#i want to make doilies but i literally have no use for them
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I feel like talking a bit more about Vanisher 2.0 and Red Volpina (todo: look up what these Miraculous Ladybug season 5 episodes are actually called). My previous review of them has been,
Yes there is stuff where the writing still has potential to get better (not once but twice does everybody in class believe a known liar over Marinette!? Marinette’s classmates suddenly realized Chloé was doing badly in school and somehow that’s Marinette’s problem!? Lol), but it’s still better than it’s ever been.
But maybe there's more to talk about here. Just a couple of days ago I saw a post that complained bitterly about how unfair it is that Marinette must always prove herself, and how Alya was a bad friend in these two episodes.
I don't think that's a great hot take, but I think there is a kernel of truth here. The writing in these episodes was not 100%, but in ways that are interesting to talk about. This isn't meant as salt; I watched the episodes with my sister and I had a lot of fun with them regardless of their flaws. I just think it's interesting.
First of all, I don't think it's actually a problem that Marinette must prove herself. Marinette encountering obstacles and overcoming them through cleverness and strength of will is the point of the show. That's literally fine.
The real issue here is that all the characters are written rather weirdly in order to make the plot happen. Alya is the most visible victim of this, but everyone suffers from it to a certain degree.
In fact, in Vanisher 2.0 (todo look up episode title), this even applies to the villains. Sabrina does not want to steal for Chloé because it goes against her code of ethics as a police officer's daughter. Where did that come from? She has stolen from Marinette before, on Chloé's behalf, back in Darkblade in season 1. The show is just summoning conflict out of thin air.
(There is probably a joke to be made here, about how the cop's daughter steals and plants fake evidence on Marinette to accuse her of a crime, but that's a different thing.)
But it is most notable with Marinette. In Vanisher 2.0 (todo look up title), everybody sees stolen high-value goods such as… paper doilies…? appear out of Marinette's bag, after Chloé told everyone they'd be in there. And the conclusion everyone draws is that Chloé is correct.
Then in Red Volpina, the class learns that Chloé has never made her own homework, something the teacher apparently never noticed before. The class somehow agrees with Lila that this is Marinette's fault for not recognising that Chloé is struggling, despite this not being Marinette's job, and despite Chloé's insistence that she isn't struggling, she just doesn't care.
Neither of these are at all consistent with basically anything that came before. The class knows who Chloé is, how vindictive, petty and entitled she is. They also know who Marinette is, are friends with her, and a surprisingly high percentage are or have been in love with her.
From a story perspective, it makes sense, though. Both episodes want to tell a particular story. In Adoration (todo fix all the spots where I called it Vanisher 2.0), the point is to get to Zoé's big heroic self-sacrifice for Marinette. In Revelation, it's about how always seeing the best in people can sometimes lead you astray. Those are both interesting ideas in their own right. It's just that the episodes used narrative shortcuts to get us there, and ignored character consistency along the way.
I think the point about Alya is the most important one here. Saying "Alya is a bad friend" is canonically not true (look at all the stuff our poor girl puts up with on Marinette's behalf), but also missing the forest for the trees. As smarter people than me have put it, Alya is often only in the story to make Marinette's internal conflict an external one, so we can see the different sides argue in screen instead of imagining them in our head. As a result of that, Alya is sometimes her own character, and sometimes, very often in fact, just whatever she needs to be to get the plot moving.
In Revelation (todo fix yada yada), the plot they had in mind wouldn't work at all if Alya took Marinette and Adrien seriously, and acted on all the information she has. So she just doesn't. That doesn't mean she's a bad friend, it means she's a narrative tool, one that the writers don't always wield super well. Alya is far from the most irrational person in this episode (come on, Gabriel, giving Lila superpowers again? Even though you know she hates you? That's just silly), but since she's one of the good guys and Marinette's best friend and often portrayed as the voice of reason, we notice it the most in her case.
I think the show is genuinely nice and fun, but there's no denying that its writing has flaws. Sometimes more, sometimes less, and these two episodes have some that just stand out a bit. Framing that as "the show is unfair to Marinette" (or even "Alya is a bad friend") is not an interesting way to discuss that, in my opinion. The real issue is that the show had a story it wanted to tell, only twenty minutes to do so, and so it crammed that story in with a crowbar, regardless of the cost. Both episodes have enough good moments to make up for it in my personal opinion, but they have central moments that are just plain clunky.
#miraculous ladybug#ml s5 spoilers#ml season 5 spoilers#ml adoration#ml revelation#ml adoration spoilers#ml revelation spoilers#ml s5#ml season 5#mlb meta#adoration spoilers#revelation spoilers
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I really like the idea of Green and Yellow making a home made wedding for Duck and Red (essentially a play wedding). A sloppily made cake (full of love of course), flower petals scattered in the living room, Yellow picked all the flowers he could find (dandelions, daisies, etc.) to make a bouquet, Green would be the "officiant" (he just reads a page about marriage from one of his books). Red and Duck just play along but they'd be very flustered as Yellow presents them hand made rings out of string and beads. If they're not going to get married, the bois will do it themselves >:( they just want their dads to be offical
weeping and wailing over this ask. Yellow and Green watch some tv hallmark movie about weddings or the parent trap or something and they're like....we gotta wed them. We have to. They plan it for a week and Red and Duck are like vaguely aware that they're planning something and start to catch on when Green makes a white cake with a red candle and a green candle sticking out of the top, and Yellow picks flowers and throws them all over the living room. Red asks Duck if they should put a stop to it and Duck thinks it over and says there's worse ways to spend an afternoon. Red blushes so hard he has to sit down.
They make a veil for Red out of a lacey doily table cloth and Duck gets a flower crown Green made out of daisies and honeysuckle and Yellow gives them the rings he made and Green reads his little book and says a few words about love. And it's really touching in a childlike way: You love each other, and I know that cause I can see it in the way you talk to each other. So you might as well be married. And Yellow pipes in with: and you love us too! Love is the best! and Red cries and they touch foreheads and they're married!
literally nothing changes except divorce is threatened a lot more and Red and Duck keep their rings on their bedside tables
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Stash Organizing Day! I finally got all the furniture into my bedroom after a year of living here (long story) and came to the conclusion that it was time to Stop storing my yarn in trashbags (mostly, I have to get a couple more plastic totes). Photo dump and rambling under the read more.
Here is all my yarn that I don't consider an "active" project (MOSTLY, there's an active project in the pink tote bag (Shawl 13) but I wanted to put up the extra colours I was finished with and it was easier to carry the whole thing in).
The already filled plastic tote has all my wool yarns in it (also in ziplock bags because these totes aren't airtight). I'll eventually organize them better and lay them all out for a photo too but for now they're staying Contained. Instead I dumped all my acrylic yarn out of the trash bag it was in.
Before starting Blanket 10 my acrylic yarn took up about twice as much room as it does now. The big pile on the left is all the scraps from it that I'm undecided as to what to do with them. Other than that mess, along the top is some Lion Brand Jeans yarn I had bought for a striped sweater that I swatched for and never made. Below that is all my fingering weight acrylic, mostly Loops and Threads Woollike. The big cake is one of the 300 gram Lion Brand Mandala cakes.
Also acrylic but kept in the very cute Purple Hawaiian Hello Kitty Tote Bag(TM) is a metric fuck ton of Lion Brand Re-Spun. I knit one strip out of like 9 for a blanket before realizing I wasn't having fun and it hurt my hands and I didn't like it. I don't know if I want to frog it or not or what to do with this yarn so I've just kinda been sitting on it, I might end up with another granny stitch blanket.
For now my acrylics are all staying in the trash bag, I currently only have one other plastic tote and I'm going to use it for my cottons.
By weight the majority of my cotton yarns are Hobbii brand Cotton Kings Sultan. I like knitting with them, they're pretty, I'm using the bottom three as decor in my room. Right now I only have projects set out for two of them (the peachy orange one and the two rainbows (i bought them with the intention of using them together in a huge brioche project and still don't have a pattern picked out lmao)), but it won't be hard for me to find more lace doily patterns to make giant. Most of the scrap (middle bottom) is also from Sultan cakes, and directly above it is some fingering weight cotton also Cotton Kings brand.
On the right bottom is all that's left of my Knit Picks Dishie out of my original purchase of something like a dozen and a half balls. I did give a couple balls of it to my aunt but most of it I used, I really really Really like Dishie. Finally on the right top is my size 10 crochet cotton.
I didn't grab photos of all my bulky yarn bought for suffies because I'm honestly not sure what to do with it and for now most of it is staying in it's cardboard box. Bad Yarn Gets The Box.
There's also the pile of Shame. Some of them are completed projects I don't have a good storage place for, most of them are incomplete projects. There are several projects I need to either frog, finish, give away, or throw out and I just do not want to decide right now. There's also at least one shawl in that pile that I finished while living at my old house and never got to block because of space concerns and simply haven't. Blocked it even tho I have space now.
I Think that is all of my yarn that isn't currently being used for a project. It feels really good to finally get everything organized and out of my actual work area. I still have some things I need to find places for (the shame pile and all my sewing materials mainly) but I got rid of the Yarn Mess by literally hiding it under my bed <3
#Feels Great Man. No longer will people walk in my room point at my Yarn Trashbags and Go “Why are you like this”#these plastic totes fit perfectly under my bed you can't even SEE my yarn stash#with a couple of exceptions. the ONLY clutter in my bedroom is my actual decor.#which feels fucking so clean and nice.#that being said. my work/computer desk is a fucking wreck. but i simply do not care.#it's a mess but it's a controlled mess and i know where everything is <3 until i don't but i find it eventually
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* * #GRAVEYARD CONVO WITH @hazelparsons
Hazel Parsons: -hazel goes to the graveyard once a week, even when there are no good flowers, to pay her respects; she has just put down a daffodil under the wooden cross with oliver's name, when she hears footsteps on the gravel behind her- Really now? It had to be you, of all people to interrupt me?
ike apatow: Interrupt you? I didn't know you had sole rights to the boneyard.
Hazel Parsons: -she would have played nice if he did, but it has rarely been nice between them- Definitely more rights than you, since I didn't put any of those bones in the ground.
ike apatow: -he leans back, letting out a low groan- Ahhh, we're back to that, huh? -comes over to stand next to her, looking down at Oliver's grave marker- The grieving not-quite-widow. Ever think it might be time to take off the mourning weeds?
Hazel Parsons: -she turns to the grave again, not even bothering to glance up at him, just feeling him towering over her- Nah, I think I'll take my time. It's what happens when people you love get brutally murdered. What are you even doing here, since mourning is so funny to you?
ike apatow: Laughing over my friends' graves. What else?
Hazel Parsons: Sounds about right. -she dramatically rolls her eyes and turns to look up at him- Go on then, what's keeping you here? Unless you want to claim that Oliver was your friend as well.
ike apatow: You know I didn't really know him. -looks down at her for a while, scanning her face, then over her shoulder at the cross- But he must've had some kinda shine on 'im for you to be out here looking as torn-up as the day we put him here.
Hazel Parsons: He was the reason we're all alive, but I won't waste my time trying to explain that to you. -she touches the flower with the tip of her boot, moving it closer to the cross- The day you put him in here, I was on some clinic bed having my stomach sewn back together. But that counts as torn-up in a literal sense, I suppose.
ike apatow: ...yeah. I guess that counts. -rocks back on his heels, sticking his hands in his pockets- I got nothing but time, lately. If you do wanna tell me about him.
Hazel Parsons: -she scoffs- Will you make us tea? Should I bring cookies? We're not friends, Ike. -she crosses her arms on her chest, slightly intrigued by his willingness- Aren't you busy kicking ass, taking names, going on raids and coming back with even more poor lost survivor souls?
ike apatow: We don't have to be friends for that. Sometimes people talking in group hated each others' fuckin' guts but, I dunno. Can be easier to talk to someone you think is shitty about things that you can't say to anybody decent. -he twists his mouth to the side for a minute, then says- I'm not all the way out on raids again. I'm townbound for now. -then in a rush, more breezily- I never bother taking names, anyhow. When you kick as much ass as me, it would fill volumes. Whole libraries.
Hazel Parsons: Okay, I'll put it another way. I don't think I can talk to you about Oliver without remembering you got him killed, and I can't be reminded of that without wanting to break your nose, at the very least. You don't see many convicts' families catching up with the executioners, do you? -she stops herself, lets her eyes wonder to the far end of the graveyard, the silhouette of her dog visible running in the field; he keeps talking as she calms herself down and his words make her burst out in a sarcastic laugh- So that's what Lucien keeps in the library. I should have figured. Who has you townbound anyway? The docs? The council? Never seemed like the kind of person who would sit still on their ass just because someone said so.
ike apatow: Gives Lucien something to do other than discuss books where roguish Lord Bingbong the Third ravishes Doily the feisty chambermaid. -he follows her gaze to where her dog's running around having a grand old time, likewise finding the sight calming- I'm sitting on my ass because it's probably good for me. I don't want to... -trails off for a while before circling back- You've got the wrong metaphor, there. It would be more like the victim's family catching up with an accomplice to the killing.
Hazel Parsons: -she catches herself almost laughing at his fantasy description and manages to drown it, scrunching her nose and licking her lips; the silence is nice for a second, before ike speaks again, refusing to drop the subject- Is that supposed to make someone feel better? Me? You? Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night?
ike apatow: I'm just talking, Hazel. I got no clue on what would make you feel better.
Hazel Parsons: Yeah, me neither. -she says, suddenly tired; she takes a step to the side and leaves and puts down another flower on genevieve's grave, right next to oliver's- If you're actually visiting someone, I've got spare flowers. The gardeners said there's some frost coming and they would wither soon, so they gave me more than I asked for.
ike apatow: All Ginny needs is a stone, but... -looks over at Tristan's grave- Sure. I'll take a posy. Thank you. -dithers, then- Would it make you feel better to know I don't really sleep at night?
Hazel Parsons: It depends. What keeps you up?
ike apatow: Ghosts. Memories that won't stay buried. Aches in places I can't pinpoint. Are you a good sleeper? In all my life I've never met anyone said they were a good sleeper.
Hazel Parsons: Sounds about right. -she says, but it doesn't actually make her feel any better- I sleep enough to function, so that's something. Still up at the crack of dawn though. Even Hooch knows this and is ready to be let out of the house at the first ray of sun.
ike apatow: Hmmmm. -rocks back on his heels some more, looking over at the house near the graveyard, still uninhabited- I thought maybe of taking over Ginny's house out here. Living outside the fence instead of inside.
Hazel Parsons: -she glances over at the house and back to the tombstones, her expression puzzled- I'm sure you have some fucked up answer about this, but you'd rather live closer to the dead and the walking dead?
ike apatow: Tell you a secret? -he rolls his head to look over at her with a slight smile- I always thought it was a boneheaded move of hers. She wasn't any kind of fighter, she had no business living out here. She wouldn't have been able to protect herself. It was Ginny being a fuckin' stubborn blowhard and making a statement, was all. -gazes back at the house, up to the roof- Me, though. I'd do fine. And sometimes I think it might be better if I didn't live among with everyone.
Hazel Parsons: I guess some people just have a death wish. -she shrugs, looking over at Ginny's grave- I don't mean to sound heartless and may she rest in peace, but I don't blame those who would rather not live this life of constant fear. You one of those, or just can't take the constant gossip back there? -she nods towards the fence-
ike apatow: I'm not scared of much. But sometimes living in there feels like it's getting on top of me, yeah. -blows out a low breath- Kinda refreshing to talk to somebody who doesn't think we should tiptoe around the shrine of Ginny's memory. She did have a death wish. You're the only one who's actually said it.
Hazel Parsons: Careful there, Ike. I might start to think you actually like me. But what's the point sugarcoating things anyway? The world is fucking ending, so if I have to be the bitch who says these things, so be it. If anything, I think Ginny would appreciate it.
ike apatow: What reason have I got to not like you? Nobody ever dislikes the town veterinarian except the guy in the movie you want everyone to know is the asshole. -chews a little bit before saying- She would appreciate it, coming from you. I meant to put a weathervane on the roof but I didn't get around to it while she was alive. Maybe I will now.
Hazel Parsons: I think I would be part of the asshole crew in the movie. And being nice to animals would be that redeeming quality they have to give me to make it more believable. -she listens to him with her hands crossed on her chest- I would say this is you 'tiptoeing around the shrine of Ginny's memory', but fuck it, do whatever you feel like. The dead are a very strong motive, I stayed in town just because my dad died and look where it got me.
ike apatow: Look where it got you. -he regards her for a moment, gaze straying down to her midsection where he knows her scar is- You stayed because your dad died, but - how 'bout for him? -lifts his chin in the direction of Oliver's cross- What about all that?
Hazel Parsons: I like to think I'd already be dead if I had left. Well, not like to think about it, you know how the figure of speech goes. -one arm drops to cover her stomach, as if to protect it from ike's gaze- I don't think I'd lose Oliver if I left. Just like I didn't lose him and Jason when I was away for a decade. They weren't the reason I stayed, but they were the reason I still had a home here. -she crouches down next to the cross, putting a second flower, one just not feeling enough- They were very good people, you know.
ike apatow: Well, they left one helluva fuckin' legacy. -he waits till she stands up again, then tucks his tongue into his cheek, regarding her with one eye narrowed- How good are you at climbing ladders?
Hazel Parsons: -she narrows her eyes as well, curious to see where he's going with this- Pretty good in general, did a lot of work like that with my dad. But if you're the one holding it, I'll have to constantly keep an eye on you to make sure you don't let me fall. So you know, might take a little longer.
ike apatow: No, I'd be up there with you. -he points off with his nose at the roof of Ginny's house- Normally I'd be fine doing it myself, putting up a lil ol' weathervane, but I'm not the steadiest these days. I'm not anticipating falling off the damn roof, but it would be good to have somebody else with me. Hold it straight while I get it sorted.
