because he sits up abruptly to meet her lips with his. As he fills her mouth with his tongue, she relaxes into him, draping her arms around his shoulders and shifting her hips forward. She can feel his cock, rigid and hot. MJ starts lifting up, hinting for Peter to slip inside her, but he flips her onto her back to continue blowing her mind with the desire in this French kiss. He holds his hips back to leave space for his hand to once again work two fingers into her, this time also using his thumb to play with her clit. She’s woozy with how good he makes her feel. Just when the kiss has her thinking they’re slowing things down (and the kiss is getting particularly dirty now, making her clench around his fingers), Peter brings her to climax by sneaking a third finger into her channel and curling all three in a sudden stab at her g-spot. Gasping against his mouth, MJ breaks the kiss, hips pitching onto his hand for almost a full minute from when the bliss first hits.

“Shit,” she breathes.

Peter laughs with disbelief as he draws back to look at her.

“That’s something I never thought I’d get to see again.”

“Yeah, lucky you,” MJ congratulates, smirking liquidly.

He seems ready to proceed beyond foreplay now, withdrawing his fingers and grasping her hip, but she decides to enjoy him a little more thoroughly first. She lets him settle between her legs without pressing inside and winds her fingers into his hair again as she nudges her mouth to his. Peter thrusts slowly along her wetness, making her legs quiver when he bumps her clit. Arching up, her chest skims his and she’s sure that, with a little bit of time, she could come a second time from the way he’s grinding against her and the rub of her nipples over the hard planes of his chest. Spider-Man looks good outside the suit.

When she tumbles him to the side, he goes willingly and matches her fleeting, sultry smile. MJ shifts her weight to encourage Peter all the way onto his back, then gets herself positioned on top of him, still riding his erection without taking him inside. She wonders what’s making her start to sweat―a failure of his air conditioning or the buzz that’s getting stronger with every pass along his sheathed erection. Bracing her hands on either side of his shoulders, she bends to kiss and lick across his chest, finding the same faint saltiness on his skin. He grabs her hips and guides her more forcefully along his cock. MJ’s moaning in short pants, Peter’s groaning brokenly. He rolls her onto her side and their legs tangle before he lifts her upper thigh to make room to fit his hips into the gap and, with their foreheads pressed together, push into her.

She has to close her eyes. Her body takes him in immediately, but her mind needs a little longer.

Peter doesn’t rush her, but he doesn’t back off entirely, the way he would’ve when they were a couple of kids hanging all their hopes on it turning out right. MJ’s not putting that kind of pressure on the sex this time around. Back then, part of how badly she wanted it was that she harboured this belief that being physical with him would fix things; it was finally a way to guarantee his focus was completely on her. For Peter, well, she can only guess, but maybe he needed to feel more grounded in himself when he was living so much of his life in secret as this whole other entity.

“You want me?” she asks him now, opening her eyes to observe his face, so close it’s blurry.

“Yeah, I want you.” Sensing her resolve, he thrusts harder and she makes her leg slack so he can hike it up onto his hip.

“You wanna be anywhere else?”

Peter shifts his head back and she becomes aware that they’re on the rumpled sheets of his unmade bed. It’s so familiar that her heart surges even before he stares her right in the eye.

“Nowhere else,” he swears.

She gives him a sharp nod before her tear ducts can get any ideas and kisses him fiercely, swinging her hips down to meet his upstroke. There’s a choked sound from Peter’s throat and he tips her onto her back with a mumbled, “Oh god, M.”

On her back, MJ reaches to grasp the edge of the mattress and Peter pounds into her. She’s tempted to shut her eyes and drown in the sensations, but she fights it to gaze at him. Initially, she thinks he’s like a machine; strong, efficient, accurate (fuck, he found her g-spot before and he’s hounding it ruthlessly now). On second thought, he is what he made himself; perceptive, considerate, real despite the persona that’s grown and grown and grown. The action figure it’d probably be easy to slink into the shadow of. It’s clear to her that he separates them better now and that somehow embracing his other identity is what allowed him to do that. And she wasn’t around for any of it. Has she just stepped back into his life now that it’s easier for her? MJ has to admit that, on some level, of course. That’s exactly what she’s done, but she didn’t plan it that way and the intervening years haven’t been smooth for her either―changing careers, struggling to stay present with partners, maintaining friendships only with the couple of people who wouldn’t let her dissolve from their lives. It seems to her that she’s ready to hang on at the very moment Peter’s ready to be hung onto. This already wasn’t supposed to happen. The draw she wasn’t supposed to win, the date that she tried to get Betty to find her a replacement for, the invitation to dinner, everything that spilled out between dinner and dessert, and finally, how they came together on his couch. Both of them making that choice.

MJ cries out, one hand dropping to grab his shoulder, then cup the back of his neck, her gaze roving the ceiling.

“You can shut your eyes,” Peter huffs, driving forward. “I’ve got you.”

She does. He has her. Twining her legs around the backs of his, MJ urges him forward blindly. Peter sucks her nipple, runs his mouth up the side of her neck until she shudders, then does it some more. His hand tilts her hips and he slides into her just that much better, striking the right spot with fiery fixation.

“Peter! Peterpeterpeter,” she chants. Her eyes open and his face is right above hers. She orgasms with a flinch that lifts her mouth to his. A new reflex―to kiss him.

His thrusts are short and quick as he finishes, humming against her mouth, a long M. She can’t believe she tried to make him call her by her full name. She’d rather hear ‘MJ’ from Peter, and she’s rather hear it just like this, his lips vibrating against hers, feeling all the years between them and yet, not feeling them at all.

#my writing #spideychelleweek2k20 #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

70 notes · View notes

concrete-paver-molds-blog · 4 years ago

Text

How To Minimize Concrete Paver Molds On A Winding Path

This could be an important factor to assume about since you're considering of doing the project slightly bit at a time. I even have that very same mould and used it for a sidewalk years in the past. I have a 16x16 foot deck at our present house and used the mould for a sidewalk on two sides. It has held up good aside from the filler between the stones concrete paver molds.

Use a leftover scrap to make a single mold, or buy a benderboard roll and make a quantity of molds at once. Benderboard is often overlapped and secured with screws, however this will depart an impression within the paver, so you'll find a way to simply tape the ends collectively. First brush inner mildew surface with mould launch, making use of with a cheap paintbrush. Remove excess oil with a paper towel or dry paintbrush. Next, measure out dry concrete or mortar mix in a wheelbarrow or utility tub.

While you'll have the ability to definitely choose interesting and beautiful ready-made concrete pavers, making your personal provides a inventive dimension that appeals to many gardeners. Install a paver patio or walkway to add both visual attraction and performance to your landscaping. Pavers assist define a garden’s type while also bettering entry to it and including outdoor dwelling area. Ready-made pavers, although, may be cost-prohibitive for many concrete paver molds homeowners.

Many people are turning to paver molds to create floors for patio areas. Rather than fussing with laying large blocks of stone, they're using the molds to make beautiful patterned areas for out of doors entertaining. In at present's world of big box home and garden stores and smaller specialty backyard centers, you might surprise why utilizing a mold to make concrete pavers is better than buying ready-made pavers. Find a flat, level place on the bottom or a piece of plywood the place you'll find a way to lay your type once it is able to obtain the moist concrete. Pour 2-3 inches of sand on the flat spot, and degree the sand.

If you employ the best concrete paver molds recipe, it can be as sturdy as cement, and quite a bit cheaper; in my case, I basically mixed cement with the clay I dug out of my yard. Bend the benderboard items to form a circle with the two ends butted towards each other. Follow the pure curve because of the board being in a roll.

youtube

You additionally could have plenty of time to regulate the color as you're working on them. You don’t need to end up having to buy expensive stains or dyes, together with etching products and sealants, to appropriate the colour if the color isn’t what you have been going for. Let these take a look at items remedy a minimum of three days -a week is better. You don’t need to use your vinyl straps, just plop your wet combination onto the ground where your stones will go and make them into any shape. Just bear in mind that when the cement is wet, it appears quite darkish, however will cure to quite a light-weight shade of gray that nearly appears white. With my vinyl straps, I was limited to creating solely three molds at a time.

Return tackle isn't the company address on Jaxpety web site. Our customer service will provide you a return handle after return approved. All NON-seller mistake returns for refund are subject to 10% re-stocking payment and purchaser will be liable for the return shipping charge. We need you to be utterly satisfied together with your buy on Wish. Return all products inside 30 days of delivery if they don't seem to be as a lot as your satisfaction. According to the structural design of the concrete ditch, there are notches on the 2 ends of the facet to facilitate the inspection of the ditch blockage.

Concrete Success options all kinds of mould shapes to create interlocking patio stones as well as stones for backyard paths. With so many molds to choose from, you're certain to search out one that matches your backyard. Since including stones and pavers takes time and effort, and the results aren't easily moved once they're put in, take your time to select the right look and feel on your backyard. Be positive the concrete is filled to the top of the shape and is leveled and smoothed.

Mainly prefabricated concrete edge blocks for urban roads. If you do find yourself with leaf stains, a stress washer and some OxiClean, or maybe tsp will help remove them. You need a mix that permits for the biggest dimension stone you propose to make and can meet the thickness you need. Otherwise, good ole fashioned hand mixing with a hoe and extensive bin will work. Here are two different fun tutorials where I used concrete to make a stone formed planter and in addition to make a rock shaped planter. I had my concrete covered because it was the height of pollen season and I didn’t need the yellow pollen staining the stones.

I think you'd be better off with sand or screenings between them rather than mortar unless you'll have the ability to put a concrete base underneath the pavers, you then could be OK with mortar between them. A couple of things I wish to point out earlier than I get onto my question. The first is that the mildew creates particular person stones, this isn't a stamp. Once the mold is removed, they are utterly separated pieces. The mortar is swept in dry, then sprayed with water to create a bond between all the blocks / stones. The second thing is that the finished cement is 2 inches thick.

At my customer's insistance, I did a flagstone patio dry laid on a tamped mattress of stone over fabric & upper layer of screenings. We did everything we may to roll water off the patio. We used mortar joints between the flagstones and so they popped some joints. The key's to make sure you begin with good, quality molds and that you combine constant batches of concrete.

I truly have 225sqft I'm going to be putting in pavers on so roughly $500 or so for normal formed pavers. My spouse is wanting different designs so if this methodology is cheaper it might be a good route. In common, customers are extremely glad with the functionality and usefulness of the Pathmate random stone mould.

The very first thing you have to determine is whether the "completely different designs" your wife needs may be satisfied through the use of molds, or by alternating the design of pavers . Also understand that the finished molded concrete pavers will crack (ideally alongside their "grout" traces, which isn't an issue), and can respond to frost heave less properly than pavers. Spray the inside of the paver mould with nonstick cooking spray to make it easy to release the concrete.

Concrete Countertop Molds And Edge Molds

As well, you should spray down the stroll maker form after each couple of uses- this helps it launch easier. Wash the Poly PVA Solution off the unique stepping stone mannequin with water after which place the original stepping stone and reproduced stepping stones into the walkway. Apply Pol-Ease® 2300 Release Agent to the stepping stone, mold box walls and mildew box bottom board after which brush it out with a dry brush to encourage even coverage. We left zero.75″ of house between the stepping stone and mold field walls to create 0.75″ thick mildew walls. Some gardeners may be intimidated on the thought of making their own concrete pavers. If you might make a cake, you can even make concrete pavers and stepping stones.

If you have a very porous mannequin, like the one on this tutorial, you might have to use more than one coat of Poly PVA Solution. We applied two coats of this sealer, waiting for it to dry (~ 1 hour) in between coats and earlier than moving on to the following steps. Select essentially the most intact stepping stone from the walkway.

There are extra choices than you assume in relation to the molds needed to type stepping stones.

The best part is that once the pavers are laid and vibrated in, the project is done and usable IMMEDIATELY.

This helps to take away any air bubbles that could show up within the stone.

Since I'm in no rush and have loads of time I want to hear from someone who has really tried this technique earlier than.

Dampen the Sand Mix with a nice mist of water (do not over-wet).

If you have the actual DIY spirit, or are simply looking to save money in your next hardscaping project, contemplate making your own concrete pavers. A reference value is offered by the vendor of the merchandise . Percentage off and savings quantities are based on the vendor's reference worth. The reference value can give you a sign of the value of the product butsome shops may sell the merchandise for lower than the reference worth. If you feel a reference price is inaccurate or deceptive please report it with the URL for the itemizing to report-

My concern with massive concrete slabs is the 10x10 that is already there has cracked in several locations and just does not look good. The identical settling in a paver setup could make them slightly off degree in a certain spot, but that is much easier to treatment and look good than a cracked slab. Home made high quality control might attain the extent of crappy 2x2 slabs however not of commercially produced patio/driveway pavers. An interesting aspect observe, was talking to my brother yesterday and talked about I was thinking of getting slightly concrete mixer. He bought a garage and it has a industrial concrete mixer in it with a new electric motor.

Our concrete molds are designed to final, and you must use one p ath maker many occasions. The only cause why one could contemplate shopping for another concrete p ath mould is to make the process even quicker. You could fill in the second brick paver mildew while the primary one is getting dry. But for some purpose, when I made these concrete stepping stones, I didn’t suppose the colour of the pavers would turn out gentle -like the bowl in my exams did. Make natural looking DIY concrete stepping stones or pavers. Color the concrete and mould it into the form of real fieldstones or flagstones.

We actually have 1000's of great products in all product categories. Whether you’re in search of high-end labels or low-cost, economic system bulk purchases, we assure that it’s here on AliExpress. Each order comes with easy to use mold instructions to create ornamental wanting ornamental pieces for your house or garden. • Avoid vigorous tapping when eradicating air bubbles; this can trigger cracks within the plastic. Should a crack develop in the mildew, fill it with epoxy or Bondo, found at any ironmongery store. Apply these adhesives to the outer surface of the mildew.

How To Minimize Pavers On A Winding Path

The Pathmate Paving Stone Mold offers an ideal method to mildew a walkway in a yard with pace and effectivity. It's constructed of a plastic materials that is out there in black shade. This paving stone mildew features varied shapes and sizes so you could get creative along with your pavers. It may additionally be reused after cleansing so you can make as many as you need. This concrete paver mold allows you to design your own path with numerous colors and designs.

Add any desired imprints or elaborations, corresponding to mosaic tile, immediately before the floor begins to set. Using a hose and spray nozzle, clean the concrete residue off the mould earlier than it dries if you finish up finished using it. Gradually add water to the concrete mix based on the directions on the package deal. Stir the water into the concrete with the hoe as you go.

All of the center sections can be accomplished as fast as you can drop them into place. You can estimate approx $2.50/sq ft for the finishing supplies and somewhat bit extra for the gravel/base mix and a few sand to prime it off. The best part is that once the pavers are laid and vibrated in, the project is finished and usable IMMEDIATELY. It is easily repairable and may easily assist automobile and truck traffic. Again, the price just isn't as much as you would suppose becase the pavers are fashioned from very high energy concrete and colored through. To duplicate this, you would wish to buy the most costly type of bagged mix and if you have not priced the dye/coloring combine, you might be in for a suprise.

