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squeemcsquee · 1 year

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Anime Central 2023, Day Two (Sat)

Day two started with another early wakeup. We met @shbumi for breakfast in the atrium. Post breakfast meant time to watch some TV, wander around for some Pokemon Go, and then change into Night Vale cosplays.

I missed not having my Glow Cloud prop with me. But sadly, last year’s Cloud did not take well to efforts to repair it. And the next version of the Cloud that was I working on just didn’t come together in time. Maybe by the next con we attend. We’ll see.

Of course, not having the Cloud prop did make getting around the con easier and I also didn’t need to worry about making sure the lights were powered off during our first event: the AMV contest. As I understand it, it’s been a few years since ACen had an AMV contest.

We got there a little early, which meant some classic AMVs from past ACens were on the screen. I haven’t been to an AMV contest since Anime Iowa 2019 and that was a very niche, very small AMV contest. Before that, I believe the only other one I’ve been to was Otakon 2012’s contest. But I have always found AMVs enjoyable and love seeing what people create. It’s also nice when you get surprised with an AMV for an older property.

There were several entries in each category, so the contest did run for basically the entire allotted two hour time period. When we went, it was actual the second time the AMVs in the contest were being shown – you could go Friday or Saturday to vote. If you didn’t want to vote, the AMVs were shown again on Sunday before winners were announced.

I’m going to be honest that I actually still haven’t looked up the winners, even now, almost a month after the con. I enjoyed voting on them and definitely had ones I preferred over the others, but it was just getting to sit and watch AMVs for a while that mattered more.

After the AMV contest, we made the rounds of the dealer hall and artist alley. It was at this point that I learned that the ACen 2023 enamel pin had been sold out. While I like the con shirts, the only ACen ones I have are for the years the con was online – I just don’t wear them that much. And I already own the bandana and any other merch I would’ve gotten. So I walked away from the merch booth empty-handed this year.

Since Friday’s trip through the dealer’s hall was rushed and I had roughly four hours to browse, eat lunch, and then get to my next panel, I wandered at a decent pace.

As always there were mystery bag vendors, ranging from actual boxes full of stuff to just bags with a random figure inside.

I am not a Hatsune Miku fan, but I had to wonder if even a fan would be willing to drop $2k on a giant plush.

When I finally got tired of walking and also from smelling all the super good food smells from the food stalls, I did a quick check on the chalk artist’s progress before heading back to the room to eat.

At 430, I went to a panel on LGBTQ Representation in Anime/Manga. It was a fun panel, trying to give a wide overview of how members of the LGBTQ+ community have been represented. Since it’s a broad panel trying to do a lot in a relatively short time frame of 1.5 hours, the panelist couldn’t go as in-depth into some of the titles or categories.

When the panel was done, I raced to the Right Stuf panel, where at first I didn’t go in, because there appeared to be ACen staff controlling access. I ended up pulling up Guidebook to double-check the panel listing. I was also trying to wait for @lechevaliermalfet to meet up with me, as he’d been at a different panel. And there was a massively long line outside of the panel room, which I thought was strange. RightStuf are popular…but not that popular.

I did end up asking the staff member guarding the door if I was at the right spot for the RightStuf panel, and this was confirmed. I was allowed in at about 615pm. Not ten minutes later, the panel ended very abruptly. And @lechevaliermalfet and I left very irritated and confused, because the panel was listed as going until 7.

Well, it turns out there was a bit of a scheduling snafu that occurred. Aniplex had announced the premiere of the Englush dub of Maschle: Muscles and Magic, with ACen VA guest Aleks Le in attendance as well. And it was scheduled in the same room as the RightStuf panel had been…and it was scheduled for 630. Yep. They had managed to overlap two industry programming events in the same room by 30 minutes. RightStuf had apparently done a rapid-fire version of their standard panel and it was just our misfortune to wander in when we did and not realize what was going on. It should also be noted that unless you were following ACen’s Discord or Twitter, the exact title being premiered was unknown – it was never updated to Guidebook (and that remains the case now, in June, as I do this writeup – I had to go digging through my notes and Discord to confirm).

Well, ok. We suddenly had a small bit of free time on our hands. The next panel of interest was at 7 with Helen McCarthy, and it was barely 630. What to do? Not enough time to run to the hotel to eat and the dealer hall was closed. So to the gaming room we went!

That is one thing I like about ACen – unless you’re attending a main event in the Hyatt, it never feels like you have to really stress for time to get from panel to panel. Or from hall to hall. We killed some time on a Space Invaders machine and the claw machines (didn’t win), and then headed out for our panel.

I have to say, the next panel was fascinating. Sniffing Glue: The Punk Energy of Early British Anime Fanzines with Helen McCarthy was a panel that really I was attending just because of the speaker. Helen McCarthy, in my experience, manages to make anything anime-related interesting. And her personal anecdotes liven up the history, elevating it from simple dry facts and timelines. Well, this particular subject was super personal to her – this ties directly to Helen McCarthy’s lived experience as a British anime fan back in the day. She spoke not only of contributing to fanzines but even editing one with her partner at one point. And that’s where the title comes from, because gluing a fanzine together could apparently leave you rather high if you were doing it indoors with the windows closed during an English winter. This panel also included a plea for fans considering getting rid of their fandom ephemera to consider reaching out to academic libraries and similar institutions and making a donation of the items instead. Fanzines and similar are quickly lost or destroyed as time goes on, and so it’s an area of social history that doesn’t perhaps has as much material to draw from. Donating to an academic institution or digitizing collections of these works can help preserve them for future generations to study and appreciate.

After this, our stomachs were growling, since it was just after 8pm. Time for dinner!

After dinner, and realizing that somehow, we’d just been dawdling in the room trying to decide what to do, I realized that I still had a bagful of manga to donate to the manga library. And I wasn’t too keen on hauling it around with me on Sunday from panel to panel until I could get over there. So, with roughly 30 minutes to go before the library closed for the day, we booked it over. Yes, booked it – walking from the Embassy Suites to the Hyatt can take anywhere from 7-15 minutes, depending on your walking pace, whether you walk outside or in the skywalk, etc. Poor @lechevaliermalfet – I think he thought I was being a bit ridiculous with my pace, and I probably was. But we did arrive on time to hand over the bagful of manga, and the librarian was very happy. I ended up getting badge ribbons for my donation, which is a first for me at ACen. And only the second time I’ve gotten badge ribbons, ever, that I can recall.

After that, we moved a lot more slowly back to the room to kill a little more time before what we had listed as our final panel of the night. The History of Cosplay – again with Helen McCartthy – was listed as being at midnight. Which seemed odd, as it was not an 18+ event and usually guest events aren’t scheduled that late unless they’re 18+.

We were there right on time. And we sat and waited. Other attendees trickled into the room, but there was no sign of our guest. Or ACen staff. At ten after, people began comparing the situation to being on time for a class and the professor being late. By fifteen after, attendees were actively trying to reach out to staff. One tried calling a volunteer staffer that they knew via their cell phone. Another left the room to talk to the staff in the information booth in the panel area. And I hopped on Discord.

Discord apparently was the fastest way to get an answer, as I soon received a reply that the Guidebook entry was in error. The panel was scheduled for noon on Sunday. I let our fellow attendees know and everyone began to trickle out of the room.

@lechevaliermalfet and I decided to head over to the Synergy dance. It had been going a couple of hours by that point and so we hoped that we would be able to just walk in, like we had done with the Soap Bubble. No such luck. When we arrived, not only did the line fill the carefully roped and winding path in the hotel, but we were informed that it stretched to the outside. Curious to see just how bad it was, we headed outside and walked the line. Now, granted, it only took us about a minute to reach the end of the line, which had followed the exterior wall of the hotel and therefore curved into part of the parking area. And the line was moving. But we estimated that the length outside, plus that inside, combined with the speed of the line, meant we would be in line for 30 minutes to an hour before we entered the rave. And that as a big ol’ nope for us. If we had come better prepared to stand that long in line, that might be one thing. But we hadn’t.

And so Saturday ended with a bit of a letdown.

All of Anime Central 2023 Coverage

Day Zero - Thursday

Day One - Friday

Day One Cosplayers

Day One Photoshoot - My Little Pony

Day One Photoshoot - MXTX/Danmei

Day Two - Saturday (current post)

Day Two Cosplayers

Day Three - Sunday

Day Three Cosplayers

#acen 2023 #anime central 2023 #acen #anime central #con review #con report #prose and cons

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lilking102 · 1 year

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Swampcon

I went to SwampCon on the first day from around 6 to 8. I went by myself, and it was a very interesting experience. This is my very first time going to an anime convention, and I’m very interested in going to another one. The first thing I noticed when I got there was the amount of people cosplaying. I expected to see some, but I did not expect to see 80% of the people there to be cosplaying. I actually felt underdressed as I went with an “Akira” shirt on and some joggers. The cosplays were also very vastly different. There were cosplays from a lot of series and some of them I couldn’t even recognize. Some cosplays were very simple, and some were very intricate. There were also some that were kind of erotic like this Yor cosplay from “Spy x Family” I seen. You can tell there where a lot of time and passion are put into a lot of people's cosplays. The event I went to was the dance battle where people who cosplayed went up to the stage with a song they picked. Most of the songs were J-Pop and I think a couple were anime openings. There were people who went solo and there were also people that went as a group. The event was very entertaining and was 2 hours long, I left during the last 30 min. What was the most interesting to me was the dance choreography that each dancer had was very complicated and showed that they practiced for this event. Everyone was cheering and clapping for each person on stage, and no one was criticizing or belittling anyone. The vibes were at an all-time high. When I left, I went to look at all the vendors. I told myself I wouldn’t buy anything, but I ended up walking out with 4 anime posters. The posters where buy two get one free so in my head I was thinking I might as well buy two lol. The dude at the vendor was really cool and ended up giving me a poster of “Cyberpunk: Edgerunners” for free and told me to watch the show as I haven't seen it yet. There were also other interesting vendors that I thought were cool but also weird. One that really stood out to me was a vendor that sold fragrances that will make you smell like an RPG character. There were also some Anime figures there that were very provocative and erotic. I felt embarrassed looking at those, so I didn’t stay at that vendor long lol. It reminded me of one of our viewings “Genshiken” and how Sasahara and how he was caught by the other club members looking at some. There were also non-erotic figures there and I was really tempted to buy this Artoria Pendragon figure from “Fate/Stay Night”, but I resisted. I left after that, and I was very satisfied with my experience. Something that really fascinated me was how confident and carefree everyone was in expressing a medium that they loved. I’ve never been necessarily embarrassed to like anime, but I’ve never really expressed my love for it in public, it’s something I enjoy by myself and with a certain number of people. It was kind of a shock for me to see and it reminded me how Sasahara in “Genshiken” reacted to the people at the convention. This convention also reminded me of a conversation we had in class about the otaku and how they can’t physically obtain the thing they’re obsessed with, so they make it into their own. I think this convention is a prime example of this. Something else I seen that reminded me of “Genshiken” was the crossdressers I had seen at the event. Swampcon has opened my eyes to these types of events, and I want to go again next year.

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starilicious · 3 years

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ishq wala love (echo x gn!reader)

》 summary: reader comforts an insecure echo after the end of tbb episode 4 "cornered" about having mechanical parts as part of his body.

》 word count: ~2.2k

click here to read on AO3

》 warnings: slight sensory overload, mild panic attack (i think it could be classified as relatively vague in regards to the description), insecure echo about his body, a teensy bit of in universe swearing, lots of flufffff and a dash of angst here and there, no use of y/n [if i should add more warnings, please let me know!]

》 spoilers: extremely mild ones from tbb episode 4 "cornered"

》 a/n: hello! this is my first tbb fic, so i really hope i do the show, the characters, and the fandom justice hehe ^_^ over the past few days, i've become obsessed with tbb fics, particularly the echo x reader ones bc my GOODNESS this man is such a soft bean who deserves all the love in the galaxy. as a result, please enjoy this sleep-deprived frenzy of a fic that i wrote at 1 am and let me know your thoughts! :)

》 misc. notes:

• title of the fic is from the hindi song "ishq wala love" from the film student of the year. i've linked the song (in blue) with some pretty good english translations in case you would like to take a listen, but it isn't necessary for the fic–i just thought it fit well!

• i kind of got way too invested in building up the environment at the beginning, so apologies if it seems like a slow start! i just had to indulge in having the other characters there too <3

• please ignore the inaccuracies of the havoc marauder. i don't really know what the ship looks like, especially the living quarters, so i unintentionally ended up using the ghost from swr to guide my writing for that part.

• what the reader says at the end about the word in love in her native language is true. the language i'm referring to here is hindi, and we have several different words for love. in my very humble opinion, i think it’s one of the many characteristics of the language that makes hindi so sweet-sounding and poetic :)

• THANK YOU FOR 100 NOTES OMG AHHH YOU ALL ARE TRULY AMAZING 😭<333 (7/1/2021)

After Tech piloted the Bad Batch away from Pantora and safely entered hyperspace, you all decided to turn in to get some rest–or at least attempt to. With the bounty hunter scare, you and the boys figured it would be best to discuss what to do tomorrow morning, for Omega’s sake.

You tucked Omega in with her doll and offered her a comforting smile. “Don’t worry ‘Meg,” you said softly, running a gentle hand through her cropped blonde hair. “You’ll be safe, I promise. You’re stuck with us for life.”

Omega smiled sleepily at your teasing and held her arms out for a hug, one which you gladly indulge. “Sweet dreams, love,” you murmur as you let go. You shut off the lamp in her makeshift room and closed the curtains as you climbed down the ladder.

You turned around to find Hunter looking at you from his seat in front of the blinking controls. You raised an eyebrow as you plopped down in front of him unceremoniously, the exhaustion of the action-packed day catching up to you.

"You're good with her," he murmured as you both glanced at the light beige divider and you shrugged in response.

"Just looking out for her. Besides, you're not so bad yourself. She mimics your every move," you grinned. Hunter chuckled fondly as he recalled the memory where they were all stuck in the Kaminoan prison cell and Omega copied his every gesture.

The two of you lapsed in a comfortable silence as you mulled over the day's events, the hum of the ship thrumming beneath your feet.

"We'll be okay. It's tiring and difficult and none of us know how to raise a child, but we'll be okay," you said, breaking the quiet with optimism. You placed a hand on Hunter's shoulder and smiled. "Crosshair will be okay too. Have faith."

Hunter sighed but nodded in agreement as he put his hand over yours. "Goodnight," he said as he stood up, stretching his muscles.

"Sleep well."

You sat at the small table for a few more minutes to think before standing up yourself. You quickly checked in on Tech in the cockpit since he was on watch, and he immediately shooed you away, insisting you get some sleep. You had a feeling he only did so to optimize the ship in peace without distractions.

Nevertheless, you obliged and left him alone. Walking to the back of the ship, you completed your rounds. Wrecker was snoring loudly and you stifled a laugh. At least he was sleeping well–it was all you could ask for really. But frankly, you had no idea how Crosshair was ever able to sleep through it. Thinking about him and seeing his empty bunk made your heart pang in loss, but you were as determined as the rest of them to somehow bring him back. You had to.

You opened the door to Hunter and Tech’s shared room to find Hunter already sleeping soundly and you quickly left. With his enhanced senses, he was already a light sleeper, and compounded with his responsibilities as a leader, he rarely got any rest. You worried for him.

Last stop was your and Echo's room. You stepped in to find the light still on. Echo was sitting on the floor in front of your bunk, staring at the ground.

"Hey there handsome," you joked lightly in an attempt to get his attention and mask your unease. Echo usually only came near your bunk when something was wrong and after everything that happened today, it was safe to say you were concerned.

Echo didn't respond. Did he hear me? You make your way over to your lover and sit down in front of him. You place your hands on top of his.