Hazel Parsons: And you're asking me for help? -she asks, raising her chin at him, feeling like something doesn't quite add up- What about your raiders? Your precious Council? Aren't you scared I'll push you off the roof?
ike apatow: Didn't I just say I ain't scared of nothin'? -he grins at her, wide and careless, taking off his cap to rub a hand over the healing wound on his head a couple times - careful not to actually scratch it - before putting it back on- I have them, yeah. I wanna do it without them. Nobody who tiptoes around Ginny.
Hazel Parsons: So there's no one who tells things how they are and also happens to like you? Maybe that means something, just saying. -her voice is sarcastic but it falters a little bit as her gaze meets what his cap had been hiding- The fuck happened to your head?
ike apatow: Accident while I was on a raid. It's on its way to getting better. I just get a little out of breath now and again. -he tips his chin, pointing at her- Wait. So you're saying people who like me are blowing smoke up my ass? For what reason?
Hazel Parsons: Are you sure you're not blaming it on the injury when in fact you're just getting old? -she smirks, holding up her hands in mock surrender- You know me, Ike, I'm full of shit. I can't really know what people think, can I? Maybe I'm just biased because I don't like you, but I have my reasons.
ike apatow: Yeah, you've got your reasons, very good ones. -he meets her smirk with one of his own, though it gets strained after a moment- I am. Getting old.
Hazel Parsons: Well, ain't that a fucking badge of honor these days? With so many not getting the chance.
ike apatow: -the smirk fades entirely and he presses his lips into a thin line- Well, maybe you might get lucky. I'm not so fast on my feet out there anymore.
Hazel Parsons: -his seriousness unsettles her, as well as the realization that she is almost worried- And you're gonna take away my godgiven right to kill you in your sleep one night? Don't be so heartless, Ike.
ike apatow: -that makes him laugh outright, and for a split second he looks at her like he might kiss her, but it passes- So you'll help me with the weathervane? If you decide you do wanna roll me off the roof, at least we'll both know it was a possibility.
Hazel Parsons: -she laughs along with him, but it dies out as her eyes fall on oliver's grave again, making her press her lips together- Fine. I'll help you. But you better not go around telling people I was nice to you or some shit. I've got a reputation to uphold.
ike apatow: -swipes a messy sign of the cross over his chest- I never blab on anybody if they're nice to me, don't you worry about that. -holds out one hand- Now gimme my flower so I can go put it on Tris' grave.
Hazel Parsons: -she looks down at his hand and shakes her head, reaches up for his head instead and tucks a flower behind his ear- See, now you look less like a bastard.
ike apatow: Impossible. That's half my charm. -he lifts his head, grinning, and then saunters off across the graveyard-
Hazel Parsons: -she gives a sharp whistle and hooch's ear shoot up, running from across the field to meet her, but not before stopping halfway to joyfully jump around ike's legs until he pets him- Stupid dog. -she murmurs and shakes her head, almost smiling-
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Ingrid now has a villager verse. I thought, since Ingrid is technically Romanian by birth she could reasonably have a verse in the village.
So, we’re going to say that there was a Romani tribe that lived on the outskirts of the village back before Miranda found the mold and they lived in symbiosis with the village. Basically they did a lot of trading with the village when they were in the area once a year since they were nomadic. When Miranda found the mold and started offering healing in the name of the “Black God”, most of the tribe members were leery of a gadja promising healing in the name of religion (because that stuff didn’t ever turn out good the other million times gadja made promises to the Roma). Some, however, stayed behind when the tribe left the area to get away from the sketchy shit and joined the village as “payment” for being healed. Ingrid’s grandparents were one of those because Ingrid’s mother had lupus.
So, by the time Ingrid was born, Mother Miranda had completely abandoned the whole “benevolent healer” schtick. Ingrid’s parents were basically told “tough shit, I’m not healing your baby b/c she’s not of use to me” (she hadn’t yet considered using a baby to remake Eva). That’s where the verse tag comes from. It’s a Romanian phrase that basically means “she’s useless” (literal translation: “she’s friction on a wooden leg”). So, Ingrid was forced to grow up with her disability and basically no modern or mold medicine to help her due to the village's isolated nature. As a result, she’s pretty sickly and in a lot of pain most days. She uses a cane to get around, and sometimes ends up bedridden. She’s still considered fairly useless because of her disability and even unclean by the rest of the villagers.
Her parents raise and breed horses, but she can’t help them because its so intensive, so she personally feels useless even if her parents love her and want her to be happy and safe. They’ve been praying to Miranda on the daily to heal Ingrid, but Miranda has no interest in her. Especially now that she’s finally interested in making mold babies and using young children (Ingrid can’t catch a break, y'all). So, Ingrid makes herself useful by sewing and doing embroidery and making traditional lace by hand. She’s usually the one making wedding dresses, ritual clothes, veils and funeral clothes for people in the village. She also made the lace cloths (doilies, table cloths, etc.) in Castle Dimitrescu, but she doesn’t like to brag.
#ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ ea este frecare pe un picior de lemn (villager!verse)#ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ i'll be your support on this mission (headcanons/about)
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A Preview...
Someone requested a fix for their birthday...I don’t have the next chapter for I Just Think I’ll Scream quite ready for prime time, but here’s a sneak peak:
Ch 20 Sansa
Robb and Ned were up and away before Sansa emerged from her shower in the morning. The house is chaos as Catelyn tries to wrangle the remaining Starks out the door. "Sansa, stop feeding Shaggydog scraps from the table and get dressed! Bran, there are two boxes of gourds by the back door that need to be brought to the store for the window display. Be a dear and put them in the car. And where are Arya and Rickon?"
Sansa skips up the stairs before she's pulled into the hunt, almost knocking into her younger sister as she slides down the bannister. "One of these days that's going to break."
"Whatever, killjoy."
"Mom is looking for you, but you better change. We are supposed to wear floral for the Women's Club Bake Sale. It's themed and Cersei Lannister is going to be there, so we have to be on our best behavior." Her little sister is wearing their dad's old Falcon's sweatshirt and ripped up jeans, looking for all the world like she's about to spend the day painting a house or cleaning out a garage, and not hobnobbing with their mother's friends and clients.
"I'm not working the bake sale. I'm selling tickets to the haunted fun house with Mycah."
"Says who?"
Before Arya can respond, Catelyn is at the bottom of the stairs. "Me. You know that it'll be better for everyone if Arya isn't cooped up all day in a tent with the Women's Club ladies. Help me get through the midday rush, Sansa, and you can slip away and spend the afternoon with Harry if you'd like."
"Gods, Mom! They broke up weeks ago! Catch up!" Arya yells as the back door slams behind her and Sansa is alone, staring down the steps at her mother whose face has fallen into a look of concern.
"Oh, Sansa, dear. Why didn't you tell me?"
She sighs, "It's fine, Mom. Like Arya said, it happened weeks ago, and it was just a high school fling. They aren't meant to last." She turns back up the stairs, not waiting to see if her brush off was convincing. She dresses in the dark maxi dress waiting on her hook, with its long flowy sleeves and pattern of intricate woodland flowers. Usually, she feels like Florence Welch in it. Today though, as she inspects herself before the mirror, it's coming off less stylishly bohemian and more dowdy Victorian with the small ruffles along the high collar and shoulders. Ygritte would never wear something like this, a small ugly voice whispers.
Just as she's about to dive back into her closet, Bran yells up the stairs, "We're going to leave without you, Sansa," and it makes her choice for her. It's fine. She'll just hide in a corner of the tent with Old Nan and sneak lemon cakes all day. No one has to see her. So what if the band is playing this afternoon? It's not like any of them care if she watches their show, and she's basically heard the whole set already in rehearsals. It's not like Robb told everybody at school about it. It's not like she promised to get there early and save a spot up front with Marge and Jeyne.
Ygritte will probably be there to watch Jon. Best to skip...at least until she gets over her absurd crush.
"Sansa! Mom is literally starting the engine!" Bran yells again.
"Coming!" The best she can do is throw on sunglasses and a wide-brimmed fedora and hope no one recognizes her. Outside, Arya is still arguing with Rickon about buckling his car seat and Cat is on her phone, pacing up the driveway while Bran sits on the back step, whistling the march from Bridge Over the River Kwai. "Liar," Sansa flicks off his baseball cap. "We're nowhere near about to leave."
"She was starting the engine before her phone rang."
When they finally find a parking spot, it's apparent to everyone that they would have been better off leaving the car at home and walking. Though the festival hasn't officially started yet, the main street is closed off, and the big parking lot has been covered in carnival rides overnight. Arya peels off from their group when Mycah gives her a holler from on top of the Ferris wheel, leaving Bran and Sansa to lug the several boxes filled with decorative gourds to the hardware store, while their mom takes Rickon and their contributions to the bake sale in the opposite direction.
Outside the store entrance, Benjen is struggling with his pop-up tent, which keeps leaning to one side in the wind, while Meera watches him from the front step. "This is your fault, Sansa! Making me set up a stand, like I'm some lady selling doilies at a craft fair," He curses when the whole thing folds up on top of him.
"Good morning to you too, Uncle Ben," she rolls her eyes. "Where is Robb? He can get you bags of sand to anchor the tent. And don't knock doilies. There are entire rooms at the Met devoted to Myrish Lace alone. You can poke fun at craft fairs once even one of your pieces is on display at a similarly storied institution. Until then, you better get comfortable setting up this tent because I have three holiday craft markets lined up for you this season."
"You're just supposed to be sprucing up my website, not taking over the business! And don't get me started on your brother. I haven't had my morning caffeine fix yet because he disappeared on a coffee run ages ago. How long does it take to pour a bloody cup of coffee? If Jon Snow is holding up my joe with some pumpkin spice, whipped cream nonsense-"
On cue, Mr. paparazzo himself, appears in the doorway and before Sansa can land on an emotion, he's lifting the box from her arms with a gruff "G'morning Sansa," and then he's back in the shop, leaving her empty-handed and a bit empty-headed.
"He looks like he needs caffeine more than you," she remarks at last, meeting eyes with her uncle.
Meera sniggers. "You think? He looks like he spent the night sleeping under a car." Sansa wouldn't go that far, but it was hard to miss the circles under his eyes or how pale and papery his skin looked in the cold morning light.
"Give the kid a break. They played their first show last night, didn't they? If he's a bit wrung out this morning, that just means he's doing it right." Benjen jumps to Jon's defense.
"Well then, he's been doing it right every weekend. He's looked like this every morning since he started at the store," Meera says, heading back inside to supervise since Robb is still M.I.A. Sansa thinks about Ygritte's Instagram feed with its late night cigarettes and coffee at the diner and regular parties in what looks like someone's grungy basement. So, Jon works hard and plays hard. It's not entirely shocking. It niggles at her though; how tired he looks and how he doesn't talk about partying when he's at Winterfell. Her other friends are always eager to share their weekend escapades, but when Sansa asked how his party went when his Mom was out of town, Jon just gave her a noncommittal shrug and told her it was fine.
That's because you aren't really friends. She turns, more than ready to join her mom at the bake sale, when Robb comes skipping across the street with a drink carrier in hand. "Sansa! Just the girl I'm looking for." Her brother is as chipper as ever, seemingly inured to whatever effects from last night's show have taken the wind from Jon Snow's sails. "Can you help with the window display? Mom told me to spiff it up for the festival, but you've got a better eye for that kind of thing."
"Oh, sure. Skip out of work for an hour to flirt with some barista and then come back at the last minute to coerce your sister into doing your job?" Benjen barks and Robb's face turns scarlet.
"I… uh, what? No… I wasn't flirting…"
"Aren't you doing the same thing to me, Uncle Ben?" Sansa retorts, saving her brother from his bumbling. She makes a note to stop by the coffee shop and find out who this barista is. Uncle Benjen may be onto something. "Come on Robb, give Uncle Benji his coffee and I'll spare a few minutes for a consultation."
Inside, Bran and Meera are balancing tiny pumpkins on their heads as they wind through the aisles, trying to trip each other up. Jon Snow is leaning against the paint counter, looking ragged. She fights the urge to ask him if he's okay, opting instead to tip over Bran's pumpkin and herd him over to the window display. "Here, help me before Mom walks by and turns Robb into the headless horseman." They distribute the gourds in artfully artless piles throughout the window, as Jon and Robb hang a paint chip mobile over their heads; the autumnal pièce de résistance that Sansa spent hours making last year.
"Sans, I wish you could have been there last night. It was amazing," Robb excitedly recounts the band's show, "Jon was on fire, and apparently some promoters from White Harbor were there and Satin thinks he can book us some shows at North State! Isn't that great?"
"Yeah, though, won't that be hard with swimming?" She doesn't want to rain on Robb's parade, but maybe Arya is right. She is a killjoy.
"I have a meet in White Harbor next month. Maybe we can book a few gigs around it. What do you think, Jon? You up for a weekend road trip?"
"Uh.." Jon scratches at his neck, blearily. "I mean, that's a long drive to do late at night."
"Don't worry, we'll get a hotel for the weekend!"
"I don't know-"
The bell jingles at the door, and before Meera can scramble off the counter where she's been reading a comic, Catelyn is inside, gazing around the space, looking deeply unimpressed.
"Mom, uh, we were just finishing up with the decorations." Robb wobbles on the ladder in terror, unable to hook the last end of the mobile in place, and Bran ducks behind a pile of pumpkins, trying to hide his glee.
"Robb, you should have opened the store fifteen minutes ago. How are you just now finishing the decorations?"
“Well, the gourds only just arrived-” Robb starts, lamely.
“Never mind,” their mom sweeps through the space, picking up the boxes still out from stocking, tidying the candy by the register, before turning one last critical eye on her teenage employees. Jon cups his neck as he holds the ladder with his other hand. Robb scrambles down, having finally managed to hang the mobile correctly, rushing forward to grab the empty boxes from his mother. “Cersei Lannister is going to be here any minute. Get this garbage to the back. Meera, flip the sign and Jon, take the ladder back and...splash some water on your face or something. You look like death, warmed over. Jory is coming around ten, if you need to take the afternoon off.”
Jon’s ears turn pink as he folds up the ladder beside Sansa, and she looks out the window, mortified. “Sorry Mrs. Stark, but that’s not necessary” he begins, but Catelyn is already walking back to the office with a tired wave.
“I said it was a lot of hours you were taking on between school, the lumberyard and this. Just make sure you are fitting sleep in or you’ll make yourself sick, dear.”
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Coffee, Afterglow and Palmistry
[based on @nachosforfree Au @sanderssides-magicalgirlau check it out]
It takes place after one of Virgil’s and his sessions. The back room of Bean Juice is small but the warm buttery yellow of the lighting mixed with the aroma of coffee beans smoldering in from the kitchen makes it more cozy than cramped.
Virgil is sitting on one of the tables, feet dangling aimlessly off the edge. His eyeliner is smudged, his hair ruffled up and his body positively engulfed by the large hoodie his has draped over his shoulders. He also seems more relaxed than Remy has seen in weeks.
Virgil always looks more relaxed after their time together, more confident too. He’s always been a naturally anxious sort of guy- but in the in-between of their actions and the cold reality of the world outside their little homely closet- Virgil seems like a different person.
(A person Remy is desperately in love with)
He had made them coffee before hand, putting the cups in the microwave to keep warm. Remy, despite his flaws, could make a mean cup of joe and Virgil didn’t even bother getting up to get his, eyes still closed in bliss he sent a shadowy tendril to retrieve his cup. (He knew the room inside and out now, spending so much time in it.)
Virgil’s hands gripped the coffee mug, a light smile on his lips as he breathed in the steam. Virgil’s hands were one of the things Remy loved most about him (and his beautiful eyes, the way his lips curved into a smirk, the soft texture of his hair, the sound of his real laugh, his biting tongue and sarcastic comments and and and-) Remy never really got the chance to study them. His fingers were long and spindly, with short nails (to keep him from biting them) and clean violet and black nail polish (Purple was his favorite color, had been all his life, but Virgil preferred the darker shades to the Lilac that Patton adored).
“Looking at something?” Virgil asked, startling Remy from his musings. A lazy smirk laid on his face- a single eyebrow raised in amusement. Virgil was a smug bastard after sex (this was another reason Remy loved him).
“You’d think you would be used to them by now?” Oh right Virgil’s shadows were dancing along the wall behind him, blooming in all manner of shapes and shadow puppets- flowers and stars circled his head the way they did when he was happy. Amusement took the form of a wily serpent curling along his feet.
Nodding his head as though he had been looking at the shadows and not pondering how utterly smitten he was with Virgil’s hands he watched as Virgil took a deep sip of his coffee before continuing, “Though you did freak out pretty hard when you first saw them”
Understatement of the century. He and Virgil’s arrangement had been born -before- Remy knew about Virgil’s powers. Coming back to check in on him after stepping out- only to catch him putting his shirt on, as literal shadows swirled around him holding his coffee cup mid air- was a shock to say the least.
Remy rolled his eyes, “Gurl don’t give me that look, you’d be freaked out too if I suddenly showed reality-bending powers.” Virgil snorted into his cup. “Don’t know if I’d call ‘em reality- warping, but yeah that would be freaky” another sip before staring at Remy consideringly “though are you sure you don’t have any powers?”
“What do ya mean babe?” He asked slightly confused. Virgil just sighed, “I dunno you give off this… vibe?” He made a long sweeping motion with his free hand. “Kinda like the others do- God that sounds ridiculous, I dunno what I’m saying. “ he said shaking his head.
Remy pondered his words, leaning back on the wall. “Pretty sure if I had powers they would have shown their magical asses by now hon. You showed yours when you were what? Five?”
“Six” Virgil gently corrects.
“Right, Six” Remy thought to himself for a pause. “This vibe thing, could it happen if one of my fam was magic-like?”
Virgil considered it. “Maybe” he said, “Logan could probably tell you, he’s the one with all the theories about our powers and stuff. Why, someone in your family has powers?”
Remy nodded, “Never been told explicitly, but it’s kinda an open secret in my fam that something is up with Grandma Giovannie” Virgil tilted his head to the side in a motion that was frankly to adorable for words. “The Italian one?” Remy made a noise of agreement.