I can color the concrete to my likening and I get to work at my own tempo and budget. A couple pics of another person's work may be discovered right here and here. Since I did most of this project by myself, I discovered it was best to go combine one other batch and arrange the following mold, pour it and frivolously stage it. This technique made it straightforward to see that I would have a mixture of 5 giant stones and a number of other small stones – again, which if combined, would make 9 giant stepping stones. Also, many people wish to make ornamental stepping stones like garden mosaic stepping stones. They are usually made by including mosaic glass or different embeddable materials into the concrete.

I'm seeking to put a garden shed on some this summer time. Seem like most the stuff I discover on there is leftovers. 225sqft doesn't sound like a lot but if you break it down by pieces I would wish over x8 pavers or x12 pavers.

1 note · View note

ericsonclan · 4 years ago

Text

A Rather Slimy Present

Summary: Clementine isn't sure if she'll ever see that strange boy again when all of the sudden he reappears.

Word Count: 1000+

Read on AO3:

After the bizarre encounter Clementine and Prisha had experienced the other day, the pair went into their second day at Fenrell Cove not knowing exactly what to expect. Would the mysterious, strangely silent swimmers be back for another visit or were they gone for good? With no way to know, both girls set about continuing their research, Clementine with her trusty notebook and Prisha with her older backup camera since her favorite camera that had fallen into the water yesterday was disassembled and still drying on the boat in hopes that it could be saved.

Returning to the point where they had run into the strange pair of swimmers the day before, Clementine surveyed the water in hopes of seeing the same pale green leaf that had drawn her attention the first day. No, not a leaf, it must be attached to some sort of animal. Whatever animal that was, it and its camouflage had moved on to calmer waters since Clementine could not find the bit of faux foliage anywhere. Setting aside that endeavor for now, Clementine instead circled round the shoreline to another section of the cove to investigate further and perhaps to move out of earshot of Prisha’s constant grumbling over the shoddy quality of her current equipment and her threats should she ever come across those two nincompoops again.

Passing a small clump of bushes she had only fleetingly explored the other day, Clementine headed to an isolated section of the cove, one banked by a cave wall that joined with it to form a sort of cozy grotto directly by the shoreline. Taking a seat in the soft sand just inches from the water, Clementine began compiling notes about what she observed around her. Though crystal clear, the surface of the water kept hidden whatever species dwelt beneath its currents. It must be that there was a sudden drop off here instead of the usual shallows that would lead into further depths. Perhaps this would be a good entry point for her and Prisha in the scuba portion of their investigation.

Jotting this down, Clementine’s focus turned skyward. The portion of the cove she was currently in was also still within the cave. The setup somewhat reminded Clementine of how the inside of Skull Island looked in the old Peter Pan film: there was the enclosed intimacy of the cave walls but the amount of light let in through the immense entrance meant that nothing about this portion of the cove felt cold or dreary. It was a pleasant, secluded place. Perhaps that supported some of the theories she and Prisha had read about Fenrell Cove, that it at one time was the site of religious rituals for islanders from distant shores that were now long gone.

Or were they? Was it possible that the strange boy and girl they had encountered might in fact be familiar with the cove or even residents? Could that explain their total bewilderment with the English language? No, that was crazy. It was like Prisha had said (again and again in her impassioned rant last night) – they must have been tourists on an ocean cruise who had swum out and found the cove by happenstance, nothing more.

A disturbance in the water suddenly drew Clementine’s attention to its surface. Her eyes widened in surprise as she saw what had caused it. There before her was the same boy from yesterday, smiling brightly at her. His dreads dripped droplets onto the surface of the water as he drew nearer, his eyes locked with hers. Setting aside her notebook, Clementine moved closer to speak with him. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again,”

He had no reaction to her words, simply staring steadily at her, his eyes large and bright with interest.

“That was pretty shitty what happened to my friend because of you,” Clementine attempted again. “You pretty much wrecked her best camera. I think you owe her an apology,”

Still no response. The young man was as silent as ever, though his focus had shifted from her face to her legs which were tucked beside Clementine as she sat on the sand. Clementine glanced at her legs. There was nothing weird about what she was wearing unless cargo pants were considered an unforgivable fashion faux pax. Was he actually looking at her notebook behind her? Clementine moved to grab it but lifting it up in the air to share with him did nothing to draw his focus away. Her legs did look pretty scratched up. Perhaps that was it?

Clementine ran a finger along a particularly lengthy scratch. “They got sort of banged up yesterday. Some of it’s from when I lunged forward to save Prisha, but the rocks around here are pretty fucking slippery so I fell down a lot more after that. Some of these are permanent too, just left over from other expeditions. Like this one-” Clementine paused, looking over at the boy again. He was listening to every word she said with rapt attention, but it was clear none of it was getting through to him. “You don’t know English?”

A few small squeaks came out of his mouth. He looked at Clementine expectantly. Was that a… language? He did seem to be trying to communicate.

Unsure what else to do, Clementine squeaked back a couple times.

The young man’s nose wrinkled in confusion. Whatever that sound she had made was, it was apparently nonsense. Suddenly he dove down, disappearing deep below the water. Clementine leaned over to try to spot him but couldn’t see anything. Had she offended him somehow? She truly hoped not. Clementine continued to wait, watching the surface of the water for any sign of movement. Nothing. How long was he going to stay under there? It had already been about a minute, which Clementine was ashamed to admit was her limit.

She hadn’t been able to spot him or the girl emerging from the water either. Did that mean they’d stayed underwater till she and Prisha had walked away? Intrigued, Clementine started up the timer on her wristwatch. Either he’d emerge within the next few minutes somewhere within eyesight or there were secret tunnels within the cave’s waters that allowed him to disappear and surface elsewhere.

Three minutes passed. Then five. Then ten. Clementine had been watching the shoreline the entire time. Either he was the fastest swimmer ever and had crossed the length of the cave to reach the exterior of the cove without her seeing or Clementine’s underwater tunnel theory was correct. Either way, he seemed long gone for the day. Letting out a small sigh, Clementine picked up her notebook to return to her work. Then a bright chirp came from in front of her. Glancing back up, Clementine felt her jaw go slack in shock. “What the-”

The mystery boy was before her once more but this time instead of the slippery minnow that had fallen from his mouth the first time they met there was a full-sized fish wriggling within his toothy grasp. Letting out another short trill, the boy leaned forward and spat the fish out upon the shore, smiling at her proudly.

“What the fuck,” Clementine whispered in bewilderment. “Did-did you catch that? With your teeth?”

Seeming to pick up on her general gestures between him and the fish, the young man nodded, his chest swelling as he grinned with self-satisfaction. When he caught Clementine staring though, he suddenly grew self-conscious and looked away in embarrassment.

Clementine looked back over to the fish, still flopping on shore with desperate vigor. This wasn’t the sort of puny guppy you would catch on your first fishing trip and take photos with as you looked goofy in your bucket hat. This was the sort of fish you would brag about as the one that got away. And this strange young man had caught it… with his teeth.

The cruise ship passenger theory was completely out the window. But did that mean that Clementine’s native islander theory was their next best guess? This young man seemed completely unaware of the meaning of anything in English and was an incredibly proficient swimmer who seemed to know the ins and outs of this cove like the back of his hand. Would it be so crazy to think that the islanders that had been spoken of in ancient records hadn’t been wiped out but instead were merely forgotten by the rest of the world and continued with their lives as always?

Clementine gazed at the young man with intense curiosity. He met her eyes shyly, drifting closer to her. The freckles smattered across his chest and shoulders stood out upon his skin as it shone in the morning light. He was so close and just as curious of Clementine as she was of him. Trying to communicate, Clementine raised a hand and pressed it to her heart. “Thank you. I really appreciate the gift,”

The boy’s eyes brightened in joy as he recognized her thankfulness. Letting out a series of happy, short barks, he twirled round in the water again and again, enraptured by joy.

All of a sudden a rustling sound drew both of their attentions to the bush. The boy’s eyes widened in fright before he dove for cover under the water, disappearing once more into its deceptively clear depths.

“No, wait!” Clementine cried, but it was no use. He was already gone, and Clementine had a feeling that this time he wouldn’t return in just a matter of minutes.

Prisha emerged from the bushes, camera raised expectantly. Her expression fell when she saw Clementine’s face. “I scared it off, didn’t I? I was heading over this way and heard some sort of animal cry that sounded almost like a bottlenose dolphin. I tried to approach quietly enough to not arouse alarm, but it’s clear I was unsuccessful,”

Clementine shook her head. “It wasn’t an animal. It was him. The same boy we saw yesterday?”

“What?” Prisha’s brows knit together as she frowned. “I was sure he and that sour-faced companion of his would have been long gone by now. A cruise never stays in one place for long,”

“That’s the thing. I don’t think they’re with a cruise. Look what he brought me today. He caught this in his mouth,” Clementine gestured to the large fish now dead at her feet.

“In his mouth?! Surely you can’t be serious,”

“Look!” Clementine pointed to a series of indentations upon the scales. “See that? Those are teeth marks!”

“My stars…” Prisha leaned over the fish, gaping at it in bemusement. “What sort of manner of man would do such a thing?”

“Prisha,” Clementine’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper as she locked eyes with her friend. “I don’t think this island is uninhabited after all,”

#twdg #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg prisha #clouis #fanfic #mermaid cove au

5 notes · View notes

books-and-glitter · 4 years ago

Note

You literally asked for this directly

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

Should be 69 of those 😚

I hate you so much. You monster. I only expressed that I was surprised and you did this to me. I didn't ask for this.

Nonetheless....

🌻 - there is a bug in the kitchen and I am now too scared to go in there.

🌻 - Harper is trying to protect me but she is frankly useless.

🌻 - it's not like a big bug but it is definitely not small.

🌻 - I saw moth put a flower before each of these and thought it was neat. So I am now doing it.

🌻 - the person who sent me this sends a "Daily dose of disappointment" in a group chat we are in. Except it is not daily. It's whenever she has one.

🌻 - Kool Aid originated in Nebraska.

🌻 - The Omaha zoo has both the largest indoor desert as well as the largest indoor rainforest. The rainforest is my favorite.

🌻 - there is a rope bridge in there though that used to scare me a lot.

🌻 - nebraska also apparently originated the reuben sandwich which is gross.

🌻 - the Ogalala aquifer is the largest underground water supply in the US.

🌻 - the 911 system originated in Lincoln so that's kinda cool.

🌻 - the largest Woolly Mammath fossil is from Nebraska. If I remember correctly it's the one in Morrill Hall. His name is Archie and I will die for him.

🌻 - speaking of Archie, he was found on a farm by chickens. The farmer got confused at why the chickens were pecking at something, went to look, found big bones and called an archeologist.

🌻 - okay the bug is still a problem but I now have you to save me when it shows it's little fucking face again.

🌻 - the word Nebraska comes from the Oto word meaning flat water.

🌻 - hell yeah we going back to nebraska facts. Next is that the goldrod is the state flower. Flower is kinda pretty but the paper color by the same name is stupid.

🌻 - blue agate is the state gem and I vibe with that. Agate is cool as fuck.

🌻 - UNL's weight room is supposedly the largest in the country at 3/4ths of an acre (32.6k sqft)

🌻 - the Nebraska capitol had a 9.8 million budget, came in under budget, was paid for by the time it finished construction.

🌻 - I think the capitol looks weird but I am also desensitized to it but objectively it is really cool.

🌻 - cliff notes was founded in Nebraska.

🌻 - unfortunately when the UNL stadium is seated to capacity it technically becomes the 3rd most populated place in the state..... It's also really loud.... And I hate it.

🌻 - Arbor day comes from Nebraska. Which is cool because trees.

🌻 - the Scotts Bluff National Museum has a section of the oregon trail wagon roadbed that you can hike. The museum itself is also kinda cool so I suggest it if you ever are in the area.

🌻 - I wish to kill you, kathryn.

🌻 - more Nebraska facts I hear you cry! No problem! Nebraska has Car Henge! So if you ever want to get the vibe of Stonehenge except stupid and made of antique cars in a field in the middle of fucking nowhere you're in luck.

🌻 - Runzas are the official state food and I hate it. Runza makes decent chicken strips but Runzas are gross. Yes handover that cabbage meat bread 🤢

🌻 - Nebraska has a navy apparently. I know this but I cant tell you what the fuck they do since we are like the most landlocked state in the country.

🌻 - That one president, Gerald Ford, born in Nebraska. That's kinda neat. (I know nothing else about this man or his presidency except he is the only one not nationally elected.)

🌻 - Fred Astaire, Marlon Brando, and Johnny Carson (I think, or he just went to UNL, the media arts building is named after him) are all from Nebraska.

🌻 - getting sick of nebraska facts? Suffer. Nebraska has more miles of river than any other state, which is weird because we were called the great American desert.

🌻 - apparently the Nebraska state insect is the honeybee!!! 🐝

🌻 - the Niobrara river is apparently really good for canoeing and has like 90 waterfalls.

🌻 - I am running low on nebraska facts.

🌻 - there is a park/reserve just outside Lincoln that has some bison in it. Do not fuck with bison. They will wreck your shit.

🌻 - I don't know if he is still alive but there used to be a bald eagle in the same park that only had one wing. (Actually I think he was missing half of one but still)

🌻 - the cottonwood tree is awful and on a bad year can look like a light snow if too many trees are nearby.

🌻 - the ashfall fossil beds are where you can go to see an active archeology site with the fossils of tons of animals killed by a volcano 12 million years ago.

🌻 - Nebraska has a unicameral. Which is basically instead of a state house and state senate we have one legislative body that is elected on a non-partisan ticket.

🌻 - it is illegal to fish whales in Nebraska. Once again we are completely land locked and there are no whales but.. its still illegal.

🌻 - I am dying here. Kathryn I will punch you.

🌻 - Morrill Hall also has elephant hall which is the main hall right when you pass the entry desk. It has like 15 (?) fossils in it and apparently it's the largest collection of elephant fossils on display.

🌻 - speaking of Morrill Hall, it only displays about 1% of it's collection. The rest is stored at Nebraska Hall nearby.

🌻 - I think the cranes in North Platte are lame.

🌻 - nebraska furniture mart in Omaha is apparently the largest in the country. Which I can believe. I went to the discount part and it was a giant warehouse. I don't know what the actual sale floor is like.

🌻 - cherry county is bigger than Connecticut.

🌻 - O street (highway 6) is the longest straight main street

🌻 - Nebraska has a testicle festival. It's probably exactly what you think it is. Too many fried cow balls is what it is.