"Echo, honey?" You said softly and finally finally he looked up at you. Your heart dropped into your stomach.

"Oh, darling," you breathed and you moved to his side to envelop him into a hug, his head resting comfortably in the crook of your neck. You didn’t say anything more–you saw the deep pain swirling in his eyes, the grief, the loss. The anger. You let Echo take the lead; you knew how difficult it was to wrangle raging thoughts and muster them into words.

You didn’t know how much time passed of you two sitting on the floor, breathing each other in before Echo spoke.

“Today… when we went on the supply run, I was dressed as a droid.”

You bit your lip, knowing exactly where this was going. But you didn’t interrupt, letting him continue. Your thumb rubbed absentmindedly on his arm as you listened.

“That vendor we were talking to wouldn't take what we had. And then he saw me,” Echo took a deep breath. You stayed quiet, holding his hand in a manner that you hoped soothed his anxieties at least a little bit.

“Hunter sold me as a droid to him. I-I know he doesn’t see me as a droid. I know that. But–” Echo’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat of the emotion building up. Echo didn’t know how to express what he wanted to say. He didn’t even want to speak it aloud–that would make it feel too real. And Echo severely doubted he could handle the heartbreak. Can I do this?

“Cyar’ika,” he murmured and you hummed in response. Echo pulled away from you, his hand still in yours. Now or never. “I need you to be completely, absolutely, 100% honest with me,” he whispered. Echo steeled his expression, doing his best to hide how terrified he truly was.

You nodded because of course you would be. When were you not?

But the way Echo gazed at you threw you off. Something was wrong, very wrong. You were almost scared of what he would say next, but you made a gesture for him to say what was on his mind. Clearly, this was important.

“Do you really want to be with me when I’m just–” Echo struggled with the last few words and you strained to pick them up with how they caught in his throat. “–a pathetic, disgusting, hybrid machine?” It’s out, I said it. I said it. Echo felt like he couldn’t breathe, the pressure on his chest too much, too much. He stared down at the floor, face flooded with shame.

You stared at him in blatant disbelief, eyebrows furrowed and mouth open from a shocked laugh. No no no Echo. You’re nothing of the sort. You didn’t move. Echo’s breath hitched as he looked back up at you, broken and open and raw.

“Don’t lie, please don’t lie to me. I know there's no way you could ever love me when I… when I look like this,” Echo whispered, but he may as well have shouted with the way the blood was rushing through your ears.

And then something in you snapped.

You removed your hands from his and placed them on his cheeks, pulling him in until your foreheads were touching. “Echo, you need to listen to me,” you instructed and heaved a breath as you tried to sort your own rushing thoughts into articulated words. But the effort was futile as your careful speech turned into a haphazard and passionate stream of consciousness.

His eyes glistened with unshed tears and your heart broke into pieces. Echo gave you all of his attention. What are you going to say? He didn’t want you to agree, but he would understand if you did. Echo felt disgusted with himself. The walls were closing in on him. Breathing was getting harder.

“You are the best damn thing that has ever happened to me. I don’t give one flying banthashit about any of your mechanical parts. If anyone ever says anything about them, they’re di’kuts and you can send them my way because I will not hesitate to punch some sense into them,” you spat with pure determination, not even noticing the Mando’a slip. After being surrounded by clones for so long, you absorbed bits and pieces of the language. You didn’t even register how Echo picked up on the word, much too focused on getting your point across. You were a person on a mission and nothing would stand in your way.

The knot in Echo’s stomach was loosening a bit, the storm in his mind beginning to break. The walls were a bit farther from him. He wasn’t drowning in his own presence anymore.

“Because you know what? You’re still my Echo. You’re a man, my dear. Not a machine. You never were, and never will be. These parts?” you gestured to his scomp link, his legs, the cybernetic implant in his head. “They mean nothing. Absolutely nothing. Don’t focus on them.”

You smiled sadly as you rubbed your thumbs gently on his cheeks. “I fell in love with you, Echo, not your body. I love the way you make me laugh, the way you comfort me, the way you cry with me. As much as I kriffing hate that you have been through so much pain because of those damned Separatists, I’m grateful for the fact that I’m in love with a man who would do anything for his family, for his brothers.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you remembered Fives coming back home from the Citadel but no Echo in sight. You would never admit it to anyone, but you swore a piece of you had died that day.

Echo felt like he was going to cry. The pressure that had been building up in his chest was releasing. He could breathe again, slowly, slowly. His only focus was you, was your words. The artificial lights didn’t seem to be as glaring now. They were softer, calmer.

“Echo, my love, even through it all, you not only survived, but you came out on top, victorious,” you paused, briefly overcome with how much love and gratitude you had for this wonderful man. “You came back to me, Echo, and you’re as handsome as ever. I have never stopped loving you, and never will. Don’t you ever forget that darling.”

Echo drew in a shaky breath. The harsh cold of the floor grates was biting into his skin, but he didn’t care. It grounded him as much as your warm touch on his face. He could breathe again. My cyar’ika.

Your fiery and passionate emotional speech came to an end as you stared into your lover’s eyes. There was so much more you could say, but you feared words would not be able to convey it all. You hoped your eyes would be enough to soothe his pained and tired soul.

Silent tears trailed down Echo’s face and you gently brushed them away as you pulled him into a tight hug. It was all you could do to not cry yourself. Echo was always so strong–you admired him for it.

“Thank you,” he whispered, voice thick with appreciation and love. You didn’t say anything. There was no need to. The charged air between you both was enough. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence on the floor of the Havoc Marauder, deep in your own thoughts.

“Ishq wala love,” you muttered fondly after some time, still caught up in your own mind.

“Hm?” Echo questioned, curious as to what you said. The soft sound gently pulled you out of the clouds and back to the man in your arms as you attempted to explain.

“There’s a phrase in my native language, ishq wala love. You see, in Basic, there’s just one word for love, which is love. But back home, we have several different words for love, each with their own subtle, but distinct meaning,” you blew out a breath as you tried to figure out what to say. Echo was hanging on to your every word.

“There’s… there isn’t really a direct translation, but the best I can come up with is that the love that we have, ishq, is much deeper than just romantic love. It’s deep and strong and pure and unyielding. It–it reminded me of us,” you admitted, a bit sheepish. Your fingers dance along Echo’s scomp link, nervous.

Echo took a moment to process your explanation before smiling. You felt your heart stitch itself back together again after seeing that beautiful smile. You would do anything to keep it on his lovely face.

“Ishq wala love,” he echoed, his pronunciation a bit off. You giggled in response. “Close enough,” you teased and Echo simply beamed. You leaned in and planted a chaste kiss on his soft lips, rubbing his metal arm gently.

Echo stood up then, offering a hand to you to help you up. You took it and he led you over to the bunk you shared together. You both quickly climbed in, relaxing in the warmth of the well worn blankets and the other’s presence.

Your head was near his chest and you could hear the soothing dull sound of his steady heartbeat. Your arm curled over his waist protectively and your head rested comfortably on his flesh arm. Echo shut off the light and you were ensconced in black velvety darkness.

“Goodnight, cyar’ika.”

“Sweet dreams, Echo. I’ll be here, waiting for you.”

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

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spencerspecifics · 3 years

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HI HI HI PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE WRITE MOREID AT PRIDE AND SOME PINING AND SPENCER THINKS DEREK IS STRAIGHT BUT HE ISN'T AND THEY KIIIITTTTTHHHHH

I absolutely love your energy fuck yes!! I’m so sorry this took forever, ive got school, work and some other personal things happening so I appreciate your patience!

No TW, B u t, a creep hits on Spencer at pride, so if that is upsetting please note that! Thanks :)

———————————————————————

Pride

———————————————————————

Garcia had been pestering Spencer about going to pride for the past week now, and it was slowly driving him insane.

He used almost every excuse he could think of. When he first turned her down, he had simply said, “Sorry, I’m going to be busy that week.” And of course, Garcia being Garcia, she stole his calendar to see what he was busy with (spoiler alert: he had nothing. Except a reminder to go grocery shopping, and email some professors and research scientists back).

So, she persisted, and he came up with a dozen more excuses; “I was considering flying out to see my mom”, “The local museum has a new interactive archeology exhibit for adults, and I want to learn more about ancient structures”, “I have to do a presentation on thermodynamics”.

None of those excuses work, as she sniffed out every lie, “Spencer, you hate flying to Vegas last minute, that archaeology exhibit has been open for months, and your calendar is empty!”

So with her persistence, and legitimate bullying, Spencer found himself finally agreeing. “Fine, but come over to my apartment before we leave so you can help me.” After all, he wasn’t really familiar with pride parades, and what the scene was like there. He was going to be a fish out of water, he already knew that for certain.

True to her word, Garcia showed up an hour before the pride parade was set to start, carrying a coffee in each hand- how she possibly knocked on his apartment door, Spencer didn’t know.

“I brought you a pick me up, that way you have no excuse to be in a bad mood!” She spoke in her signature sing song voice as Spencer let her inside, she barreled in like a hurricane. God, Spencer wasn’t ready for this.

“Thanks..” Spencer decided to reply with that lame response, and not with what he was actually thinking. He took the coffee from her wordlessly as she stepped in further, going to sit down on his couch.

“You excited?” Garcia asked as she set her cup down on his cluttered coffee table. Reid just shrugged, “I don’t know. I don’t do great with crowds.”

“But you do great with disarming murderers?” “You know that’s different-” Spencer said, doing his best to argue, “Reid it is literally not. Both are anxiety inducing, but one is life or death, and it’s not pride. So you can do this.”

Spencer sighed, resigning himself to not arguing with Garcia. Because she was right, though at times her arguments sounded wild. He just had to get over this anxiety and show up at pride, he could do this, right?

Wrong. So, very, wrong. They had left his apartment with thirty minutes to spare, deciding to walk over to where pride was being held- as it was only a few blocks away in a public park.

And as soon as they got there, Spencer wanted out. There were so many people, more than he estimated (and his estimations were usually spot on.), and there was just chaos everywhere. Music, dancing, shouting, singing, drag queens running around happily. Spencer wasn’t sure what to do. He was out of his element.

Garcia seemed to sense that, though, as she dragged Spencer over to some stalls that sold pride flags, pins, and other miscellaneous pride related things.

“C’mon Reid, why don’t you look around and find something you like?” She offered up, something for him to do- something for him to stay busy with. He could do that. Spencer nodded simply, Garcia stayed by his side- looking at pride related wear for herself.

Spencer ended up deciding on a small pin that simply said; “love all”, planning to stick it on his messenger bag strap. Garcia bought a pin as well, but hers just had her pronouns on them; “she/her/hers”.

Looking at all the pride apparel was a good distraction for Spencer, he felt a lot more calmer now- though that didn’t stop him from feeling like he stuck out like a sore thumb. He’s just not familiar with this world, and it’s awkward to suddenly be in the middle of it.

Spencer was in the middle of looking at another booth that sold flags, possibly considering buying himself a small one to stick in his pencil cup at work, because Garcia left him to go compliment a drag queen- when a voice broke through.

“Hey, pretty boy!”

That was a voice all too familiar, what on earth was Morgan doing here? Spencer looked up at him as he made his way towards him. “Hey,” Spencer spoke awkwardly. Not sure what to say.

Spencer was gay. He was fine with admitting he was gay, but he hadn’t really told the team. He thought they figured it out on their own. And they probably had, but still, having his coworker see him at a pride event- it was anxiety inducing.

“What’re- what’re you doing here?” Spencer asked, stumbling over his words as he dropped the small flag he was holding back onto the vendors table.

“Oh, well I’m on the local PFLAG committee. I’m just here to hand out flyers and stuff. But I’m glad to see you’re here, I’m guessing Garcia’s here too?” He asked Spencer casually, as if he hadn’t just dropped a bomb on Spencer.

He was on the PFLAG committee? Why? To help queer people, obviously, but that had to mean he was gay or something- Spencer couldn’t stop his mind from coming up with every possible answer to why Derek was on the committee.

Spencer just nodded in response, he moved himself back from the vendors table to get out of the way, so other customers could look at the flags being sold.

“Yeah, she’s- there.” Reid pointed her out, as if on cue she came out of the thick crowd that had started to gather back up, the parade portion of pride had concluded by now, and people were coming over to the vendors section.

“Hey, Babygirl!” Derek called over to her, and Garcia somehow lit up with a smile brighter than the one she was wearing before, “Well, hey!” She responded enthusiastically, walking up swiftly to give Derek a quick embrace, which he happily returned.

“I wasn’t sure how long you were staying for, but I’m glad I caught you!” Garcia started rambling to Derek, about how the drag queen she met was so nice; “Her name was Mysteria Hysteria. Isn’t that genius?”.

Spencer just stepped back from them both, not sure what to do, not sure if he fully belonged. Pride was a nice event, it was. But the longer he stood around, the more he felt like he should be leaving. Everyone was laughing and smiling, everyone was just happy. And Spencer couldn’t stop racking his brain. In the beginning, he couldn’t stop thinking because of his anxiety, but now he was searching his brain for a reason why Derek was here and what it meant.

Of course, a stupid large portion of Spencer’s mind went to “maybe Morgan likes men”, and then an even larger and stupider portion of his mind had the absurdity to think; “maybe he’s interested in me”. Which Spencer did not even want to remotely entertain, because if he fell down that rabbit hole, he’d never climb back out.

Because yes, he did like Derek. He liked him a lot, the start for his liking towards the man was innocuous enough- which is why it was a problem for Spencer. He didn’t realized he liked Morgan until it was too late. And now he had been battling these feelings for years. Spencer wasn’t ever going to act on them, he just had to live with them- which he had been doing, which he has been content with. But this new information, about Morgan being here, being part of PFLAG- it was going to make Reid’s mind implode in on itself.

Reid decided the best thing was to say; “I’m gonna get some water, I’ll be back.” To which Derek and Garcia both nodded to, and Spencer was off, away from the vendors stand and the only two people he knew at pride.

And while that was a good thing, it was simultaneously not so good. Because now he was alone, overwhelmed, and thinking too much. And now he had a task to do, find himself some water.

That task seemed to be more difficult than anticipated, as the prides layout was a confusing maze, spencer had to pass in front of a group of drag queens in order to get to the food trucks that were on site- but he eventually got there.

He walked up to the first food truck he saw, it didn’t matter what they sold, he wasn’t getting it.

“What can I get for you?” The cashier asked him, “Just a water, please.” He ordered, the cashier nodded and pulled a bottle out from a cooler that was nearby within the truck, handing it over to spencer as they told him his total, a dollar twenty five. Spencer paid quickly, stepping back and away from the food truck, as he wasn’t sure where else to go now. He didn’t want to go back towards Derek or Garcia, he honestly wanted to go home.

He just needed a minute, some space and time to breathe and relax. He was stressing himself out. And about what? Nothing of goddamn importance, just a stupid crush he had been living with for a while now.

Spencer had been leaning against the back the food truck for not long, only a couple of minutes as he was absorbed in thought as he fiddled with the cap on the water bottle.

He was doing his best to follow the grounding techniques he had learned, something to help him calm down, when suddenly- a stranger emerged out of the crowd.

“Hey there, handsome.” The man said confidently as he strode up to introduce himself Spencer. Spencer looked up to meet his eyes, the man in question was a fine looking guy, chiseled jawline, long shoulder length hair, a bit of facial stubble. He was handsome. “Hello,” Spencer answered hollowly in response. In an ordinary situation, he would try and seem more lively- but he wasn’t in a normal situation, not at all.

The anxiety of attending pride was stress enough on its own, but now knowing the guy he had been drooling over for years was here- and worked as a PFLAG volunteer? It was enough to make him lose his mind.

The man didn’t seem to notice Spencer’s empty response, however, as he answered suavely in response; “I couldn’t help but notice you from across the way. I’m Fabian,” Thankfully, the man- Fabian, didn’t stick his hand out for a handshake, instead casually pushing his hair back a bit.