“Yep, she just..knows things- even if she hasn’t been told about them. She also says things that make - absolutely no sense- till something happens weeks later and then you’re hitting your head cause now it’s so obvious. My mammina always told me ‘take special care of what Nonna tells you, and always listen well to her advice’ cause that’s not ominous at all”
There where few rules Remy Hypnos’s family, but one of the major ones was ‘Listen to Nonna Gina, especially when she doesn’t make sense’. That’s why when Remy’s Mother was two years old his family, who had lived in Italy since before the fall of the Roman Empire, packed their bags and headed to America. Where they made a killing in the food business, opening restaurant after restaurant and even a small coffee shop chain which they let an eleven year old Remy name as a joke. Bean Juice was the favorite of many a sleep deprived teen and college student.
(Remy slept on the counter most days and used the backroom as a personal sex closet. If his family didn’t own the place he definitely would have been fired by now.)
“Really” Virgil leaned forward as Remy was ranting, interested. “That could explain it, what sort of things has she told you?”
“You know when I went to visit my extended fam last month”- “and you couldn’t look me in the eye for a week?”- “yes but shush. I come in, have a blast cause ya know me and my cuz’es are partying up a storm. Gossip a bit with my Aunties till my Uncle comes in saying how Nonna Gina was asking for me- so I go to her little parlor room and you only go to that room when she doesn’t want the rest of the fam to hear. So I’m being real attentive as she goes on about my ‘amore ombra’ - that's you by the way-“
“Got it”
“And now I’m sitting there in her fancy cushion-y chair with its fancy upholstery and lace doilies, listening to my Grandma talk about my sex life and trying not to sink into the ground.”
“Yikes” Virgil winces in sympathy, but Remy can see the hint of humor in his eyes as he’s picturing the scene. Remy’s pacing back and forth at this point, making grand and dramatic gestures with his hands- in an oddly Roman like fashion. “Then she goes off about how ‘The Devil Has Blue Eyes’ and how I need to work out more? Honestly one of the weirdest conversations I’ve ever had in my life and I talk to Remus on a semi-daily basis!”
Virgil snorts into his hands, his cup firmly in place with his shadows. Virgil’s scrunched up nose and boyish smile laid a direct hit to Remy’s heart that it stops him in place. A deep fondness overtakes Remy, one that has him reconsider his Nonna’s words about the boy in front of him. Whatever future she had seen fit to warn him about, Remy would see to it that Virgil was safe.
(Remy was eight years old when Nonna Gina traced out his destiny on his palms. “ See this Mi Erede, this is your heart line. See how it is long, how it ends splitting downwards. You are willing to sacrifice anything for your love child, make sure they are worthy of that”.)
(Virgil was worth it)
#Sander Sides#Sander Sides Fic#fic#writing#sander sides virgil#Virgil Sanders#Sleep Sanders#Remy Sanders#Sleepxiety#remy x virgil#remy x anxiety#sleep x anxiety#fluff#nachosforfree#magical girl au
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“But squid is good, right? Want to get the calamari as a start?”
“Yeah, squid’s okay.” Mia’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it. She sighed, a sound that spoke of endless suffering. “But I think I’d rather have the cobb salad.”
“Is that your dad? What, is the squid going to give us food poisoning?”
“Yeah.”
Natalie laughed, but Mia hadn’t looked up from her menu.
-
Natalie Wilson just wanted her date to go well.
For @there-is-no-right-way
Chapters: 1/1 [Complete]
Words: 3,505
Tags:
POV Outsider, Parenthood, Fluff and Humor, Dating, Cryptid Dads Cramping Their Teenage Daughter's Style
~
Taking one last moment to fix her hair in the mirror, Natalie leaned back in her car seat with a haggard sigh.
It was just dinner and a movie. Her and Mia literally ate at a Red Lobster and watched the new Magician’s Crescendo just last week. This was the same thing.
She pressed her face into the steering wheel.
Except that it wasn’t.
They were girlfriends now.
It wasn’t the same thing at all.
Without giving herself time to put the car in reverse and speed into the nearby pond, she shouldered the door open.
Relax. This was Mia they were talking about. Even if the date ended in Natalie absolutely humiliating herself, Mia would just take it all in with that adorable, secret smile of hers. They’d be fine. Their friendship would be fine. It’s fine. Natalie was fine.
She pressed the doorbell, trying to focus on its pleasant chiming as opposed to the panicked dance of her heart. The door opened and Mr. Sims was there.
“Right on time, Miss Wilson.”
Some of the stiffness left her shoulders. Miss Wilson. So posh. Pip pip tickety whatsit, and so on. A hoot and a half.
Mr. Sims smirked, and a heat rose to her face. Was she being obvious?
“Is, uh, Mia ready?”
“Just about. I believe she’s finishing up her hair. Come in.”
Mr. Sims led them through their tidy living room and into the kitchen where Mr. Blackwood was crouching over a pan. Looked like fish. The smell of garlic and spices wafted over her and her mouth watered. Man, she was starving.
“Smells good, Mr. B.”
Mr. Blackwood looked up from the pan and smiled. “Thank you.” Lowering the heat of the stove, he turned towards them, wiping his hands on his apron. “You look beautiful tonight.”
“Aw.” She futzed with her short black skirt, which still had traces of cat hair, despite her efforts with the lint roller. “Thanks. The earrings are my mom’s, though. She’s letting me borrow them.”
“It suits you, love.”
Mr. Sims nodded his agreement. “Your mother was telling us about your violinist audition. How did that go?”
“Oh, man.” Her fingers had gotten completely tangled in the last bar and when the scout had said, Good luck on your performance, she had said, Thanks, you too. “I think it went okay. I don’t know, the scout was kind of standoffish. I don’t think she like the song I played.”
“You did fine. She was just battling a bout of indigestion.”
Natalie chuckled, but Mr. Sims’ expression didn’t change. He did that a lot, actually. Just saying these strange things, confident in stuff he shouldn’t be confident in. Perhaps it was just an unusual style of British humor?
Mr. Blackwood nudged his husband’s side.
“Go check on Mia, Jon. She won’t want to keep her date waiting.”
Thoughts of Mr. Sims’ oddities fled her head. Her date. That was Natalie, Natalie was Mia’s date. They were talking about Natalie and Mia. And their date. Their date.
She was so absorbed in the comment that she only somewhat processed the look Mr. Blackwood gave his husband. Something akin to the look her mom gave her when she rambled on too long about her true crime podcasts. Mr. Sims scrubbed the back of his head, the closest she’d ever seen him to looking sheepish, before making his way up the stairs.
Natalie prepared herself for more small talk with Mr. Blackwood, but there was a thumping sound, a yelp, and a moment later, Mia came charging down the stairs.
“I’m so sorry!”
Natalie was incapable of responding at first. Mia had curled her soft brown hair into ringlets and her eyes sparkled. She was wearing the necklace Natalie had gotten her for her birthday last year.
“So,” said Mr. Blackwood, “dinner and a movie, is it?”
“Yep,” Mia said as she rounded the corner, throwing her arm around Natalie’s shoulder. Natalie’s stomach swooped.
“Yeah, uh, we’re going to see that new Haunting’s Row movie.”
“Sounds like fun. Did I ever tell you where my husband took us on our first date?”
“Dad.”
“A library. And not even to the parts where everyone went to make out.”
“Dad.”
Mr. Blackwood laughed, either not noticing or choosing to ignore his husband’s scowl. “Well, you two have fun. Try not to stay out too late.”
“We won’t,” said Mia, herding Natalie towards the door. As Natalie walked down the drive towards her car, though, Mia turned to her fathers in the doorway.
“Be cool tonight, okay?” she said, her voice low. “Especially you.”
“Why especially me?” Mr. Sims asked. The glare he received from both his daughter and husband was enough to scorch Natalie ten feet away.
“I’ll make sure he behaves,” Mr. Blackwood said, clapping a hand on his husband’s shoulder. “Have fun, sweetie.”
Mia pouted scornfully for good measure, before leaning up to plant a kiss on both their cheeks and turning with a wave. The two of them loaded into the car and Natalie flipped on her selected playlist for the evening before backing out of the driveway.
“Oh, I love this song,” Mia said, and Natalia flushed at the praise, having carefully curated this playlist over the course of the last five days. Everything had to be exactly right, after all.
“So,” Natalie started once they reached the highway. “I was thinking of that Thai place over on Victoria and 8th. What do you think?”
Mia was about to answer, but her phone dinged.
“Oh, just a sec.” Her phone clicked at she unlocked it. In the corner of Natalie’s eyes, she could see Mia’s nose scrunch, just a bit, the way it did whenever she was irritated.
“That your old man?”
Mia put her phone away with a sniff. “Yeah.”
Natalie raised a brow, waiting for an answer. Texts from Mia’s dad that got her to make that face were always interesting. Seeming to sense her expectation, Mia huffed.
“Giovanni’s place is doing free cannolis with a large pizza.”
“Oh, awesome,” Natalie said, flicking on her blinker to turn right at the next exit. “Your dad always knows the best deals in town. I don’t know why you get so grumpy about it.”
“I guess it’s not impossible he could have found it online or something. He's way too lame for that, though."
Well, yeah, where else would he have found it? The newspaper? Actually, Mr. Sims seemed like the type to still read newspapers.
“Your dads are awesome. My mom still shows off the doilies Mr. Blackwood made for her last Christmas. I love it when he calls me love, too. It’s so,” she tried to find the words and failed, “British.”
“Why, yes, British people in Britain.” Mia looked out the car window. “Have we moved countries since last I checked?”
“You know what I mean. You Englishmen with your adorable little accents.”
“We don’t have accents. You have an accent.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“Say aluminium.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Say it. A-lu-min-i-um.”
Natalie made a face. “A-lu-min-um.”
“You’re missing an entire I.”
“I am not. Americans don’t spell it with that I. We’re efficient like that.”
Mia settled back in her seat with a terse sound. “Efficiency, bastardization, whatever you want to call it.”
They both only lasted a few moments before bursting out into giggles. Their exit was fast approaching, and Natalie checked if the lane was clear.
“So, Giovanni’s?”
“Yeah, it’s hard to say no to a free cannoli.” Then, she added in a low grumble, “Even if it’s cheating.”
Natalie shook her head. She just didn’t get Mia sometimes.
As she drove down the darkening road, she glanced cautiously to her side. Mia’s hand was resting on the center console. Just sitting there. Probably cold, you know?
Holding her breath, Natalie crept one hand off the steering wheel and over to Mia’s (doubtlessly cold) hand. When she touched her wrist, Mia startled, and Natalie flinched back. Dammit. She should have asked first.
Then, Mia smiled and took Natalie’s hand, interlocking their fingers together. Oh, that was smooth. Mia was so smooth. Her heart pounded in her ears as her world shrank to the single point of their joined hands.
“Slow down!”
Whoops.
Natalie’s only ever been to Giovanni’s once before, when she and the gang were skulking around downtown for carbs after Mia’s soccer practice. It was nicely decorated, and the lowlights set the intimate mood Natalie wanted.
However, the place was nearly empty, on a Friday night, no less. While it suited their purposes, she suspected there was a reason why the desserts were free.
The hostess jumped at the sight of them but led them both to their seats.
“So,” Natalie began, flipping through the menu. “Toppings.”
“Definitely green peppers. Onions, too.”
“No onions.”
“What? You love onions.”
“Yeah, but, you know,” a damning heat rose to her face, “for later.”
“Oh.” Mia’s lips curled as she stared at her menu. She cleared her throat. “I brought mints, okay?”
Oh, mints. Genius. Why hadn’t she thought of that? “Okay, onions. Pepperoni?” Mia scrunched up her nose. “Oh, right. Miss I-Don’t-Like-The-Best-Pizza-Topping.”
“Look, you wouldn’t be so hot for it either if your dad was telling you about all the crazy butchers he’s run into as a bedtime story.”
“Right, right. The, uh, what was it? Bonepuller?”
“Boneturner. And he was a dickhead. Turned my dad’s bones right out of him.”
“My mom wouldn’t even let me watch that Disney movie about the kid vampire. You ever thinking about writing down some of those spooky stories? You and your dad are so imaginative with that sort of thing.”
“Nah, that stuff’s boring.”
Like a story about an invasion of parasitic flesh worms was boring. No accounting for taste. Perhaps Natalie would have to take it to paper herself someday. “But squid is good, right? Want to get the calamari as a start?”
“Yeah, squid’s okay.” Mia’s phone buzzed and she glanced at it. She sighed, a sound that spoke of endless suffering. “But I think I’d rather have the cobb salad.”
“Is that your dad? What, is the squid going to give us food poisoning?”
“Yeah.”
Natalie laughed, but Mia hadn’t looked up from her menu.
She took after her old man far too much, in Natalie's opinion.
The movie theater, unlike the restaurant, was packed. They waited in line for fifteen minutes and when they entered the auditorium, only a few scattered seats remained.
How hadn’t Natalie seen this coming? It’s not like Haunted Row 3 wasn’t the most highly anticipated horror event of the summer! She shouldn’t have insisted on that cheesecake alongside the cannoli, but Mia loved cheesecake. What were they going to do now?
Mia’s phone chimed again. Natalie turned, hopeful, like a dog to a bell. Yanking her phone out, Mia scanned the text, lips puckered like she was sucking on sour candy.
“There’s some seats over there.”
Natalie turned around, and, yeah, there they were. Two seats shoved in the far back. Not ideal, but better than nothing. She was equal parts relieved because the night wasn’t ruined, and stunned, because how? She glanced around the movie theater, not sure what she was looking for, but sure, whatever it was, was looking right back at her.
“I’m going to make a call real quick,” Mia said as they claimed the seats. She brought the phone to her ear, turning away from Natalie and lowering her voice to a waspish whisper.
“Hello? Jon! You said you wouldn’t— It was implied— Give Dad the phone. Do it. Dad? Yeah.” Mia nodded. “Yeah. Bury him in a board game or something. Okay. Yeah. Yes, Jon, I love you, too. Okay. Bye.”
She turned back to Natalie with a smile, a smile Natalie tried to return, but she felt it came out rather shaky.
“You said your dad worked with security cameras or something, right?”
“What? Pft. No, he’s a teacher at Frederickson. Where did you get an idea like that?”
“Uh—”
The movie started. Mia shushed her and Natalie glared, but settled in.
They only got halfway through the before Natalie fled the auditorium with trembling legs and a pounding heart. She splashed her face in the bathroom, trying to control her breathing. The door opened, and Natalie looked up to see Mia in the mirror, and she groaned.
“I told you to wait. You’re missing the movie.”
“It’s Haunted Row. Everyone dies but the virgin and the dog, the end.” Mia put a hand on Natalie’s back, rubbing in soothing circles. “I don’t understand why you take us to these horror movies when you get scared so easily. They always give you nightmares.”
“They don’t always give me nightmares.”
Mia lifted a brow. With a frustrated sigh, Natalie shook off her hand.
“I mean, I guess I just like it.”
“How can you like it? You were about to burst into tears.”
“I don’t know.” It was hard to put into words, how being afraid made her feel. “You know how you like spicy foods, right? It hurts to eat, but it still feels good?”
Mia nodded.
“Well, it’s like that. I just like feeling that way.” She turned to the mirror with a sniff, grabbing a bundle of paper towels. “The bit with the spider was a bit much, though.”
“Don’t tell my dad. He’ll go on for hours on how adorable spiders are and that everyone else is just mean.”
Oh, Natalie was aware of the monologue. With a wet chuckle, she patted her face dry, thankful her mother had suggested the waterproof makeup that night. “Well, let’s go back.”
“You sure? I think they’re playing that new superhero movie further down.”
“I’m fine. I want to see the dog live.”
They took their seats back, and as the movie continued, dread slowly slunk back over her. If she curled up a little tighter into Mia’s side, however, well, that was okay, especially when Mia wrapped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close.
Things weren’t so scary after that.
Natalie pulled up into the driveway, and that was it. Date over. But her shoulders were still stiff with tension.
She knew what she wanted to do, but how did you go about actually doing it? None of the articles were clear on that tidbit, in her opinion.
“Here we are,” she said.
Mia hummed, making no effort to leave. That was a good sign, right? But Natalie was still frozen in place. Oh, god, this was a nightmare.
“Don’t move.”
Natalie jumped. Mia was reaching towards her with both hands and gently brushed her shoulder. Her face became hot, but when Mia pulled back to reveal a spider in her palm, she leapt back with a shriek.
“How can you just hold it like that?”
“Dad used to have a pet tarantula when I was a kid.”
Oh. Yeah, that made sense. She wasn’t expecting an actual explanation.
She slumped in her seat. The hysterical giggles started small at first, before they began wracking her entire body. “You’re so cool. I can’t believe …” Sobering, she swallowed down the words. “Well, I’m just glad you wanted to, you know. Do this. Together.”
“Yeah, I, uh,” Mia ran a hand through her ringlets, which had slowly relaxed and fuzzed over the course of the evening. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while. I think you’re pretty cool, too.”
Mia was still leaning over the console, much closer than before.
“Is it alright if I kiss you?”
Natalie could just barely manage a jerky nod. They had forgotten the mints, but that was okay. It was simple, just two mouths gently pressed together, but it was Mia, therefore, it was perfect.
“I should probably get you inside,” Natalie said when they parted, her insides warm and gooey.
"Yeah, maybe."
Natalie was halfway up the sidewalk when she turned, expecting to find Mia by her side, but Mia was by the car. With her hands still cupped, Mia was furiously whispering at the little speck of a spider. Good grief, she could be a strange one, at times.
Gently depositing it on the ground, Mia straightened, clapping her hands clean. When their eyes met, she smiled, before gesturing to the house.
Strange, yes, but there was something oh so loveable in that strangeness.
“We’re home,” Mia announced as she burst through the front door. Her parents were crouched over the living room table, playing a game with cards and dice. Mr. Sims was so absorbed, Mr. Blackwood had to nudge him with his elbow, and he reemerged with a confused mumble.