🌻 - there is a really cool church between Lincoln and omaha called the Holy Family Shrine. Its got massive arches and is mostly glass. Im not catholic so it's not really a religious thing but a bitch can appreciate some cool architecture.

🌻 - the Hall brothers who made Hallmark (card company) are from Nebraska.

🌻 - UNL's Love library has a Shakespeare Folio. Its in the Special Collections and Archives' vault. I want to see it so bad and one of the archivists told me she would show me it next time they opened the vault but then corona... :(

🌻 - UNL's library also has like 5 million+ physical items in it's collections.

🌻 - the serial killer Charles Starkweather is buried in Wyuka in Lincoln.

🌻 - Kearney, NE is dead center geographically between Boston and San Francisco.

🌻 - 92% of the state is farmland/ranches.

🌻 - if you have made it this far I am sorry.

🌻 - Nearly every fun facts about nebraska page has mentioned that the food stuffs Spam is manufactured in Fremont. So I'll mention out of peer pressure.

🌻 - the bug is still in the kitchen. Kathryn has foresaken me. I may perish in the night.

🌻 - 10 more. There is a roller skating museum in Lincoln. It's at 48th and South streets. Has largest collection of historical roller skates.

🌻 - Larry the Cable Guy I'd from Nebraska and he has recorded narrations for some exhibits in the Lincoln children's zoo. Or he used to it's been awhile.

🌻 - going back to UNL stuffs. Morrill Hall is a pretty cool museum and you should definitely go there. If only to say hi to Archie.

🌻 - the bronze Archie that is outside the museum is currently sporting a fashionable face mask set both over his trunk and his actual mouth.

🌻 - there are a couple dino fossils in that museum and if you step over the barrier and onto the decorative rocks an alarm will go off. And staff will be pissed because now they have to tell at you.

🌻 - said museum also has a lot of cool rocks on the third floor.

🌻 - and the bottom floor has like a hall of nebraska animals where you can hit buttons to listen to animal sounds.

🌻 - aaand a room with a plesiosaur embedded in the floor which is really cool.

🌻 - there is also a cool museum in Nebraska called the SAC. Which is the museum for Strategic Air Command. It has a lot of planes and some stuff from moon missions and air force stuff. When I was little some oil from the big plane in the entrance leaked onto a pillow I had when I was sleeping under it on a trip.

🌻 - nebraska is better than iowa but nebraska kinda sucks too so it's not like it matters truthfully.

🌻 - Nebraska has a lot of weather like giant hailstones and tornadoes but Lincoln doesn't get much because it is in a geographic dent so weather tends to weaken over the city. Which is lame. I want lots of snow.

And there we are folks. 69 fucking facts. 58 of which are about Nebraska purely out of spite. I counted.

I am now off to murder my roommate.

(jk but you should expect to be quizzed)

#nebraska facts #in case anyone wants to learn any thing #long post #please save me this took an hour and a half to type on my phone #also i did look up about half of these. a lot i knew or are my original knowledge.#kathryn you bitch #i brought this on myself for opening my mouth and mentioning it.#also the bug has still not been killed #11/69 of these are not about nebraska.

3 notes · View notes

ladylooter · 4 years ago

Text

ladylooter’s guide to watching Lupin III

I was inspired by @despairfiles‘ guide to watching the Fate series as well as mutuals who have expressed interest in interacting with my Fujiko muse but were either completely unfamiliar with the Lupin III franchise or hadn’t seen any of the shows/movies/OVAs/TV specials in awhile. So I’m going to use this post to share my recommendations of where Lupin fans (and soon-to-be fans!) can start with the franchise. I’ll make a note first: these opinions are my own and there’s no ‘correct’ way to watch the various anime offerings. Some Lupin fans may disagree with me, and that’s great! Personally, I think there’s something in the Lupin fandom for every fan to enjoy, depending on your tastes. This is just my personal recommendation, based on the vast (seriously, a lot) of Lupin I’ve watched over the years.

But first, the basics:

Lupin the Third (often stylized as Lupin III) began as a manga in the 1960s by creator Monkey Punch. It spawned a media franchise featuring the manga, two pilot films, six television series, countless movies/OVAs/TV specials, video games, live action movies, a CG movie, and more. It stars Arsene Lupin III, the grandson of the original Arsene Lupin, who is considered the world’s greatest thief. He often teams up with the likes of Daisuke Jigen (expert marksman), Goemon Ishikawa XIII (expert swordsman), and on occasion, Fujiko Mine (expert seductress and betrayer). The four (though mostly Lupin), are constantly pursued by Inspector Zenigata of Interpol, who will stop at nothing to apprehend Lupin III.

A note about this guide: While the thoughts are my own, none of the images are. I tried to pull photos that represent the various recommendations I give here.

Where to watch: I’ll always advise to find legal copies of Lupin III shows and films. With so much content, there’s a variety of ways to watch. If you’re in the United States or have access to US-based streaming services, I’d recommend checking Hulu (Lupin III Part II is on there still, I believe) and Crunchyroll (Lupin III Parts I, II, III, IV and V are there). Movies and The Woman Called Fujiko Mine are a little more difficult to find nowadays, but you can often find out of print Funimation discs on secondhand sites as well as a variety of licensed Lupin movies from Discotek. But if you have your own means to track down content, I’m not going to judge you.

Onto the guide!

Part I - I’m completely new to Lupin III…

...And I only want to watch one movie to see if I like it!

If you only want to commit to one movie, I’d recommend choosing Lupin III Episode 0: The First Contact. Lupin as a franchise has negative continuity, so there’s multiple ways the cast meets and interacts with one another. First Contact does this in a very succinct fashion while not losing a lot of the more traditional, common Lupin tropes. You’ll be introduced to the main five characters, see some heists, and get an idea of what the franchise is (mostly) about.

In short, the plot revolves around a story Daisuke Jigen retells to a reporter about how Lupin and the gang first met. The main five members of the cast are also supplemented by interesting side characters (who aren’t just there to be plot devices. This happens a lot in the Lupin franchise unfortunately).

I really liked this! What do I watch next? Almost any of the movies/OVAs/TV specials you want, as well as Part II or Part IV. If you don’t mind a darker take on Lupin or with more questionable plots, then Part I or The Woman Called Fujiko Mine could be for you. But I’d suggest Parts II or IV if you want to watch a TV series.

...And I want to watch a few episodes! I love humor, wacky hijinks, and don’t mind older animation.

Look no further than Lupin III Part II! This Lupin series is what you may remember being broadcast on Adult Swim in the early 2000s. It consists of 155 episodes and aired between 1977-1980. But don’t worry, you do not need to watch all of them, or even watch them in order! Most plotlines are contained to one episode, so you can skip around and watch what you’d like. The content is light, most everything is focused around crime capers, and there’s a lot of humor and pop culture references (well, pop culture for the late 70s). Episodes 145 and 155 are particularly highly regarded as they were directed by pre-Studio Ghibli Hayao Miyazaki.

In short, the best way to figure out which episodes to watch are to read the titles or see thumbnails and see if it interests you. Or you can watch from the beginning, but that’s a lot of anime to go through!

I really liked this! What do I watch next? I’d recommend the two following movies: The Mystery of Mamo and The Castle of Cagliostro. Mamo was Lupin III’s first feature film and is a bit darker and mature in tone than Lupin III Part II (as well as some rough animation), but the plot is fantastic. Cagliostro is a classic, and Hayao Miyazaki’s first feature film. It’s just a great movie in general and has one of the best car chases in cinematic history. My only advice for Cagliostro? Know that the Lupin gang (especially Lupin and Fujiko) are far nicer and altruistic than their portrayals in other Lupin media. Watch it with the mindset of it being a Miyazaki/Studio Ghibli take on Lupin and being very family-friendly.

...And I want to watch a few episodes! I love heists and capers, but I prefer more contemporary animation.

You can’t go wrong with Lupin III Part IV! Also known as “The Italian Adventure,” this series takes place mostly in Italy and San Marino. It opens with Lupin’s marriage (yes, marriage) to Rebecca Rossellini, a wealthy heiress who has way more fun being a thief. It aired in 2015 in Japan and 2017 on Adult Swim’s Toonami block in the United States.

It has plenty lighthearted moments similar to Part II, but unlike Part II it does need to be watched in full. Some episodes are self-contained capers but there is an overarching story that spans the entire season. Luckily, it’s only 26 episodes. The animation is stunning, the main cast is very much reminiscent of the gang Lupin fans know and love, and Part IV also has the addition of a more consistent female member of the cast other than Fujiko in Rebecca (and the two play off each other rather hilariously!).

I really liked this! What do I watch next? You could watch the TV special Lupin III: The Italian Game, but a good amount of the film will rehash content from Part IV. Instead, I’d recommend watching Lupin III Part V. Taking place mostly in France, it’s the natural successor to Part IV. While you don’t see much of Rebecca, you do get another female member of the main cast named Ami. Part V also recently aired on Adult Swim’s Toonami block in 2019.

...And I want to watch a few episodes! I want to start at the very beginning to see how the characters have evolved and changed over time (and I don’t mind older animation).

Then you should start with Lupin III Part I. Originally broadcast in 1971-1972, it’s one of the interpretations that’s closer to the original manga. It was the first anime series in Japan with a mature feel and aimed at an adult audience, so don’t be surprised if there’s a bit more lewd humor and violence. There’s a lot more sinister organizations for the gang to rob and far less of an emphasis on the happy, upbeat Lupin portrayal that’s found in later installments.

I really liked this! What should I watch next? Lupin III: The Fuma Conspiracy. It still features green jacket (Part I, when it was released) Lupin and is overall a good movie. The Japanese dub of this will be a little jarring if you’ve watched other subtitled Lupin: the entire voice cast was changed for this specific movie only. Otherwise, I’d recommend checking out Lupin III Part II or The Woman Called Fujiko Mine.

Part II - I’m a returning fan to Lupin III...

...And I want to see a darker, grittier Lupin gang.

The Woman Called Fujiko Mine. You will not get a darker, gritter take on the Lupin franchise in anime than The Woman Called Fujiko Mine. Tone and design are very close to the original manga and it’s the only series that has Fujiko as the main character (I’m also a bit biased: this is one of my favorite contributions to the franchise). The 13 episode series details how Fujiko met Lupin, Jigen, Goemon, and Zenigata (gotta love the Negative Continuity!), and the various missions she undertakes while she tries to outrun her past.

You’ll get some very different characterizations for some of the main cast (especially Zenigata) and as the series is much more dark and adult in nature, it has copious amounts of nudity (mostly for Fujiko. She’s completely naked for the entire opening credits), drugs, alcohol, smoking, and implied sex (among other things that would be considered spoilers).

Literally. I cannot stress the nudity, drugs, and sex aspects enough for this show. It’s also the only entry into the Lupin III franchise to be directed by a woman. I’d say that if you’re a fan of Cowboy Bebop and Samurai Champloo, you’ll likely enjoy this addition to the franchise.

I really liked this! What do I watch next? You’ll want to watch the trio of films meant to follow TWCFM and have a similar art style: Jigen’s Gravestone, Goemon’s Blood Spray, and Fujiko’s Lie. None of them necessarily reference the series, but they have similar tone and design and are meant as spinoffs/continuations. They’re all relatively short films (an hour or less). If you’re already pretty familiar with Lupin, don’t miss the shoutout to The Mystery of Mamo in Jigen’s Gravestone.

...And I want to see some great heists and overall fun that reminds me of Lupin III Part II!

Scroll up and see everything I wrote for Lupin III Part IV: The Italian Adventure. :) If you haven’t watched Lupin in awhile but love the red jacket era Lupin, you’ll want to start on Part IV. It has nicer animation with a similar feel.

...And I want to watch some movies/OVAs/Specials! What do you recommend?

Beyond everything already recommended on this list? There’s a lot of movies out there, but here are some of my favorites:

Generally good story/art contributions to the Lupin III franchise:

Tokyo Crisis

Dead or Alive (This was directed by Monkey Punch himself!)

Voyage to Danger

Island of Assassins

Alcatraz Connection

Green vs. Red (this one is good for fans who’ve seen quite a bit of the franchise already. It was made to celebrate Lupin’s 40th anniversary)

The Travels of Marco Polo ~Another Page~

Lupin III: The First (The newest addition and the first CGI Lupin III movie! It’s coming to theaters in the USA shortly and will arrive on blu-ray in January 2021)

So bad they’re good at times:

Farewell to Nostradamus (I’m biased towards this one for a reason. Also, the opening sequence is great)

The Columbus Files: Fujiko’s Unlucky Days (Look I’m here for amnesiac Fujiko and I admit it)

Dragon of Doom (Great if you like Goemon, a little basic otherwise)

So there you have it. I hope you enjoy getting into Lupin III!

#ladylooter musings #(probably the biggest OOC post I'll ever write on here)#(But I wanted to get it out of the way and linked in my pinned post for handy reference!)

7 notes · View notes

hippriestess · 4 years ago

Photo

Part 3 - “ I thought we had some kind of agreement but with you it was just prurience”

So, where were we. Ah yes....Record Store Day 2019.

It was, perhaps inevitably, a heavy day for Fall fans. Lead-in times both for the manufacture of vinyl records and for participation in RSD are such that Smith's death came too late for the impact to be evident in the 2018 event but for 2019, we were absolutely flooded in a way that caused some, quite rightly, to question the judgement of the organisers in allowing so many obvious vultures to swoop in for an easy bite.

The “monitor mixes” from the 2CD edition of “The Unutterable” were pressed to vinyl for the first time. “Whoo-fucking-pee” quoth the faithful and you will have absolutely no difficulty acquiring it today should you be down to few enough marbles for it to seem like a good investment. BMG hold the rights to the group's Rough Trade recordings and went with a box set of five 7” singles under the awful title “Medicine For The Masses”. This was the exact same format as “The Rough Trade Singles Box” from 2002 although with the bonus of containing the correct Peel Session versions of “Container Drivers” and “New Puritan” (Castle/Sanctuary had updated the 5 disc CD edition once they had acquired the rights to the BBC tracks but the vinyl edition of Italy's Earmark Records retained the Grotesque and Totale's Turns versions used in the initial pressings). Given not only that none of this material is any way scarce but that an excellent single LP release had been given to all 10 tracks in the box (Peel takes included) by US imprint Superior Viaduct in 2018, it was perhaps inevitable that “Medicine For The Masses” pretty much flopped on the day and can now be acquired brand new for a good £10 less than the asking price on the day itself.

Ah yes, Superior Viaduct, let's not forget them. A well-regarded reissue label with a smattering of current artists, they had already issued some Fall vinyl in 2016/2017, putting all the studio albums up to “Perverted By Language” back onto vinyl as well as the first 2 singles and the eternally category-defying “Slates” 10”. Following Smith's passing, they have (almost) completed the task with the aforementioned “Rough Trade Singles” LP and a new pressing of “Totale's Turns”. These editions have been very well received and have been praised for the quality both of the mastering and of the pressings but they remain largely inaccessible to UK fans due to licensing restrictions preventing the editions from being imported. As such, you'll hafta pick these up on a one-to-one basis off your own bat.