“I’m Spencer,” Reid replied simply, knowing it was best to ride this odd social interaction out, rather than try and fight it. “That’s a lovely name,” Fabian complimented, “Is this your first time at pride, Spencer?” He asked him casually, taking a step forward, closer to Spencer. He was all too confident for Spencer, he too comfortable with invading Spencer’s space. If Spencer could’ve, he would’ve stepped back.

“Uh, yeah. My friend dragged me along.” Reid explained, twisting the bottle cap back onto his half empty water bottle. Fabian nodded, “Your boyfriend didn’t take you?” Fabian asked him. That was a leading question, Spencer had alarm bells ringing in his head the second he heard it. “No. He- um- he met up with us here.” Spencer replied unconvincingly, Fabian obviously did not believe a word he said.

“Well,” Fabian took another step forward, practically blocking Reid in against the back of the food truck, leaning in farther to whisper in Spencer’s ear; “I don’t see him around. So, why don’t you and I get out of here? Hm?”

Spencer wasn’t sure of what to do. He wanted to kick this guy in the crotch and just book it, but he wasn’t sure if his FBI status would protect him in this scenario. He wasn’t sure what could protect him in this scenario.

“Pretty boy! There you are!” A saving grace broke through, and suddenly Fabian was stepping back, and Morgan was walking up.

Thank god, thank fucking god, that’s all Spencer could manage to think as Derek came to stand beside him. “Hey, babe.” Spencer said, cringing at his voice, at what he just said. But that feeling only lasted for a moment as Fabian was still standing right there, staring them both down now.

Spencer could only throw his wish in the sky and hope Derek caught it coming down, ‘please catch along to why I’m calling you babe’ Reid was trying to say.

And Derek caught it, “Hey, baby, was worried about you. Who’s your friend?” He said in his smooth voice, a voice Spencer couldn’t forget. He especially couldn’t forget now, being called ‘baby’ was something Spencer especially could not forget.

“I’m Fabian, you’re Spencer’s boyfriend?” Fabian asked, as if them both calling each other ‘babe’ counted for nothing. “Yeah, I’m Derek.” Morgan responded simply, sliding his hand around Spencer’s waist as if to prove a point. Fabian just nodded, looking between Spencer and Derek one last time before talking; “Well, it was nice to meet you, I’ve gotta get going. See you.”

And then, he was off, fast walking away from Derek and Reid, escaping the terrible situation he had created. Fabian quickly disappeared into the thick crowd, and by then Spencer had his hand squeezing his water bottle all too tightly- as evident by the terrible crunch sound it made. He was too anxious to let go.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked him softly, pulling his hand away from Spencer’s waist. “Can we find somewhere else- can we go sit down?” Spencer asked him quickly. Reid didn’t want to talk about it right this second, right where it had happened. He wanted to leave, he wanted to leave pride and never come back.

Derek didn’t ask a single follow up question as he led Reid away from the food trucks, taking him back towards the vendors stands, and then a bit further back, into the normal-not-so-pride-parade-filled park area. Somewhere less stressful, less scary.

“What did that guy want?” Derek asked Spencer casually as they made their way towards a bench that was sat under a large oak tree. Spencer didn’t speak right away, instead he waited until they were seated to start talking.

“He was trying to flirt, but then he wanted me to leave with him.” Spencer explained as he took a deep breath in, just being away from all the loud sounds and sights was helping him calm down. Derek rubbed Spencer’s back in slow, circular motions as Spencer kept talking.

“He was a classic example of a narcissistic personality, it just made me so uncomfortable- he invaded my space.”

“He was a creep, Reid. Simple as that,” Derek kept rubbing Spencer’s back slowly, Spencer nodded. “I know. Sorry, it shook me up.” Spencer attempted to apologized, and Derek was immediately having none of that.

“Reid, no. Don’t apologize for that, don’t you dare. He was a creep, I’m sorry you got caught up with him. It’s okay if you’re shaken up. We can stay here until you feel up to going back, or we can leave. But I’m not leaving you.”

And so they sat for a good amount of time on that park bench, at one point Derek stopped rubbing Spencer’s back, instead just keeping his arm stretched out against the back of the bench and against Spencer’s back. Spencer loved it, but he knew if he thought about it for too long he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking. That was his biggest problem, he couldn’t stop thinking.

He had to know, he decided, he couldn’t just wonder why Derek was on the committee for PFLAG. He wanted to know, he had to.

“Derek?” He spoke up softly, sounds of laughing and shouting and music were still heard in the distance, but they were safe from the sounds under the tree. “Mhm?” Derek hummed in response, looking up at the aforementioned tree that was providing shade for them.

His eyes were tracing the way the branches curved and bent around each other, it was something he did to pass the time. Spencer thought he was extraordinary for it, Derek loved to see where things went; he was curious- after all these years, and all the bad they had seen together, Derek still loved to search and find the beauty.

“Why are you on the PFLAG committee ?” Spencer asked him, it was thankfully an innocuous enough ask to not draw too much of Derek profilings side out to pry apart his question. Derek shrugged, and was quiet for a second before responding, “I know what it’s like to be a scared kid, unsure of his identity. If I can help someone through that, that’s all that matters. Same reason I’m in the BAU, to help people.”

Spencer stayed quiet, Derek’s reason was so sincere and so sweet and kind- and only driving him to think further. Was Derek still unsure of his identity? Was he an ally? Why did he have to make Spencer swoon so hard without even trying?

“So, you’re just an ally?” Spencer approached Derek carefully with that question, not wanting to impose or be rude- but just feign simple curiosity, praying Derek wasn’t using his profiling skills right now to decode Spencer’s fake motive.

Derek didn’t notice, thankfully, as he chuckled lowly in response; “No, pretty boy, I’m bisexual. I don’t really tell the team, but it’s not confidential information. Plus, Garcia found Grindr on my phone. Can’t hide anything from that girl.”

Spencer nodded, mumbling something in response about how Garcia had hacked his email to make sure he was free for pride. And then, the two fell into silence again. But it didn’t last for long, because Derek wanted to know just as much, why was Spencer here?

“What about you, Reid?” Derek asked him cautiously, the way you approach a puppy you find on the side of the road. Calm and slow, trying to get him to trust him bit by bit. “What about me?” Spencer asked, not wanting to answer anything about himself unless Derek was specific.

“Are you an ally?” Morgan asked him, leaving the question open ended. Spencer could say as little or as much as he wanted. This is how you get him to open up, Derek knew that for a fact. “Um.. yeah, I mean- who isn’t? I just- I have to be. I’m.. gay.” Spencer admitted all too awkwardly, not at all in a normal fashion. But nothing about Spencer was in normal fashion.

Derek nodded slowly, not responding as he stared back up, tracing his eyes over the tree branches yet again.

A few hours had passed, Spencer and Derek eventually left their peaceful bench under the large oak tree, and instead moved back towards the parking lot.

“Garcia’s got a ride home already- I think she got that drag queen to get her home.” Derek explained as they approached his truck, Spencer nodded as he followed Derek. “Anyways,” Derek continued speaking, “I can give you a ride home. Let’s get going.”

“You don’t have to-“ Spencer started, Derek immediately shut him down. “I want to, c’mon. It’s late, you’re tired. I know you are. Let me take you home.” Spencer just nodded in agreement, he couldn’t argue with Derek, even if he did try. Morgan was a stubborn man.

So, Spencer followed Derek into his truck, and they sat in comfortable silence as they started on their journey back to Spencer’s safe space, his apartment.

By the time Derek pulled his truck into the apartments parking lot, Spencer knew something was just the slightest bit wrong. Derek had barely spoken for the entire ride, and usually he loves to say something, to make Spencer smile or laugh, or even just nod and mumble in agreement. But he had done none of that on the way to Spencers.

“Are you alright?” Spencer asked, turning to face Derek as he put the vehicle in park. Derek didn’t meet his eyes, staring at the steering wheel instead as he spoke; “Yeah. Sorry. I’m just thinking.”

“About what?” Spencer pried, absentmindedly unbuckling his seatbelt as he spoke, “About today.” Derek said, not explaining further. “Was today bad?”

Derek shook his head, “No. It started weird, it’s ending pretty good, though. But I’m gonna regret today forever if I don’t do something right now.”

Now, Spencer was confused. Not sure at all what Derek could be talking about, “What do you mean?” He asked, voice quieter than before.

Derek said nothing as he unbuckled his own seatbelt, turning to face Spencer as well, and then he leaned in- closer than they had ever been before. Their noses were almost touching, and Spencer didn’t move. Instead, he watched Derek’s eyes expectantly.

Then, Derek broke through, they were no longer intersecting each other’s personal space- now they were fully destroying each other’s atmospheres. Derek’s lips were on Spencer’s, a chaste, soft, quick kiss- something Spencer would have wanted to go for a lot longer. But then, he pulled away just as fast.

“...That’s what I meant..” He mumbled after a second, looking back towards the steering wheel, looking away from Spencer- and more importantly, not seeing the smile on Spencer’s face.

Spencer couldn’t help it. He knew it was terrible to be smiling right now- he should jump and say something to fix what was happening. But he had to smile, he couldn’t believe that had actually just happened, his brain was still computing and re-circuiting, trying to savor the memory and not forget how Derek’s lips felt against his.

Spencer dragged himself out of his own head quickly, though. He did all he could think of to do in the moment, get Derek back. “Morgan.” Spencer said, tugging on Derek’s sleeve as he did so, forcing him to look back at Spencer and meet his eyes again.

But Spencer didn’t say anything, and he didn’t give Derek the chance to speak, either. Instead, he leant forward, pressing his lips against Derek’s. This is all he had wanted to know for the longest time, and now he had it.

Maybe pride wasn’t so bad after all, you just have to be with the right people for it to work out.

———————————————————————

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stormy-skies-falling · 3 years

Text

ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕟 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕠𝕣𝕟 𝕨𝕙𝕠?

about: Quackity my beloved

warning(s): swearing, children, Haribo's Sugar Free Gummy Bears, diarrhea mentions, Quackity's real name

pronouns: none specified

word count: 2.2k

note: Hey everyone! This is my first work, so yeah. Between Quackity and his real name, there is no rhyme or reason, just to let you know. Enjoy! Kisses! <3

p.s. if you want to feel entertained yet horrified search "Haribo Sugar Free Gummy Bears" (or go to the link thing) and just have fun. Double Kisses! <3

The crisp fall air swirled around the newly changed leaves; creating a light ruffling sound that truly set the scene for the evening. Some children were enjoying the festival’s many booths and activities, while others chased around their friends with horror masks and (hopefully) fake knives that they probably got from Cousin Eddie’s costume stand. The sweet smell of freshly candied apples and different pies that were being brought in, for the competitions, really topped it all off. And of course, the sound of my boyfriend Quackity complaining about how cold it was, helped too.

“Mi amor, it’s so cold!” he whined while cuddling into my side even more than he already was, somehow.

“Did you just figure that out now?” — I flicked his forehead, which got me a glare— “I literally told you before we left the house that it was gonna be cold and not to wear your thinner hoodie. Why do you think that I’m wearing this many layers right now?” I ask, gesturing to my clothes.

“Well the sun and I usually have a mutually beneficial relationship.”—he points up to the shaded sun— “the sun will shine on me all the time and I will be warm all the time.”

“That doesn’t sound mutually beneficial—”

“Well it is, because I look good, which benefits everyone— now can we please go do something, I’m really starting to go numb here.” Alex says while letting go of me and tugging his beanie further over his ears.

I nod, grab his hand, and begin to drag him over to where I saw the “Haunted Corn Maze” sign.

The walk to the maze may or may not have taken a minute. And it may or may not have been for the fact Alex and I kept getting distracted by the many different booths that were at the festival.

The town’s yearly Fall Festival took place during the middle of October, about two weeks before Halloween, to be exact, and lasted about a week and a half each time. The festival was home to various activities and stands, such as The Haunted Corn Maze, the Apple Orchards, the Chilli Cookoff, the Pie Bake Off, different food and crafting vendors, along with much much more. The event was more or less a massive tourist attraction that brought hundreds, to the quaint town, to partake in the different festivities.

Throughout every night of the week, there is a different “Highlight Attraction” and tonight’s would be “The Haunted Corn Maze'' (it was just a normal maze every other night, but tonight; the planners made it “Haunted”).

After a painfully long story, by Cousin Eddie, on how the horror masks he sold were in fact stolen, by him, from the original people themselves; Alex and I finally made it to the entrance of the corn maze.

“You know, who’s to say that he’s completely wrong?” Alex asks, referring back to the obviously-tripping man. “I mean, he could have stolen the masks from people that look like the characters in those movies; Halloween’s literally next week, y/n.”

“Alex, I can assure you that no one around here dresses up like Scream anymore— not after last time…” I trail off with a shiver. “Let’s just leave it at this, the late 1600s wasn’t the last time there was an execution for ‘witchcraft’.” I explained.

I look over to Alex and am met with a stare mixed with confusion, curiosity, and terror.

“It wasn’t like I was the one who executed the guy!” I defend while my boyfriend continues to stare at me, horrified.— “He kicked puppies anyway, so don’t feel too bad.” I mumble and kick the pebble closest to me.

“Okay, you know what, I’m just gonna ignore everything you just said and hold your wonderful wonderful hand and we’re gonna go through this fun corn maze and we’ll both have a great time, like we always do when we’re together— without any Scream Mask-dead guy talk! Alright?” — Alex takes my hand and we start walking into the maze. — “This town is so fucking weird.” He mumbles and I hum in agreement.

The Haunted Corn Maze was about the same as most corn mazes you could find in any rural area. It was dense, confusing, and of course, was made of corn. The setting of the sun gave the stalks a bit more of an ominous look, due to the way the shadows loomed and towered over everything in its general vicinity. The maze was fairly large and took up about half of the festival’s lot making it one of the most sought after and time consuming attractions at the Fall Festival.

“So they just killed to poor guy—”

“You literally just said you didn’t want to talk about it.”

“I know but it’s just so bizarre—” Alex began, but was cut off by a small gremlin-of-a-child army crawling out from the corn stalks and towards the entrance of the maze, while maniacally laughing.

“Children of the Corn who?” Alex asks while, once again, looking absolutely horrified yet slightly intrigued.

“Well, at least she wasn’t coming at us with a knife—”

“Yet.”

Alex and I just stared at each other, both trying to figure out if anything normal has happened or has been said in the past few hours…

“You have anything?” he asks, beginning to laugh.

“What do you think?” I ask as we both attempt to keep in our giggles, failing miserably after one of the “demons” makes a demonic shrieking sound.

“D-do you wanna get this done and just g-go—” Alex cuts himself off with a wheeze that rivaled Dream’s.

At this point, we’re both keeled over, immersed in laughter that has been caused by the mixture of the weird stuff said lately, the shriek, and the fact that it was getting later in the night which equals that tired-drunk feeling. We still haven’t moved that far into the maze, but at this point we really don’t care.

After about a minute or so, our laughter has subsided and we are wiping the tears from our eyes that have been caused by both the laughing fit and the pain in our stomachs.

“Alright,” I begin with a sigh and put my hands on my hips. “You up for a bet?”

“Who do you think I am?!” He asks incredulously. “Of course I’m up for a bet— I’m offended that you would even ask me such a question!”

I roll my eyes. “Alright hot shot, easy there.” —We begin to walk further into the maze— “Okay, so whoever jumps first has to eat and entire 5lb bag of those God-forsaken Haribo Sugar-Free Gummy Bears—you know the ones I’m talking abo—”

“Yes, yes, I’m very aware of what you are speaking of.” A now pale-faced Alex quickly interrupts, with a distant look in his eyes.

“Good, good.”