“Did you have a good time?” Mr. Blackwood asked.
Natalie nodded. “Yeah, we had a great time.” She turned to Mia. “I should probably head out, I promised my mom I'd come home right away. Study group tomorrow?”
"Yeah, sounds good," Mia said, dropping a kiss on Natalie's cheek. "Remind Greg it's his turn to bring snacks, okay?"
Natalie was too flustered by the kiss to come up with a response, and Mia waved as she raced upstairs. Mr. Sims got up from the table to walk Natalie to the door.
“I’m glad you had fun.”
“Thanks. And thanks for all the, uh, tips. They really helped us out.” She glanced down at her fidgeting fingers. “I really wanted tonight to go well.”
“Oh, don’t thank me. I’m rather in the doghouse for it. Nothing less than what I deserve, I suppose.”
“Yeah, I was wondering, though. About the, uh, movie theater seats?” She scrubbed her arm. How to phrase it? “Were you …?”
Mr. Sims stared. His eyes were so piercing.
“Never mind, it’s nothing. I should probably get going.”
Mr. Sims smiled, and there was a peculiar quirk to his lips. “Drive safely. And, again, don’t worry about the audition, I’m sure the scout loved what you played. Who doesn’t love Adele?”
He always had kind things to say. As he closed the door and Natalie turned to leave, she had a thought.
She hadn’t told anyone she was playing a pop song, not even her mom. It had been too embarrassing deciding to play such mainstream music, but it had been the only song she was confident in playing.
She turned, wanting to know who had told him, when she saw it.
Eyes.
Dozens and dozens of eyes.
The door closed with a definitive click!, but she could still feel it. Her legs were glued to the ground, waiting to be pushed into a fight or a flight. Forcing herself to move, she stumbled back to her car, and she had the most peculiar sensation that she was standing in front of an audience waiting to laugh at her.
Her hands shook on the steering wheel as her chest effused with fear. Real fear, not the pre-packaged popcorn fear from a scary movie, although she wouldn’t have even been able to make that distinction ten seconds ago.
A text tone pulled her out of her stupefaction.
>call me if u can’t sleep tonight, ok? <3
The tension hissed out of her body like a steaming kettle. She looked up and, in the window, she could see Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Sims arguing over something on the table. The board game, probably. Mr. Sims wasn’t looking at her. In any sense.
An old memory came back to her. It was only a few years ago, just before she started high school. Her dad had come to visit, and it had ended badly, as it usually did, and she had stormed out of the house, as she usually did.
She had walked and walked and walked until her legs hurt and the clouds turned from white and fluffy to dark and menacing. The road had stretched on and on behind her. She couldn't make it in time.
Then, a familiar car had rolled over the horizon and stopped just in front of her, and her mom's head popped out of the open window, crying and spitting fury and fire and ‘what-were-you-thinking’s. Mr. Sims was in the driver’s seat, watching her. Seeing her. His eyes had been soft and concerned.
She blinked. Mr. Blackwood and Mr. Sims were still in the window, only they were laughing now. Mr. Sims kissed the side of his husband’s head before they moved inside and out of sight.
She didn’t know what she knew, about Mia or her fathers or any of it. But there were a lot of things she didn’t know, right? The ocean was the epitome of unknowable, but she and Mia were still planning a trip to the beach at the start of summer vacation, you know?
Snapping the car in reverse, she craned her neck to make sure no one was coming down the lane.
And hey, her mom used to be in a cult when she had been a teenager.
Every kid’s parent had something weird about them, right?
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i was hoping my last ask would get me a free rant without having to make a dreaded choice uhhhhhhh do maybe washcloths or fake smile?
Hahaha no you have to specify what white person thing you want a rant about, or else I’m paralyzed by too many choices. And nb. by “white” I generally mean white Anglo-Saxon Protestant; WASPs have traditionally been held up as the cultural standard everyone else n North America or other British colonies should follow, and the “whiteness” of different European ethnicities in those colonies is generally judged by how assimilated they are to the WASP ideal. So my observations will not apply very well to, for example, other European ethnicities, or people from areas colonized by those other European groups.
WASHCLOTHS. Related to another trap, Guest Towels Guests Must Never Use. Which are usually distinguished by their elaborateness and a thin layer of dust. As a certified White Person (Anglo Canadian) I can say: This is a real actual literal thing my family does. If I stay at an aunt’s house, I don’t use her guest towels; I walk past the guest towels on the towel rack and ask my hostess, “What towel do you want me to use?” and she fetches me a new, less nice, towel out of the linen closet.
The actual washcloth meant to be used is hung somewhere separate. When I was about 13, I rebelled against sharing a washcloth with my brothers, bought my own washcloth from a department store, embroidered my name on it, and zealously defended it against all comers. These days, my older brother has four children. When we go to his house to eat dinner, his children all wash their hands before they eat… and then wipe them dry on a single towel hung in the downstairs bathroom, which his guests also use. So we all wash our hands and then share germs. I… think? There might be a bar on the opposite wall with guest towels hanging on it? But my eyes have been trained to skate right over guest towels. They’re decor, not things we actually use.
Why White People Do This:
1. Washing and cleanliness… have not traditionally held a central place in European life the way, say, wudu does in Islam. Although priests ritually wash their hands before performing the consecration of Mass, nobody else in the congregation has to. This is partly because in Christian Scripture, Jesus says that if something is ritually pure but spiritually suspect, it should be treated as impure, which Christians kind of took to mean “ritual purity and cleanliness rituals are things non-Christians do.”
So in the 19th century, a German doctor discovered that you could reduce the rate of infection dramatically when doctors washed their hands and instruments between dissecting dead bodies and attending in childbirth. Doctors were OFFENDED and APPALLED by this–partly because the guy pointing it out was an asshole, yes, but partly because there was a feeling that “a gentleman’s hands are always clean”, so it was offensive to say their hands were dirty because it impugned their class and education.
Cleanliness is hugely related to class and status–I could go on a LOT more here about how in the 19th century, British and American attempts to “educate” and “civilize” poor white people and people of colour included imposing standards of hygiene on them that felt cruel and punitive–scrubbing skin raw, using caustic soap, delousing with kerosene–partly because white people didn’t have a very advanced idea of what chemicals made good cosmetics, and there wasn’t much awareness of the need for oils or moisturizers. (For a long time very few sources of natural oil, like canola, olives, or sunflowers, or even petroleum products, were available in Britain, so until somewhat recently they only really had pine tar and animal fat, which they used for everything from making soap to lighting lamps to greasing cart axels.) And the 19th century cleanliness movement did not have a good opinion of traditional bathing methods like the sauna, banya, or steam room, where sweat was scraped off the skin. So people who HAD hygiene rituals that worked for them, when they emigrated to western Europe or North America, got shamed and discouraged from using them. It was just expected that part of “civilizing” a child who hadn’t been “well brought up” was forcefully ducking them in a bath and scrubbing them while they screamed and fought you.
So for white people from everything but the highest classes, if you go a few generations back, there’s this feeling that cleanliness is something unnatural and unpleasant, something imposed by a punitive authoritarian force, and not something intrinsically desirable. Old men used to talk about “taking a bath once a year, whether I need it or not,” and fear of losing their “protective coating of dirt.” Which makes sense when you realize how awful old cosmetics used to feel.
I mean, as I type this, I’m applying Vaseline to the hangnails on my fingers, because when I use soap in the bath or do the dishes or wash my hands after going to the bathroom, the soap strips oil from my skin and dries it out, leading it to crack and bleed. This is a really common problem but the current solution seems to be “women carry tiny bottles of moisturizer everywhere in their purses, and men… suffer if they want to seem manly, and then post memes to facebook about how rough and terrible their hands look to emphasize their heterosexual masculinity.”
This also relates to why white people say racist things about people of colour being “dirty” when they use natural methods of keeping their hair or skin clean. The white conception of cleanliness is honestly really fucked up.
2. Cloth holds an especially weird place in white society. I mean, lots of cultures everywhere like their cloth to look nice! But in Europe and American colonies in the 1600s there was an extra special movement to restrict women economically and bar them from business and public life–so while a rich woman could run a business outside the home and buy and sell in 1400, that freedom was disappearing in 1600. Only women of the ~lower classes~ did real actual work. And the religious sentiment at the time really emphasized Purity, Hard Work, Productiveness, and No Fun. So women were supposed to stay inside all the time and not participate in industry! But they were always supposed to be busy. The saying was literally “Idle hands are the devil’s tools”.
That turned embroidery from an aesthetic, decorative art into a moral act. You didn’t embroider to make something pretty; you embroidered for the good of your soul. Fancy embroidered pieces displayed in a home were meant to demonstrate a) that the house was rich enough to have idle women, and b) the moral purity and obedience to gender norms of the women of the house. (This also extends to things like quilts, lace doilies, hooked rugs, etc.)
So towels used to be made of linen, a plain flat cloth, and then embroidered and otherwise embellished. My mom, in the 1960s, learned how to do embroidery where you painstakingly pull a few threads out of a piece of linen, and then embellish the place where the threads have been taken out.
Linen, incidentally, is a strange and amazing fabric. When new, freshly starched and ironed, it is flat and crisp. But pressure and moisture can change it really easily. When I sew with linen, I just have to lick my fingers and fold it over, and it stays like that–something most fabrics don’t do. So if you actually use a linen towel to dry your hands, you will crumple it in a way that is very hard to reverse.
Therefore: Fancy linens were displayed prominently in the home as a status symbol, but a guest who wanted to stay on his hostess’s good side did not use them. There are a lot of ettiquettes around using linens when you absolutely have to, like just gently wiping your fingers on a towel, that diminished the damage the fabric would take.
So, I mean, actually rich people used their good towels, because if they ruin them, they can just get new ones. Fancy linens were intended for high-class guests who knew how to keep from damaging them. So using someone’s guest towels sent the message, “I am so high-status that I’m WORTH potentially ruining something that took a ton of work to make and maintain.” Or, if you obviously weren’t that high status, “I don’t know about the work that goes into making nice things, or don’t value the work you did and don’t care how much effort you’ll have to go to because I wanted to wipe my face.”
But that was in the days of linen. Guest towels are going out of fashion, partly because modern terrycloth towels are almost impossible to crease or ruin, so it doesn’t really matter if guests use them. But even with terrycloth towels, homeowners sometimes like to create really elaborate towel displays. I don’t know how those people feel when guests use them, but as a white girl I feel really uncomfortable taking a towel display in somebody else’s house apart, and try to wipe my hands while causing the least disturbance possible.
Oh, I guess I should mention that invisible tests no one will ever mention if you fail are absolutely a white person thing. Like, if you watch costumed period drama movies, there’s often a scene where someone is really unbearable and rude, and everyone is super polite and awkward and just sits there and says nothing. That’s not consciously an exclusive practice; from the perspective of white people it’s just an ingrained reflex, “Freeze and smile when something awkward happens and then later cut them out of your life.”
That reflex comes because the Industrial Revolution and colonization (1600s-1800s) led to a lot of class mobility. Ordinary men could get involved in business and become wealthier than the hereditary landowners! Which the hereditary landowners felt super threatened by, so they went out of their way to cultivate manners and standards that were very unlike those used by the common people. Upperclass accents became more marked and exaggerated; dictionaries decided to make English spelling and grammar especially hard to learn; manners got super weird and unintuitive. They wanted to make it as hard as possible for common people to fit into high society.
Therefore, to enable that system, the rule became: Never tell someone when they’re fucking up. If they know what they’re doing wrong, they’ll FIX it, and then they’ll fit in better! And that would lead to the absolute downfall of Western civilization! Which would of course be a bad thing! And that got codified as The Right And Desirable Way To Do Things. A low-class person might say “Hey, you just insulted me, I’m upset,” but someone with aspirations of rising higher in life learned to freeze and say nothing. That was how you defined “polite”.
So like I said, if I, as a white person, point out to other liberal white people that the freeze-and-smile-awkwardly response is really exclusionary to people from different backgrounds, they go, “Oh my gosh, you’re right!” and we can talk about changing it. It’s why white people invented assertiveness training. It’s a thing white people have to unpack and decolonize. But it’s not commonly a conscious attempt to exclude someone by not letting them know they’re breaking the rules.
ANYWAY. Towels.
So IF someone has guest towels taking up their towel rack in their bathroom, there’s very little room left for the actual towels. (Unless they’re like my aunt, whose bathroom literally has a second towel rack to accommodate her guest towel arrangement) Therefore: The entire fucking family sharing a single washcloth because that’s all they have room for, and it doesn’t feel that important not to share.
WHITE CULTURE IS WEIRD AS HELL.
And if you come to my house? You’re allowed to use my guest towels. It’s what they’re there for.
#staranise original#white culture#lis explains white people shit#AND I DIDN'T EVEN NAMECHECK CALVINISM ONCE#chucktaylorupset
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Meme time!
Following my own Character Vibes Meme for the idiots currently playing D&D in my brain because why the fuck not.
Rules, short version: Write creative descriptions of each characters’ vibe, preferably using references to dumb memes. Try to show who they are without revealing anything about them. Try not to make relationships obvious. Arrange the list alphabetically and post. Ask your followers:
Can you tell which are the main characters and which are side characters?
Can you tell who’s related to who and how?
Which of these characters most interest you? Which ones do you want to know more about?
If anyone wants to comment, have at!
Tagging: Literally anyone who wants to. I think pretty much everyone I follow writes / RPs / etc. so...
The only story context you get: Historical fantasy. Mid-late 1700s / Georgian era. Multiple continents. Absolutely not an exhaustive character list but this is plenty for one meme. These may or may not actually be their names. Also, I definitely broke my own rules several times and many of these may be more roasts than vibes. Good luck figuring out which. (List under the cut.)
Adelaide: Would sell the entire world to Satan for one corn chip. Would do even worse for more. Not selfish; it’s just that no one deserves better. Including her, apparently.
Alexander: Good priorities, questionable methods. Gives really good advice, provided it won’t lead you off his path for you. Kind and absolutely should be trusted, but also absolutely should not be trusted.
Benedict: Educated. Respected. Logical. Rolled a nat 20 on persuasion. Great combination in the wrong hands. Would steal your copy of “I Don’t Know How To Explain To You That You Should Care About Other People” and use it to eviscerate you. Slowly.
Bess: You know that moment in Order of the Phoenix where Umbridge sits in her stupid doily-filled room and puts like 5 spoonfuls of sugar in her tea and arranges the pencils on her desk into perfectly straight lines? Same energy.
Chauncey: Literally the Least Subtle “Confirmed Old Bachelor” in the history of Confirmed Old Bachelors. Haters? Don’t know her. Probably has a successful TikTok for tying cravats.
Clement: Has his shit on lock, and probably everyone else’s, too. Being rude to him is the equivalent of cussing out the people who make your food. You just… don’t. Really, don’t.
Diana: Knows exactly what she wants and likely has 5,000 plans up her sleeve on how to get it. Named for a goddess and will be worshipped as such… even though that’s so tedious.
Dorcas: The living Internet Explorer meme 99% of the time - and the 1% she’s not is the one time you were really hoping she would be. Has never heard the phrase “snitches get stitches,” and it wouldn’t make sense in her experience, anyway. God, you wish it would.
Edward: Homebrew is life. Almost always frowning, but also very, very Chill™. Except about taxes. You will eat holy musket fire if you try to disturb his world with unfair taxes.
Elias: Usually the one in possession of the brain cell. Thank god. But may also be a Horse Girl in a future life. The one you should listen to, but somehow people rarely do.
Emeline: How the fuck does she know that? You know what, you don’t want to know. It’s amazing, even when the information she provides isn’t.
Fitz: Remarkably sane. No one knows how. No, really. How is he so normal? It’s almost suspicious. But you look at him, and you just can’t be. It makes sense, even though it makes no sense at all.
Frederick: Born too late for the Golden Age of Piracy, but that doesn’t stop him pretending. Charisma boost so high it’s annoying. Would absolutely fight and die for his wife and child, and probably will.
Georgine: High school superlative would be voted most likely to accidentally throw down The Tower or the Three of Swords while playing poker. Possibly single-handedly responsible for the invention of sweet tea before it was cool.
Godfrey: A Himbo in the making. Absolutely hates his name because it’s too big for him, but thankfully his heart more than fills the void his brain leaves behind.
Hannah: Would have spent 2020 quarantine churning out increasingly elaborate loaves of bread. Just wants some friends her own age but then remembers she’d probably be too busy to spend much time with them and would feel guilty about that so it’s best those friends don’t really exist.
Helena: The younger sister who becomes the Mom Friend dialed up to 11… if that Mom Friend’s bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.
Henry: Just really loves his wife, okay? That’s his best friend. You go, best friend. He has the BEST best friend.
Hiram: 1/10, do not recommend. Has a way of making people forget he exists until he can be at his MOST aggravating… but his heart is in the right place. Lawful cranky.
Jonathan: Male Frigga. Meaning: He’s essentially fridged for no goddamn reason other than to provide backstory for other characters. Almost shamelessly so. Sorry, Jonathan.
Katrina: The human equivalent of a sweet, empty-headed golden retriever. (Sings a lot better than one, though.)
Lawrence: That person you don’t really like who does some nice things every once in a while and you could almost see being friends with maybe… and then he does something that is Peak Privileged Rich White Boy and you remember that you hate his guts, actually.
Liza: Actual cinnamon roll. Too good, too pure. And way too good with cast iron. Could probably kill you, but wouldn’t - unless you wake the baby.
Lydia: Would absolutely rewrite her horoscope if she didn’t agree with it. Probably a Gemini.
Lucille: The ethereal photograph you take by moonlight to discover by day it’s that someone put a Bratz doll on a gravestone. But is it really? May the odds be ever in your favor.
Martha: Incredible. Amazing. Showstopping. No one’s quite sure how she does it. Happy with her lot in life and will crack skulls to try to ensure the same for those she cares about.
Mercy: WILL cut you if you disrespect her business, but no need, mostly. Runs the show and everyone knows it. Love language is good food. Unnaturally good. Just… eat and don’t ask.