Right, back to Record Store Day 2019. We also had the “opportunity” to buy a number of live albums. 5 of them, in fact. All of these had previously been released on CD towards the end of 2018...so this was going to be called Crap Rap Part 14 but it's now called “Stop Releasing Every Gig You Can Find On Some Mouldy Third Generation Maxell C90 on a double LP”

Live albums have always been canon with The Fall. “Totale's Turns” was their 3rd LP release, “Live In London 1980” was issued by Chaos Tapes with the group's permission in 1982, “Fall In A Hole” was allowed until copies were exported. We had “Seminal Live” and “The 27 Points” mixing live with studio, as did “I Am Kurious Oranj” with several tracks recorded during the original Edinburgh run of the ballet. Even the “Perverted By Language Bis” video was largely live material. Even once the shark was jumped in the late 90s/early 00s with the endless recycling of those outtake/live compilations, there were official live missives, such as the excellent “Last Night At The Palais” in 2009, the wonderfully titled but patchy “Uurop VIII-XII Places in Sun & Winter, Son” in 2014 though to the terrible “Live In Clitheroe” in 2017. So, all in, it comes as no surprise at all that over 20 more live albums have been added to The Fall's discography since Smith's sad departure from this realm.

There were no less than 5 live albums dumped merrily onto the shelves for RSD 2019, 3 of them doubles. On their own, this would have been an outlay of over £100...in fact, if you wanted the full RSD Fall, you'd have had little or no change on the day from £250. For exactly no unreleased music. No unreleased music? What were these live albums then? Let's wind back to late in 2018... (I told you this was tough to do in any kind of linear fashion).

Arriving via the PledgeMusic site, “Set Of Ten” released by “Cog Sinister”, worked like this: 10 previously unreleased live recordings were contained in a sturdy square box with spiffy new artwork from Pascal LeGras. The tariff? £100. Ouch. Now, a handful of them were announced as separate releases, however, if you bought the box you would receive an exclusive disc – a recording from Derby, 1994. Cometh the hour, the Derby CD was one of the first to be released on its own. Huh.

A small amount of digging revealed that this set was the work of Rob Ayling. With the dates running from 1980 to 1999, the general opinion re: Set Of Ten was that these tapes were very likely to be in Ayling's possession due to the “Live From The Vaults” series on Voiceprint, Ayling's previous imprint, from 2005. When that series was announced, the five releases were said to be simply the first batch. It could therefore be deduced that these tapes had been destined for future batches. At the time, there was a minor dust-up over them and no further volumes were issued. Whatever the motivations, presenting an 11 CD set of old bootlegs with so little quality control being put into the audio and asking £100 for it felt like cold ash in the mouth. Worse still, PledgeMusic went bust before many customers could receive their sets, leaving them to either claim chargebacks on their credit cards or simply out of pocket as ordinary creditors to the failed business. It must have been galling for those who lost money to see the CDs arriving on their own and several cut onto expensive vinyl.

I've picked up a couple of the CDs separately and these have been largely fine. Recording quality is listenable but obviously audience derived. The best one by far of those I've heard is “Live 23rd June 1981 @ Jimmy's Music Club New Orleans”, a great recording of a full-tilt Fall performance from a critical time in their existence (pictured) . There's a palpable tension, possibly due to the return of Burns, brought back not just out of practicalities but also to even the group up a bit, now that Smith was beginning to reconsider the wisdom of having a team of childhood friends for a group. Rehiring Burns was designed to put some grit back into the machine and it worked. Having a full set from this line-up is a worthy addition to the canon and it should be snapped up before it vanishes – this is the only one of the “Set Of Ten” CDs that seems to be thin on the ground. The artwork and credits show the level of care taken over the release; that is – pretty much none. The CD artwork has the 6 piece “Hex” line-up – Karl Burns is the only drummer here as Paul Hanley was at home doing his O Levels. However, the sleeve credits Paul Hanley and not Burns, adding a credit for Duncan Burndred, who was the group's driver at the time. The info had been sourced from the “Slates & Dates” press release which credited Burndred with “the rest” (ie anything other than music and management). Likely pilfered from thefall.org, this missive was retooled for the artwork without any real consideration.

However, it seems there was sufficient demand out there and, cometh the tail end of 2019, cometh another Set of Ten, given the snappy title...”Another Set Of Ten”. They must have been up all fucking night thinking of that one. Again, it has 11 discs. It does get interesting here insofar as most of the tapes come from between 2009 and 2013 suggesting not only that there wasn't much left from the original “Vaults”- destined batch but also making it unclear from whom these tapes were being licenced. They are, of course, under no obligation to discuss such matters publicly and, indeed the current incarnation of Cog Sinister would likely feel aggrieved at having the question asked. They are, after all, a legitimate enterprise.

A quick skwizz at the Discogs page tells you that “Another Set Of Ten” is not a triumph; all the tapes are listed as being audience tapes, one disc has just six songs from the gig and several others are also incomplete and/or mislabelled. The main contributor to the Discogs entry (to whom, hello!) notes that the tracklistings appear to be taken from photographs of setlists uploaded to thefall.org's justly revered and thoroughly sublime gigography but, where the setlist didn't match what was played, no attempt has been made to correct this. They haven't even matched up the content with the tracklistings!!! At time of writing, these ones are just starting to slip into the shops on their own, possibly Covid delayed as you could get them via online retailers for a while. The cover for a Manchester gig from 2009 looked like a sick joke and it was hard not to think similar (albeit at lower pitch) about the inclusion of an infamous Motherwell gig at which MES was completely plastered and Brix had quit the band an hour or so before the show. What's next? Worthing? Brownies?

Yet it is very hard not to be continually tempted. There's some juicy setlists in these discs and the artwork at least has some effort – Pascal LeGras has done a very fine job here and his art certainly gives the right feel to the releases. I'm guessing that was the plan. I’ve got my eye on a few. It’s a disease this, I tell you...

Anyway, one way of the other, 5 of the “Set Of Ten” discs found their way onto vinyl on RSD, courtesy of reissue imprint Let Them Eat Vinyl and all of these are still easy to score, should you wish. The whole Gonzo/Let Them Eat Vinyl hookup is interesting for scholars of who-owns-what in terms of The Fall's catalogue. As above, we know that BMG have the Rough Trade recordings but LTEV's “Grotesque”, issued in 2017, states it is licensed by Sanctuary.

LTEV have also been putting some of the other lesser releases from the catalogue onto vinyl, including 2 mid 90's live albums (Phoenix 1995 and “The Idiot Joy Show” - nothing that was wasn't available for buttons on CD in the early 00s) as well as “Interim”, the demos and live cobble-together that attempted to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory in 2004. The latter had never been pressed to vinyl before and with bloody good reason. Yr mileage, as always, may vary.

Whilst not The Fall, acolytes will doubtless want to know that Ed Blaney issued a 2CD edition of “The Train”, containing the full 40-minute “(Part Three)” CD, a similarly lengthed alternate version and a clutch of remixes. Blaney also uploaded a properly touching tribute to Smith on YouTube, including reminiscences with other friends of Smith.

One more part to come, in which we burn the spotlight of shame onto a couple of the worst products ever to have had the name The Fall unwillingly emblazoned upon their sleeves and take a quick look over some of what we know is in the pipeline.

#the fall #mark e smith

6 notes · View notes

aroworlds · 5 years ago

Text

What Makes Us Human, Part One

Moll of Sirenne needs prompts in their girdle book to navigate casual conversations, struggles to master facial expressions and feels safest weeding the monastery's vegetable gardens. Following their call to service, however, means offering wanderers in need a priest's support and guidance. A life free of social expectation to court, wed and befriend does outweigh their fear of causing harm—until forgetting the date of a holiday provokes a guest's ire and three cutting words: lifeless and loveless.

A priest must expand a guest's sense of human worth, but what do they do when their own comes under question? Can an autistic, aromantic priest ever expect to serve outside the garden? And what day is it...?

Contains: A middle-aged, agender priest set on defying social norms around love; an alloromantic guest with a journey to undergo in conquering her amatonormativity and ableism; and an elderly aromantic priest providing irascible reassurance.

Content Advisory: Depictions and discussions of ableism, amatonormativity and dehumanisation, particularly with regards to autism and aromanticism. Please expect additional background references to partner abuse and dysfunctional relationships, along with a side mention of magic causing harm to animals. This piece also includes reflections on non-romantic love's being pushed as a second-best "humanising" quality on non-partnerning, aplatonic and neurodiverse aros.

Length: 4, 946 words (part one of two).

Note: This is the newest entry in my tradition of Not Valentine’s Day Aro Stories posted on Valentine’s Day. No familiarity with my other Marchverse stories is needed, although it does obliquely nod at events referenced in Love is the Reckoning.

You think love is what makes us human, if you must choose one quality?

Moll opens their girdle book and, without looking, sets their fingertip by a word written a third of the way down the page. Gardening. Sighing, they buckle the book closed and drop it back into position at their hip. Sirenne’s greenhouses and vegetable gardens, in their midsummer bounty, gift the monastery a glut of corn, beans and cucumbers; they can start breakfast’s conversation with that observation. The kitchen’s current tendency to add corn to foods and dishes that don’t usually encompass them offers another direction, along with more anodyne comments about weeding and Sirenne’s scores of potted plants. Simple enough, as discussions go.

When will their calling start to feel simple?

True, they count ownership of their red robes in weeks and months, the scar on their shoulder still pink. The brown belt of a novice priest bears the girdle book and a leather pouch, its length crisp and unmarked. Five years of study can’t yet earn the confidence of experience: by logic’s metric, it’s unreasonable for Moll to expect mastery in this new art. How can they compare the difficulty of their new work to the ease they owned in the old? Aren’t they creating their distress by anticipating the unrealistic?

“Fifteen years with the Seventh,” they mutter under their breath as they walk to the serving tables and fill a bowl with steamed rice and quinoa, today drizzled with stewed apricots. A waiting acolyte, standing behind the array of dishes, pays Moll’s murmuring no mind. “It’s only been a little over five, here. Don’t compare them.”

They add another ladle of apricots to their bowl and turn towards their table, tucked to the side of the great hall—away from the clatter of the kitchen doors, close to a window looking onto one of the monastery’s fern-clustered courtyards. Moll dislikes navigating all the chairs filled by guests, acolytes and guiding priests, but they’ll accept that thrice-daily annoyance for the comparative quiet of their corner.

Today, despite the hall’s great arched roof and echoing tile floor, the noise isn’t as bothersome.

Only when they reach their table do they realise why: one advising priest, her red robes belted with green, joins the gaggle of guests and acolytes. Where are the others? Did something happen overnight? The Guide misses as many meals as she attends, but never has Moll seen so few of Sirenne’s senior priests at breakfast. Frowning, they look to their acolytes sitting at the middle of the table. Dare they ask? If something serious has happened, wouldn’t Moll already know? Why risk distressing James by calling attention to something that may lack any import?

Neither appears to mark anything amiss.

“Good morning.” Moll sits opposite James and across from the brown-robed acolytes, working to keep their voice even and low. James regards the slightest abruptness in Moll’s speech as indicative of anger or disgust, and they prefer no further misunderstandings. “I see that the kitchen serves cornbread, creamed corn and corn fritters this morning?”

The acolytes nod vehemently.

James, staring at her plate, pays Moll no attention. She’s a small and delicate woman, pretty as some reckon such things. Fine chains of embroidery decorate the cuffs of her linen shirt and the panels of her grey waistcoat; studs carved like silver roses sparkle in her ear lobes, while matching combs and pins hold back her silky curls. Paint darkens her lips and evens a complexion in little need of it; no callus of pen, needle or weapon roughens her soft fingers. She’s elegant like a fashion plate in a book, but the illusion breaks when Moll looks to her nails, bitten down to the distal edge. A habit, they know, discouraged in the classes of people needful of donning powder and paint before breakfast at a secluded monastery.

Never has she bitten them in public, and she rejected Moll’s suggestion of fidget tools as though offended by their observation of her need. Even their usual use of a weighted, beaded cord while talking drew her ire: it’s manipulative, she said, as though their stimming exists only in relationship to the shame social niceties require nobody mention, to pressure me by using something I have refused in front of me.

She did, yesterday, observe the morning greeting.

“Corn wouldn’t be so bad,” Alicia says, her eyes flicking from James to Moll underneath an untidy mop of red hair, “if they’d do something new with it.”

“Don’t say that!” Ro howls, poking Alicia in the arm. At eighteen, he isn’t much more than a child, gangly and frenetic. Remembering the reasons underpinning his service during meals—to help a guiding priest maintain a casual conversation before their guests—isn’t yet second nature. “They’ll be giving us corn in pudding next!”

Moll suspects they’re meant to learn from Ro’s impulsiveness as much as Ro should from their measured consideration.

Measured consideration is the polite way of saying “rigidly follows rules”.

“Corn custard?” Alicia grins and elbows Ro in the ribs. When he forgets his duty, she soon follows him.

“Don’t even say it! Don’t give them ideas!”

“Corn custard, corn custard, corn custard!”

James sits at the table as if unhearing, her lean hands pushing a piece of toasted wheat bread across her plate. She smells like jasmine, her perfume a foreign, expensive contrast to breakfast’s savoury aromas, Moll’s apricots and the damp, earthy scents of the courtyard. She smells like their childhood.

They hastily swallow a mouthful of their own breakfast, the grains mingling with the sweet fruit, before attempting a direct question. “Do you garden, James? I didn’t have the opportunity before Sirenne, unless I count the Warp’s tendency to provoke sacks of flour into sprouting seedlings overnight? I still know little, but I’ve learnt that I enjoy mucking about with a trowel.”

There: a question and a few personal observations. Isn’t that the mainstay of an acceptable social exchange? Three terms in the Seventh Western Regiment, stationed in the Warp during the Council of Advocates’ last attempt to settle that magic-twisted territory, have left Moll with a lifetime of anecdotes. Many—like the time a crate of fleece-lined coats outside the wards became a bleating collection of violently disfigured sheep—are best left unmentioned during meals, but magical wheat seems safe enough for breakfast chatter.

James, without blinking, pinches off a corner from her piece of buttered toast.

If not for a week’s observation, Moll may have thought her unable to hear or process.

“I hate gardening,” Alicia offers, after another look at James. “Dirt under my fingernails? I’d rather dust or wash dishes or sweep.”

Ro snickers. “Dirt? Of course—”

Moll taps him on the ankle with their bare foot.

“Uh … yes, I don’t like dirt, either. Because I hate laundry. Your hands get all cracked and dry. I’ve still got scars from when my skin split in winter. But when your father’s a launderer…” Ro shakes his head and glances at Moll. “What did you hate, in your old job?”