“I don’t know why you’re so confident, you could be the one having to eat Satan’s Candies and be shitting yourself for days.”

“Very true, very true. But I am extremely confident in my will-power to not experience that kind of pain. It’s very good motivation… So, how about that bet?

“Wouldn’t dream of backing down, Mi Amor.” Quackity said with the confidence of someone who’s already been to that kind of hell and isn’t as afraid of it anymore… he has been there, it wasn’t pretty.

We continue navigating our way through the maze, and so far so good. There have been a few that almost got me: Bloody Mary, small children (yeah children, they’re sticky), and a few others. One way or another, my will-power hasn’t failed me yet. Not eating those downright dangerous candies is motivation enough for me to win the stupid bet I made— one that I’m starting to regret. Alex has also been doing surprisingly well, it turns out that his willpower is as strong as mine, but we’ll see how long it lasts (hopefully not too long).

After another jump-scare from a familiar undead scarecrow, I began to realize that Alex and I’s navigation skills aren’t as on-point as we thought they were.

“We’ve been going around in circles.” I state while letting go of my lover’s hand and come to a stop.

Alex looks back to my halted figure and stops as well.

“No, no I’m sure we haven’t—”

“Doll,” I begin. “That was the same scarecrow that we saw the last few times. I thought that there could have been more than one scarecrow, but the surroundings are the exact same—”

“Y/n we’re in a corn maze.” he deadpans.

“You didn’t let me finish. What I was saying is that everything was the same, from the surroundings, to the outfit, to the sounds they made. And haven’t you noticed that no one else has jump-scared us in quite a while, just a scarecrow?”

Quackity looks up at the sky for a minute, staring emotionless, he then brings his gaze back down towards me, looking past my figure. Confused, I followed his line of sight to be met with that same gremlin-looking child from earlier, quickly making her way towards us, with a knife. And with great conviction, not even caring about the repercussions of my actions, I say and do what anyone would say and/or in my situation.

“Aw hell no!”

I turn towards an excited Quackity and just bolt in the opposite direction of the devil’s spawn, not giving a shit anymore. After a minute, I do come to realize that I had just left the love of my life alone with the little shit. I then turn around to go back to get him (I’m not a complete monster), but my steps falter when I see that he is not too far behind me, laughing with the gremlin.

As they get up to where I’m standing, I begin to understand what just happened… I lost the god-forsaken bet.

“Hey, my love, how are you?” Alex asks, amused.

“Shut up.” I grumble, glaring at the dirt beneath my feet.

“Why are you mad at me? You were the one who ran.” he wrapped his arm around my waist and I directed my gaze towards the small girl. “Y/n, this is Amelia. Amelia, this is Y/n.”

“Nice to meet you Ameila. You really scared the crap outta me back there.” I laughed. “You are ridiculously good at your job.”

“Thanks, but I don’t work here.” She says and skips away.

I stare at her retreating figure and try to figure out what just happened.

Quackity removed his arm from my waist, placed his hand on the palm of my back and guided me down the path we’re on. Apparently we weren’t too far from the end, because in a short period of time, we were out of the maze.

“We weren’t really lost. Were we?” I ask while stopping and turning to look at the victorious man.

After seeming to debate with himself he comes to a resolve and smirks.

“I may or may not have led us in circles for 10 minutes to let Ameila catch up to us, so she could scare you.”

I stare at him dumbfounded.

“Hey, that’s cheating!” I whined even though I knew it wasn’t.

“All’s fair in love and laxatives, baby! And you know that I wasn’t cheating, because you never specified that there couldn't be outside sources being paid to make one of our win’s easier.”

“Had to at least try something.”

“I know, dear.” Alex snickers and kisses my forehead.

We continue our journey away from The Haunted Corn Maze and head towards the food stands. Arriving at the candied apple stand we get into the surprisingly long line (it’s like 11pm at this point, but candied apples have no time limits) and wait.

“How’d you even get her to do that?” I ask my boyfriend, directing my attention away from the sign, with the different types of candy apples, and towards him.

“Hmm?” He asks, recuperating my stare. “Oh! Right. I paid her.” “You paid her?” “Yeah!”

“When?” “Well, you know when Cousin Eddie was going off about those masks?”

“Yeah…” I look at him expectantly.

“Well, there was a little girl who was looking at the knives he had—” “There’s some major plot hole here,” I interrupt. “I hadn’t even made the bet yet.”

“You talk in your sleep— anyway, so I thought to myself ‘Alex you’ve got a great opportunity here to scare the shit out of your partner’ so I took it, gave her 5 bucks, and told her the plan.”

I stare at the man in shock—

“Do you guys know what you want yet?” the woman at the booth asks.

“Oh! Yeah. Sorry about that!” I exclaim and tell the lady what I want; Alex follows with his order.

After receiving our apples we both decide that it’s finally time to head home. Arriving at our car, I set myself into the passenger’s side while Quackity gets into the driver’s.

“Tonight was fun.” I hum, putting on my seatbelt.

“It was indeed, my love.” Alex says.

He leans over and gives me a short kiss, one that I happily recuperate. After leaning back into his seat, he puts his seatbelt on, and starts up the car.

“You know what we should do when we get home.” Quackity starts.

“What should we do?”

“Watch Children of the Corn while you snack on some delicious gummy bears.” He chuckles, not even caring that he is this close with me.

This is gonna be a shitty night.

#quackity x reader #quackity imagines #quackity x you #mcyt imagine #mcyt x reader #dsmp x reader #dsmp x you #dream smp x you #dream smp x reader #mcyt x you #stormy-skies

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thegreenwolf · 4 years

Photo

Betting on the Ponies (originally posted at my blog at https://thegreenwolf.com/betting-on-the-ponies/)

(Above: Breyer Classic Arabian Stallion made over into a winged unicorn with real wings from a barnyard mix rooster I raised for meat.)

If you’ve been paying attention to my social media or my shop links at all, you may have noticed that I haven’t really been posting much in the way of new hide and bone art for the past year or so. It’s not that I’ve stopped; I still make some fun things for my Patrons on Patreon every month, and I make some bone, tooth and claw jewelry on Etsy to order. But ever since events dried up, I haven’t been regularly making new batches of costume pieces or other Vulture Culture art. My usual M.O. was to make all sorts of new things for an upcoming event, and then once the weekend was done and I was home, post whatever hadn’t sold on Etsy. And since there haven’t been events…well…I’ve just found myself doing other things.

Some of that is because I’ve had to scramble to make up for the lost income; events were a pretty big chunk of my “pay”, and losing them meant having to tighten the belt. I also lost several other income streams thanks to the pandemic making it unsafe to be around groups of people, which didn’t help. So I had to rely on what was left, along with adopting a few new sources of bits and bobs of cash here and there.

And, honestly, I’ve needed a bit of a break. I’ve been making hide and bone art for over two decades now, and while I love it, any artist eventually wants to explore different media for a while. Sure, I’ve stretched my Vulture wings in new directions, going from costume pieces and ritual tools to assemblages and the Tarot of Bones. But ever since the Tarot came out, I’ve been feeling….not really burned out, but a little creatively wrung out, at least. I’ve really appreciated my Patrons and Etsy customers who have helped me keep a hand in that particular medium, while also allowing me to head off in other directions, too.

Which is to say that if you have been paying attention to the aforementioned social media and shops, you may have also noticed that I’ve been increasing the number of customized Breyer model horses and other animals I’ve made over the past couple of years. This might seem like a heck of a departure from skulls, bones, and other dead things. But in a way it’s really me getting back to long-neglected roots.

(One of my favorite customs I’ve done on one of my favorite molds, the Breyer semi-rearing mustang. )

See, I was a horse girl when I was a kid. Or, rather, I was a wannabe horse girl. I never got to lease or own a horse, and even now in my early 40s I’m still about the greenest rider you’ll find. (Seriously, I need one of those kid-proof horses that’s seen it all, done it all, and is probably more trail-smart than I am.) But I was obsessed with horses from a young age. It started with my very first My Little Pony that I got Christmas morning, 1983 (Applejack, if you must know), and then exploded further with a book on how to draw horses and my first Breyer model (Black Beauty 1991 on the Morganglanz mold) in my preteens. Horse actually took over for Gray Wolf for a few years as my primary animal spirit during my teens, so we have a very long history indeed.

And since I couldn’t have a real horse, I ended up collecting model horses, mostly Breyers with a few old Hartlands for variety. I had over 100 at the peak of my collecting, but I had to sell them all in my early twenties when I was between jobs. In hindsight it was probably for the best because having less stuff made it easier to get through the period of my life where I was moving about once a year, but I do miss that collection.

Back then I did my part to add to the artistic end of the model horse hobby, mostly with badly blended acrylic paint jobs and terrifying mohair manes and tails. But it made me happy, and that was the most important thing. Even though I only knew a couple other collectors in my little rural area, and my only real connection to the hobby was through the quarterly Just About Horses magazine Breyer put out, my collecting really made me happy in the same way that my first fur scraps and bones would catch my interest a few years later.

2020….well, it sucked. We all know that. Pandemic, political stress, financial roller coasters and more made it a really tough year for anyone who wasn’t wealthy enough to hide away and weather it all. And many of us found ourselves with more time at home, in need of distractions and solace. It ended up being a time where many people rediscovered their love of childhood hobbies. I’m one of those people. I’ve been slowly edging my way back in for the past few years, starting with repainting a few old Breyer models found at thrift stores, and then gaining momentum as I found that not only was I much better at customizing these models than I used to be, but I was having fun without the pressure to make a living off of it. (Yes, I love my hide and bone art, but when an art form is your bread and butter, it changes your relationship to it. But that’s a post for another time…)

So 2020 saw me really ramp up my customization efforts. I had to stop for a few months in summer and fall when I moved to a spifftacular new living space on the farm I’ve been working on the past few years (with, by the way, THE best studio space EVER!) but as the days shortened I found myself making more dedicated time to repainting and otherwise customizing models. I even started keeping a few of the models I’d bought to customize that were in better condition to create a small, but slowly growing original finish collection, and that really helped me feel like I was back in the (not actually a) saddle.*

That’s why a well-established artist of organic, pagan-influenced arts made from fur and leather and bone and feather suddenly started painting all these secondhand plastic ponies. It’s giving me that deep injection of childhood nostalgia balanced with adult skill and perspective, and it’s offered me a much-needed break from the exhausting schedule I’ve been living the past decade or so. Because suddenly, even with the time spent rearranging my income opportunities to make sure I could stay afloat, I found myself with a little time that hadn’t been scheduled to death, and when I thought about what I wanted to do with that time, I gravitated toward one of the few creative outlets in my life that was purely for fun.**

(Yes, this IS fan art of “The Last Unicorn”! I used a Breyer Stablemate rearing Arabian for the unicorn, and a Breyer Spanish fighting bull for the Red Bull. A LOT of fun to make this particular project.)

In a way having all my events canceled was one of the best things that happened to me, because it made me slow the fuck down. I no longer had several weekends a year where I had to spend weeks beforehand making art and otherwise preparing to be away from all my farm responsibilities for 4-7 days at a time, with all the packing and moving and setup and vending and teaching and teardown and going home and unpacking and exhaustion that goes with each event. I realized just how much each one was taking out of me, especially as I’ve gotten older. And I also recognized how much pressure I had been putting on myself to ALWAYS MAKE MORE STUFF FOR ETSY EVERY WEEK OR ELSE.

So the model horses are really sort of a symbol of the childhood joy I’ve managed to recapture, wresting time and energy back from my workaholic tendencies. I’ve even been thinking about what my professional life is going to look like once the pandemic eases up enough to allow events again, and whether I’ll put the same amount of time toward vending and and teaching at conventions and festivals as I used to. (There are a few favorites that I’m not going to miss for anything, so don’t worry about me dropping out entirely.) But for the first time in a very long time, I’m relearning to prioritize myself, and figuring out that maybe I don’t have to go hell-bent for leather every week, every year, in order to keep the bills paid and the critters fed.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for this dead-critter-artist, pagan-nonfic-author, teacher-vendor-farmer, to indulge herself with something fun, and bet on the ponies to help her get through the tough times.

(P.S. Amid everything going on, I am back to working steadily on my next book, which I mentioned in this blog post almost a year ago. As a recap, its working title is Coyote’s Journey: Deeper Work With the Major Arcana, and it’s a deep dive into that section of the tarot using pathworkings with the animals I assigned to the major arcana of the Tarot of Bones. It’s not just a Tarot of Bones book, though; it’s a good way to get a new, nature-based angle on the majors in general, as well as hopefully gain a better understanding of yourself. My goal is to have it out later this year, self-pub of course, and at the rate I’m going it may end up being my longest book! Stay tuned, and if you want to get excerpts of the work-in-progress, become my Patron for as little as $1/month!)

*At the height of my “horse girl” phase, I had a really beat-up pony saddle I’d bought for ten bucks at a yard sale, and got a cheap saddle stand for it and put it in my room. And yes, I occasionally sat on it and pretended I was riding an actual horse. Hey, it made me happy at the time, and it was the closest I was ever going to get apart from a trail ride every few years.

**Yes, I do sell my customs. But I don’t make them on a schedule, I take commissions VERY sparingly, and I’m getting to stretch some new creative muscles, especially in the realms of sculpting and painting, so this is primarily for my enjoyment. The sales are just a side benefit.

(My ode to the forests of the Pacific Northwest, a Breyer deer repainted to resemble the Columbian black-tailed deer that frequent the farm I live on, along with hand-sculpted Amanita muscaria mushrooms, real and fake moss, and real lichens from fallen branches.)

#Breyer #model horses #vulture culture #artwork #artist

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wu-sisyphus-gang · 3 years

Text

Motion Sickness Chapter 49

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We left Wutai behind weeks ago and sold the horse in Shumi at the same vendor that I'd bought it from with a considerable mark down.

I didn't really care much about that.

Instead I cared about securing an airship in Mistral. Which we did after the train ride from Shumi.

"You're going to be able to fly this thing?"

Neo nodded. Our relationship changed slightly after Wutai. She knew that I wasn't blowing smoke about my origins. She knew I wasn't lying about Mother's control over my mind.

She knew how dead serious I was and a bit more about how fucking crazy I really could be.

Good.

Don't cross me, Neo. I'm not a man whose bad side you want to be on. Don't believe me, just watch.

We walked out on an air-pad together in Mistral. We climbed aboard our small military freighter together. It was a small ship with the Mistrali cockpit to it and a bit of Atlas inspiration in the geometry of the wings.

She strapped herself into the pilot's seat and bit back a bit of yawn.

I sat back in the cabin and kicked my legs up. I pulled out the little black book we'd gotten from Merlot's laboratory and began to read through it. My new favorite pastime.

There I was, notes on me and how my skeletal structure was forming. Sketches of me at different stages of my development. It was the closest thing I had to a family picture book.

"You know where to be able to land this thing in Solitas?"

She shrugged at the same time she nodded.

"Good. We'll get there and the first thing we'll need is data, not money." This plane had run me a few hundred grand but I still had a few million Lien. A small fortune.

Neo still had all of her money from the last one. I'd run the lion's share of our expenses out of my pockets.

"That means heists regarding the most valuable of commodities."

She gave me a backwards glance as she started the plane up.

"No, not water Neo. Don't be ridiculous."

She rolled her eyes at me.

"Its information. Unfortunately my semblance doesn't give me a million eyes and the ability to hear and see shit across the city. I'm just good at smashing kneecaps. So that's what we'll have to do."

"I want to know what Ironwood is up to. I want to know if there is a maiden in Solitas. I want to know where she is, if she's there. I want to know how she takes her tea or if she drinks coffee. She'll either be summer or winter, because Cinder is fall and spring."

I read through a few notes of how my musculature was tested through dance while I was in the tube. My father hadn't wanted me to know how to fight but needed a way to test my movement. Dancing was good for that while floating in embryonic liquid.