Nathaniel: The human embodiment of the Hierophant tarot card. Okay, boomer.
Nessa: Get your disgusting bean water away from her. Leaf water only. #blessed #spoiled #gucci
Oliver: Just wants a nice respectable profession and a modest house and a cat, is that too much to ask? Yes? What about shoes? Please. His feet get cold easily.
Roger: Arrives to a fight five minutes late with Starbucks and a sword that is very pretty but functionally useless. It’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’s got twelve espresso shots in there.
Solomon: Just got here and is hating every second of it, but he tries. Actual disaster. Might also be karmically living in the universe’s chamber pot. Someone help him.
Theodosia: Has a long list of things that will see her making an excuse and shoving teacakes into her purse five minutes after she arrives. Quite possibly the founder of cancel culture.
Thomas: Appears most likely to be cannon fodder, so you try not to get attached. But you can’t help it. (Neither can anyone else.) And hey, he might surprise you.
William: Quiet and occasionally stupidly brave. Can no longer stand silver due to said bravery. Idiot. Good thing he likes the woods. Actual diamond in the ruff rough.
Windred: Might actually have died years ago. Thrives on the knowledge that no one wants to check, because that would be Rude, and they would never hear the end of it. And there are already Enough things for her to go on about if brought to her attention.
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Chapter Twenty-Eight:
The One With The New Chief of Police
“So who fucked up my plan?” Olaf hissed as he slowed his speed. He was out of the city, finally. What was the point of speeding if no one was following him. He was racing down the Hinterlands to meet up with one of his associates in hopes of finding exactly where Violet Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire were going next.
His henchpeople looked around the cramped car nervously. No one willing to give him an answer. The only person who wasn’t intimidated by the cruel man was the person who sat happily in the passenger seat of the runaway vehicle, Esme Squalor. She merely rolled her eyes and gazed irritatedly at her long manicured nails. “Obviously, it was the two brats,” she said.
“But how?!” He hissed angrily. “You pushed them down an elevator shaft...how the fuck did they get out of the net?” He glanced at the rearview mirror. “Did you idiots not put it high enough,”
“We put it higher than we thought we could,” the bald man explained nervously.
“Then how did they get out of the net?”
“Magic,” one white-faced woman replied.
“Luck,” the other replied with a shrug of her shoulders.
The vicious kidnapper growled angrily. “Those brats don’t have luck,”
“Well, honestly,” the henchperson of indeterminate gender replied. “I’d argue that those brats are very lucky. They’ve been able to escape your clutches in the last minute quite a few times.”
“ Not all of them,” Olaf replied angrily, pointing at the rope that held the scarlet fish statue to the roof of his car. “And the only reason those bratty Baudelaires survived me prior to Prufrock Prep was because of Snicket. ” His voice was thick with bitterness and venom as he spoke the name.
“Speaking of Snicket,” Esme interjected. “What are we going to do about Jacques?”
“I swear Snickets were only put on this planet to piss me off,” Olaf muttered. “There’s no need to worry about him either, I’ll deal with him in the same way that I dealt with his precious brother. Snickets are not fireproof.,” He snickered to himself.
“Can I point out that not all Snickets piss you off,” Esme retorted bitterly.
“Stop mentioning her!” Olaf yelled.
“Who?” The Hook-Handed Man asked. “Violet?”
“No, not the fucking orphan….” Olaf rolled his eyes. “A different Snicket,”
“There’s a fourth Snicket?” the Bald man asked.
“Well technically if we’re going by birth order, that would make Violet the fourth Snicket,” The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender explained.
Olaf looked ready to kill somebody. “Can we just stop mentioning the fucking name Snicket!” he barked. “It’s bad enough that my plans were thwarted by Lemony and now...they’re being thwarted by his mangy daughter.”
“I think it’s quite remarkable,” The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender replied.
Olaf, no longer caring about the safety of anyone in his car, not that he did in the first place. “What was that you said?” he asked angrily, glaring his henchperson in the eyes.
His henchperson went quiet. Knowing better than to repeat what they had said. Olaf growled. “Once we find those brats again...we need a plan...a plan that can’t fail,” he muttered. “We have to make sure that there’s no way for her to maneuver her way out of our clutches. I’m getting really tired of chasing these brats,”
“Well we have two out of three fortunes,” Esme pointed out. “We really don’t need the last one and if you think about it. The Snicket fortune won’t be anything really. Think about it. With Lemony’s siblings both alive. Surely they have their own portions of the money.”
“It’s not only about the money,” Olaf replied annoyed. “And we have to keep chasing them. We have babylaire. Meaning the bookworm could cash in on my fortune a whole decade or so faster than us! With him dead, we won’t have to worry about that and there might be an added bonus to having little Miss Snicket in our clutches. She could give us both fortunes .” A vicious smile was plastered on the man’s face.
Esme rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest in annoyance. “I’m already insanely rich. I don’t see why we need to keep any of them honestly.”
“You’re just grumpy because I haven’t agreed to let you keep the boy twin,”
“You don’t get to decide that,” Esme hissed. “Also, I just don’t see the reason to keep them for their money…I also don’t see why we need to keep any that are related to that bitch,”
Olaf rolled his eyes.
“She looks like that bitch,” she whined. “Do you know how hard it was to not tear that little brat’s face from her skull?”
Olaf shrugged his shoulders. “Trust me, I am surprised you didn’t fuck up that part of the plan either.”
“I didn’t fuck up any part of your overcomplicated plan,”
“I know that little Snicket bitch did,” Olaf said angrily. “But...soon...we will have her in our clutches and we will show no mercy,”
He continued to drive as he began laughing. Esme joined in on this laughter and soon the whole car erupted in wicked villainous laughter.
“Isn’t it marvelous?” Esme asked after a minute. “There’s nothing like a trip in a getaway car. I needed a getaway from that dirty, grimy city and all the people after me there.”
Olaf glanced up at the rearview mirror and he noticed something in the distance. “Don’t look now,” he instructed. “But it looks like someone’s following us,”
Instantly everyone in the car looked back to see what Olaf was talking about. Olaf sighed and rolled his eyes. “I said don’t look,” he muttered. “Oh, nevermind.”
“Oh, no,” Esme said happily. “Is it the paparazzi? Or the press?” she gasped. “Or my husband...his lawyers have been calling.”
“It’s a taxi about a mile back. He’s been behind us an interminably long time,” the Hook-Handed man explained.
Olaf glared at this henchman. “You didn’t think to mention someone is following us!?” He asked angrily.
The man shrugged in response. ‘I wanted it to be a surprise?”
“Is it the police?” The bald man asked.
“Why would the police take a taxi?” Esme asked.
“Whoever the fuck it is, they seem to be obeying the speed limit,” the bald man responded.
Olaf grumbled. “There’s only one taxi driver I know who cares about obeying the law,” he says. “There used to be two...but…” he smirked. “I took care of that pesky asshole,” he pushed his foot on the pedal harshly. “There’s a shortcut up here someplace. Let’s see Snicket try to follow us now,”
He jolted the car quickly to the left causing everyone to shift to the side. Olaf continued to gradually pick up speed.
_________________________________________________________________
“He just made a left-hand turn without signaling,” Olivia noted as Jacques sighed.
“That man’s villainy knows no bounds,” Jacques explained. “But we’ll catch up soon,”
“Do you think following him is the best plan here?” Olivia asked.
“What else can we do?”
“Do you think we can figure out where he’s going and get ahead?”
Jacques thought about it. “There’s not much down this road. The Hinterlands has a few VFD locations but I know he wouldn’t dare step foot in our mountainside headquarters.”
“Mountainside headquarters?” Olivia repeated.
“Yeah,” Jacques replied. “My...apprentice created an easy to read map. It’s there in the glove compartment.”
“Apprentice?”
“Yeah, a fellow volunteer.”
“Where are they?”
“I had to leave them...my niece was...more important,” He felt guilty saying it but it was true. Nothing against the young man who was his apprentice. “I will head back for him...eventually.”
Olivia looked towards Jacques. “What?” he asked.
“You’re hiding something,”
“I’m not hiding anything,” he lied.
Olivia reached into the glove compartment pulling out the map. She studied it for a minute. “I’m lost,”
Jacques laughed. “So much to learn Olivia Caliban,”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Where’s the headquarters?”
“Do you see the coffee stain?”
“Yeah...it’s in the Valley of Four Drafts,”
“Exactly...VFD,”
Olivia gasped. “A secret way to mark…”
“A secret organization,” Jacques finished. “Exactly. But he’d never go there. It’s most definitely populated by members of our side of the schism,”
“Then where would he be heading?” she asked.
“Well, there’s a village, a hospital, and a carnival before the headquarters. The carnival is the only truly VFD associate stop. I mean the hospital has the Library of Records and the village is named VFD...but not the same VFD.”
“Like the doilies?” Olivia said.
“That clever bastard...he knew everyone involved would be focused on the box labeled VFD.” Jacques hissed. “And we all missed the literal red herring…but...he’s not going to outsmart us anymore.”
“Well let’s head toward the carnival,” Olivia suggested.
Jacques merely shook his head. “I think I know where my niece might be headed…” he said. “We’ll just have to call Jacquelyn and figure all the details out.”
Olivia frowned. “Are you sure about this?”
Jacques only nodded. He continued to drive with a face of pure determination. He had to stop Olaf and Esme Squalor from harming any of these orphans more than he already has.
_____________________________________________________________
Hours had passed by, Olaf was unpleased about having to double back but this is where his associate claimed Violet and Klaus would end up eventually. As he had parked his car behind the dusty old saloon. He sighed as he entered through the backdoor. He remembered his ‘glory days’ back when he was still in VFD. The missions he had gone on with the Snicket brothers. Speaking of Snicket he was glad to have lost him only a few moments after being told that he was following. He glanced around the bottom floor of the old saloon. It seemed like no one had been in this place for years.
Esme followed him behind gazing around. “This saloon is the perfect place to hide out while we hunt the bratty orphans,” Olaf commented.
Esme merely nodded until her eyes fixed on a fire pole. “OOh! There’s a pole!” she said happily grabbing onto it. “Are you sure this isn’t more of a club?” she asked excitedly.
“That’s a fire pole, love. This saloon was a firehouse until it was shut down under mysterious and complicated circumstances.” He glanced around. “I see they haven’t changed the decor a bit. Barkeep!”
His group of vile henchmen came in from the front door carrying a large trunk of costumes and a disguise kit.
All seven people turned when they heard a loud coughing approaching.
“That sounds like that unstylish banker,” Esme whispered.
Olaf’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s because it is,” he hissed back as the seven villainous people ran towards the bar to hide behind it.
“Hello?” the voice called out as it stopped coughing. Olaf quickly grabbed a hat that was hooked on the wall just behind the bar as Esme handed him the first fake beard she could grab out of their disguise kit. He quickly put the scraggly, red beard on his face as one of his associated handed him a fake pair of glasses.
“Anybody here/’ Mr. Poe called out in between more coughs.
“Howdy!” Olaf called out in a stereotypical southern accent. “What can I get you, total stranger who I’ve never seen before?”
“I would like your coldest and strongest sarsaparilla,”
“One sarsaparilla coming up!’ Olaf replied as he reached his hand down towards the bar. Within seconds someone had handed him a sarsaparilla. “Here you go,” Olaf said to Mr. Poe as teh man began to look at him suspiciously.
“So, tell me, traveler,” Olaf began still using the fake voice. “What brings you to our parts? How was the road? Did you bring any childrens?”
“I am delighted to tell you that Lilac Snicket and Klaus Baudelaire are now yours,”
Olaf smiled towards Mr. Poe in disbelief. “Well, that was easy,” he muttered using his real voice. Then his face turned to one of confusion. “Wait...Lilac? Isn’t her name Violet?” he asked as he felt someone hit him in the leg.
He growled and once he had seen Poe’s confused face he realized he had misspoken. “I mean...what do you mean?” he asked after a rather anxiety-inducing moment of silence. He wondered what Mr. Poe was about to say. Had he fucked up and been too obvious even to the world’s most incompetent banker?
Mr. Poe smiled. “They are yours and everyone else’s. I’ve delivered them to this town’s aphorism-based guardianship program, It Takes a Village.”
Olaf couldn’t help but smile. He didn’t know how but his associate who resided further into the Hinterlands was correct again about where his prey would end up. He wiped his smile off his face quickly, though. Playing up the sad story. He sighed. “I always wanted orphans,” he said as Poe began to drink his sarsaparilla. He began to over-dramatically fake cry. “This morning, I thought I was just a lonely, single bartender and now I have a fortune of childrens, or whatever a word is for a large number of ‘em.” He said as he continued to fake cry.
Mr. Poe may have looked at him suspiciously but he didn’t question the bartender further. He finished his sarsaparilla, paid Olaf, and went on his day. Once he was sure the nuisance banker was gone, Olaf ripped the fake beard from his face. A wicked smile appeared upon his face. “The remaining two brats are here. They’ve been placed under the care of the entire village.”
“We know, darling,” Esme reminded him. “We heard. We were next to you, behind this dusty bar.”
He pointed at the bald man and the hook-handed man. “You, bring me the red herring.” He glanced at the two white-faced women. “you two, bring me all of my trunk wine!”
His henchpeople quickly scrambled. The Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender following the bald man and the Hook-Handed man to go grab the red herring. Olaf glanced around. This hideout will have to do. He thought as he began plotting a scheme. He needed a scheme that would help him get the upper hand permanently on the two brats who keep evaded his clutches. He also needs this scheme to have room for last-minute changes in case Snicket returned to mess up his plans.
The three henchpeople returned, carefully placing the red herring to the ground. “That fish weighs as much as three kidnapped children,” the Hook-Handed Man said, he and the other two were currently out of breath.
Esme and Olaf smirked as they glanced at one another. “It certainly does,” Olaf snarled.
“They’re awfully quiet still,” the Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender noted. “Should we have added more air holes?”
“Ugh, they’re fine,” Olaf said dismissively.
“It might have been a high dosage,” Esme noted.
“Not enough to kill them,” Olaf agreed.
“Well I didn’t really measure the baby’s,” Esme explained shrugging her shoulders.
“Eh, she’s replaceable,” he dismissed. He turned to his henchpeople, “Now, Snicket may still be following us, we'll need to stash them somewhere less conspicuous,”
“Less conspicuous than a bright red statue of a fish?” The Hook-Handed Man replied confused. “That shouldn’t be too hard,”
Olaf's eyes lit up. “I have just the place.” He smiled. “Now, while we’re here, we can’t risk being recognized by the authorities.” He turned to Esme. “Darling you’re up.”
“Costumes! Costumes everyone!” Esme cheered as she opened the large trunk tossing costumes at each of the henchmen. Pulling out one for herself. ‘We’ll work on yours later darling. You may want to lay low,”
He nodded. “Now this is a small town filled with regular folk. We need to blend in with plain, normal, upstanding, heartfelt, decent, simple, dependable, respectable people.” He noted.
As he spoke, two figures on the second story of the saloon were hiding and listening in on everything Olaf and his gang were saying. One was slightly worried but the other looked determined and fed up. Both looked at one another, agreeing with their eyes to wait until the coast is clear to exit the saloon.
_________________________________
Violet led Klaus down a small hallway until she found a door that read Town Hall. She knocked her fist on the door.
‘Come in!” called a very grand voice called out. Violet took Klaus’ hand and the two half-siblings walked into a large room with a very high ceiling, a very shiny floor, and several rows of benches. There were very detailed portraits of crows hanging on the walls. In front of the rows of benches, there was a wooden platform. Perched in front of the platform were three vastly older persons, two women and one man. The two children noticed that they all wore a truly strange hat. At first glance, it looked like a few crows had flown in from the streets and roosted on the bench sitters’ heads, but as the two children looked more closely, they saw that the crows did not blink their eyes, or flutter their wings or move at all in any way. The children realized that they were taxidermied crows that perch on their heads. It was a strange kind of hat to be wearing that the children found themselves staring for quite a few moments without noticing anything else.
“The Council of Elders calls this special town meeting to order. Hello, my dears,” the first one called out as Violet and Klaus walked closer to them as the townpeople glared at them.
“We’re pleased you made it,” the second old woman called.
“Step onto the platform so your Elders can get a good look at you,” the man explained.
Violet and Klaus looked at one another before stepping onto the platform. “Hello, I’m Violet Snicket and this is my younger brother…”
“Silence!” one elder yelled, slamming her gavel down.
Klaus jumped in shock. “Rule number 902 states that no one may talk while on the platform,”
The three turned to focus mainly on Klaus. “Klaus Baudelaire, we know your story well. The tragic death of your parents. The tragic kidnapping of your baby sister. The unfortunate loss of numerous guardians. How you have been pursued relentlessly by a wicked count out to steal your fortune.” They turned to Violet. “And Violet Snicket, we heard about the tragic loss of your father and how you have also been pursued relentlessly by a wicked count out to steal your fortune. But your troubles end here.”
Violet and Klaus looked at one another doubtfully. “We recently made up a new rule to solve all your problems,” the elder man explained.
Violet gave an incredulously look. While Klaus still looked at the three elders with heavy doubt in his eyes.
“We recently made up a new rule to solve all your problems,” one of the women explained. “Rule number 9,833 states no villains will be allowed within the city limits.”
“You’re safe at last children,” the man noted.
“Council of elders…” Violet began.
“Silence!” they yelled.
“I don’t think…” Klaus began.
“Silence!” they yelled again.
“But Count Olaf…” Klaus tried again as Violet looked annoyed.
“Silence!” they yelled again.
“Now the next order of business. When children have guardians, guardians make them do chores. We are all your guardians now,” one of the women began.
“So it follows that you two will be doing all of our chores,” the man explained.
“For the entire village,” the other woman finished.
“What?” Violet asked.
“Silence!”
The two children looked at one another miserably, and they could hear the town behind them cheering.
“Any questions,” one elder asked.
“I beg your pardon, but,” violet tried.