People who go through my wagons. Officers who refuse to follow needed precautions. The mouldy-citrus smell of warped, decaying magic.

Instead, they stop to think of something others will find relatable: Moll enjoyed the usual army annoyances of polishing boots and mending uniforms. The barracks brats of the Seventh always knew when their quartermaster passed a sleepless night, for they’d wake to find their newly-darned stockings laid out over their gear chests.

“Latrine duty. I didn’t dislike planning or digging, but cleaning up a latrine site isn’t enjoyable for obvious reasons. Soldiers left to unsupervised orders, however, have a marked tendency to the slapdash.”

Alicia, of course, pulls a face.

James turns away from Moll, her pressed lips and deep frown suggesting irritation or disdain.

Anxiety, too familiar a companion, sits as heavily in Moll’s gut as a month’s diet of wheat bread.

They can’t remember a time in childhood absent that pervasive sense of dread, the knowing of their having errored without cognition on how or why. Nor was their adulthood so free—the difference being that Moll had twenty years to learn the rules and rhythms of military life, and service in the Warp excused some of Moll’s habits and provoked similar needs in others. Then the Council surrendered to the Warp and disbanded the Seventh, leaving Moll adrift in a world governed by normal magic and unexplained rules.

Sirenne, where people communicate with clarity and directness about concepts brushed aside as unacceptable, should have offered refuge.

They eat, letting Alicia and Ro carry the conversation against the backdrop of James’s pointed silence. She only makes a few pointed grimaces when Moll speaks, picking her way through half a slice of toast.

After yesterday, they planned to offer James the morning for further discussion.

Today, in the absence of a proper breakfast and animus targeted at Moll, they’d best make it a priority.

When the acolytes clear away the dishes and the hall empties out with priests and guests going about chores or sessions, they stand, round the end of the table and bow at James. “Would you please come and walk with me?”

At first, it felt deceptive to string together words so unrelated to their intent. Honesty, to Moll, means saying what is meant: I want to have a private conversation about your mood and health, to help guide you in following the life’s path best suited to you. Gennifer explained, over several occasions, that while all believers know what a priest of the Sojourner means by “walk”, success rarely results from beginning said conversations with direct utterances of an uncomfortable truth.

They still don’t grasp the logic in that, but Moll now regards the script as a signpost marking the transition from breakfast’s communality to discussion’s intimacy. If Sirenne possesses an agreed-upon willingness to dishonesty between all parties, is it still a lie? A priest’s work doesn’t mean, Gennifer added, a strict adherence to direct honesty, and aren’t they supposed to be challenging the existence of an objective truth? Why should Moll’s regard become the defining metric of falsehood?

Priesthood requires accepting the unfading presence of an existential headache.

James rises, drops her spoon onto her plate with a teeth-jarring clang and follows Moll from the hall—offering, presumably, her consent.

Their favourite courtyard, as always, bears no tag of occupancy. A triangular space jammed between the kitchens and the Guide’s personal wing, it lacks the green softness of Sirenne’s other courtyards, instead beset with craggy planes of rock part-covered by draping vines. While few areas of the monastery don’t feature running water—its movement reflecting the Sojourner’s eternal journey—here a still basin houses pond fish and lilies. Other priests abhor the darkness and stuffiness caused by four walls and the slanting eaves above, but Moll appreciates the yard’s quiet. How do the others listen to running water for hours on end without succumbing to teeth-grinding annoyance?

They murmur the spell for a peach-hued witchlight, palm the resulting sphere and fling it upwards to catch on a trailing cluster of vines by the archway’s apex. “Please, enter.”

James folds her arms, passes under the arch and sits on the bench by the basin, staring at the white lilies clustered along one edge. The toe of her left boot, the leather polished near to gleaming, worries at a crack in the flagstones. “What.”

No lilt, no upturned voice. Probably not a question.

Moll moves to their usual seat. A pillow placed on a dip of the rocky wall provides a safe distance between them and their guests while offering the damp, loamy aura of fern and moss. They still can’t take ordinary nature for granted; they still wake in the night, startled to breathe air that doesn’t smell of rot. “I fear that I have caused you offense or hurt. I would appreciate knowing, if you’d be so kind as to explain, what I did.”

The difficulty in needing to ask people for explanations lies in their requiring them from those Moll has hurt. Some don’t mind, those who understand the cause of their ignorance, but too many become more offended when having to explain the how and why of something Moll should have known to avoid. If a quartermaster is expected to read another’s body language and glean its inspiring thoughts and feelings, guests grant far less leeway to a priest—no matter how much introductory explanation Moll provides about their autism.

They try, where possible, to describe situations and ask questions of other people, but how can they do so here? James is distressed enough to disregard the customs on which she sets such value; while she wasn’t friendly at breakfast, she didn’t direct her expressions at the acolytes. Moll, based on limited evidence, a reasonable assumption and their history, must have caused her mood.

Again.

James turns her head and shoulders away from Moll—almost putting her back to them while remaining seated on the stone bench.

“I apologise.” They bow as best they can from their seated position. “It’s unfair to place on you the burden of educating me after being hurt. I do wish to know how I can avoid distressing you in future, and I promise that I won’t be angered by your explanation. If you wish another priest to assist in—”

James whirls to face them with startling speed, her teeth bared in something close to a snarl. “What, so you’ll write it down in your book of things to remember?”

Talking, however abrupt and disagreeable, provides an entry into exploration. While a variety of considering or responsive silences should be recognised and supported in a healthy exchange, guiding is easier when anything expressive replaces the wall of sullen silence.

Even accusation and aggression.

“I don’t understand,” Moll demurs, letting their eyes rest on James’s face for fear avoidance suggests anger or insincerity. “Didn’t I explain sufficiently to you why I use my book?”

A guiding priest must, inquisitively, engage with their flock’s thoughts and feelings. Curiosity means putting aside judgement and listening, open-hearted, to the twists and turns of a path that lead to their conclusions. Curiosity means offering, as non-judgementally as possible, a more useful direction. Curiosity means listening to and acknowledging another’s criticism of their work. Curiosity means putting aside the last conversation Moll had with a guest about their girdle book … even as bile’s bitter sourness coats the back of their throat and tongue.

James snorts. She holds her chin high above the stiff collar of her shirt, her shoulders set, her hands folded in her lap. Even in session, she doesn’t forgo correctness for comfort. “You think that I haven’t seen you picking something to talk about each meal? Except you didn’t remember to write down what day it is, did you? You just ask completely irrelevant questions!”

What day…? They work through the shards of story James has shared, but none suggest significance of the day, week or season. She spoke, in short references, of a relationship fallen apart and a family taking the side of her partner, citing reasons of financial investment. She spoke of need for a temporary reprieve from both—threaded with the hope of return when her partner’s anger ebbs enough for normal’s resumption—but resentment colours her references to the friend that suggested sanctuary at a monastery. They know of no anniversary that lends one summer day such profound weight.

Perhaps her disdain draws from something she believes sufficiently communicated, conveyed in hints perceived by an allistic priest?

“I find participating in casual exchanges difficult. This book,” and Moll dips their chin towards their hip, “helps me engage in the talk many of our guests find comforting. Perhaps I mayn’t need it in future, but today I do.” Moll closes their fists and opens them, one deliberate finger at a time. Since fidgets provoke James’s anger, Moll possesses fewer ways to direct and manage their nervousness. “I am grateful for a tool that eases my navigation of unsuited customs. Do you have occasions where you would appreciate a tool to help you with something people don’t expect you to find difficult?”

Gennifer gifted them the girdle book a few months after Moll took the brown; the acolytes of Moll’s calling-year spent that evening offering suggestions and prompts. Sorcha and Oki passed the book amongst the priests until a score of hands filled the pages. For the first time in Moll’s life, they found themself surrounded by people more interested in helping them navigate expectations than in using their difficulties to void their position.

If not for the guests, Sirenne should have offered nothing short of paradise.

Even to think this borders on sacrilege.

“You’re a priest. You’re supposed to be…” James stares, shaking her head. “Or maybe that’s why! You don’t even know what today is, do you? It’s just another day to you—away from the real world, thinking you know anything!” Her voice edges on shrill as she leans forwards. “Is that why you all become priests? Because you’re not normal enough for anything but hiding here?”

Moll admits that their calling exists in part because of the similarities shared by divine and armed service. Both offer the comforting limits of hour bells, set times for work and play, assigned clothing, clear expectations around behaviour. While surprises happen, Sirenne and the Seventh provide rules and processes for how one responds; even the unexpected, in many ways, still owns a guiding spectre of regularity.

Structure, Gennifer summarised after Moll’s explanation. You need—thrive in—the structure.

The monastic life also permits and justifies their failure to navigate life and relationship expectations. A priest of the Sojourner needn’t avoid partnering, but such avoidance isn’t unexpected given their remove from circumstances that facilitate such relationships.

They knew, their boots crunching on the driveway’s blanket of fallen leaves and twigs, that this secluded compound will become home.

They knew, during their first gently-interrogative conversation with Gennifer, what new path their feet must follow.

Does that correlate to hiding?

“I was quartermaster for fifteen years in the Seventh Western Regiment,” Moll says quietly. “After the Seventh’s disbandment and my discharge, I was called to begin a new shape of service, in which I am recognised by the Sojourner and the community of Sirenne. May I ask what ‘normal’ means to you?”

It’s crass to draw James’s attention to their bare shoulders, one marked by their god and one marked by the Guide. What does the possession of either mean, anyway, if Moll doubts their ability to serve as called? They open and close their fists, lifting and lowering one finger at a time, until their body feels less likely to slip out of control.

James, her thin brows raised, stares at the basin and its lilies.

Remember your curiosity.

Curiosity, in the Warp, too often became lethal.

“Would you share with me your understanding of priestly service? Guests are often surprised by the differences between the monastic orders.” They try to smile. “I think that speaks to what the Sojourner preaches—that there are many pathways, often contradictory but always leading to the same place, to understand and honour hir. But it can, sometimes, make for confusion.”

Even her criticism, should it encompass substance and clarity, seems better than this wall of vague disdain interspersed with rejecting silence. Other than referencing a date on which Moll recognises no significance and objecting to their use of the girdle book’s prompts, she hasn’t provided actionable critique or evaluation. They forgot—or didn’t know—today’s significance. How can they rectify that without explanation?

James snorts. “That’s what you tell yourself.”

A woman so bound up in observing customs of dress and behaviour must intend her rudeness.

Should they admit defeat and take James to Gennifer for reassignment? Yet if something significant busies the Guide and her advising priests, Gennifer doesn’t need a brown-belted priest running for help with one guest in, comparatively, a trivial circumstance. Surely even a raw priest, who doesn’t need reminder lists for mealtime conversations, will navigate this situation without help? Isn’t this, then, a learning opportunity? If they can figure out how to gain James’s trust, will they make fewer mistakes with other allistic guests?

They draw a series of breaths—inhale, hold, exhale—but the nauseating anxiety now bears the edges of a restless, sweating panic.

“Yes, I do tell myself that,” they say as agreeably as possible. A display of receptiveness may help James feel comfortable with further elaboration, even though they don’t know why she made such a snide comment. “I do wish to better support you. Before I can do that, I need to learn from you. Every priest must learn from their guests; I just have a greater need than some.”

James looks down at their feet, scraping the soles of their boots across the tiles with a sound that sets Moll’s teeth on edge.

Breathe in, hold, breathe out. Exhale for as long as possible. Close fingers one by one, hold, open them again as slowly as possible. Breathe.

“That sound hurts my ears. Would you please stop?” Moll attempts, again, a smile, but even on the best of days and in the happiest of moods such an expression feels forced and unnatural. If only they could project an image of quiet harmlessness! How else do they manage a tension too often read as threatening when their lips don’t move the usual way? “Thank you.”

James stills her feet, staring at Moll with her head tilted as if to suggest that she looks through them to focus on the vine-shrouded stone behind.

“I understand that today has meaning to you,” they offer. Perhaps retreating to the one problem about which James has provided any clarity will encourage movement. “Would you share this meaning with me, so I can offer the specific support you need? I’ve missed your communicating it.”

As soon as the they say “me”, they realise that an allistic priest with an allistic’s intuitive understanding of social interactions will instead have asked an unrelated question or offered a distracting observation on an unrelated subject.

As soon as they say “me”, they know they have handed James all the excuse she needs.

They just don’t know why.

She leaps upright, her hands trembling. “How are you going to help if you don’t even know? How are you going to help me with my partner, when you don’t know why today matters? Why I have to be alone today of all days, and how awful that is—but you just want explanations like you’re a child at their first solstice, too young to know anything! What’s the good of talking to you when you’re just a statue, lifeless and loveless? Look at you—you don’t even have an expression!”

Her brown eyes glisten as though she stands one wrong word away from tears.

Moll opens and closes their hands, one slow finger at a time.

Share, Oki advised every shadowing. Don’t burden them with your pain, but don’t secret your own struggles. Show them that you walk this road because you know theirs.

One word, though, they are hesitant to mention.

Perhaps their aromanticism, the sense Moll has owned as for as long as memory that they don’t desire romantic partnerships, is obvious to others. Perhaps James believes that an autistic, with stiff words and a book of conversation prompts, must be aromantic, both “lifeless and loveless”. Maybe she believes aromanticism accompanies an identity equally misunderstood as a detriment or shortcoming. Doesn’t she believe, at least, that those called to priesthood have surrendered any validating sense of what she considers normal—and, therefore, of value?

Convention, for all that she privileges it, nonetheless sent both sheltering beneath Sirenne’s roof.

“I’m truly sorry that you’re hurting and that today is difficult for you. I will do my best to help you, but the more you’re willing to share, the easier I will find it.” Moll speaks with measured care, pausing between each word in the fight to keep their voice from breaking. Measured means rigid. Rigid … isn’t that another way of saying “lifeless”? “My autism or aromanticism, however, don’t mean we lack humanity in common, or that I haven’t struggled with my family or departures from my road—my own despair and illnesses. I haven’t experienced your precise circumstances, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in your struggles or won’t offer a sympathetic ear.”

How can they provide that if she won’t explain her needs?

Lifeless. Frantic limbs and a wild voice, emotion given movement and language, also earns them censure—accusations of immaturity or aggression. Moll’s big, broad body and limbs don’t permit even dangerousness’s suggestion without provoking restrictive consequence. No, they can’t expect her to understand their inability to recollect freedom of reaction, emotion or speech. They don’t expect her to understand that adulthood’s repetition has rendered a seemingly-unnatural control all but innate. Can’t she at least assume that if Moll can master that acceptable state of allistic-flavoured emotional expression, they will?

Loveless. No, they don’t feel in any way categorisable as “love”. They’re not drawn to friends or partners in ways that suit, even non-romantically, the word’s sense of passion and vibrancy; it doesn’t fit their connection to people, labour or place. Their calling to service is too powerful and all-encompassing to be love. Such a general word, often used to describe feelings and actions contradictory to its given purpose, feels ill-suited.