It also gave my nervous system the tests he felt it needed.

The fucking sicko.

Neo held up her scroll at me with some typed words.

"Ice-cream?" I asked, reading aloud. "Sure we can get some when we land. You've more than earned it. We'll find a cafe, get you a sunday if you want."

She gave me a glittering smile and ran through some preflight checks. She flipped a few switches I could only guess the purposes of.

"Yeah yeah you're an old fashioned ice-cream girl. I should have guessed."

I pulled out my pipe. I started to pack it and my mouth watered slightly. Neo turned on the no smoking light in response. I grumbled and stowed the pipe in my pocket again. She just gave me a smug grin.

"This is how you repay me?"

She held her nose.

"Yeah I guess. A bit stuffy in here. Can't exactly open a window, either. I have to wait to smoke and you've got to wait on that ice-cream. Is that it? Fair enough, I suppose."

The bullhead took off with a hovering heave.

I read a little more out of my little black book in Merlot's tight scrawl.

Subject has been implanted with memories of living in the areas surrounding Vale. I avoided giving him memories of nearby locations in the event that he escapes.

That cruel son of a bitch.

He spasms and calls out for his mother. I can only assume he means Salem. It appears she is imparting him with some memories of her own, she does so even as I write and sleep. I should like to find out more. What all she leaves him with in addition to my own vat training creates an unpredictable specimen, however. I fear letting him out of the tank and it's doubtful we could have a reasonable dialogue. I wonder if Salem would pay a price to have him.

It may be a method to acquire more of her cells. A trade of sorts, for this son. She already gave up some cells for inferior Grimm specimens I created. It may just be possible.

At some point the text just ended. With no mention of how I ended up in Vale with a sword or even the falsified huntsman records. I could only guess at how that happened. Salem claimed to have had a bit of role in that. Making sure I infiltrated Beacon and was on my way with Ozpin none the wiser but I was no closer to figuring out how she'd done it.

Perhaps she took Merlot up when he tried to sell me back to her and used yet another of her agents. It was unclear.

What was clear was that I was a bit of a mess. A bunch of accidents had created me and left me in the state that Merlot had dubbed a partial failure. Salem had been poisoning my mind before I left the womb, so to speak. It was possible she continued to poison me in my dreams now.

And with that terrifying thought I closed the book and tried to get some shut-eye as the plane flew.

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We landed in Solitas in the depths of a pine subarctic forest. Neo put us down in a clearing and the plan was to hitch a short ride to Mantle by train or car in a nearby township.

It was the borders of Solitas that were closed so now that we were on the northern continent I didn't expect that we'd encounter resistance to our arrival.

"You're not wanted here, are you?"

Neo shrugged.

I took that as meaning, 'if anyone recognizes me.' So probably no more than in Mistral. We'd walked around pretty freely down there so, again, I didn't expect much trouble.

"You've got disguises on you, too, though." She rolled her eyes and they turned green and her hair switched to black before they all shifted back to their natural colors.

I nodded and set about unfolding a tarp over the top of the airship to protect it from the elements. We couldn't exactly get it close to the city without alerting Atlesian air-control to our presence.

Neo was mute and couldn't respond to air traffic controllers and we didn't know the appropriate communication codes to fly into the airspace, besides.

The whole place was in a state of lockdown, unlike Mistral and Vale, and they'd probably shoot us down if we didn't skirt the edges. I'd been worried a patrol might head us off and start shooting at us even as far away as we'd flown.

I tied the tarp tight over the ship with bungee-cords and refueled it from the dust supply we'd brought in the back of the ship. It took powdered burn, and a hefty amount of it too but we couldn't exactly refuel around here.

It took us a bit of a hike to get to the nearest township, Senew, we'd had to land far enough away that no one could have seen us.

I marked the place we landed on the map on my scroll so we wouldn't lose the airship. It would be hard to find again unless we knew where to look. And that's assuming it didn't get buried under snow in the meantime.

I marched through the snow drifts. My clothes which had been a stray too hot down in Mistral under all my armor were more at home here. The thick cape didn't help with getting through the drifts but my boots were key.

Neo had to step along through my foot prints, following me. She was short enough that I was worried I might lose her if she had to mark her own trail. I had to resist the urge to laugh at her tiny form as she struggled through the snow, something I knew she wouldn't take well.

I lit my pipe and eventually we made our way to Senew.

I found a small cafe and ordered Neo ice-cream, just as I'd promised her. I wasn't sure if she'd change her mind because of the cold weather but she seemed content with her selection. It couldn't have been a popular order in this cold. She deserved a treat after flying all the way here and then hiking a few kilometers in the snow, though. I ordered a hot coffee and we sat together in the cafe.

"Are you sure you won't be cold?"

She nodded.

"It's just that you're so small. And your ice-cream is so large." It was a decently sized sunday topped with a banana and hot fudge. I suppose that the hot fudge might help with the cold.

She kicked me under the table.

"It's adorable."

She kicked me again.

"Alright, alright. It's not adorable."

She glowered.

"I just can't win with you, can I, Neo?"

She gave me a look that said 'you're not even trying to win with me.'

"Fair enough. So this is Solitas. Looks bleak."

I listened to the wind through the window of the cafe. It was howling. It might whip itself up into a blizzard and I didn't want to be caught up in that.

"Do you think things will be better in Mantle?"

Neo shook her head.

"So it's pretty desolate there, too."

Neo nodded.

"You've been? Well once we're there we'll need to narrow down our search for the maiden. Probably in Atlas, at a guess. Probably in a bunker if Ironwood has his way."

Neo nodded and took a bite of ice-cream.

"But bunkers don't much matter to you, do they Neo? We'll find her. Even if we have to break into every bunker in Atlas."

I was tempted to light my pipe again but there was a man near the Cafe's bar wiping down tables and I didn't want to do anything noticeably illegal within the first few hours of landing here. Mary Jane was a prohibited substance all across Remnant and the cafe probably had rules about smoking and I didn't want to be thrown out, at least not before Neo had finished her ice-cream.

“Come to me, child…”

The wind whispered and with it came a cruel voice.

“My child. My little puppet. You will bring me the relic.”

My hand fell to my side and patted the relic where it hung. It still had two questions left. I considered using them on Cinder's whereabouts. Or that of the remaining maidens.

I had so many options. So many questions. I'd only ever get two more answered. There were so many secrets about my own life I'd never get answers to if only due to the opportunity cost of only getting any two answered.

And that was if I didn't ask about the maidens. Or Cinder. Or Ozma. I knew so little. Perhaps I was just a puppet with Salem pulling the strings.

The hidden truths about how I came to be in Vale alone held a dozen questions. Why had she sent me to Vale. How had she done so? Where was Merlot now? Where were my sisters? How had they come to be?

On instinct I'd burned one of my questions because I needed to know how to deal with Salem. I had a loose plan for that. Destroy her body so completely that she could never reform. Scatter her remains across this world such that she'd never take possession with her feet ever again, let alone her mind. The relic had indicated that such a thing was indeed possible. I just needed to get close enough to do it.

It took me forever to muscle up the courage to use the thing. Even looking at it reminded me of Ren and Nora and what I'd done to them. It felt wrong for me to be the one using the questions for that reason. Once I'd cleared my mind of the bloodlust I had only one choice in moving forward. To use the relic. So I did. And I'd burnt one of my valuable questions.

I could ask how to resist her commands so that I could actually strike at her without her dominating my mind. I could ask how else I might be able to defeat her. There were so many options. So many choices. I found myself paralyzed by the sheer number of them.

And I had only two left.

Finding out Salem was immortal had been a kick in the gut. But it wasn't so bad knowing that she could still be stopped. Still be delayed. I could still shut her down. She could be wounded.

And like a god of a myth of old, if I scattered her pieces fine enough, she would never return to power. It was just a question of breaking her hold over me. I couldn't cut her into bits if she controlled my thoughts.

So what questions should I ask the relic? Should I even ask it anything? A good question, one I'd ironically like the relic to answer.

I could also ask about the other donor who'd created me. My surrogate. It was a mystery I may never have the answer to any other way.

I sighed and stood up, I slammed back my coffee. Neo was finished eating and I had a train to catch.

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We took the train ride into the city. I watched Atlas loom overhead. A giant rock with engines dangling beneath. The gondolas and their cables stretched to the upper city like a spider's web. Hovercraft swarmed the floating rock. All in Atlesian design and bearing Atlas' colors.

I knew a little of the place's history. How Atlas had been set up above the city of Mantle. I know about how some had been left behind.

The lower city was dirty. It was mostly a giant slum with buildings pacted too close together for comfort. I looked out the window as we rode in on the place. I imagined a lot of people worked in the upper city and commuted there each day from down here.

The cobbled streets were packed with vendors in a way that reminded me a little of Mistral's middle and lower levels.

It must be hard to see such affluence then to come back down here day in and day out.

There was a quiet resentment to the place. Angry about the rock that hung above. A constant reminder of haves and have-nots.

We shuttled past a dust mine in the middle of the city. A large open-pit thing that seemed to threaten hunger. As though on a bad day it might stretch it's maw wide and swallow the place whole.

I only caught a narrow look as we bulleted past the famous dust mines of Mantle. It looked like the kind of place no one would choose to work in. It was about needs.

There were faunus every which way you looked. The racial segregation couldn't have been more prominent any where else in the world. The upper city, that's for humans, the lower city, that's for faunus. A clear dividing marker to segregate the two based on economic strata now, and social strata in the past.

My life might be a total piece of shit but hey, at least I wasn't a dust miner.

"Come on Neo. Let's find a place to stay."

We found a small motel willing to put up with us. They managed to keep it clear of the soot of the mines. There was a grime to the air which only heavy machinery spinning into the earth could throw up. I imagined how clean and fresh the air in the city above must feel. I imagined trying to raise children in a place like this. I promptly stopped.

I was just making myself depressed and pointlessly. There were real things in my life about this city that should make me depressed. I needed to find a branch of the Malachite or a rival gang organization.

It was at times like these that, let me tell you, I got the White Fang. Their purpose was a noble one from the sight of the Mantle slums. I could see how and why the Fang were born when I looked out a window here.

"Let's take a tram up."

The upper city couldn't have been more different. It was also built down into the rock it floated on. Atlas Academy, I could see it from our gondola, had windows looking down and out over the wastes. They were dug into the mountainous slab.

There were also taller buildings which stretched upwards. Giving the illusion of some sort of man-made crystal, hewn from a different kind of rock. The city was a geode. Building upwards and downwards into the dull mound.

We landed and made our way off the gondola. We were surrounded by Mantleans working clerking jobs in the upper city. We stood out a little as hunters but only a little. We were given second glances but they were only that.

"I'm not sure I like it here. I think I prefer Mistral to Atlas." I told Neo. I watched busybodies bustle. "At least in Mistral they don't pretend that the lower floors are part of a different city."

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-WG

#neo #neapolitan #cloud strife #jaune arc #ruby rose x jaune arc x weiss schnee #war of the roses #lancaster #white rose #whiterose #whiteknight #white knight #cloud!jaune arc #sephiroth!Jaune arc #motion sickness #rwby #ffvii #ff7

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missingartist · 4 years

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The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 12

The sun had just pierced the night sky, given the world a rosy glow. The light was soft, and the air was warm. Not even the roosters were awake, the only noise that could be heard was the gentle creak of the stiff rope as Adva span slowly on the swing. She couldn’t remember the last time she had swung on the swing; her childhood didn’t consist of playing and jumping with pals, more cleaning and learning to cook. But before Tradi had taken from the orphanage, there had been a rope swing where she, Lesa and Peter would play for hours before being dragged in by Elsda, the kindly older woman who nursed them. Briefly, Adva’s mind drifted to her old care keeper. The towns ombudsman paid to keep the orphans of the town; it was a wealthy town, so they were few and far between, so their care had been good. Elsda had been a widow of a fisherman with one young daughter of her own to support. They were given clothes and feed and taught skills, it was a happy childhood, till the age of nine, Elsda's daughter had married a well to do spice merchant and the older woman set off to be close to her only daughter. But not before settling her wards in professions. Peter became a blacksmith and Lesa a seamstress, while she became an assistant to Tradi and subject to his experiments. Anger hitched in the back of her mind if Elsda had taken a little bit more care maybe she wouldn’t be subjected to Tradi’s awful behaviour. The anger disappeared as soon as it appeared. Adva could never hold onto anger despite how much she tried; she was a pushover. Even when Geralt brought her and whisked her away, her anger had disappeared after a week. Logic had won, and all the reason he gave subdued her anger and gave more need to fuel the passion for learning and to hone her craft.

The studies where not hard by required a lot of focus, but at the end of the day, Adva could barely force herself to sleep, hence her dawn wondering. As the swing twirled around against, a familiar hulk-like figured came into view as she spun. Geralt appeared out of nowhere, instead of his intimidating armour, he was dressed in a thin linen undershirt, and button breeches.

Geralt had a mostly sleepless night; since Triss had conjured that awful potion, there was no doubt in his mind that Adva was his mate, it drove the monster within him to want to be near her and claim her. Efforts to ignore her or avoid her exhausted him more, so Geralt subject himself to remain in her presence, near enough to calm his beast but not enough to engage the urge to take her. That morning the sound of her leaving her room drove him from trying to get several more hours sleep, Geralt followed her at a distance, watching as she swung and spun, she wore the scarlet dress he had brought her with a thin white blouse, it hitched itself ever so slightly with each movement, carefree and unrestrained, revealing a sliver of the thigh, a milky paleness that Geralt yearned to fondle. Finding himself moving, he came to a holt behind the woman.

A delicate blush coloured her pale skin which gave Geralt great pleasure, but she was thankful that the swing righted itself right, so her back was facing him, hoping that she had seen too much. Clearing her voice, she spoke, ‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Hmmm’

‘Me neither, suppose I’m still used to waking up before dawn to get the tavern ready.’

Geralt didn’t respond; instead, his hands softly began to push the swing. Adva giggled as the swing gained momentum, sending her higher and higher into the air. With every touch, a fizz of electric buddle against her skin. The dress she wore was thick and densely woven, and even through that, she could still feel the heat of his skin.

‘How are you feeling now… with everything?’ the smooth voice questions as he pushed her.

‘Good… I feel better… Triss is nice. I am learning about botany at the minute. It's nice to learn things finally...’ The conversation dead in the air. There was an awkward tension between them; there had been since the events with the drowners, her forehead still tingled where he rested his head against hers. It was so intimate, so loving and tender it makes her heart flutter. In spite of herself, it did make her want something, something she didn’t know, a deep yearning inside her, but the overwhelming logic side of her won. There would be nothing between them; she was too plump and pale, not slender and chiselled like Triss. She bet even Yennefer look like she had been carved by the gods. Witchers would attract the most desired women, why on earth would Geralt cast his eyes in her direct and after spending ten long years in service to a brothel a kitchen maid, she was not about to let herself be used the way they were.

‘For what it is worth, I am sorry, for everything.’ Geralt hand stilled, seemingly waiting for an onslaught on emotions.

Instead, Geralt watched as Adva stood on the swing. It was the first time she had been able to look at him face to face. He had a handsome, exquisite face and deep-set eyes. A nervous giggle cascaded from her lips as the swing rock recklessly, Geralt hands grabbed onto her hips to steady her. The giggle died on her lip as she stared at him, despite his expressionless feature, ther was something swirling wildly in his eyes as he looked down at his hand on her broad hips. For a minute, she thought he would rip his hand from her, but instead, they tighten comfortingly into her flesh.

‘You saved me. Triss told me about what would happen with magic build-up, I would have lost my mind or started killing people, and if that didn’t happen. Vivian would have eventually forced me into whoring, as much as I hate to admit it. She always got her way, and if I didn’t, she would have sold the contract before I got to my 25th birthday to people far worse then Tradi. You took me away and brought me here, you didn’t have to, but you did so… Thank you.’ Adva smiled across at him and leaned over, pecking him on his smooth golden cheek.