“Silence!” they yelled. “For the fifth time!”
“How many times do we have to tell you about rule number 902?”
“What we meant was, are there any questions from the town?”
A few hands shot up. “Mrs. Morrow?”
“Thank you,” Mrs. Morrow asked. “I am all in favor of the ‘It Takes a Village’ program and others doing my chores. But these children are the same children involved in that kidnapping scandal. I don’t want trouble like that in my town.”
“That wasn’t a question,” Klaus explained.
“Silence!”
“It was more of a statement,” Mrs. Morrow replied glaring at the young boy.
“Me, me,” a man called out raising his hand.
“Man in plaid pants?”
“Yes, I have an actual question,” he said standing up. “Where are these children going to live? It may take a village to raise a child, but I don’t want noisy children cluttering up my home, eh?” He looked around the townspeople. “Am I right?”
The town murmured in agreement and they all began to wonder where Violet and Klaus would be placed.
“Silence!” the elders yelled at the crowd. “Now there’s no need to fuss. The orphans will live with our handyman, Hector.”
“Isn’t that right, Hector?” the elder man asked.
A tall, skinny man in rumpled overalls stood up from his seat. He kept his eyes on the ground. He began to stutter in response. “I...uh,”
“Hector?”
Hector responded to the Council of Elders by fainting. Violet and Klaus looked at each other worriedly. But no one else seemed alarmed by Hector’s fainting spell.
“The Council of Elders takes Hector’s latest fainting spell to mean Hector will feed them and clothe them and teach them our rules, so they won’t do any other terrible things like talking on the platform! Isn’t that right, Hector?”
Violet and Klaus looked back to see that Hector was once again standing up. He continued to look to the ground and he stuttered again. “I...uh...I…” He said before fainting again.
“The Council hears no objections,”
“The next item of business, a report from our new chief of police.”
Everyone turned to look towards the door that the two orphans had entered not ten minutes ago. Violet and Klaus glanced back and when the woman behind the door pushed both doors roughly open, Klaus could feel his heart sink in his chest.
“Already?” he asked Violet.
“He’s here?” Violet whispered.
A very tall woman wearing big black boots, a blue coat with a shiny badge, and a motorcycle helmet with the visor pulled down to cover her eyes. Her mouth was painted in bright red lipstick. “Ciao!” she yelled as she walked down the same pathway the two children had. “Hello! I’m here,” she said happily.
The woman had the entire crowd fooled but she didn’t have either orphan fooled. Violet gently pushed Klaus behind her. Both children watched as Esme Squalor reached the platform. She smiled at both children viciously.
“How wonderful to see you, children,” she hissed lowly as the crowd’s cheers drowned her voice out. She pushed Klaus out of her way as she stepped upon the platform. He grunted in response. Violet glared at the woman. Esme turned towards the two orphans. “Oh how my boyfriend and I have missed you,” she hissed.
Violet and Klaus looked at one another as Esme turned to the crowd. “Greetings VFD. My name is Officer Sabrina Pepper Anastasia Marigold. But you may call me Officer Luciana,” she turned to the children. “The new chief of police.”
She smirked viciously at the two children who looked at one another worriedly. Both having the same thought. If Esme was right here in front of them...dressed up as a policewoman. Where were the Quagmires and Sunny? And what in the world was Olaf planning?
#misery loves company#violet snicket#violet snicket au#violet baudelaire#klaus baudelaire#sunny baudelaire#count olaf#detective dupin#esme squalor#officer luciana#jacques snicket#olivia caliban#duncan quagmire#isadora quagmire#vile village#lemony snicket#bertrand baudelaire#hector#vfd#beatrice baudelaire#beatrice baudelaire ii#daniel handler#asoue au#asoue#asoue fandom#asoue fanbase#asoue fanfic#asoue fic#asoue books#asoue movie
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Dancing for Dunces
Surveying the room from her seat, Weiss was genuinely impressed with Atlas Academy’s school dance. The hall was spacious, the music tasteful, the food and drink more refined than she expected from a military school. Even the decorations were adequate, lack of doilies notwithstanding. There was one glaring issue, however.
“I’m going to kill that dolt.”
“Which dolt is that, Weiss?” Yang asked from across the table, her knowing grin adding to Weiss’ mounting frustrations.
“Her. Him. Them!” she fumed, angrily whipping her hand towards the two sources of her irritation.
On the far side of the room stood Ruby Rose and Jaune Arc, hiding behind the punchbowl.
---
Weiss didn’t think her friends appreciated just how much work went into setting this up for them. She didn’t organize the academy’s social, no, but she did everything else in her power to make the night memorable for her team, some of which required some uncomfortable visits home. Her team didn’t have clothes suitable for a dance and she wasn’t about to let them wear borrowed formal military uniforms for the occasion. But with thankfully just one promised appearance at a future function of her father’s choosing, Weiss had access to the Schnee wardrobe and, most importantly of all, Klein.
She gave Yang and Blake free rein and naturally they went for matching ensembles. Yang chose a surprisingly modest black gown that went down past her knee while Blake chose a rather risqué halter dress, a stunning yellow piece that showed more than Weiss wanted to see from her teammate outside of a changing room. Yang certainly appreciated it though, loud and often. Weiss was happy for her friends, she really was, but couldn’t they show some restraint? Ruby’s mock gagging every time they started up mirrored Weiss’ thoughts on the matter. No one wanted to see their family acting like that. Just imagining Winter in such a scenario was enough to cause the bile to rise to the back of her throat.
For Ruby, Weiss had to take direct control. Left to her own devices, Ruby would have shown up in her hood and combat boots. Or, more likely, not shown up at all and stayed in her room to play video games instead. Which wasn’t an option, naturally. Ruby would have a magical evening even if Weiss had to drag her kicking and screaming into it.
Weiss chose for her a simple off-the-shoulder dress, a deep red to match her hair. The bodice had a tasteful bustline and the skirt was suitably “poofy”, to use Ruby’s vernacular, for her partner’s tastes. A silver hairpin kept her hair neat and out of her eyes. Weiss had wanted to include a stole as well for Ruby to wrap about her shoulders, to round out the look and provide her partner with the bit of comfort that she knew losing her hood would cost her, but Nora had fought her on it. Let those puppies breathe, Nora had argued. Weiss was scandalized, but Nora insisted she just meant her shoulders.
New knowledge of Jaune’s possible...proclivities made Weiss consider adding a heavy winter coat to all of her outfits.
She left Jaune himself in the care of his teammates and Klein. Nora aside, she could trust the two men to smooth out the rough edges of the moronic knight into something presentable. She had only two instructions for them. One – do something, anything, with that disaster he called hair; and two – pin a red rose to his breast. They had settled on a simple tuxedo and bowtie, the only color coming from the lovely red rose standing out proudly on his chest.
As she watched Ruby and Jaune gawk at each other when they first met before the dance, Weiss just knew the night was going to be a rousing success.
---
This is an unmitigated disaster… Weiss thought sourly as she watched her partner take a drink from the same empty glass for the fifth time in the last ten minutes.
The night had started so promisingly. She was initially worried that they’d be too flustered to talk, too dazzled by her and Klein’s perfect makeovers, but a timely joke from Yang snapped Ruby and Jaune out of their respective stupors long enough to bring back their usual dynamic. The group made their way to the hall and quickly secured a table and the two dunces actually tried to sit separately before she and Nora boxed them in. Was Jaune too stunned by Ruby’s elegant beauty? Was Ruby put off kilter by Jaune managing to look almost halfway dashing? A dinner full of quick peeks and long sideways stares confirmed the theory in Weiss’ mind.
As soon as dinner was cleared away Nora leapt to her feet, grabbed both Ren and Oscar by the collars, and dragged them away shouting that “this was happening”. Yang and Blake followed, telling the remaining three that they’d save them a spot on the dance floor.
This was it. Jaune would offer a hand to Ruby, which she’d accept demurely, and off they’d go to share a magical evening that they both thoroughly deserved. At least until Jaune mumbled something about dancing “requiring proper hydration” as he fled from the table. Ruby was quick to follow, offering her own squeaky excuse before stumbling along after him, faster than Weiss had ever seen the girl move in heels. They’d been at the punchbowl ever since.
Face in her hands, Weiss finally realized the fatal flaw in her plan. She wasn’t dealing with normal, sane people. She was dealing with Ruby Rose and Jaune Arc, the two biggest dorks to ever come out of Beacon Academy. Weiss had so graciously presented them with the best night of their lives, so easy to grasp that they could practically fall into it, and they had made it awkward.
They’d even spoiled the hard work she and Klein put into their appearance. Ruby had taken the hairpin out at some point and now half her face was hidden behind her red fringe. Jaune’s own hair had transformed back into its usual messy mop from the boy constantly running his hand through it while his bowtie hung loose and crooked from constant tugging.
“Why are they being so difficult?” Weiss groused, glaring at the pair across the room. “You’re at a dance. Dance.”
“Chill out, kettle,” Yang joked, earning an icy glare from the heiress.
Yang laughed uneasily before adding, “You know Ruby’s not into stuff like that, right? Maybe she doesn’t want to dance.”
“Nonsense,” Weiss scoffed. “Every girl wants to dance with the person they like.”
“They certainly do.”
Blake snuck up behind Yang and ran a hand down the girl’s arm as she joined her partner at the table. Weiss fought the urge to roll her eyes. These two…
Yang grinned dopily at Blake before turning back to Weiss. “What’s the big deal anyway? They’re having fun.”
She’d allow that. Even from across the room she would occasionally hear one of the two laughing, Jaune with his heaving guffaws and Ruby with her high pitched cackling. They’d occasionally bump hips or elbows with each other, starting an impromptu “fight” that would end with them standing just a bit closer than before.
It was cute. It was endearing. It made Weiss grind her teeth in frustration. They were so damned close but neither would take the first step.
“How goes the mission, Ice Queen?”
Nora announced herself loudly, Neon in tow, as they joined the group at the table. Neon sat to Yang’s left while Nora joined Weiss opposite them.
“Where’s Ren?” Blake asked. It was strange to see Nora without the boy, especially on a night like this.
Nora harrumphed as she crossed her arms. “He took over Oscar’s dancing lessons. Apparently I was going to ‘break him’ and ‘scar him for life,’” punctuating each complaint with air quotes.
Weiss looked back to the dancefloor and sure enough, Oscar and Ren were moving back and forth in a simple waltz. Oscar’s face burned red from embarrassment while Ren, unflappable as always, quietly offered direction as he allowed Oscar to lead him around the floor.
“Mission?” Neon asked, leaning eagerly across the table. “What mission?”
Weiss simply hooked a thumb towards the pair across the hall.
Yang explained. “Weiss wants my sister and Jaune to share a magical evening full of dancing and awkward se-”
Yang just managed to keep her seat as Weiss’ glyph rocked her chair back dangerously.
Neon laughed as she watched the two leaders chatting at the punchbowl. “They both the shy type or what?”
“Shy and awkward and dumb,” Weiss growled.
“Then just give them a little push,” Neon offered with a shrug. “Spin the bottle, seven minutes in heaven, recreational dru- I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Neon jumped out of her chair, hands raised defensively as Weiss rose threateningly to her feet.
“I’ve got it!” Nora exclaimed. Jumping to her feet, she dragged both Neon and Yang into an improvised huddle as they whispered.
After a minute of excited conspiring, the three girls all raised their heads in confidence with a unified nod.
“Got any hot friends to do the job?” Yang asked, grinning up at Neon.
“Babe,” Neon said, wrapping an arm around Yang’s shoulder and pulling her into a friendly side hug, “all my friends are hot.”
Yang was oblivious, but Weiss didn’t miss the angry twitch of Blake’s ears.
Luckily, Neon practically hopped away before a cat fight (literally in this case, Weiss supposed) could break out with a happy “leave it to me!” before disappearing into the throng of dancers.
“What are you two scheming?” Weiss asked suspiciously.
“Simple, Weissy. The quickest way to get a huntress to pounce is for another huntress to threaten her prey,” Nora stated matter-of-factly.
Before she could puzzle that one out, Weiss noticed a girl approach their table. Tall with long brown hair, rather ridiculous curves, and a dress that made Blake’s look modest, the girl looked more like a model than a huntress.
“Hey,” she greeted the group. “Neon sent me. Apparently there’s a hunk looking for a dance?”
“Yup! Tall blond dude by the drinks,” Yang said, pointing discreetly towards Jaune. “Can’t miss him.”
The girl nodded and made her way towards the leaders. She stopped briefly, adjusting her dress in ways that showed even more skin, and sashayed her way towards Jaune.
Weiss sputtered. This was their master plan? To have some...some hussy steal the target of her partner’s affections right in front of her? Unacceptable. She made to stand but was grabbed instantly by Nora, who pulled her back to her seat.
“Have some faith, Weiss. You’ll see,” Nora said with a pat on her back.
She watched the seductress approach the table where Ruby had just told some joke that had Jaune wiping a tear from his eye. The girl centered herself, cocked her hip, and made a show of clearing her throat. The leaders looked to their new arrival and simultaneously froze, probably when the harpy asked him for a dance. Weiss’ hands clenched into fists, nails digging into her palm as she watched some stranger break her best friend’s heart.
Until Jaune’s head suddenly snapped to Ruby, surprise evident on his face even from a distance. His gaze slowly shifted down and that’s when Weiss noticed – Ruby’s hand had found his. Ruby offered some hurried excuse and promptly started dragging Jaune after her out towards the dancefloor. The brunette sent to steal Jaune turned towards their table with a thumbs up raised high which both Yang and Nora returned with gusto.
I can’t believe that actually worked, Weiss thought as her eyes followed the pair squeezing by other couples out on the floor.
“All’s well that ends well,” Nora chirped happily. “‘Bout time I go find my man.”
“Ayup. Sis won’t let anyone take her sweets.” Yang stood, offering a hand to Blake. “Up for another dance, kitten?”
Blake rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her blush as she took her partner’s hand.
Weiss stood as well, straightening out her dress. I suppose I should get a dance in as well. Maybe Nora will let me borrow Ren for a song…
She turned towards the dancefloor and froze when she saw Ruby pinching her nose.
Did that idiot Jaune seriously…?
A goofy grin broke out on Ruby’s face as she raised her free hand and pantomimed sinking to the floor, wiggling all the way.
“The swim huh? Talk about a blast from the past,” Yang laughed.
Jaune looked like he was trying to knee himself in the chest as he ran in place.
“Ooo! Count me in!” Nora shouted, brushing past Weiss on her way to the dancefloor.
Weiss buried her face in her hands and let out a long suffering sigh.
Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots.
This wasn’t romantic. This wasn’t magical. This was tomfoolery.
Dragging her hands down her face, Weiss finally noticed her partner smiling at her. With an exaggerated wave, Ruby beckoned her to join them.
They were her idiots at least.
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‘AFTER THE FALL’ - LIVEREAD III
The more I hear about the latter half of this book, the more depresso espresso I’m drinking. Let’s see how it goes, huh?
(Since there’s more chapters in the latter half than the first half, short chapters will probably get combined together for the sake of. I’m lazy.)
CHAPTERS EIGHT AND NINE
I love that Velvet’s the one who enlisted Weiss and Yang, expecting shit to go sideways. She saw these two gays on main and went ‘they look like they can party’. Was she wrong? No. Did she invite Cinder for the express purpose of drama? Yes. Can you make me stop shipping Sinnamon Bun? Also no.
Okay, this book has read my mine though!!! Ruby pitches a Beacon Battle Club where they play music as they fight, and no word of a fucking lie, that happens in Great Weiss Shark AU! I am not kidding! I had this whole story planned out! This is theft of the HIGHEST order.
“Doilies are absurd and elitist,” Yang said.
This is simultaneously the least Yang-like line and also the most Yang-like line I’ve ever heard. The duality of idiot, I suppose.
I like Fox! I really do, actually! He’s my son now. Although, the bad news is I dunno if I can replicate him in The Frapp Logs, so he’ll just have to keep dragging Coco to the ends of the earth. Same thing, right? R-right?
“Leaders can’t be the comic relief.”
Fox raised his eyebrows. “Jaune.”
Is this the second time Jaune’s been dragged? I’m living for it. Also, sleepy Blake! And CFVY knowing she’s (they’re) a Faunus! And the second book behind a book! I love you, Blake.
Velvet correcting Yatsu’s ‘catnap’ joke! I wrote a ficlet about this exact thing once, so I TOLD you my Velvet’s NEARLY CANON. SHE JUST NEEDS TO EAT MORE PROTEIN IS ALL.
Onto chapter nine. God, these chapters get thinner by the second, huh?
BACK TO THE DESERT WE GO, and there’s... fog? Which is now gone! Wow! Is this a plot device? Foreshadowing? I sure hope so, because why on earth it would warrant a mention we’re just not too sure!
A sandstorm is incoming and hidden tracks are gonna get blasted away. I’m trying to figure out if this is all pathetic fallacy or if I’m reading too much into handy-dandy plot devices. Why not both?
Heart-to-heart with Coco and Yatsu... and we’re back to Yatsu giving Velvet all the hugs. Now that I’m sensing the Velv/Yats vibes, I’m extra suspicious. You stop that. Let Velvet have a fashionable GF at least if you won’t let her kiss Weiss!!!
‘[...] even the women were down to halter tops.
Focus, Coco, she thought.’
Ah, lesbian as always. I’m soothed. Carmine enters the tent and Coco gets even gayer. I’m very soothed.
‘What was Jaune doing after losing a member of his team, a friend... someone he clearly cared about.’
I don’t care about what Jaune feels. Why the heck would Coco even care? There’s literally so many more people that impacts than just Jaune, lawd.
CHAPTER TEN AND ELEVEN
Back to Fox, who is honestly the shining star of this book by now. I love you, my blind and sassy son.
I love Ada and the battle mechanic she has! I’m really enjoying how Fox interacts with the world around him and using his Scroll and AI as an accessibility device. It’s neat! I didn’t expect them to go as ham on him as they did, but they did.