Why must it be a moral failing to use words other than “love” to describe their relationships and feelings? Why must complex emotions be reduced to a binary of hate and love? Why must people replace the pressure to love romantically with the pressure to at least avoid accusations of lovelessness?

“Lifeless” devalues their best attempt to oblige other people’s expectations.

“Loveless”, not synonymous with loathing or disregard, shouldn’t serve as any kind of criticism. James loves. Which of them, today, is the crueller?

Maybe Moll has constrained their feelings for too long to permit a broader, warmer range of emotion.

Maybe their need to match feelings and experiences to words’ exact specifications means they, unknowingly, feel something allistics name “love”.

Maybe the stories that explain and identify love hold little relevance in real life, and people not Moll better accept the chasm standing between idealism and reality.

Maybe the reasoning doesn’t matter: the Sojourner has never required that her followers love.

What if, though, they’re better suited to a trowel or chopping knife than the careful, subtle art of guiding their guests? What if Moll can’t help James because of the qualities they don’t experience or the relationships they don’t desire? What if lovelessness and lifelessness, even best regarded as neutral states of being, render them ill-suited to the work?

“You’re like a puppet—moving your wooden lips, saying the words. But you don’t know anything about … about really being human.” James folds her arms across her body before turning towards the arch, her chin held high. “There’s no point. Not with you.”

No, there isn’t. She needs a priest who won’t make her feel distanced by their inability to share her experiences. One who, in curiosity and kindness, can explore and sympathise with her pain-born feelings and judgements. One who doesn’t feel slapped across the face and punched in the gut by three words: lifeless and loveless.

They understand the process. Pluck out the least-acceptable aspects of aromanticism and autism, disguise them as general qualities society finds objectionable and wield them at the vulnerable—prejudice now concealed under the thinnest veneer of acceptable disregard. Awareness doesn’t ease their hurt.

Wooden. Puppet. Statue.

Inhuman.

She halts at the archway, gesturing in their direction. “See? You aren’t even saying anything now! You’re—”

“Pain!” The word spills from Moll’s lips with shocking vehemence. “You think love is what makes us human, if you must choose one quality? No, humans are pain, not love—the pain of having our worth denied, the pain of injury and loss, the pain of our cognisance of our mortality, the pain of fear, the pain of being overlooked or ignored, even the pain of having our pain denied! Who doesn’t endure against the hurt of being told in word or action that we aren’t worth kindness?”

James stares at Moll in an aghast, still silence.

“You think I can’t know you? If you think, in your pain and ignorance, that I haven’t had someone demonstrate that I’m undeserving of respect, you have done so just now! You sought to strip away my humanity, because you think cruelty will give you back the power torn from you. It won’t. It only makes you cruel. It only envenomates another.” They rise and walk towards the archway, fighting to keep their steps slow and hands loose by their sides. “Because you misunderstand your own humanity, you gave me what makes me as human as you—pain. Will you say it again, now, why I can’t guide you?”

Her lips part as though about to speak, but no sound emerges.

“I have consented to guide you to your rightful path. I haven’t consented to your disrespect.” Despite their efforts, Moll’s bare feet smack against the stone as they step past James into the fern-lined pathway. “Gennifer will assign you to another priest’s care. I won’t spend a moment longer with you.” Just for a moment, they adopt the snapping bark mastered with the Seventh: “Come!”

James moves as though afraid to make the slightest noise, hanging back a few steps behind with the nail of her pointer finger clasped between her teeth.

21 notes · View notes

morethanaprincess-a · 4 years ago

Text

@trinitytalents said: 👫

Send ‘👫’ for the mun to introduce you to a npc in my muses life.

At least the day had started well for Valentina, Queen of Novoselic (nee Borghese, daughter of the Duke of Orelli). As soon as the clock struck five, Gabriel had slipped from between her bedsheets and tiptoed to the door after kissing her forehead. As usual, she'd lazily tried to grasp his hand or shoulders, sleepily uttering that she commanded him to return to bed. And as usual, he'd whispered something terribly naughty he'd do to her later if he wasn't otherwise occupied as the Head of Novoselic Castle security. As soon as she watched him retreat into one of the two hidden passages connected to her room, she'd rolled over only to awake at a far more appropriate hour of 10 AM.

At precisely 10:15, a maid entered with her breakfast tray, perfectly portioned servings of wheat toast with accompanying jam, a bowl of fruit, yogurt, and a vegetable drink, which Valentina pinched her nose before downing first. This had been followed by Daphne, her senior secretary (the other two had been consigned to email and letter duty until noon) and her tablet. While older and far too smiley for Valentina's liking, she could ignore the woman's graying copper hair in favor of her knowing when to be silent (during her Japanese dramas) and how to tell the difference between eggshell and cream when it came to table linens (Valentina had fired secretaries for less). But most importantly, she knew that when it came to their Head of Security, he was an off-limits topic in anything but the professional sense unless they were alone.

"Your Majesty will be pleased to hear that your fine arts charity for high school students in Novoselic has had a 25% increase in donations this year, with several patrons attributing your gifts and galas as the cause," Daphne beamed as she interrupted her reading of Queen Valentina's unusually light schedule. But in comparison to all of the appearances she'd put in lately with Alexandre busy in Council sessions, a moment to breathe was hardly slacking. "Naturally. Thank you, Daphne. That will be all until the afternoon." She'd replied loftily, but deep down she was near to exploding from joy, both from the news as well as the laptop that rested beside her on the bed. She had important personal business to see to that morning.

Important business that was now threatened by Emelia, the Queen Mother. Just as Daphne swept from the room with a bow of the head, she'd nearly bumped into Alexandre's mother and Novoselic's past Queen. Emelia was in her seventies, kept her hair far too long (and terribly raggedy in the morning), and now had a tendency to visit her daughter-in-law during breakfast ever since Sonia was sent off to Japan for school. When the Princess still lived at home, she commonly ate breakfast with the woman, if just to spare her mother from her grandmother (or the other way round). While she was intent to savor the peace of her toast and Christie's online auctions, the Queen Mother had her usual morning plan in mind.

"Yes, please set the tray there Henri," The septuagenarian insisted, gesturing to the low table she wanted the footman to set her own breakfast tray down on before, perhaps more insistently, pointing to the TV, "And move the TV closer so I can hear. Channel 5!"

"Emelia, I am otherwise occupied," Valentina shot her mother-in-law a stern look, setting down one of her toast points. For the past week she'd been in a bidding war during Christie's annual online handbag auction with, if the username was anything to go by, was that socialite bitch from Singapore made fabulously wealthy twice over due to her high-profile skincare line and equally high-profile divorce from an airline CEO. The Queen's last six trips to Hermes' Faubourg store hadn't resulted in the Himalayan crocodile Birkin she wanted, no matter how much both the manager and Pierre-Alexis Dumas, the brand's artistic director, phoned to apologize. So now she was stuck bidding at Christie's against her Singaporean rival, who somehow still looked twenty-five at fifty, married a man at least ten years her junior, and already had three Himalayan crocodile Birkins, two of which had diamond-encrusted palladium closures (Valentina may or may not have watched her closet walk-through several times and deemed real diamonds on handbags to be tacky and reeking of 'nouveau riche'). She wasn't about to let the woman who defied the test of time add a fourth to her closet when she'd yet to obtain her first. "Must you enjoy 'Wake Up with Wanda' in my presence?"

"One should never have breakfast alone if you want to maintain your health," The older woman nagged, settling into the sofa with her own breakfast tray of oatmeal and toast. "Besides, Wanda's interviewing that handsome Pokora fellow this morning and he'll sing after!" 'Wake Up with Wanda' was the new edition, if fifteen years of hosting could be called new, of the previous morning show 'Rise and Shine with Richard.' Both shows aired on Novoselic's secondary news channel, NTV2, and primarily focused on current events, culture, and gossip. Emelia had fallen in love with it the moment Richard, when he was still young and dashing, interviewed ABBA and had promptly taken the Queen of Novoselic's call when she'd telephoned to tell the quartet how much she adored their records. A private concert later and she became one of the show's most prominent patrons for the past 40 years. Emelia insisted it kept her up to date with 'the young people.'

"You only care for M. Pokora because he covered a song by Claude Francois," Valentina quipped, hastily punching in a new number onto the Christie's website. Take that, Singapore Bitch and monster-in-law.

"Who adapted the song from The Four Seasons," Emelia was elderly but not senile, and was determined not to be outdone. She gave her daughter-in-law a triumphant nod. "Could you pass the raspberry jam? Somehow the kitchens ran out this morning and poor Alexandre, he had to have his toast with only butter before meeting the Council."

Valentina scooted to the side of her bed to hand it gently to the woman, no matter how much she wanted to chuck it at her head. At least she hadn't mentioned ABBA, her true musical love. Valentina herself had enjoyed her playing 'Mamma Mia!' over and over until Sonia, as an infant, was given a paternity test. Now she suspected the woman played it in the Queen's presence just to remind her of the plot of the ABBA musical, where the protagonist's daughter could have been fathered by three different men. Before the test came back confirming Alexandre as Sonia's father, the musical's plot was perilously close to real life. Every situation Emelia could highlight Alex's misfortunes had been capitalized on ever since. "I shall speak to Daphne about ordering more after breakfast."

"Good!" She grinned, taking another bite of oatmeal as her gaze flickered back to the TV. "Novoselic Castle should always be kept up to standard, after all."

Valentina sighed, pushing down her desire to scowl and groan at the same time. The woman had never accepted her son and his wife were in a loveless marriage with no cure. At least, for now, she was 30,000 euros in the lead for her new Birkin-

READ THIS.

An email, sent to her personal account from Daphne, popped up as the auction entered its last three minutes. Finally letting out a groan, She opened her email to find only a URL in the body of the email, something that would take her to a Japanese site. "This better be important," She grumbled, clicking it.

It seemed to be a journal of some sort, written in Japanese with plenty of discussion about fashion and style for teenagers, popular culture, and so forth, with far too many 'kawaii' touches for her liking. Belonging to a dark-haired girl with a red bow, her content varied from her fashion to interviews, often featuring fellow teenagers likely close in age. Valentina felt her eyes glaze over until she tore her gaze from the sidebar to the first entry at the top of the page: Hope's Peak's Ultimate Princess, the Princess of Novoselic Answers YOUR Questions!

"Oh dear God," Valentina gasped, clutching the sides of her keyboard as she began to scroll. There was her daughter, bright and smiling in an outfit she'd never have let Cecily approve of for her as she chatted amiably on video with the dark-haired girl. The goal was to find the person behind the Princess and find out what being Royal was really like, according to the introduction. The Queen froze at the sorts of questions the girl's 'fans' apparently wanted to know: Did Sonia have a significant other? Did the Castle still have in-use torture chambers? How big was her closet? Nothing about her various charity work in Japan, professional appearances, or even the positive highlights of their country's history. Just glamour and gore. Exactly the sort of interview she'd been trying to fend off from Novoselic Daily News, who'd been promised Sonia's next interview once she'd finished with UK Tatler and Japan's NHK.

And if Daphne's capital letters were any indication, it was likely NDN's CEO had already gotten whiff of Princess Sonia's unauthorized interview to a complete amateur.

"What in the HELL is she thinking!?" Valentina cried, all but forgetting her precious Hermes and Emelia, reaching for her phone to fire off a phone call which, unsurprisingly, went unanswered. She had no choice: she'd have to corner her daughter by text.

I know you are ignoring me, Sonia. You will call me as soon as you receive this message unless you prefer to be put on your plane in the next hour and flown straight home.

#more-than-a-princess answered #more-than-a-princess memes #(Sonia's relatives apply throughout most of her verses and with most of my writing partners)#(But here's a scenario that takes place after our last thread)#trinitytalents #NPC drabble meme

1 note · View note

1-1snailxd-art · 6 years ago

Text

Libraries are for Meetings

Master List ------ Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Librarians don’t date

Warnings: mild panic, introduction to Deceit inspired character (they are a sweetie)

Summary: Logan takes Virgil out to dinner at the one place that serves great food, a surprisingly friendly face, and a topic Logan had forgotten he was avoiding.

Note: reading on mobile can remove the paragraphing. Use desktop site or visit my Ao3 page if it bothers you as much as it bothers me.

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

As the car slowed, Virgil felt his mouth salivate as he recognised Julie’s Diner lighting up the corner of the street. He remembered visiting the diner regularly with his old roommate. It seemed so long ago, but it had only been a few months; that was long enough for him to miss the comfort of good food.

His mouth dried suddenly as Logan drove passed and turned the car down a narrow street and parked behind a foreboding black van.

“Couldn’t have chosen a brighter spot?” Virgil asked nervously, before quickly clearing his throat and trying to act more confident.

“Oh, sorry.” Clearing his own throat, Logan was embarrassed to realise how this could be perceived. “I always park here. I know the diner owner.”

“You know the owner?” Virgil exited the car, now eager again to get to the diner.

“Oh, yes. We met through… unfortunate circumstances, but that doesn’t diminish our friendship.”

“That’s… cool, I guess.”

The two walked around the corner and Virgil was once again salivating at the idea of having a full plate of food.

Logan moved to open the diner’s door and gestured for Virgil to step inside.

“Oh, I should warn you…”

Logan couldn’t finish his sentence before he was hit in the face with a cupcake.

The diner was silent, and Virgil stared at Logan in shock as he licked at the frosting on his face.

“That seemed a little over the top and Patton would be mortified to know you were wasting good cupcakes.”

“Jokes on you, Lo, that was one of the day olds.”

A woman walked over carrying a cloth and threw it at Logan’s face before bending down to collect the discarded treat. Though makeup covered her face, there was clearly some scar tissue marking her left cheek. Virgil was taken aback. He had seen the same scars on one of the other waiters during previous visits, and this woman was eerily similar to him.

“Waste is waste, Ellie.” Though he sounded annoyed, a smile pulled at Logan’s cheeks as he cleaned himself up.

“It was worth it, and you deserved it.” Ellie started walking back towards the counter, “I don’t see you in weeks and suddenly you’re kicking Patton out.”

“Exaggeration. Patton is staying with his boyfriend while I calm down.”

“Calm down or rebound?”

Ellie winked at Virgil and he felt his face instantly heat up. If it wasn’t for his bags being in Logan’s car, Virgil would have bolted from the diner immediately.

Logan groaned and threw the cloth at Ellie.

“First of all, Patton and I have never and will never date.” Ellie looked unconvinced by Logan’s statement. “And secondly, Virgil, this is Ellie. Ellie, this is Virgil. He saved my data today and I’m repaying him with dinner. Nothing. Else.”

Virgil waved nervously and Ellie suddenly softened as she took in Virgil’s demeanour.

“Sorry if I freaked you out, Virgil. It was all in jest. I promise.”

“It’s fine,” Virgil shrugged and glanced over to a booth in the far corner. “Can we sit or is it thrown cupcakes only today?”