The look on Geralt face was a mix of fear and shock; it was rather adorable in away. The Witcher's eyes scanned her face half expecting her to slap his face and mock him for believing that she would forgive him, but she slipped from grasp smiling and hopped off the swing, and began to make her way across the lawn.

‘Where…where are you going?’

‘Into town…Triss is giving a ‘consultation’ to the Marquis, so she said as long as I read the books, I could do what I wanted…so I thought I’d have a look around. That alright?’ Adva frowned a little as she watched the Witcher stalk over to her.

‘I am coming with you… it dangerous in new towns.’ Geralt marched ahead, leaving a confused woman to trail after him.

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What was dangerous about this town Adva could not comprehend. There were no dodgy men hanging around in doorways or whores on the street corners. It was a prosperous town. Clean and proper, men tipped their hats to each other as they passed, ladies curtsied and fanned themselves with embroidered fans. Even the vendors were finely dressed and pleasant. Yet, the Witcher walk side by side with her, like some sort of bodyguard, stopping every time she did and following ever movement she did.

By the time they had reached the town, the sun was up high in the sky, and the people flickered from one shop to the next. The shops were ornate and glistened in the light. Adva moved from shop to shop, browsing, some of the proprietors smiled and welcomed her other gave her a dismissive look, eyeing her dress with distaste before focusing in the finer dressed individuals that came into their shops, but not before Geralt gave them a steel-faced warning shot. When they entered a shop Geralt, instead of browsing the wares, chose to stand off from her watching her intensely. The Witcher observed she liked the sweetshop. The warm sugar gave the whole shop and comforting aura. Adva marvelled as the men pulling taffy, the chocolatier that crafted individual pieces of chocolate and the gelatine being poured into the moulds. But she seemed to have loved the toy shop— marvelling at the objects of such innovative design and craft. Giant rocking horse, size of actual horses guarded the door of the large shop floor; wooden toy soldiers were lined up nearly, doll and puppets laid carefully in cabinets and dolls housed of all sizes and types were on display with miniature pieces of furniture and household products were painted so lifelike that Adva was sure they were real. A little doll set caught her eye, a male and female set; they were pretty nothing extravagant, one came with a little dress, and the other came with a wooden sword.

‘Ahhh my Lady has a good eye.’ A bird-like women came into view, a homely face dressed in an elegant blue dress. My husband’s favourite, he can make working dolls that sing music and wet themselves but yet he like these things. He says they have a soul…. Men hmmm… Is madam looking for something in particular? Or are you and your husband looking for something for your children? We have some….’

‘Ohhh no, just looking.’ Adva cut off the women quickly, dropping the dolls back on the display.

‘Ah, I see…ahhhh newlyweds then…trying… or is it thinking about trying? Enjoying the practice are you?...well we have all your toy needs. Let me know if you need anything.’ The delicate women chuckled as she darted back from where she came from, leaving the pair alone in the shop.

A deep blush formed on Adva’s cheeks as she all but flew out of the shop, followed by chuckling Witcher.

‘That was not funny.’ Adva groaned trying to hide her face with her hair.

‘Hmmm’

‘Geralt’ Adva scandalised as she increased her pace up the street.

‘Least you know where to go for toys when you have little ones.’ Geralt laughed, his whole face lite up as he smiled.

Adva observed him for a moment; it was the first time she had seen him smile; it was beautiful and made him ungodly handsome. The amber of his eyes lit up like pure fire, and it allowed him to seem less threatening to those who passed him. When he smiled, he was not the Witcher or Geralt of Rivia, simply Geralt the man. The smile made her want to reach up and brush his silver locks out of his eyes, and brush her lips against his. Adva wanted to, but she couldn’t, she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself, he was partially a god, and she was her.

Shaking her head, she pulled her thoughts away for the urge to kiss him and gave him a soft smile,‘I don’t think there is any risk of that?’

‘I am sure you will have children one day…most women do.’ Geralt offered.

In honestly it was not something Geralt wanted to discuss with her. As a Witcher, he was sterile and would never be able to produce children with Adva, even if he wanted to. It was another thing on his long list that supported his determination to never mate with her; he would never be able to give her a family, and she would resent him for that which he could never endure. It was almost as painful as the thought of her laying with another man and getting pregnant, having to know that her stomach would swell with another mans child made him feel sickness he never felt before.

‘No, erm I never… never bloomed as they say.’

‘That doesn’t mean anything. Many women bloom late…’ Geralt offered sincerely.

‘It's not that…when I was younger…Tradi beat me quite viciously, can’t even remember why…it's the reason Lord Brightwater rehomed me and why the brothel was so keen on having me. The healer at the time thought it was because of that. Cersi doesn’t seem quite as convinced but… doesn’t matter I probably wasn’t going to have them anyway…’ Adva struggled, there was some hurt there deep down but like most things in her life out of her control. It wasn’t something she wanted to delve into any deeper. ‘What about you? I know Witcher can’t have children, but you adopted one right, Ciri.’ Adva prodded wanting to switch the conversation.

Geralt was pensive for a moment but broke the awkwardness between them. ‘She adopted me really; I trained her and kept her safe.’

‘Where is she now?’

‘With Yennefer.’

‘Who is Yennefer?’

‘Someone I used to be close with…but we a too different. But we are still there for Ciri... she is one of my closed friends’ Geralt slowly spoke, unsure.

‘Well, that’s good. Least your still friends and together as a family for Ciri.’ Adva smiled as they made there was back to the archway of the house. ‘This had been fun…we should do it again next time we both can’t sleep.’ Adva smiled softly before she entered the house, leaving a cloudy eyed Witcher behind him.

So what do you think?

I hope you are all well and safe. I have had some lovely messages and requests for stories so thank to you all, really gave me a kick up the bum to get writing. And some interesting prompts to explore- let me know if you have any prompts- all welcome

Please leave comments xx

@introvertedmouse @luxyash @broco8 @threepupsinapuddle @shesthelastjedi

#geralt x reader #geralt smut #geralt imagine #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #Geralt #thewitcher #the witcher #witcher netflix

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yoonologue · 4 years

Text

Shadow l JJK l (1)

Genre: Fantasy au, Shapeshifter reader.

Ratings/ Warnings: Girl gets held at knifepoint. Minor violence.

Summary: Shadow has been on the run her whole life. Her survival depended on her keeping her mouth shut and staying hidden. If she didn't then she would be captured and used as a pawn to do people's dirty work. However, it seemed that her heart did not seem to understand that. She had never been able to ignore a person in need. She never had a problem before, but it seems that her luck had run out. Now she was left with scraped hands and unconscious boy that was too nosy for his own good.

WC: 2.2k+

A/N: I got inspired by the throne of glass series and wrote this little piece. It is my very first fic, I hope you like it! Special thanks to @2dreamcatcher8 for motivating me!

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The summer festival was everything you hated. It was loud and filled with people of all ages, milling around being needlessly loud. The city that you were in was a port city, creatively called Spiritport. Which meant that during the summer, business was booming. People were coming in and out of the city daily, but nothing drew people in like the summer festival. It took place at night in the heart of the city, to brighten up everyone's spirits and celebrate another year of prosperity. The town square was shut off especially for the event, lanterns were lining every building to provide light. There was a band playing somewhere in, the beat of the drums could be heard over the noise of the crowd. Vendors lined the alleys selling everything from exotic food to the finest silks. There was an elemental Fae doing tricks to entertain passersbys. One of the specialties of the summer festival was that Fae of all kinds were welcome to attend regardless of their status or powers. The air felt electric with the magic of all the fae combined.

It was too much for you. You felt like everyone was watching you and any minute someone would figure out who you were. You would get captured and sold to the highest bidder to do as they please. The only reason you were there was to get a pulse of the kingdom. There were rumors of the king going to war with the neighboring kingdom. That could only mean trouble for you because wars meant that you would have to constantly be on the move to avoid being caught by the King's men. The current King had the reputation of a kind man, but desperation makes even the kindest people behave in peculiar ways. It was the reason your kind had been driven to near extinction. They had been hunted and used as pawns by various kings and high fae. What was left of your kind were forced to go into hiding and be on the run for the rest of their life. You needed to keep tabs on what was happening in the kingdom, so you could run at the first sign of danger. Now, you were in the form of a young girl in her twenties. You had mousey brown hair that fell to the middle of your back, and soft features that were common around this part of the kingdom. The form allowed you to blend into the crowds without catching anyone's attention. It was perfect for your job at a local inn as well. It allowed you to keep your head down and work in the kitchen in exchange for a small room in the inn. You saw who was coming in and out of the city and what was happening in the neighboring kingdoms as well.

You stayed close to the shadows sliding into an alley near a musician with drums. Everyone was focused on the festival and didn't pay you any mind, granted your dark cloak made you blend in with the darkness around you.

You watched as a crowd gathered in front of the musicians and people started to dance to the music. It was then that he caught your attention. A shorter man with blue hair that matched the night sky was pulling him into the circle of dancers. He was wearing a loose shirt with the first few buttons undone showing off his tan chest. His pants were tight highlighting his muscular thighs which surely took some work. His dark hair was unruly and fell in his eyes but he didn't seem to mind. You couldn’t tell if he was fae; his ears were covered with his long hair. He was laughing like he was having the time of his life as his friend spun him around to the music. When he turned to face your way, his eyes drew you in. They were large and full of light. You hadn't seen such beautiful eyes on a human before they almost looked like the eyes of a fawn. And when you caught a glimpse of his smile, it reminded you of a bunny. Regardless of his resemblance to woodland creatures, he was undeniably beautiful. He was probably a woodland fae. Your eyes followed him as his friend dragged him away, no doubt to enjoy all that the festival had to offer. You didn’t when you started smiling, but it felt good. You let yourself imagine that it was you pulling him through the crowd, and you would be the one to take him home.

When he was lost in the crowd you saw something else that made your smile die on your lips. A man was pulling a panicked girl around your age in an alley. No one noticed the pair, as they were a little ways away from the vendors. The fear in her eyes set you off instantly, you darted out of the alley. You carefully made your way around the crowd towards the alley. Teleporting would be faster, but it took a lot of effort, not to mention, the advanced magic would draw a lot of attention.

As you approached your destination, you heard muffled cries. Pulling the hood of your cloak over your face you step to the alley. The sight in front of you made your blood boil. At the end of the alley, the man had the girl pressed up against the wall with a knife to her neck. Tears were streaming down the girl's face and she struggled to get away.

Your plans of not drawing attention to yourself flew out the window as you took a deep breath and prepared to shift. The shift itself only took a few seconds however, it required a lot of concentration. You sifted through your memory to find a form that would help you the most. The face of the stranger from before popped into your mind; his strong physique was just what you needed to defend yourself. You envisioned every detail of the man and felt your body change from. Your spine straightened and you felt yourself growing muscles. You took a second to adjust to your form. The loose trousers and shirt you were wearing under the cloak felt just a little tight but not so much that it hindered your movement.

You slowly made your way over to the man until you were standing directly behind him. You made eye contact with the girl. Her eyes widened and before the man could react, you grabbed his arm that was holding the knife and twisted it behind his body. You grabbed his neck with the other hand and whirled him around, slamming his face against the stone wall of the opposite building. You could shift your body as you move to make you lighter and faster on your feet. The girl let out a startled scream. You visibly winced knowing that, it definitely was going to draw the attention of one of the high fae, thanks to their advanced hearing. Just as you shoved his body into the shadows, you turned to see that the girl had run out of the alley. Before you could follow her, your ears picked up on the sound people approaching the alley you were in.

You hurriedly looked for another exit to the alley. You realized there was no other way out than the way that you came. Just as you turned to leave the way you came, you saw three men enter the alley, blocking your only way out; their faces hidden in the shadows. You realized that the only way you were getting out of the alley was by charging through them. You took a deep breath and hid in the shadows

As they got closer, the man in the center cried, "Who's there? Show yourself!."

You let out a light scoff. As if anyone would reveal themselves just because the other person asked. One of his companions seemed to agree with you, "When has that line ever worked Jin?" the one on the right side.

"Yah don't disrespect your superior like that you brat!" Jin fired back.

"Guys stop fighting! Now is not the time to be doing this" the last man spoke.

"Well, it's not my fault you guys have no manners! You need to treat your elders with respect!" The man's voice seems to rise with every word he said until it echoed in the small space.

The man on the right took a step back and turned to face the street as if he was looking for something in the distance. A nearby lantern illuminated his face and an involuntary gasp left your mouth. The man whom you were looking at was the same man whos form you were now in. At the sound, all three whipped their heads towards your hiding space. That shook you out of your shocked state. Using their momentary distraction to your advantage, you ran out of your hiding space. Your body collided with the man in the middle knocking him off-balance and took off down the street. You ignored the sounds of alarm from behind you and kept running. You could only think of one thing and that was that if he saw you, then it would be the end of your freedom forever.

You hear footsteps pounding on the ground behind you. One of them was following you and you could sense they were getting close. All you had to do was get out of the festival and into the dark streets beyond the square then, you could shift into another small animal and escape. You fought your way through the festival crowd. You could feel people's eyes on you but you kept running trying to lose the man hot on your heels. You weaved between vendors and people but it seemed like the man knew exactly what you were going to do. If it were any other time, you would be impressed, not a lot of people could keep up with your speed, but now survival was the only thing on your mind. He was probably high fae, which would explain how they could hear you. That made you run even faster.

When you got past the festival you ducked into a narrow street to your right. The further you went in the maze of the streets the darker it got. Almost everyone had shut down their business to enjoy the festival. You had to get to the inn so you could hide. The noise of the festival was slowly fading away as you run further. You dodged several crates littering the street and pushed them behind you to hinder your pursuer. You heard him mutter a curse, but he did not slow down. He was undoubtedly high fae and with the way, he was keeping up with you, definitely trained. You pushed yourself to be faster.

You made your way to your inn. It was located in the opposite direction of the port, bordering the forest that led to the rest of the kingdom. It was slightly detached from the rest of the crowded city, to give the guest some illusion of privacy. It catered to the High fae who preferred the serenity of the forest over the bustle of the port. It had a stable that stored horses of the guests of the inn. It was also where you stayed, there was a room in the upper portion of the stables that had a small cot and overlooked the animals. There was also an entrance at the back of the building that you got food deliveries from. You just had to make it in and then you could shift and slip into the kitchen. So many people moved in and out of the kitchen every day that the fae chasing you would surely lose your scent in the overwhelming atmosphere.

You turned into random streets to confuse him and after a few minutes, you heard his footsteps fade a little. You ducked into a narrow alley that opened to the small clearing in front of the inn. Some lanterns lit the front of the inn making it appear warm and inviting. You did not see anyone lingering in front of the building, most of the guests were probably at the festival you left behind. That meant you could go in undetected. As you were assessing the grounds, you failed to take into account that the footfalls of your chaser had picked back up. It was only when you heard the telltale sounds of gravel close by, that you took off towards the inn.

You turned to see if the man was close and saw him turning into the alley you left behind. You cursed, of course, it had to be him chasing you. Just then your foot got caught on a rock that sent you crashing to the ground. Your hands broke your fall as the wind was knocked from your lungs. You skidded to a stop. You groaned and rolled over to relieve the pressure on your chest. You cursed into the sky; that was what you got for making such an amateur mistake. When you finally got a sense of your bearings, he was coming to a stop in front of you. Your fall had forced your hood off of your head and as you looked up at the fae’s face you saw his eyes widen.

“How-” He never got to finish his sentence because the next second you hurled a rock lying by your hand straight at his face. He was out before he hit the ground

You really, really, hated the summer festival.