“Update,” Ada said. “Weapon has projectile capabilities.”
“You mean it’s also a gun.”
Obligatory gun meme.
Combat stuff happens, Fox wins a fight against a confused Edward, and it turns out Gus is the one summoning Grimm and Fox just got jumped, so we slide into another flashback for chapter eleven. Lemme tell ya, this book ain’t afraid of moving fast.
“I guess you slightly oversold your ability to track the survivors,” Coco said.
Again, this is one of those lines that reads as very... callous? Kinda mean? I’ve always had Coco in my head as someone who very broadly puts her team (and their feelings) first, even if it’s rough, so lines like this make me go 🤔
Velvet falls, Yatsu panics, Coco gets up in everyone’s grill. There’s a lot to this dynamic I am not enjoying right now, and even then this seems inconsistent with the CFVY we’ve seen in the book itself. I know the author’s trying to communicate that Coco is tired and frustrated, that I get, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t how... it would really happen given her character? I dunno. ‘S weird.
Was that a fat joke I spotted there? From Coco? I need a nap. Also COCO LET VELVET DO THINGS JESUS CHRIST!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FUCK ME SIDEWAYS!!!!!!!!!!
Coco has claustrophobia! I wrote her as having agoraphobia, so this is a hilarious turn of events. Also Coco has two brothers, not one: Mate and Toma.
Coco is fighting Grimm in a cave with CFVY, but still finds time to criticise Velvet in combat. Hey, maybe if you let her do things, she’d prove you wrong, dingus. And then she does! See!
Aaaaaaaand the six survivors are all dead. This was a pretty traumatic event, all told, which makes it weird that they look... less affected in the show? Still, this chapter was VERY weird for the characterisations because Coco seems especially inconsistent, alas. Anyway, onto:
CHAPTERS TWELVE AND THIRTEEN
The sandstorm is approaching and catching the wagons, which I have just realised are actually vehicles that use fuel. Mostly because that’s the First I Heard Of It.
‘Velvet noticed a pistol tucked in the back before she closed the door.’
Hi, can Chekhov please pick up his gun from aisle twelve? Thanks.
GIANT SAND TURTLE. AVATAR AANG C’MERE Y’ALL GOTTA LEARN HOW TO DEFEAT THE FIRELORD.
“You said it’s big enough to ride on?” Velvet asked.
Maybe this is why Coco dismisses Velvet so often. She only pitches the craziest ideas, which is why I love her. That said, Coco finally lets Velvet do something! It’s a miracle of man! Climb that turtle, bihh!
Yatsu calls Velvet V. I’m so used to Velv that V sounds entirely too cool for this idiot.
Everyone’s pissed again, but-- IS THAT THE SAND WORM THING FROM ARRAKIS?! What A Tweest!!!!!!!!!!!!! Nobody coulda seen THAT coming!!!!!
So let’s go to chapter thirteen, where Fox has had the shit beaten out of him behind a Denny’s. Sound about right.
So what’s-his-name-- Bertilak, whomst from now on shall be called Bert because what sorta water tribe name even is that (wow the ATLA references are on fire today). Anyway, Bert is being paid by someone else to deliver people with Stronk Semblances like summoning Grimm! Gee I Wonder Who That Might Be (I don’t actually know but I’m honestly not going to be surprised either way).
“Yeah, [Bert]’s a real bastard.”
“Even I can see that,” Fox sent.
I love it. Fox really has been the highlight of this book for me.
Fox is on the ground and the referee is counting him to ten, so it’s mid-chapter-flashback time! We learn how Fox’s parents died (sinkhole) and how that became his motivation for... going to Beacon? Okay, tenuous link at best, but I’m going with it.
Carmine is full of trouble and Fox is determined to take Bert with ‘em. Let him DIE.
I’m gonna keep going since we’re not four chapters from the end, so:
CHAPTERS FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN
Flashback time! Again! Only it’s CFVY’s POV of their return to Beacon. I wouldn’t mind this if like. We hadn’t already seen this from RWBY’s perspective in the show? People know this from my tastes in fanfic, but I’m not a huge fan of retellings of canon events, it’s soooooo boooooring. So I’m just gonna grind through this asap.
(I do like that RWBY and CFVY have all these parallels being called to. As they should.)
Okay we’re past the recap and OH LAWD I HEARD OF THIS BIT. Goodwitch is here (I love u Glynda no matter what) but yeah, I’ve heard this part is Big Oof so uh, let’s see this happen go down. Velvet is being requested to see Ozpin so /buckles down.
Velvet’s being questioned alone for the Whole Thing, and team CFVY have burst into the office demanding to know why, and Velvet’s a crying wreck! I’m still very >:I for everyone being overprotective of Velvet, c’mon, but also: Oz, can you please have tact? Just once in your life? Tact? Do you has it?
Anyway, CFVY have reconciled and we turn to chapter fifteen, in which: Yatsu.
Carmine has Gus, everyone’s on the Turtmobile, and shit’s hitting the fan. Yatsu’s going after Gus and Carmine alone, and I’m still waiting on Chekov’s Gun to Chekov its way right into someone’s butt. Unless it’s Chekov’s Red Herring.
Here comes a fight scene! I never have much to say during fight scenes, so, uh, yeah. There’s some real last-minute exposition in places, though, where it really shouldn’t be.
Eey, Carmine is telekinetic! Very powerful and also OP, gotta nerf that shit right down, Edward.
Yatsu’s very nearly defeated, Bert is back, baby, and shit’s getting real. Time for chaaaaaaaaaper sixteeeeeeeeeen.
CHAPTERS SIXTEEN AND SEVENTEEN
Today’s livereading soundtrack is Simple Things by Zero 7. The whole album, I mean. This is a fun little fact to make sure you’re still awake and aware, ‘cause I sure ain’t!
Roy Stallion of BRNZ is presumed dead, along with the whole team, so big RIP to May, who was cute and deserved better. Swear to God if ABRN are dead too I will kill a man. Two men, to be specific.
Velvet admits she never wanted to come to Vacuo, Coco promises they’ll return to reclaim Beacon in future. This reads like a protagonist’s last speech on hope and strength in friendship... and it should, as Coco gets swallowed by a worm! Straight up just down the hatch! This should be a tragic beat, but this is honestly so funny. Coco, pick better ways to die.
Anyway, we’re onto chapter seventeen. I was very kindly given this message:
And I-- OH HELL YES! HELL YES IT’S A SCHOOL DAY TIMETABLE!!!!!!!!!! THE LORE! THE CLASSES! THE NAMES! THE FACTS! THIS IS THE BEST THING IN THE ENTIRE BOOK SO FAR WHICH REALLY GOES TO SHOW I HAVE NO HOBBIES!
Is this a... flashback? Flash... forward? I’m not sure, actually. Either way, CFVY are in Beacon clearing the place of Grimm. Actually, this must be a flashback to before they went to Vacuo, I suppose, which would make sense to follow Velvet’s little admittance last chapter before Coco got swallowed like a paracetamol tablet.
Velvet waited for someone to ask her what she thought, what she wanted, by no one did.
Now I’m SAD why won’t people be NICE to VELVET just ONCE!!! God, this book really just gives her the short end of the stick every time.
Off go CFVY to Vacuo. Bye.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN AND EPILOGUE
Heremst we go.
Coco’s alive! I mean, no surprise. And full of the Joques as ever:
Coco figured sacrificing your life for a teammate was one way to be remembered as a good leader, but maybe that was just cheating.
RIP Coco and her claustrophobia! Hey, now that was good foreshadowing! That gets a whole Murphy Cookie of Approval. 🍪
Coco loses her Scroll and her hat, but Velvet swoops in to save the day! Meanwhile, Bert has been convinced that Carmine double-crossed him, so they’re battling it out! Basically, Gus cast frenzy. Finally, it works in everyone’s favour.
“I can’t believe I thought you were cute,” Coco spat.
Some lines in this book haven’t been very good. This one, on the other hand, very much is.
So Carmine goes underground and starts creating sinkholes everywhere like a weird desert gremlin, and Edward manages to block her Semblance and like. Carmine flat-out nearly suffocates herself to death. Another death I would have found both gruesome and hilarious for its irony. But Velvet uses Flynt’s trumpet to quite literally doot the sand away, and-- I’m so sorry, this line has me literally laughing to myself. She fuckin’-- doots the sand. Oh my god.
Anyway they win, catch up with Slate and the Nomad Fam, and meet team SSSN! The boys are back in town!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Things are looking good.
Epilogue time. I’m still laughing about the sand-dooting.
So, we don’t know who paid Bert and Carmine, I guess? I do believe there’s maybe a sequel or something in the works, apparently, so maybe this is part of an overarching plot type thingie. Still.
Ah, yep, Coco confirms that they’re not through with this line of investigation yet, But, Velvet wraps it up with a heart-felt, if not a little bit cheesy, segment about home being wherever CFVY is, and so the book comes to a close.
WRAP-UP
So, I’m definitely gonna have a second read-through of this without having to constantly stop and do a liveblog, but the book was... okay, I guess? I feel like this plotline wasn’t the greatest one for CFVY, and that the author doesn’t have a crazy good handle on the characters -- he’s likely more suited to original content, which is valid. It’s a good romp and we do get new lore, but as expected, I feel like CFVY would be best used in the show that conceived them in the first place. A book is nice, but I’d love to see their return in RWBY itself, especially since this book wasn’t really... long enough, I don’t think? Seriously, y’all’ve met me. I do write hundreds of thousands of words in this world and I still haven’t written everything I wanna yet! I’d also like to see more Velvet as seen in RWBY Chibi, in which was she Cool and Good, and maybe less Yatsu alongside her directly. But! It’s a book! It’s decent! It’s CFVY! For most people, it’s Good Enough. And they’re valid too.
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Mishalecki is the secret weapon against Cockles.
Jibcon 8, also known as the con where Jensen had his breakdown, had an interesting tail end to one of the J2 panel. Misha crashed the panel and all three told the house story. If you haven't watched it, here's a link to very clear footage by Apromit.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2tefaXuc7D0
Misha's cult leader tendency showed here, because he did his India-Russian accent before coming on stage. He was also wearing an oversized doily. I don't know why. And Jensen laid the insults on thick before he could take to the stage. The Misha fans were livid. Funny how when its someone else, then its not a joke. But even if Misha is being obnoxious, he is just joking. They told an oh so hilarious story of J2 bunking at Misha's rental home for the filming of the last episode of the season. I think they shared the place for a day or two. The boys hunkered down after a night of drinking and Jared pranked Misha the next day. Its a funny story to listen to. However, every time, I watch the panel a few things make me scratch my head:
Didn't the house have a couch to sleep on? And if it was Misha's stupid idea to bunk in the tiny house, and he is a shriveled and tiny sort of creature, why not dump him on the couch, if Jared was too large to fit on it?
How can any idiot on earth not know how many rooms a building has? They were still debating on stage as to whether this rental place has two rooms. Can they not count that high? Even Jared? You cant even blame alcohol because they were not drunk the next morning, when Jensen was enjoying his coffee while watching Hurricane Jared tear Misha apart.
Interestingly, Misha looks like he lied to them that the place was ''huge''. Why would he do that? He ''joked'' that he was baiting them to come and spend the night at his place. But would you need to do that with your ''best friends''?
Jensen always worries about Jared. But this time, he let Jared, who was sick during the filming of that episode, sleep on the floor, next to Misha's bed, while Jensen slept alone in another room with the door closed. Where they all sleeping on single beds? Couldn't Misha share with Jared? Why didn't Jared sleep on the floor in Jensen's room?
Why did Jared seem on a mission to make Misha regret inviting them? I mean, the place is on Misha's name? By their own account, Misha was practically chasing Jared around the house, stopping him from wreaking havoc. Why is that?
Are their trailers stuck at the studio? Why couldn't they just sleep in their trailers?
I am not answering those questions, because some theories go into far fetched territory, but if you have a good reason for this whole illogical story, please share. I will refrain because I can recognize when my theories are nonsensical. However, there was something about Jensen that I found interesting. Jensen, the uncomfortable non-shipper type was actively pushing Mishalecki. The words that he used were very telling. Let me paraphrase some of the exchange and how I perceived them [in italics]:
Jensen: ''Jared slept on the floor, next to Misha's bed. I don't know what happened. I was in the other room.''
So, he is emphasizing that Jared and Misha shared the night together, while he was not with them.
Misha's remark to Jensen: "You were resting after what we've been through.''
Yep, you just have to do that, don't you, fake Alpha. Even though, Jensen is trying to distance himself from the whole scenario, Misha has to do something like this. Jensen tries again to distance himself from Misha, and because Jared noticed, he helped Jensen to shut Misha down.
Jensen: I remember being in the other room, and being awoke to this [making snoring sound] and I am like 'what are they doing in there? Have they brought in animals now? Jared was snoring so loud. I was down the hallway, in a closed door bedroom. It woke me up. And I'm like 'how is Misha possibly sleeping in the same room?''
Jared: Oh he had been put to the test [inaudible]
Jensen: [after doubling up laughing] he could sleep through anything.
Jared: No, he woke up for...
Jensen: When you nudged him...
At this point, the ''Alpha'' who usually pushes this nonsense, shakes his head. J2 steamrolled right through whatever he planning to say. In fact, he didn't look happy because they ate into part of his panel. He is smiling though. But that smile is fake and half-baked. Why shake your head? Are you unhappy?
After the whole story is told and Jared is leaving the stage, he blows a kiss to Misha. Misha doesn't reciprocate. He just stares at Jared. One thing that I noticed is that Misha looks like he didn't want to tell this story. Jared kept pushing forward.
So my takeaway is that Jensen was using Mishalecki to keep the heat off of him for a change, and Misha wasn't allowing it. When Jared realized what Jensen was trying to do, he got on board and helped Jensen, shutting Misha up completely. That is why Misha shook his head. He cant win when Jared is on stage. Notice also that Jensen ended up going and standing behind his chair rather than sitting next to Misha. But the shipper girls flipped out because he poured Misha a drink from the glass he had previously drunk from. Crumbs! They are literally living on crumbs. Of course they are living on delusion as well, because they said Jensen wanted a hug from Misha and didn't get one. Yeah, that is why he flew off the stage the minute the session was over without acknowledging Misha.
#misha#jensen ackles#destiel#cockles#jenmish#jensen and misha#deancas#casdean#dean x castiel#castiel#cas#bi dean#dean is bi#dean and cas#jenmisheel#dean winchester#destiel headcanon#jdvm#misha collins#sam winchester#sam and dean#jensen and jared#wincest#supernatural#jared padalecki#padackles#performing dean#sabriel#sammy winchester#j2
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2019 Megaman Valentine’s Day (Talent) Contest Results!
Part two of results day, even though I always label the Talent category as Cat. 1, these results are in reverse. Oh well. Again, raffle prize winners will be contained in both posts, so keep an eye out after my commentary on your art. Not all raffle prize winner are contained in this post. I’ll be contacting all winners soon enough, so sit tight!
To see the Humor category results, please head to THIS POST.
Will any of our Iron Chef contestants be able to create an artsy meal with these ingredients?:
To find out, along with your Talent category winners and full gallery of entries, click here after the break:
Category 1 (Talent) - The Way To A Mega Man’s Heart Is Through His Stomach
This category had the larger amount of participants, and was honestly a lot harder to judge. I really was going back and forth on where to place people, because I love so much about all of them! Your delicious culinary character combos were all delectable in their own right, whether they were actually edible pieces of art or not. I did leave this category up to interpretation a bit more, despite the initial description wording it as a food-themed pinup. As long as it contained some sort of food with a character, it technically fit the theme.
Thank you once again to all who participated. You all make holding these events fun year after year!
I know imgbox gallery gave people some issues before, so as always, let me know if images or links appear broken. Crossing my fingers this works smoothly this year! XD
After each entrant’s name, there will be a link in the character description to the entry, too, just in case the external inserted images don’t load for you.
[Full Talent Gallery]
1.) @prar-draws - Zero and Ciel
While most entries focused on sugary sweets, such as pastries or candies, prar thought outside of the box just enough to stand out against the rest. Taking Zero and Ciel’s already long hair and turning it into ramen and soba noodles, the pair are relaxing together in an overflowing hot tub bowl of their pasta-y strands, broth, veggies and then some, while they enjoy their own bowls of noodles. Despite being heavily layered in clothing, *warning* this is one steamy, saucy pic! XD
*For coming in 1st (in back-to-back years, no doubt), prar has won $100 via Paypal, or a prize of their choice up to that value.*
2.) @digitallyfanged - Tron Bonne and Megaman Volnutt
Ever the tease, Tabby’s Tron is wooing Volnutt with a sugary-sweet sensory overload at the hands of both her, and her Servbots. Or maybe at the head, too, based on that 2-tier strawberry cake that doubles as a hat on happy Servbot. While including so many treats were definitely eye candy in this piece, so too is Tron in that dress, causing Volnutt to deeply blush.
The soft glow of the lighter transparency background, along with the usual shine of your lighting on the pair in the foreground, help them stand out. Even if my mouth is watering more at all the Servbot’s treats. Hahaha.
*For coming in 2nd, Tabby has won $50 via Paypal, or a prize of their choice up to that value.*
3.) @irischroma - Nana
Nana is ready to split her banana split sundae with you. I see what you did there. Your mission is to follow her every command as she feeds you, in her bonus rpg/sim screencap. I really liked the use of multiple halftones to accent the shading on both her and the background of the full image. The background itself is really cool, to incorporate the ice cream mounds, syrup and sprinkles, which also actually align nicely with the sprinkles on her apron. Truly adorbs.
*For coming in 3rd, Iris has won $25 via Paypal, or a prize of their choice up to that value*
And the remaining wonderful entries, in alphabetical order by alias:
@bracedshark - Marino
The first entry to embrace food-themed clothing, Marino is the living embodiment of the chocolate peppermint sundae she is holding. I love mint chocolate chip ice cream, so Marino’s green hair and clothing accents fit that ice cream color perfectly. Also while tying in your traditional peppermints as accessories on her, as well as the sort of melty pinkish mascara dripping down the side of her cheeks.