Ellie nodded and quickly pulled out a notepad from her yellow apron.

“So, Virgil will have the works and the purple spider, and Lo you want your usual bowl and iced coffee?”

Logan nodded, while Virgil stared in disbelief.

“How did you know that?”

“Oh sweetie, I never forget a face.”

Ellie turned without another word and headed into the kitchen.

“What was that?” Virgil turned to Logan, still gobsmacked as they walked to the booth. “How did she…?”

“You’ve been here before, right?” Virgil nodded. “Ellie has an excellent memory.”

“But I’ve never seen her before. How does she know me?”

Sliding into the booth, Logan tilted his head to the side and looked at Virgil in confusion before suddenly registering what was happening.

“Oh, you have only met Ethan during your prior visits.” Noticing the look of confusion hadn’t left Virgil’s face, Logan continued. “Ethan and Ellie are one and the same. They are…fluid in their choice of gender. Um, bigender or gender-fluid, they fluctuate their gender and will adjust their name, pronouns and style to match how they feel.”

“Oh. I’ve never met someone like that before.” Virgil peeked out of the booth to glance over to where Ellie was mopping the entry. “How am I meant to talk to them?”

“The same way you have before. You talk to Ellie like she’s Ellie. The same way you would talk to Ethan like he’s Ethan. It’s rather simple.”

Shifting back into the booth, Virgil started tearing at a cardboard coaster to try and distract himself from the overwhelming embarrassment he was feeling. Logan acted like this was common knowledge, but it was all very foreign for Virgil. Growing up in a small town had sheltered him from many things and he was feeling the effects since moving away.

“So, Virgil,” Logan adjusted himself to take on a more relaxed pose. “Would you like to play a game?”

Pausing mid tear, Virgil looked up; raising an eyebrow at the man across from him. “What?”

“A game. It’s simple. I answer a question you have about me and then you answer my question about you. Fair?”

“Okaaaay.” Virgil eyed Logan curiously and dropped his hands into his lap; feeling the fear rise in his throat at the prospect of answering Logan’s questions.

“Very well. You may start. What do you want to know about me?”

The look on Logan’s face expressed confidence, but Virgil noticed something else in his eyes; fear. Logan was just as afraid as he was, and that made Virgil feel better.

“Where are you from?”

“The outskirts of Melbourne, Florida; not to be confused with the Australian city of the same name. You?”

“A small nowhere town. Population, of one school and one shared brain cell.” Logan looked slightly annoyed by Virgil’s vagueness, but didn’t pressure him to elaborate. “Why did you choose to move here?”

“My partner moved here to study and be close to family. I chose to follow after graduating high school. What are your reasons?”

“Scholarship. Is Patton your partner?”

A smile quirked Logan’s lip. Virgil was playing well to keep his responses short and quickly passing the questions on to him. Logan could recall playing in a similar fashion when he and Jason had played this game. Admittedly, this was a much nicer setting than the holding cell he and Jason had played in.

“No, he isn’t. Do you have a partner?”

“No.”

Virgil was annoyed that Logan started shortening his answers. He was hoping to get Logan to spend all the time talking to avoid facing his own questions. “What is your relationship with Patton then?”

“I told you, he’s a childhood friend. Do you have friends or family here?”

“Of course I have friends,” Virgil replied defensively. “Why did you move in with Patton if you had a partner here?”

“I did move in with my partner.” Logan smiled at the young waiter who placed their drinks on the table, before continuing, “Patton moved with me, too. We’re like family. What’s your connection with Katie?”

“She’s my boss.” Virgil sipped at his drink and caught Logan’s raised eyebrow. He decided to humour the guy on this fact. “I found the library during my first week here and used it to study. I became a regular visitor, booked the office out daily and stayed until closing most nights. I offered to help Katie clean up one night and she offered me a job.”

“Ok, ladies!” Ellie’s voice snapped the two back, and they both turned to the waitress. “Here’s the works for Virgil and Logan’s special bowl. Enjoy.”

Ellie gave Logan’s shoulder a friendly squeeze before heading back to the counter to serve another customer.

Virgil eyed the bowl in front of Logan. Salad filled one half of the bowl, while fries, meatballs, tomato sauce and cheese covered the other; finally, two toasted pieces of sourdough stuck out behind the salad.

“What type of meal is that?”

“Interesting choice of question, Virgil.” Virgil groaned at the smug look on Logan’s face. “It’s a deconstructed burger. Designed it myself. My turn to question, what do you hope to do now you believe university is out of the question?”

Chewing his burger slowly, Virgil considered Logan’s question carefully.

“I’m working to move elsewhere. Make a fresh start and keep doing freelance work until I build up enough of a portfolio of references to get a job that pays well. Once I’m out of debt, I’m out of here.”

Logan waited until he was halfway through his food before prompting Virgil.

“It is your turn to ask me a question.”

Virgil barely considered his question carefully; forgetting that whatever he asked would most likely be reflected onto him.

“Why did you choose to buy me dinner, instead of just paying me for saving your files?”

Logan chewed slowly and considered his words. He feared saying too little would cause Virgil to go back to short answers, and too much could have the same effect or send him running.

"Because... You reminded me of someone I used to know." Virgil continued eating, which Logan saw as a sign he was on the right path. "I was intrigued by those similarities and wanted to get to know you better. I figured the best way to do that was to hang around, which inevitably led to dinner."

"Fair enough."

"Let's follow on from that." Virgil regretted shoving the final part of his burger in his mouth as Logan spoke. "Why did you agree to dinner instead of offering a set payment price?"

Virgil felt sick and suddenly his dinner didn’t taste as nice as it originally had. If it was socially acceptable to spit out your food and run, he would have done so; instead he was stuck in the booth with Logan still picking at his own food. The noise of the diner was drowned out by the sound of Virgil’s heartbeat, and it took an extreme amount of effort for him to swallow his food.

Logan focused on his own food, taking small glances up at the fragile figure opposite him. Despite being wrapped in a black jacket, he could see Virgil’s chest heaving rapidly and felt horrible for causing him so much distress.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” Though it was his own voice, Logan couldn’t help but hear Jason’s in his ears. “Your voice is your own and I cannot force you to speak, nor do I want to.”

It made no sense why Virgil stopped breathing. It made no sense why tears slipped from his right eye. It made no sense that Logan didn’t looked freaked out or repulsed by Virgil’s reaction.

Hands shaking, Virgil reached out for a napkin to wipe his face; keeping his head low. Neither moved to further the conversation, and Logan eventually pushed his empty bowl aside, pulled a pen from his pocket and started scribbling on a napkin.

“I got you some apple pie.”

Ellie’s voice was much quieter now, though her face was still bright and friendly. She slipped into the booth next to Logan and placed a plate in the centre of the table. The large wedge of pie was accompanied with cream, ice-cream and three sporks. Ellie immediately started helping herself to the treat.

“Thanks E. Please join us and enjoy yourself.” Voice thick with sarcasm, Logan pushed his work aside before reaching for his own spork.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Ellie giggled and glanced over at Virgil, who was now peering up at the two through his low hanging fringe. “Do you want some, Virgil? Aunt Julie makes these daily, so you know their fresh and good.”

After receiving only a shrug in reply, Ellie looked back to Logan; eyes begging him to start a conversation.

“So, how is Julie doing? I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“She’s doing ok.” A bell rang in the kitchen, but Ellie ignored it and scooped at the pie again. “She’s currently planning a special cake for the anniversary. Just seeking a distraction really. You know how she is.”

“Hm, I know what you mean.” Virgil noticed Logan staring sadly at the pie on his spork. “How are you feeling about it?”

Tentatively, Ellie traced her fingers over her scars before brushing her hair back behind her ears. She looked at Logan through low lashes and gave him the smallest smile Virgil had seen the woman make so far.

“I think this year is my best year…I still miss him though. And the guilt, it just-“

“Ellie! Come on!”

The call of someone in the kitchen cut Ellie off and Logan put a supportive hand on her shoulder.

“It’s ok, E. I know what you mean.” Logan pulled Ellie close for a hug, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead as she pulled away. “You need to get back to work before Phil drags you back there.”

“Ok. Enjoy the pie, Virgil.”

Virgil nodded, but he was confused by the smile that stretched across Ellie’s face. She had looked so sad seconds ago, and yet was immediately happy again. He envied her ability to express and conceal her emotions so easily.

With his hands finally steadied, Virgil reached for his spork to taste the pie. The moment the sweet crust and apples entered his mouth, he regretted not eating it sooner.

“This is amazing,” he exclaimed, despite the food still in his mouth.

For a moment he forgot where he was and how he had been feeling. There was nothing but him and the food. Logan chuckled, but his heart was still heavy from his exchange with Ellie. There was a reason he hadn’t been to the diner, or even the library, in a while; he knew the anniversary was approaching and wanted to avoid the topic at all costs.

Virgil had almost finished off the plate before he was suddenly aware of Logan again. He didn’t know Logan’s history and Logan didn’t know his, but for reasons unknown, Virgil suddenly felt…comfortable. Maybe it was because he had watched his interaction with Ellie, or maybe it was the way he let Virgil know he didn’t have to speak. Whatever it was, Virgil scooped back his hair and looked over at Logan with sudden confidence and comfort.

“I don’t have many friends.” Logan was shocked by Virgil’s voice, but did well to conceal it from the other. “Never been very good at meeting the right kind of people. Clearly, I’m still not. I mean, I agreed to dinner with a guy who came bursting into a library wanting to dissect his roommate.”

Logan felt the heat of embarrassment flush his cheeks, but he smiled encouragingly at Virgil.

“I couldn’t work out why you were so invested in helping me. Why you cared. I guess, as scared as I was about going with you, I was still curious to learn more about you.”

“Do you regret that choice?”

“Hey, it’s my turn to ask a question not yours.” They both laughed and Logan gestured for Virgil to continue.

“I’ll humour you this time. No, I don’t regret it, but I do have one more question. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

Logan nodded, “I accept the sentiment. Do go on.”

“Who do I remind you of?”

Logan chuckled and adjusted his glasses, using the moment to glance at the time on a nearby clock. The hour was early, but still late by Logan’s study schedule.

“I will gladly answer your question Virgil, but I would like to do it while we drive. I should really get you home, unless you would like to use my guest room.”

Virgil quickly shook his head; it was probably a bit too fast and Logan took note of it.

“Thanks for the offer, but I’d rather be home.”

Virgil slid out of the booth and followed Logan over to the counter, where Ellie quickly appeared.

“Nice gloves,” Logan commented as Ellie pulled off her bright yellow rubber gloves.

Ellie playfully threw them at him, “jealous because you can’t pull off the yellow as well as I can?”

“Not at all.” Logan place the gloves down, slipping some notes inside, and pulled out his card to pay for dinner. “I would never try and imitate your signature colour.”

“Did you enjoy the pie, Virgil?” Ellie beamed at the man while her hands skilfully rung up the bill.

“I did. Thanks for that.”

“No worries at all sweetie.” She handed Logan back his card before leaning on the counter to get closer to Virgil. “If you are ever in the area again and want a freebie, come and see me. The day olds aren’t just for throwing.”

“Sure.” He quickly averted his eyes but couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. “Thanks, Ellie.”

“Hope to see you both soon.” Ellie called as they left.

The night air was fresh and cool as the pair headed back to Logan’s car. Virgil’s mind was ticking over, recalling the waiter Ethan and imagining him saying the same things Ellie had said. He didn’t understand how they made him feel so special despite their different appearances and voice. He recalled the way Logan had spoken to him throughout the evening, but dark thoughts invaded his mind again and he shook his head to clear them and focused on where he was going. If a genie were to appear before him right then, Virgil would have wished to erase those thoughts from his mind. He was tired of their constant reminders.

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

End Note:

Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I know this story is slooooow, but honestly it feels right. This isn't a real high paced action adventure, obviously, and I'm trying to make it feel as real as possible (just a sprinkling of my real-life experience tossed in).

What do you think of Ellie|Ethan?

Different from Deceit AU characters I've read before (though if you have some recommendations of good AU's with a Deceit character with depth, I am all ears. There's only so many 'mean' stories one can read before you get tired of them).

Next chapter will be a week or two away. I've got reports to do for work and a fun health mystery to solve (yay!).

It will focus on Roman and Patton. There will be a bit more Logan and Patton background story, as well as more hints on Jason (bless his mysterious little heart). Let me know if there are any BIG questions you have, and I’ll try to make sure those plot points have a bigger focus. I know I’ve hinted to a lot of things, but that’s the mystery writer in me. Sorry.

💜🐌

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

Chapter 4 --- Master List

What else have I done:

The Perfect Ring (oneshot - analogical proposal)

You Promised (oneshot - prinxiety angst/injury/near death)

Sides of a Hero (Completed Fic - sides are fusions of impulses and aspects of Thomas. Virgil has a depressing past that he is forced to face thanks to Deceit and Rage. Was canon compliant at the time of completion)

The Shield to your Sword (WIP - A fantasy/magic au - Prinxiety (Royal Roman and orphan Virgil - they’ll admit to their love eventually), Virgil angst, non binary, healer Logan, *spoiler* Patton)

Check out my other blog for random fandom reblogs and stuff @snail-giggles

51 notes · View notes

kakashibestie · 5 years ago

Note

1, 17, 22

whoa i accidentally clicked on one of the links i was going to list here and the entire answer was deleted i want to SCREAM…

anyway, thank u and i hope u don’t mind this being a lengthy answer

1. if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

read

the glass essay by anne carson (no other piece of literature has managed to give me the sense of…comfort this poem gives me thus far in my life sooo there’s that)

this poem by warsan shire

a couple entries of the ny times modern love column that i feel have…somehow changed me (1 & 2)

this poem i wrote at 1:30am a couple weeks or so after my last Breakup rly sums Me up

watch

THE FIRST STAR WARS MOVIE because luke skywalker in it is literally me

legally blonde is me but Better

and jackie (w/natalie portman) because she…i feel like she gets it like it’s…it’s…like i don’t want to spoil it too much but she smokes throughout the whole movie…like A Lot, and there’s a scene that kinda goes like this: the interviewer mentions he’ll write how she lights up another cigarette she looks him dead in the eye, answers his previous question, puts out the cigarette she’s been smoking and LITERALLY says “and i don’t smoke” as she does it like…her mind her MIND!!!! like that’s…something i could definitely see myself doing because i do smoke but not a lot and i could totally get away with saying i dont just for the SAKE of it! there are a few other moments throughout the film that make me go holy shit…she…understands, and the fun thing about it is that she’s someone ive kinda looked up to since i first learned abt her existence, but the way the movie turns her into a…sort of grittier, less polished version of herself is what rly rly does it for me. like once somebody told me i was like jackie kennedy but with messy hair—i’d like to add the fact that i Swear a lot to that description and it’d be…just perfect

now that we’re onto this please watch Her 1962 white house tour for some good ‘ol asmr

here’s a letterboxd list with some of my favorite films of all time

as for tv shows i recently watched the politician on netflix and oof…#me, i also love project runway??? because fashion jkfhdjkfsf

also um like it’s never enough Imagery™ with me sooo lana del rey’s national anthem music video is..yeah, and now that we’re on youtube pls watch ajayll’s melodrama album reaction, that’s me babey

this youtube video literally DONT ask what it is just watch it it changed my life and i hope it changes yours…very tender lots of yearning included

listen

my favorite song of ALL TIME (pls watch the music video as well pls watch the music video as well please watch the music video as well) and my favorite love song of all time (lyrics here pls read them)

a few songs about ME, off the top of my head: vienna by billy joel, abbey by mitski, primadonna by marina, i wanna get better by bleachers

THE ON BEING WITH KRISTA TIPPETT PODCAST!!!!! i’ve found such….comfort and like…rly rly valuable knowledge listening to it and i just, idk i’ve been listening to it for only a few months (like 4 i think…) but i feel like it’s already impacted my life in a deep, positive way!