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fantansy au #bts fantasy au #bts #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #fantasy!jungkook #park jimin #kim seokjin #kim taehyung #kim namjoon #min yoongi #Jung Hoseok #shapeshifter reader #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook x reader

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annoyed-galaxy · 4 years

Text

Proposition

Here’s a part 2ish thing to the Fable Aftermath story I wrote featuring my good ole Sparrow and local smarmy bastard, Reaver. This one is lot longer so get ready for a doozy. Now I will preface this by saying some of the emotions Sparrow is feeling in this reflects some of the emotions I have felt in my life. Her depression has influences from my own dark moments. For some reason, Fable 2 managed to set up a character in a way that I can relate to closely and she is probably one of my best characters I have ever made because she’s just real.

And honestly, what I have going on here has actually made me impressed with my writing because I feel like I’ve gotten so much better since I last wrote a story and I’m actually developing something that’s pretty decent. I am proud of my writing right now, and more will be coming, don’t worry. So sit back and enjoy!

Returning from Samarkand had been one hell of a journey. Treating magical wounds turned out to be extremely difficult and uncomfortable. Even when the wounds were treated, there would still be scars left.

Reaver opened his shirt to look at the scar across his stomach where Garth had summoned those cursed magical blades and one scathed him as he ran away. Reaver rolled his eyes at the scar and closed his shirt. He then took a drag from his flask.

The carriage he was in stopped and the driver smacked the roof. “We’ve arrived at Bloodstone.”

Reaver stepped out of the carriage and gave a few gold coins to the driver. “Tatty-bye,” he said as he walked through his lovely little home. Shops were starting to close for the night as the sun began its descent across the sky. He heard patrons in the tavern talking about how they got to meet the great Hero of Albion, Sparrow.

At the mention of the young lady’s name, Reaver raised an eyebrow and found himself in the tavern. People noted his presence and became stiff, a little terrified of the Pirate King. He waltzed up to the bartender and gave his most pleasant smile. “Evening. I heard mention of the great Hero of Albion? Did she pass through here today?” Reaver asked the old man.

Nervously, the man responded, “Yeah. She came by to collect a bounty.”

“Is she still here?”

“I don’t know. Last I saw her, she was purchasing a crate of booze from the drink vendor ‘round the corner.”

Reaver tapped the counter and turned. “Thank you very much,” and then exited the tavern. The drink vendor wasn’t at his stall so Reaver tried to think where a young woman with a crate full of booze would go. It had been a year since Reaver had last seen Sparrow and he was quite honestly intrigued by her. The fire in her eyes, the determination to recruit him amongst the other Heroes, and ever her stubbornness to die after Lucien killed her all intrigued Reaver. Not to mention how she selflessly sacrificed everything for Albion. She sacrificed her own youth and beauty just to get Reaver to join her and then sacrificed the one chance she had at getting her sister and faithful dog back.

Reaver had never met such a selfless person before. He wanted to see her again, see how a year of Hero’s glory was like.

He figured he might find her somewhere near the beach; he didn’t know why, he just had a feeling she could be found there. He was impressed with himself when he did see the beautiful white-haired woman sitting in the sand with a bottle in her hand. She was looking out into the horizon and as the sun was setting, casting its fiery glow onto her, Reaver saw what was in her other hand and his eyes widened.

He watched as she raised a pistol up to her head and then saw the tears coming from her eyes.

What the hell was she doing? Was she...? Reaver didn’t know what to do. Was she really going to do that? Her gaze was so lost in the horizon that she didn’t notice him approaching.

When Reaver saw that she had already made up her mind, he opened his mouth.

“Are you really going to do that?”

To her left, there was a bedside table on top of it was her pistol. Next to the pistol was a cup of water. There was a piece of paper under the glass which Sparrow reached over to grab. She hissed as a throbbing headache made itself known. She had a hangover, she felt it now, although she didn’t remember how she ended up in this lavish and comfortable bed. She figured the note would tell her as she moved into a sitting position and began reading.

***

Light flitted into Sparrow’s vision as her eyes slowly opened. She had to squint against the brightness and allow her eyes to get used to it. When her eyes finally settled, she opened them fully and pushed herself up on her elbows. She looked around and could not remember where she was or how she got into this room. The room was small, but a small fireplace rested at the foot of the bed, a small fire going. There was a beautiful light dangling above her head, the flames within causing the brightness in the room.

The note was full of elegant handwriting, which made it difficult for Sparrow, who could read but not very well. After a reading it a few times, she could finally decipher the note.

Might want to drink up, dear, less your body punish you for forcing such horrid liquor down into it. Brought your pistol from the beach back. Although, if you do plan to go through with your earlier intention, try not to get blood on the sheets. I just washed them.

-R

The note had confused her at first, but then the events that happened on the beach earlier came crawling back, one by one. She remembered how close last night was to being her last night ever. She looked over at the pistol and water on her table. She was so close to ending it all. So close to being free and away from the misery that was her life.

She reached for the water and took a sip, pondering the words on the note. The last memory that she remembered was a scuffle between her and that cursed pirate, Reaver. It ended up with her in his arms, passed out. She paused, her hand freezing in midair stopping her from taking another drink of water.

How did she end up here exactly? If she was in Reaver’s arms last...

Sparrow quickly threw the note to the side and looked down at herself and under the covers.

All of her clothes were on; the only thing missing was her boots. She looked over the side of the bed and saw them sitting there, ready for her to put on. She relaxed a little bit and continued to drink the water. So maybe he didn’t take advantage of her, that was a relief, but she still didn’t like the thought of him tucking her into a bed. She shuddered and chugged the rest of the water. Her headache started to subside, but it was going to bother her all day.

She picked up her pistol and looked at it. Could she really try to go through with it? Reaver stopped her but for what? What was the point?

Sparrow groaned and swung herself out of the bed. She put on her boots and left the room, her pistol back in its holster. She recognized where she was when she stepped out of the room. She had figured she couldn’t be back in the inn, its rooms were nowhere near as nice as the one she was just in. As she made her way down the stairs, she recognized the little foyer she had walked in, what almost seemed like ages ago, not knowing what she was getting herself into.

She was in Reaver’s mansion.

The last time she was here, she had sold herself to the Shadow Court and almost killed by a bunch of Lucien’s men, which was thanks to Reaver and his betrayal attmept. She walked through the small hall and opened the door where she first met with Reaver. She was surprised to find the room empty and the fireplace dead. She looked around the lavishly decorated room. Various guns hung around on the wall and paintings were scattered in between them. She hadn’t noticed the decoration the first time she was in here. She honestly didn’t care at the time either.

Sparrow walked around the room and saw there was a book next to some ink and a quill. Curiosity peaked her mind and she went over to the book and opened it. It was a biography about Reaver and there were many lines and words crossed out and replaced with other words. There were footnotes on the pages written in that same lavish handwriting that was on her note. She had to look closely at each letter before she could read them. One of them pointed towards a passage and read “Never once did this, the lies!” Sparrow read over the passage and it was so mischievous she couldn’t help but laugh. She was about to read more, but then the door opened. Sparrow jumped and dropped the book on the table and looked away like nothing happened.

“My my, you are bad at pretending to not snoop.”

Sparrow’s shoulders sagged and she rolled her eyes as Reaver stepped into the room. Her gaze drifted over to him and she saw an apple in his hand. It wasn’t bitten into, but it was bright red and looked very good. Sparrow’s stomach growled and she looked away.

“I had a feeling you might be hungry,” Reaver commented holding the apple up. When Sparrow looked back at him, he threw it to her. She caught it and stared at it before taking a bite. It was so juicy, Sparrow couldn’t help but let out a satisfying moan. She couldn’t remember the last time she actually ate something. Reaver wore his signature smirk as he walked over to the table she was standing by. He looked at the book which had fallen open. “Enjoy my edits to this piece of rubbish?” Reaver asked.

Sparrow turned from him and walked away. She was holding the apple with both hands and kept her back turned to Reaver.

“Ah, giving the silent treatment are we? Not even going to relay a ‘thank you’ my way for tucking you into bed and giving you a morning snack?” Reaver pouted, waving his hand about.

Sparrow swallowed the bite of apple before she spoke. “I didn’t ask for any of that.” She then took another bite.

“Tch, I do something nice for once in my life and get no thanks in return. How rude.”

“Maybe you should do nice things more often and people will start saying thank you,” Sparrow retorted.

“Ick, why would I do that?” Reaver shook his head.

“Well why did you do it then?” Sparrow shot back, finally turning towards Reaver. She was still biting the half-eaten apple as she glared at him.

“Well...I didn’t want to be a complete arse to you. You seemed to have been having a rough day,” Reaver shrugged.

“More like rough year.” Sparrow finished the apple and found a small waste bin to throw the core in. “You know, I’m not thanking you because I’m not thankful for anything you did.”

“Well that’s just mean,” Reaver replied, leaning against the table, his hands resting on its side. “Didn’t I save your life?”

“Congratulations,” Sparrow mumbled, rolling her eyes again. “You stopped me from shooting myself. Don’t you feel proud.” Her voice was dripping with absolute sarcasm.

“Well, I do actually. I probably just saved Albion a week worth of mourning,” Reaver smiled smugly.

Was there anything nearby Sparrow could throw? No. She groaned and started heading for the door. “Well thanks for that. Now I get to suffer more days.” She left without even looking back.

It didn’t take long for her to get away from the mansion. No one seemed to be following her. Hell, half of the town wasn’t awake yet. It was the crack of dawn and only a few people were awake, preparing their shops for business. She wanted to get as far away from Bloodstone as she could now that Reaver was back. She had no clue what she was going to do now, but she knew that trying to attempt her actions last night were out of the question. She was at her lowest low last night. Thought all hope lost. But now, she knew she wouldn’t have the strength to try again.

It was time to just take the blow and suffer.

***

Two months had passed since her suicide attempt. Two months had passed since she last saw Reaver and for some unknown reason, she couldn’t get that bastard off her mind. She tried to find ways to distract herself, doing bounties, rescuing slaves, working jobs, even finding random partners to take her mind off things. But even during the most intimate moments, that stupid pirate came to her mind.

It annoyed her so much that she started overworking herself, not daring to go to sleep in case wild dreams came up. Alas, she did have to sleep at sometime. Her dreams were always filled with him. Sometimes they were just drinking together on the beach, other times they were dancing in the middle of an empty ballroom, other times he was holding her wrist, pulling the gun from her head.

She couldn’t understand why so much of her mind had been filled with him, but he was always there, in the back of her head, waiting to steal her attention.

She shook her head clear, trying to focus as she walked through Brightwood. Apparently a pack of balverines had infested the area and were slaughtering traveling merchants. According to the bounty, this was a well organized pack as they had a White Balverine leading them. This had peaked Sparrow’s interest. She hadn’t faced a White Balverine and had only heard stories about them. This was no problem for the great Hero of Albion of course.

Sparrow heard rustling to her right. It was nighttime, of course, so she cautiously pulled out her katana and pointed it at the bush. Meanwhile, her other hand flexed, summoning small spectral blades that swirled around it, waiting to be unleashed. Sparrow crept closer and then slashed at the bush. Nothing was hit, but a bunny bolted away, terrified for its life. Sparrow relaxed and turned around. Her eyes widened as she turned, face to face, with a balverine.

She cried out when the beast struck her across the face, sending her soaring through the air. She grunted as her back hit a tree and she collapsed on the ground. The balverine started approaching her and two more dropped by its side. Sparrow stood up, clutching her side, knowing that a few ribs were broken. She could feel blood rolling down the side of her face too. She pointed her katana at the beasts and the spectral blades from her other hand flew around the katana and then launched out towards the balverines. As they flew to their targets, the grew becoming full-sized blades. Eight blades, three targets. Three blades pierced the skulls of the two balverines on the side of the third who was hit with only two, one in its chest and another in its eye. It roared and clutched its bleeding eye with one massive paw.

Sparrow took a deep breath before lunging towards the massive beast, her katana slicing through the air. She summoned fire through her palms and the flames ran up the blade as she struck the beast. She jumped back, the smell of burning flesh starting to hit her nostrils. The balverine roared and fell back, the flames that had caught on a bit of the fur, started to spread rapidly. Sparrow looked around for anymore balverines. Of course, five more appeared behind her. She focused on the balverine in the middle while shooting eight blades, two for each balverine on the sides, and then charged forward. The balverine jumped in the air. Sparrow, knowing balverines, quickly turned around and swept her katana upward, slicing the balverines face in half with her momentum. The other balverines, who were howling because of her spectral blades, focused their pain-induced rage on her.

Taking another deep breath, trying now to ignore the pain on her side, she spun around, wind gathering at her feet and lifted herself into the air, just as the balverines collided into each other. Sparrow, now in the air, summoned eight more blades, and as she fell, forced them all into the heads of the monsters. Their bodies collapsed as she landed in the middle of them. She was panting now but it stung to breath. If she could not be attacked for a few minutes, her Heroic blood could kick in and start miraculously healing her. Of course, fate would not let that happen as more balverines appeared, dropping down from the trees.

Sparrow spat on the ground, clearing her mouth from blood and wiped her face as she focused on the dead bodies of the balverines and used their life essence to summon spectral balverines. Now the odds were a little better, but she was still heavily outnumbered. There were at least thirty balverines now coming down on her.

Yet, she didn’t feel upset. She actually felt glad that there were so many. Maybe this could finally be her chance to be set free. Sparrow summoned her blades again, surrounded by her spectral balverines, and the many more, live balverines who wanted her dead. She didn’t stop fighting by any means.

As the balverines charged, she was a whirlwind of fury, sending spectral blades flying at anything they could hit, dashing through time to appear behind unsuspecting prey. Yet, more balverines just kept coming. The more she killed, the more spectral minions she had, but it almost seemed like it wasn’t enough. No wonder this pack was so strong. There were so many!

She was starting to lose her momentum as she kept getting caught in the slashes of two or three balverines. She backed against a rock wall, bleeding from various spots, out of breath. She coughed up some blood and tried to stand tall, raising her katana against all of the balverines now cornering her. She looked up, hoping to see the sky, but her eyes widened when instead she saw a blur of white jump on her.

She cried out as claws dug into the flesh of her arms, her katana flying out of her hand. She looked up into the face of the White Balverine, its red eyes stark against the snow white fur. It snarled and Sparrow couldn’t help but think of this as her last moment.

She actually preferred this death. At least this way, she would die a glorious Hero and not some disgraceful, pathetic way not worthy of a Hero. Maybe this is what she had been trying to accomplish these couple months: finding a way to die without doing it herself.

The White Balverine pulled its claws out of her arms, making her cry out in pain as the blood rushed out. It howled before digging its claws into her sides and picking her up. Sparrow cried out in pain as it lifted her higher. The other balverines howled. Panic spread through Sparrow’s body. She wanted to die, but she didn’t want to suffer any more. Tears started rolling down her face, mixing with the blood and dirt.

The White Balverine brought her close to its snout and it sniffed her. She growled at the beast. “Just eat me already, you mongrel!”

It had never once crossed Sparrow’s mind that balverines were intelligent and could understand the human tongue. But it did just now as the balverine snarled and threw her across the clearing. Her already broken ribs were more broken and a cry of pain was forced out of her. Her body stung and hurt and her vision was blurry with tears. The balverines who had made a semi-circle now circled fully around her and the White Balverine, as if this was some entertainment.

Sparrow looked up into the sky, at the stars and she reached a hand up, more tears rushing down her face because of the pain in her arm. “I’m coming home, sis. I’m coming home.”

The White Balverine stepped into her view and smacked her hand down. For the first time ever since she had killed Lucien, Sparrow smiled as the White Balverine raised its paw, claws glimmering in the moonlight. She smiled and let out a choked laugh as the White Balverine slashed at her.