*Bracedshark is the winner of Raffle Prize #1 - The cel of Duo*
@drewblossom - Ice Man and Roll
Another great use of food-styled clothing, Drew made a precious cinnamon roll dress for Roll, and an ice cream cone vest with a more whipped topping trim for Ice Man. Ice’s hair also adds to that whipped cream feel, yet despite dancing around, does a good job keeping that cherry from falling off the top of his head. XD This is a super cute scene, and has even better apparel style.
*Drew is also the winner of Raffle Prize #4 - The Tamashii Nations Zero figure and Zero emblem wristband*
@hyperbole1729 - Tundra Man, Top Man, Snow Robbit and Eye Ice
The first of two yummy cookie entries, which I’ll assume were baked around the same time, feature both real world treats, and 2D ones. I give Hyperbole big props for making the Snow Robbit and Eye Ice enemies into cookie shape form. They look super delicious, and I’m a guy who loves cookies with tons of frosting. XD Taking the pic on a wintry snowflake plate makes them stand out even more, so I totally loved your creativity with that.
That baking didn’t only take place in Hyperbole’s kitchen, as Tundra and Top also spent the day making the same treats. I think their cookie cutter shapes have given me a clue to how you made yours. LOL Very cute!
*Hyperbole is the winner of Raffle Prize #3 - The Zero plush and framed X 3D sprite art*
@larytello - Zero and Ciel
Strawberry cake seemed to be the most popular choice of romantic treats, and here lary has Zero feeding Ciel her slice. Your digital airbrush shading has really improved, and it shows in this piece! It really gives a nice depth and definition to their arms and legs, not to mention the folds in Ciel’s dress, or the shine off of their helmets. Even with the heavily pink background, with all the hearts, they both still stand out nicely against it, despite their color schemes. Super cute!
@papillonthepirate - Roll.EXE
Our other real world food entry is a sugar frosted Roll.EXE cookie, complete with rosy cheek sprinkles and lemon-flavored ribbon candy antennae attached to her. Again, like Hyperbole’s submission, Papillon had the perfect heart decal plate design to help accentuate her creation, along with the doily it’s sitting on. I’m sure she was delicious! I appreciate the extra creativity taking the theme of the contest literally and making an actual tasty Mega Man character treat!
@peach35 - X and Zero
A very cute scene of X and Zero sharing desert and a drink with swirly-shape sippy straws at a quaint little bistro off the shores of Dopple Town. And I’d imagine the pair of strawberries left snuggling on the table also sort of symbolize the hunter couple cuddling up after their cake and conversation, too. Pardon the pun, but I like the slice of life feel to the scene, that sort of gives it this Norman Rockwell-styled feel. The detail on your strawberries and lemon slices really turned out quite great; they look pretty real!
SockMonkii - Ashe
Ashe is so busy devouring that chocolate/strawberry filled cake slice, I don’t know if she fully realizes how much she has missed on her face. XD In fact, I think she’s likely eyeing the rest of the whole cake as the booty she’s after, rather than of any admirer. LOL The ribbon and bow background, along with all the hearts, help emphasize the cake as a romantic gift. Again, I see a lot of growth and improvement in your art style after a year’s time, and I think this pic turned out great!
@star-crossed-swords - Blues and Tempo
While definitely a sweet and romantic drawing, this entry felt like it fit in more with last year’s humor category theme, Beauty and the Beastman.EXE, that I almost wondered if you got mixed up with an older contest post. ^^; So I decided to go with the assumption that Quake Woman/Tempo had something delicious leftover on her hand that Blues was kissing off of her, to fit it within the content requirements. :D Their formalwear looks very nice on both of them. I like the sparkles on her dress coordinating with the starry sky outside the window.
SubZeroIceSkater - Tundra Man
I totally read that tagline in Tundra Man’s voice. And the more bittersweet, the more pure chocolate, so it sounds good to me! Containing most of his stage enemies in cacao form, this box of chocolates is like a your chances at an extra life in item roulette. You never know what you’re gonna get. That’s sort of reverse Forrest Gump logic...right? I love how the box is designed just like his helmet’s rupee with icicles protruding, along with all the beautiful sparkling snowflakes and hearts in the background. I want a box, badly!
#Rockman#Megaman#Mega Man#Rock Miyabi's 2019 Megaman Valentine's Day Contest#Fanart Contest#Too many tags to list
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Welcome To Grail Academy - Chapter Eight: A Real Hero
“A little bit to your left!” Napier made a frame in front of his eyeline with his thumbs and forefingers as he watched another student wobble on the top of a ladder, trying to pin up the end of a long purple banner. “No, your other left!”
It was finally here, the day of the Prom. Many others were preparing for the celebration, putting together their best outfits, fixing their hair, working up the courage to ask certain friends to accompany them as dates, the usual awkward teenage shenanigans that would fling kids into fits of anxiety. Everyone except the teams that were to do battle in the tournament. Those who applied for the competition portion had the duty of setting up the ballroom before the festivities. Beau reeled her arm back and took aim before shouting “GO LONG!” to Deacon, on the other side of the repurposed training hall, and throwing a roll of streamers over the series of pipes that ran across the ceiling. Deacon caught the roll, tore a portion of the paper, and took a turn at throwing the decoration back to her. He pushed his hair out of his face and grumbled “I still don’t see how making the only people who are going to fight do all the work setting up is fair.” The boy on the ladder who was still struggling to maintain balance, Inigo of team SPIA, retorted, “That’s because it’s not. The teachers should be the ones doing this! Or the janitors, or….lunch ladies or something, at least!”
While Alora hobbled to the snack table with a giant tub of fruit punch, sloshing around as she waddled from the weight of it hanging on her arms, Vert was asleep with a comic book on his face, on the bleachers that were in the process of being folded up and put away by the rest of team SPIA. “And BRSQ isn’t even here to pitch in or help at all….” Iris huffed to herself while she assembled sound equipment on a makeshift stage with Rowan, who was trying to put together the microphones like he was trying to finish a puzzle. In fact, he spoke out in anguish after giving up on the complex design of his current nemesis (Mister Microphone), carping “Yeah! Not to mention half of EBNY isn’t even here. I mean, Bernard, what have you even done to help!?” The weaselish hunter accused. Without looking up from his diligent work, Bernard, who was sitting against the wall near the door, gestured to the mountain of origami suns and moons waiting to be hung on the ceiling. Then he pointed with a pair of scrapbooking scissors to the walls that were embellished with detailed paper shapes of stars, and the purple banner he had painted that read “A Night Under The Stars” in gold lettering, and finally directed Rowans attention to the beautifully crafted doilies that sat on the tables near the bleachers. “....Oh.”
Team PWTR sat near Bernard’s crafts, the four of them all admiring the paper handiwork in silence, with dramatic expressions. Though Bernard himself didn’t mind, the rest of the students new little to nothing about the team they would soon be fighting, and they were a bit put off. This is not to say that anyone feared the members of PWTR, but the only reason they had no idea what they would be up against is because this group of hunters never said a word about themselves. Literally. Another reason one might be upset by team PWTR would be for the black and white facepaint, red noses, and lace gloves they all wore. As they all mimed an invisible box around the origami pile, their leader, Puce, made a complex gesture meant to represent him folding his own creation. To be completely candid with the audience, the only reason that the other students knew these hunters’ names was because Ms.Madehold had announced them when assembling teams in their initial year at the academy.
Nico was standing on the shoulders of Sal, who held his friends ankles firmly so he wouldn’t fall, as the precocious boy constructed the rig that would hold a large disco ball over the center of the dance floor. Then, with his free hand, he hung the glittery orb with ease (accidentally brushing a bit of the decorative glitter off on the tips of his hair as he hopped down from Sal’s back). “Rowan’s right though. Where’s our backup?”
Yorick turned the plastic blue flower over in his hand, looking over the petals and ribbons. Was the bow big enough? No….no, it could definitely be bigger. It needed something extra. Maybe more sparkles. With a sigh he placed it back in its container and clamped the lid shut, looking up to see Esmerelda in their bathroom. She was leaning on the rim of the sink, inching closer to the mirror as she did her makeup. She looked so resolved, quiet. He had seen his partner like this a few times before, getting herself ready and presentable, but every time it felt like he was risking to steal a glance into a sacred ritual, something private she wouldn’t usually share with the rest of her team. When she was done, she smacked her lips and swankered out into the room. Yorick began to twiddle his thumbs, stuttering out “S-so, you wanted to talk?”
“I did.” Esmerelda sat down on the edge of her bed, looking on at Yorick standing stiffly against the wall. “Have I done something to upset you?” Her question confused him.
“Huh? What do you mean?”
“It feels like you’re avoiding me. The whole team, in fact. I understand if it’s just anxiety or schoolwork, but….it’s been weeks, Yorick, and I haven’t seen you at lunch or dinner. You’re getting back to the dorm later than Nico! Is there something going on?”
The truth was, Yorick was training into the wee hours of the night, not just to prepare for Prom and get Nico off his back, but for his own personal benefit. And he was starting to feel the toll of sleep loss and overworking himself weigh on him. But he couldn’t tell Esmerelda that, she’d try to stop him from fighting in the tournament! So, he did what any logical person would do in his situation: he lied. “Of course not! I would never do that, Esme. You’re my friend….there’s a lot on my plate right now. So much is happening, and so fast.”
“Darling, I’m worried. Are you sure you’re alright? You seem so distant during combat class, and now with the Prom coming up, I can’t lose you. I just don’t want you falling back on smoking.”
The room fell still. A strange kind of silence settled on the two of them while Yorick clenched his hands. That set him off. “What? How did you even-”
“Bernard told me.”
“HE TOLD YOU!?” He was suddenly shouting, he didn’t even realize it. He threw his hands up in the air, pacing the room. “The ONE thing I wanted to keep to myself, and he just--and now YOU’RE playing the pity card! This was my one thing! This was all I had!”
Esmerelda stood up quickly, grabbing him by the elbow and trying to keep him in place long enough for him to listen. “Calm down, darling! It’s not a big deal, I simply-” but he interrupted again. “Oh, ENOUGH with the darling shtick!” He yanked his arm back, and out from his pocket fell the wrinkled box of cigarettes. The pair looked down at the container on the floor, any number of thoughts rushing through both their minds in the abrupt hush. Yorick exhaled and grabbed the box, a single butt falling from the package as he stuffed it back into his pocket.
“....Esmerelda, this is my one thing. The only thing that keeps me from breaking down every day. I need you to respect this part of me, okay?”
“Sure, sure…”
“I have to go meet someone. We’ll talk later.” He split in a huff, leaving Esmerelda to fester in the shock and anger that she didn’t get the chance to express to him before. It was the strangest thing, all the time he was fuming, she thought as though she could see steam rising off him. She made a mental note to not forget this feeling, the rawness of her state, and to savor it and keep it bottled up for later, to use. She picked up the butt off the ground, holding it up to her eye level. When she got a better look at the cigarette, she noticed the remnants of a glittering shine, light reflecting off unexpected fragments, a strange hue of color, all in the contents that were rolled in the paper. Esmerelda was tired.
Yorick pushed the argument to the back of his mind, trying to walk with a little more confidence down the hallway. Even though he had been attending the school for a little over a month, the building’s layout still stumped him. It had gotten to the point where he had to make a mental map using landmarks, going over it in his head during his free time. Take a right at the leaky water fountain, follow the hallway with the unfinished mural that was started 10 years ago, stop at the door that had a mysterious stain in the grain of the wood. He took a deep breath, sucking the air through his teeth. The sudden coldness of the hall made him shiver. Or maybe the cool temperature was from his clammy hands, or his forehead that broke out in a cold sweat. His stomach hurt. His knees locked in place. Was the room spinning? Oh no, he could feel himself shaking as he raised his hand up to knock on the door. Just do it. Just do it. Just do it.
“I don’t see what the big deal is.” Scarlet sallied, laying on his bed so his head was hanging off the side, making it look like Queenie’s furious pacing was taking place on the ceiling. “I’ve seen the other teams in action, there’s not much competition. It’ll be a piece of cake!” His tail swished behind him as he offered a coy smile to his partner, who was looking over a new dress in the mirror. If someone had offered a guess that Rettah couldn’t possibly fit any more bows and ribbons on her person, they would be sorely mistaken. She held the lace monstrosity against her body, doing a little twirl in the mirror and shaking a few sequins onto the floor in the process. Queenie was unamused. She crossed her arms and stood over the redhead, glaring daggers at him. “Our goal isn’t to win the tournament, remember. The mission is set on Yorick. Sable wants him alive, and articulate.” Scarlet blew a buff of air to move a strand of hair out of his face. “You’re no fun today.”
Queenie was an experienced fighter, she wasn’t worried about their chances against the others. When she lifted her arm to run her hand over her shaved head, the muscles in her bicep rippled under her dark skin. “Buck, can you knock some sense into him?” She turned around to address the pale boy hunched over a desk, tinkering away at something. His stark white hair was shaped in a bowl cut, so his bangs were easily out of the way as he funneled some kind of dark sand into a cylinder. He pulled his heavy, striped scarf up to cover his nose and mouth before he shaped a pile of the material into a thin line on a small piece of parchment. When he spoke, the thick fabric muffled his monotone voice. “No Yorick means no intel. No intel means no profit. No profit means Sable gets mad. Sable getting mad means we get hung by our toenails.”
There was a knock at the door, silencing their conversation. On the other side, Yorick talked through the crack between the frame. “Rettah? Are you in there? It’s Yorick, I, uh….I w-wanted to ask you something.” Everyone turned their attention to the blue haired girl, who stared at the door in confusion. Rettah was quick at thinking on her feet, so she hollered back to him, “One minute! I’m getting dressed!” She shushed her teammates and pushed them into the bathroom and shut the door, frantically fixing her hair.
As the door creaked open, Rettah pushed her head out to fit snugly between the frame and the door. “Well hellooooo there!” The second he made eye contact with her, Yorick melted where he stood. He stuttered, desperate for words that refused to leave his mouth. In a final bid, he just closed his eyes and thrusted the corsage in the plastic box out in front of him. He kept his head down when Rettah took it, curiously. “Oh….is this for me?”
He nodded quickly.
“You….want to take me to the dance?”
He nodded again.
“....Okay! Cool!” She smiled brightly and let the door open all the way, slipping the flower onto her wrist. Yorick looked up in surprise, quirking a brow. For a moment he thought it was a joke. “Wait, seriously?”
Rettah’s grin was infectious, forcing the boy in front of her to lighten his expression. “I would love to”, she said. They both giggled and exchanged shy jokes until Yorick waved goodbye. When she closed the door and called out to her friends to tell them to come out, Rettah held up her arm to show off the tacky accessory and smirked. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Queenie. I have a whole new way into Yorick Navyn.”
The arena that the festival was being held in was the same that Nico and Yorick had been training in for weeks prior. It was strange to the two of them to see the building all lit up and full of people, banners hanging on the walls where there weren’t any before. As everyone took their seats on the cement bleachers, Miss Pearl strutted out into the center of the ring. She looked smaller now since the actual field was 10 feet lower than the first row of seats. She clicked her heels and stopped dead center under the skylight. A microphone hanging from a connected electrical chord lowered down from the ceiling into her hand. She tapped the speaker with her finger to test the audio and the crowd went mute.
“Dear students, fellow professors and faculty, it is my honor and pleasure to introduce the 6th annual Grail Academy Prom! I know that you’re all excited for the dance, and how hard this year’s competitors have trained for this night. But before we start, a quick rundown of the rules. I’m sure you all know how this works, all the teams that are competing separate into pairs of two, each participant will take part in 2 rounds of 4 person fights in the preliminaries, then separate again for single fights in the finals. Whoever is left standing’s team wins the Prom, and will be crowned Kings and Queens!” She raised her fist in the air with enthusiasm, and the audience of students cheered and clapped. Miss Pearl chuckled, “Settle down now. Let’s see our first entrants of the night….” A short man with a bushy mustache and a green suit, a teacher most of the hunters know as Mr.Kismet, stepped into the arena carrying a glass bowl filled with slips of paper. Reaching into it, Miss Pearl pulled out two sheets and thanked Mr.Kismet. A hush fell over the crowd, everyone was waiting anxiously on the edge of their seats for her to read the names.
“....Oh my! This ought to be interesting, team BRVI and team SPIA! Choose the pairs you want to represent your teams, and come on down to the field!” The onlookers fell into an uproar of cheers and hoots, sending some feedback to the microphone as it was wheeled back up to the ceiling. A few students sitting in the row behind him grabbed Vert by the shoulders excitedly and ruffled his hair, which annoyed him a little, but not enough to take away from the surge of pride he and Beau felt entering the ring.
Standing on the other side of the arena was Inigo and his partner, Aliz, who were psyching each other up by slapping each other in the face. They were raring to go, Inigo loosening the handkerchief tied around his neck and Aliz pushing his hair back with a headband. It looked like Beau and Vert were in for a fight. “You ready, big guy?” She looked up at her partner, who had already unclipped his weapons from his belt and was holding two metal, spherical canisters in his hands. Vert narrowed his eyes at their opponents, and Beau could already see the outcome of the fight. He would throw them off with a couple of smoke bombs, giving her enough cover to rush Inigo with her shephard scythe, the two of them would clash for a bit and Aliz would knock her down with a sweep of the legs. She would bounce back up, Vert would catch Inigo before he could make another move and set off another bomb to blow him sky-high out of the ring, then they would team up to corner Aliz and claim the first match as theirs. And that is exactly what happened. Miss Pearl shouted from the sidelines, and the crowd joined in until the countdown resonated in their chests.
“3….2….1….FIGHT!”
#rwby#rwby oc#team ebny#ebny#grail academy#welcome to grail academy#esmerelda#bernard#nico#yorick#drug use#drugs tw#rwby fanteam#oc#ocs#rwby fanfiction#fanfic#oc fanfiction
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