17. would you say your tumblr is a fair representation of the “real you”?

i think so yeah, i mean it’s a mixture of yknow everything i find pleasing with the occasional mental breakdown posts added to it

22. list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order.

OH this is hard…being in college should be the First one but i will not count it

listening to music

watching yt videos (some of the channels im subscribed to are pbs space time, the school of life, bon appetit, this hairstylist called brad mondo, simplynailogical

being on social media (i don’t have a Working phone rn so i do everything on desktop and the sites i use the most are tumblr and facebook mostly bc i use to message classmates/friends and my mom lmao)

looking up stuff online, mostly clothes i’ll probs never buy but like i save stuff in wishlists and sometimes download images to a folder i’ve called “fashion ref”…lmao

sleeping

identity ask………oh shit

#about me #this was FUN to answer send more #anonymous #answered

3 notes · View notes

xo-dailypier-blog · 6 years ago

Photo

[Post 1 of 3]

Wow! What a week. Summer Crush truly took the life of me, and the way some of these hook ups went, it took the life out of you too.

Instead of giving everyone an entire rundown of the day-by-day events, I took it upon myself to collect the top ten moments that I felt really stood out to ME, The Daily Pier!

TEN.

I should probably start this countdown off with the Noah/Diana/Natasha triangle going on that none of them know that they are a part of. It’s the most heartwarming thing to happen during this event and I LOVE it! Ok, so just to catch you all up to speed, #SinCarter were married once upon a slay. They eloped when they were off being WAR CRIMINALS for the USA or whatever. So once Natasha began to explore her latent homosexuality that she had repressed all these years the two came to the mutual agreement to just divorce. (Also, her sister was dealing with like, a meth addiction, or something, so that probably didn’t help the relationship). So fast forward 10 years and here they are in the same town with TONS of baggage, and unfinished business.

BUT WAIT a new challenger approaches in Diana Taylor. Noah and Diana have been getting pretty close these past view months. Some people have even said that he’s the rebound to that Daniel guy she was dating. I mean, after MONTHS of heavy petting and will they/won’t they, after their Summer Crush date, rumor has it that the two went back to Noah’s place and … well … *fellatio noises*. Obvs this can’t get out because Diana is in the public eye, so don’t tell anyone.

With a new woman in his life, and the old one present with a lot of shit to work out with him, this new season of the Aryan Chronicles looks promising!

As for who I ship? Well, I want to say #SinCarter because the mutual feelings of their past came back full force during this event. And I still ship Olivia/Diana and Diana/Wes. Neither of which will happen because 1.)Diana and Olivia are “”””””straight”””””””” and 2.)Ever since Diana RANDOMLY left New York she’s been keeping everyone at arms length, especially Wes. Who has too much love to give, and doesn’t deserve that. Who’s to say she won’t do the same to Noah?

I’m watching you Diana (if that is your real name).

NINE.

Q: Rexless_Fan asked “Victor and June hooked up in a fantasy suite and they're roommates so now it's awkward and scandy cuz they haven't told their third roommate at all!”

A: IM SORRY, WHAT BITCH??!!

SORRY FOR THE ALL CAPS BUT ARE YOU TELLING ME THAT DURING THEIR MOVIE NIGHT THE POPCORN WASNT ALL THAT WAS POPPIN, BUT HER PUSSY WAS ALSO?!!!!! I KNEW THAT JUNE WAS SECRETLY A BAD GIRL UNDERNEATH IT ALL. SHE PRETENDS THAT SHE ALL PURE AND INNOCENT AND JUST LIKE SIT IN A FUCKING CORNER WITH HER FUCKING BUGS AND FLOWERS OR WHATEVER BUT ANYBODY WHO FUCKS A BACK UP SINGER FOR A MARGINALLY SUCCESSFUL BAND CLEARLY LIVES ON THE FUCKING EDGE!!

I HEARD THE NEWS THAT JUNE, THE DOLL BABY, ARMSTRONG GOT THAT #DIC BUT I DIDN’T BELIEVE IT AND IF WHAT THEY SAY IS TRUE SHE IS INDEED A SCREAMER!!!!!!

COMING IN AT NUMBER NINE IS JUNE, WHO HAD YOU ALL FOOLED INTO THINKING SHE WAS A INNOCENT ANGEL BABY. WEVE DECIDED TO STAN UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

EIGHT.

Coming in at number eight is Phobe “Pharrah Abraham” Cole. It’s true, she was on top of things in more ways than one. But who am i to judge? I actually think it’s progressive, and super inspiring. I mean, ok, take this with a grain of salt, Im not really trying to lie but ... Phobe? Phobe has Genital Herpes. It’s been two weeks since a flair up (according to sources close to her) and I think it’s really brave of her to disclose her status with the MYRIAD of men she ENGAGED with during the week. It just goes to show that it CAN be done! I mean, you did tell them ... right Phobe? Moving on! I will say that while did used to ship Jack/Phobe during the night they hooked up but since Jack allegedly only lasted about 4 minutes it makes me wonder about a future with the two. So many girls who have been with him have written in and told me sex with him is ABYSMAL! He spends the entire time looking in the mirror or taking selfies that he refuses to be focused on the matter at hand. Of course this is all a rumor, but would you really put it past our neighborhood beauty queen? But I guess this isn’t about Jack, and his short comings. Anyways...

SEVEN.

Q: SharkThot asked “Hey DP I just want to start off by saying that I love your site, I’ve been a loyal viewer for years! And I hope Myles Bennett sees this because I love him even more! I don’t care what you say about him DP, Myles is my bae and would never do anyone wrong! Ugh, He makes me (Shark)Weak! I did see him earlier last week getting BULLIED by that Stark Bitch. What was that about?”

A: Aww, SharkThot,

I assume you mean Heidi Stark, the elusive chanteuse. Her arrival has caused quite the controversy, considering she materialized out of no where. I guess this particular countdown entry will have more to do with her than the actual question. But for those of you who don’t know, Heidi Stark is Julian’s slightly more attractive sister. Her strong presence is quite intimidating, but according to a lot of sources ... She’s a complete fraud. She speaks in an Australian accent, but some say she’s from, like, Missouri and only picked up an accent for #clout. Her “designer” clothes? Ross (Dress for Less). And she apparently was spotted raiding a bunch of Payless Shoe Stores for the cheapest prices prior to their shutdown, where she then proceeded to paint the bottom of all the shoes she got red. Oh! And the degree she got from that fashion school on New York? FORGED! She totally went to Devry. I mean, it’s nothing wrong with that, but omg, just be honest girl. Anyways, back to the point. The #BabySharks (Myles’ fandom name) were INCENSED when they saw Fraudi CORNERING Myles at the speed dating event. According to by standers she was totally waving her finger in HIS FACE, SHOVING HIM repeatedly before pouring the ENTIRE CONTENTS of her martini onto his FACE! You would think that since he works in the ocean (and is used to having liquids on his face (Golden Showers ... other bodily fluids) ), Myles would have been unbothered by her VICIOUS ATTACK, but it was said that he left CRYING. Poor Guy. (Lol sike i don’t give a fck).

SIX.

Q: Loganista asked “How could you possibly still be loyal to “King Jason” when all he cares about is that CUNT Alex. You know I saw them going into one of those FUCK SUITE when just 2 days ago they hated each others guts. They make me sick. Do you think it’s time to move on DP?”

A: Hey Loganista,

Ugh, same! You know, Logan Lancaster, and BernBern<3 are right there looking all sexy and things of that nature, hmm, so who knows .. perhaps I could move on one of these days. But not now. But speaking of LongDick Lancaster and the #Jalex reunion you mentioned, the #Lolex and #Jalina dates were less than eventful. The two spent the entire time thinking of the other instead of getting to know the people I set them up with. It makes me feel really bad for LDLogan because he is truly such a nice guy but everyone he gets involved with, is using him. Leah totes just uses him as a dick call, and Alex is always using him as a rebound. When she was on the date with Logan all she could talk about was Jason, Jason, Jason. I heard she told Logan that if it were “6 months ago” (when she wasn’t involved with Jason) she would totally be on all fours for him. Which is bullshit, because she totally FUCKED Logan like, two weeks ago when she was mad at Jason. So what’s the truth Alex?

Thank God Alegenda came out of this unscathed. I wouldn’t want a QUEEN like her with court jester Jason. Sadly, she won’t be able to be with Devin like I wanted, since he had sex with Phobe and … well…

FIVE.

Speaking of Jason, another Sorrentino is on the list of topics for tonight. Brooklyn Sorrentino! Ok, so for those of you who don’t know. Brooklyn was seen crying after an encounter with her ex, Grayson Fox. As I’ve said before, they were engaged to being MARRIED, but out of no where, he left her. So. naturally I did a little more research on she and her GrayBae Fox and what I found blew my wig right the fuck off. Ok, so it is alleged that (Actual) Daddy Sorrentino (that’s Jason/Brooklyn’s dad) PAID HIM OFF because he had no plans of a complete and total LOSER like Grayson dating, and MARRYING, his daughter. So after receiving this unknown amount of money, Grayson left Brooklyn a note saying his Goodbyes. And now … all the have is memories.

OF COURSE I don’t believe this shit! I still think the bitch's pussy stinks, so he didn’t want to wake up to that every frickin’ day of his life. And besides, it’s been how many years? Wouldn’t he have just told her what’s up at this point? Instead of moving into the same town as her, and acting like NOTHING is wrong? And then proceeding to FLIRT with the LIKES OF DAKOTA SONG? Yes! The two were seen getting pretty cozy, locking fingers, playing footsies, and exchanging hair-care regimes during Summer Crush. Poor Brooklyn, first she got beat up by Phobe and THEN we find out she lost her man. What a loser.

FOUR.

Q: AshersBabyMomma asked “STOP making fun of Asher! It’s so mean!!!!!!!! Asher is really trying his best to get by and all you do is pick on him! Us #Ashies will boycott your blog if you do not stop!”

A: Well, you’re in luck because coming in at number __ is Asher himself!

And you’re right AshersBabyMomma, Asher has surprisingly been on his best behavior recently. Either that, or you demons have managed to make him look like an angel. Honestly? I think I’m actually going to start being nice to Asher. No more calling him things like “Crackhead Asher”, Ashy Lip Asher, Ashy Asher, and more things Of That Nature. He’s really gotten his act together and I’m so proud of him, and even more apologetic for the way I’ve treated him.

A moment of silence for the old me that used to make fun of him…

…

…Anyways, Asher is an Escort now (as I said before). He totes is fucking [redacted] in exchange for money and drugs (CRACK not included). In FACT, it is alleged that he offered his services to Alec Clarke. Again, this could all be made up, but they were spotted disappearing into a hotel together where they stayed until the sun came up. (#Romantic) Now girl MIND YOU, Alec is Adam’s roomie, and multiple sources have claimed that he is secretly in LOVE with him! Which is a LIE! If Alec IS a MLM then he has WAY better standards than a Tax Evasionista. And I’m sure Asher has better standards than Alec… well … *Hot Dog on a Stick Flashbacks*..

Nevermind.

THREE.

Q: Emrestoplip asked “Ugh but the Yavuz family are all HOT and not problematic unless ur holding out on us DP”

A: Well I must admit they ARE all hot but sadly they are just as problematic as the rest.

Specifically that Kessa girl. Her Lifetime Original Movie of a life has completely ruined the dynamic of her family. It’s made both Emre and Leyla (her siblings) RESENT her more than they care to admit and thing are sups awkward between all of them. It’s really sad. Funny that this is the entry right after an Adam mention because coming in at number four are both Adam and Kessa. The two were paired for a date and things got Out of Control.

It really has placed Adam on my heart throb list because little did I FUCKING know that Adam knew how to THROW IT DOWN in the bedroom. The two were caught on camera BANGING THE FUCK OUT OF EACH OTHER, FOUR TIMES IN ONE WEEK. Here I thought Adam was the only sane Aldridge, but it was all a SHAM. HES THE WORST OFFENDER!!!!

NOT ONLY is he a BEAST in the SHEETS, he was spotted EATING KESSA OUT on the SIDE of a BUILDING!!! IM LITERALLY SCREAMING! and to make matters worse, Kessa then left him and got eaten out by, one, Marley Callahan. I SERIOUSLY HOPE EVERYONE GOT TESTED AFTER THIS WEEK because you guys are OUT of your MCFREAKIN MINDS.

I guess you can catch Kessa in first AND second service on Sunday now that she got the most sanctified, purified, holyfied COCK of her life. Amen!

TWO.

Q: MackenziesStolenBrushes asked “Any updates on #JaiMac?”

A: This is a great way to almost end this countdown.

For those of you who don’t know Jamie and Cunty Westwood have decided to amend their troubles and get back together. (Yes, the paintbrushes (that Jamie hid) are back in Cunty’s easel, or whateverthefuck.) This might not be the sensational drama that you were expecting to see at the end of this list but I think it’s a great closer. Jamie and Mac are a shining example of a healthy relationship, and I’ve decided they should ALMOST close out the show.

I do wonder if Jamie found out about the times Mac engaged in MULTIPLE hardcore sexual acts with the #DemonDick himself, Julian Stark. They only ended their fling like two days before #JaiMac got back together, so I’m sure they did? Omg not to gossip, BUT, ok, I don’t know how to say this politely, but ... there was ass eating involved (on Mac’s end … obviously… I mean, look at him...), and a lot of “I love you’s” were shared between the two. Not to mention cuddling. Late night phone calls, texts, and omg I'm pretty sure they were almost a couple.

Anyways, this might have happened before the event, but to see these two going into PRIDE MONTH a happy couple really is iconic and I thank them for deciding to work things out. Love you two! Kisses!

So I’m sure, you’re wondering who Number 1 is ...

find out tommorrow.

xo, DP.

#recaps #drug mention tw #ignore the first one thx!!!#santamgossip

9 notes · View notes