Yet, the blow never came. In fact, the balverine’s body just collapsed onto her. The other balverines howled at the fall of their leader, but then they also dropped to ground. Sparrow barely registered the gunshots. She could only hear her fading heartbeat in her chest. Her vision became so blurred that when a figure appeared above her she reached out and touched their cheek,

“Rose?” she let out in a faint voice. “Is that you, sis?”

The face came into focus and Sparrow saw whose cheek she was touching. Her hand fell and her smile dropped. The black heart on his cheek now had a bloody fingerprint next to it.

He smiled and winked. “Not quite, dear.”

Sparrow wanted to bleed out faster. But of course her body wanted to heal. Of course it did.

“Why...are you doing...this to me?” she managed to get out, her voice raspy. More tears started to fill her eyes as she began crying fully. “Why do you...keep coming up?” She looked at Reaver’s face. “Why can’t you let me...die?” She didn’t care that Reaver was seeing her in this state; her body bloodied, broken, and tears pouring out of her eyes.

“Because I don’t want you to die, little Sparrow,” Reaver finally admitted, pushing the White Balverine’s body off of her. “You’re too interesting to me.” His words reminded her of Theresa, who had came and rescued her after Lucien shot her out of a tower. Theresa also didn’t want her to die.

Sparrow wanted to slap him. She wanted do anything to hurt him. She wanted to struggle as he picked her up, but her body couldn’t. All she could do was rest her head on his shoulder as he took her to safety. She hated this. Felt that this was a punishment handed to her by the world. Right when she’s about to die and be released from her suffering, he manages to come and save her once more. The thought makes her cry even harder and she buries her face into his neck. Her body hurts, but the physical pain takes away from the mental pain.

“Please just kill me already,” she whispers. “Just leave me to die. I want to die. I don’t want to live anymore.”

“Now now, Sparrow, surely you don’t truly want to die?”

“I do. I just want to die. Please, Reaver. Just let me go.” Sparrow’s voice grows fainter and she becomes weaker. What will it take to just die? She’s begging Reaver to just leave her. She wants him to leave her so badly. She wanted him to leave her on the beach. Why does he care so much? The last time someone prevented her from dying, she was used. What were his motives, then? She can’t ask any of these questions, because the blood loss has made her too tired.

She slips into unconsciousness.

***

She hears a voice calling her name and her eyes open up. It’s still dark and she’s still being held. She remembers what happened and whose holding her. She wants some emotion to take over, wants some strength to be able to push herself out of his arms, but she’s too weak. Her body hasn’t healed. “You took too much damage,” Reaver announced, as if reading her thoughts. “Your Heroic blood can’t heal you right now until we stop the bleeding. We’re almost to the Sandgoose in Oakfield. You’ll be fine.”

She lays her head back on his shoulder. She doesn’t want to be fine. She wants to fade away. But Reaver keeps dragging her back, holding her in his arms as she watches freedom slip away. She hears the bustle of the tavern as they approach. She barely registers what happens when they enter the tavern. The innkeeper sees the bloodied Hero and immediately rushes up the stairs and opens the door to a small room ushering Reaver and Sparrow inside. He disappears and then comes back with bandages as Reaver lays Sparrow down on the bed. Her body screams in pain, but Sparrow shows nothing. She feels the pain, but seems to ignore it. Reaver ushers the innkeeper out of the room and shuts the door.

Reaver takes his jacket off and throws it on a chair by a desk in the corner of the room. He rolls his sleeves up and grabs the bandages. “Alright, Sparrow, I’ll need you to cooperate with me here,” he insisted.

He reaches for her jacket, but she doesn’t move. Reaver sighs and grabs her shoulders and pulls her up. Her body hates that, but Sparrow seems to not be there. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care when Reaver takes off her jacket, nor does she care when he cuts her shirt open with a dagger to take it off. She doesn’t care that she’s topless in front of Reaver. He seems to be focused on applying bandages where they need to go rather than her shirtlessness. He cleans up the wounds on her sides where the balverine dug its claws into and then Reaver wraps bandages around her. He focuses on her arms next moving around the bed to tend to the other arm. He cleans up around her face, placing smaller bandages on her temple. Then he looks over her again and sees that her pants are filthy.

“Your clothes are going to need a wash so none of these wounds get infected. Shall you deal with removing them, or shall I.”

Sparrow ignores him and just stares blankly at the wall.

Reaver sighs and snaps his fingers in front of her face. “Land of the living to Sparrow, do you hear me?” Instead of entertaining an answer, she falls back on to the pillows and stares at the ceiling. “Well, obviously you don’t care who does it.” Reaver, now annoyed, takes off her boots, and tries to take off her pants without disrupting the wounds he had just patched up. The bandages around her middle are already red, along with the ones on her arms. He looks over her again, not with the eyes of someone appreciating her body, but with eyes looking for anymore cuts and scrapes or open wounds and broken bones. He notices there’s a slash on her inner thigh and her left shin seems to be broken. He knows the Heroic blood will kick in eventually and heal the bone, but he needs to make a split so she doesn’t try to step on it and make it worse. Although, Reaver doubts Sparrow will be moving anytime soon. “I’ll be right back, don’t...well you won’t move, I can see that.”

Reaver pulls the blanket over her and leaves the room with her clothes in his arms. Sparrow is still staring at the ceiling and in the silence, the thoughts begin.

This is the second time Reaver mysteriously appears to stop her from death. The first time, he simply talked her out of it. Now this time, he’s trying to help her so her body can heal. Why? Why the hell is he doing it? Sparrow starts to cry again, her body shuddering causing pain to ripple through her. Does he want her to suffer? Does he want her to continue living and suffer with lost memories? Does he have plans for her? She’s so confused, so miserable she doesn’t know what to think. She just wants to sleep and not wake up. She wished dying would be that easy. Just go to sleep and never wake up.

Reaver enters the room after a bit with a tray in his hands and more bandages, plus materials to make a splint. He shuts the door and then sees her face. “Oh please don’t cry; you look ugly when you cry.” He sets the tray down on the desk, which is full of fresh food.

Reaver pulls the cover away and begins working on the slash on her thigh. It doesn’t take long to clean the wound and wrap it up. Making the splint is more difficult, but he manages. “Of course, your body is going to take some time to heal, but you’ll be healed faster than most.” Reaver seems cheery as he grabs the tray and brings it over to Sparrow. He sits on the side of the bed and sits sideways, bringing his leg up to rest the tray on his knee. Sparrow smells the food and glances at the delicious meal before her. She can’t remember when she let herself eat, but the food smells so good.

“Am I going to have to force feed you, or will you eat on your own?” Reaver asks, looking at Sparrow’s face for any sort of indication of either option.

She grunts as she tries pushing herself into a sitting position. Reaver reaches out to help her. Once she’s in a sitting position, she grabs the plate with meat on it. The meat has already been chopped up and she’s thankful for that. Her arms are too stiff to do much moving. Reaching for the plate was bad enough.

Reaver grabs his own plate and puts the tray on the bedside table. He takes a bite of the mutton and then starts pouring what smells like tea.

They eat in silence for a while until Sparrow ate her fill of meat and fruit and drank her tea. Reaver cleans up their dishes and puts the dirty cloths on the tray. Sparrow watches him. It’s the first time she’s really looked at him since he brought her here. Since he rescued her. She reaches out with a hand and touches his arm. Reaver looks down at her in surprise.

“Why do you keep doing this?” she asks, her voice quiet.

Reaver stops what he’s doing and sits by her side. “Why do I keep doing what?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Why do you keep saving me?” Sparrow’s eyes are filled with nothing. They’re empty. Reaver can see that she’s broken in a different way than he saw on that beach. She had fire then. Now she has nothing.

“Why do you keep trying to die?” Reaver countered. “You’ve never given me an answer.”

Sparrow looks away for a moment, at the wall. She considers Reaver’s question. Considers what she wants to tell him. She thinks back on the year that led her to such a state. Feeling empty inside, worthless to herself, no longer hold any meaning. And the worst of all: lonely.

“Killing Lucien did nothing,” Sparrow says after a moment. Reaver watches her as her eyes grow darker. “For twenty years I wanted nothing more than to see Lucien die. He killed my sister at such a young age then killed me. But Theresa saved me. For ten years she trained me in the ways of the Hero. She told me stories of them, mentored me in their way. She was the closest family I had. When I finally turned eighteen, she sent me on my way on my birthday to begin my journey. It was the first time I was ever allowed out of Bower Lake. I felt free. I felt like I could do whatever I wanted. I was free. I was young and just because I had a special power, I felt like I was better than other people. I stole from them, remembering the days of my youth when I had to steal to survive. Now I stole because it was fun. Then dark memories would always find their way to me. My sister’s death would haunt me and just to get away from it, I gave my flesh away to whatever man or woman came my way.

Whenever that bad memory came up, I would do anything to get rid of it. But it would always remind me of my goal. I wanted to kill Lucien. I wanted him dead so badly. Then Theresa told me I’d have to be stuck in the Spire. I was stuck in that living hell for ten whole years. I was forced to starve people, beat people, kill people. Whenever I was forced to torture someone, they would cry out about their family and it hurt me. I had nothing to distract me. I knew Lucien was so close but there was nothing I could do. Those people who cried and begged for their life...I think that was my breaking point. After years in that Spire, I finally come back. My mind tortured by more than just my sister’s death. That’s when I felt like I needed more than ever to kill Lucien.

I started treating people better. Some people cried because their families were taken away by Lucien. That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one suffering. Lucien had caused us all pain. He caused me pain, caused Hammer and Garth pain, and caused almost everyone in Albion pain. It made me want to kill him even more. And I told myself, I wouldn’t allow other people to suffer anymore.” Sparrow paused and looked at Reaver. He was still listening, intently actually. She was a bit surprised. She watched his face as she told her next part. “When I made your deal to the Shadow Court, I didn’t have to be the one who sacrificed myself. There was a woman there. Her name was Elizabeth. She didn’t have a clue how she got there but she was scared. When the Shadow Court told us that whoever had that Dark Seal would lose their youth and beauty she cried out. She begged me to spare her. She cried out that she had a family. She had a younger sister that she took care of. When she told me that, I knew I couldn’t make her suffer like I did. So that’s why I did it. That’s why I sacrificed myself. I needed you to join us or else we couldn’t kill Lucien. Else I couldn’t make him pay. And that’s all I wanted.” Reaver’s eyes widened a bit as Sparrow told her story, but he made no other move.

Sparrow looked down at her hands as she continued. “When the time came, I didn’t hesitate. But I didn’t kill him. Not how I wanted to. I wanted to scream at him as I cut his limbs off. But one strike of my blade and he was falling down the Spire. I felt nothing as he fell. Then Theresa appeared and I was told to make a wish. And I remembered the vow I made to myself. I swore to not let other people suffer like I did. I had the choice to bring back my sister and my damn dog. But what the hell was the point of bringing back one girl and an animal? When there were thousands of people who had died. So I brought them all back. I had officially sacrificed everything for Albion, for the people. And when it was all over, everyone left. You and Garth went to Samarkand, Hammer went to the north and Theresa...She just cast me out. Tossed me away like some old toy that was broken and no longer had a use.” Sparrow clenched her fist. “I was all alone and had no one. Yes, the people of Albion loved me, but there was no one who actually knew me. No one could see past the Hero and see me. For a year I tried to fill my life with some sort of purpose but I found none. I tried to make friends, but no one could speak to me normally; they were just in awe of me. I had no one.

What was the point of living? That day on the beach I had reached my all-time low. I was so close to being set free and you had to come along and fuck it up.” Sparrow finally had emotion in her eyes as she looked back at Reaver. “Why? Why did you stop me?! Why did you save me this time? You don’t care! You can’t. You don’t know what it’s like to be alone. You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you care about because you never have. You don’t give a shit about anyone except yourself. So tell me Reaver: why the fuck did you do it? Why did you just suddenly appear when I was about to end it all? Why the hell did you come back?!” Sparrow was nearly shouting now and Reaver had to look away. Sparrow scoffed. “I can’t believe I just told you, out of all people, everything. Like you would even fucking understand. You just like seeing me suffer don’t you?”

Reaver looked back, and he was smiling. “Do you ever think that maybe it’s fate?”

Sparrow stared at him disbelief. “Fate?! What nonsense!”

“Oh come now, it makes sense doesn’t it? You waste away all alone after killing Lucien and you see no purpose in your life. And then the day you just happen to try to take your life, I come back. I’d say that’s pretty convenient.”

“I’d say it’s a fucking nightmare. Ever since that day on the beach, you just stick around in my mind like a little leech. I try to get you out of my head but you just stay there and torment me. I don’t want to live, don’t you see that? Just because your immortal doesn’t mean anyone else wants to fucking be that way. You can’t force people to keep on living. I’m not like you. I don’t want to live forever. I want to fucking die. Because I have nothing to live for. And yet you just keep torturing me like a walking nightmare!”

Reaver chuckled. “But at least I’m better looking than most nightmares right?”

Sparrow grabbed her hair hair and screamed. “Argh! You are so annoying! Just leave me alone!”

Reaver clicked his tongue. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I see that you might be determined to kill yourself any chance you get, so I’m not going to let that happen.”

Sparrow’s eyes widened and she stared at Reaver. He could see the utter disbelief in her eyes and the absolute hatred she had for him. It made him happy to see that fire roaring again. He had managed to bring it back.

“You. Are such. A little. Piece. Of. Shit!” Sparrow yelled and smacked Reaver.

He was surprised. He rubbed his cheek. That stung. How fast was her body healing? “I’m impressed,” Reaver laughed as he continued rubbing his cheek. “For someone who almost lost her arms, that was a pretty impressive slap.”

“Yeah well I can’t believe what you just said. You want to make sure I don’t die? After I literally said it’s torture to stay alive? Your really are a fucking monster!”

Reaver looked back at her and sighed. “Why don’t you just find another reason to live instead of trying to throw your life away. Surely there’s something out there that you’ve never done that you could do now.”

Sparrow rolled her eyes. “I’ve already tried that. I have no purpose to live. There’s nothing in this world that could make me not want to die.”

Reaver gave a sly smirk. “What if I gave you a reason to live?”

“You give me a stronger reason to die.”

Reaver laughed. “Oh but you don’t see it the way I see it. The way I see it is that I already do give you a reason to live. On the beach, you were so close to killing yourself and then I appeared and that gave you fire to fight. Tonight, as I was patching you up, your eyes were empty and full of nothing. Now they’re full of fire directed towards me.” Reaver smiled bigger. “The way I see it, I’m the only person who can keep you from death. The only person who gives you fire.”

Sparrow opened her mouth to argue with him, but...he wasn’t wrong. He made her feel alive, even if it was to hit him and shout at him. But it still didn’t make sense why he wanted her alive. “Why do you care so much about keeping me alive? I’ve already given away half my life just so you get to stay stupidly young.”

Reaver moved closer to her. “What if I told you it was because you are the most interesting person I have ever seen in my life. One of the most selfless people ever. You gave up all your happiness just so the rest of the world, including myself, could stay happy. When there are several people who don’t deserve happiness. Why the hell would you ever do that? Sure, you were reminded about your sister in the Spire and the people who had families, but why would you still do that?”

“Maybe because I’m not a heartless bitch like you.” Sparrow snarled.

“I’m not heartless. I’ll have you know I can make great love,” Reaver purred.

Sparrow scoffed. “Ha! Sure you could. I find it hard for someone with no care for anyone except himself can make “great love”.”

Reaver raised a brow and smirked. “I could show you. Maybe once your healed up.”

Sparrow’s cheeks went red. She cursed at herself. Why?! Why did her cheeks heat up at that?! She turned her head. “I would sooner sleep with balverines than with you.”

“Mm, I’d say you were pretty close to that already. Those balverines did look like they were about to enjoy eating you up.”

“You have such a dirty mind Reaver.”

“Centuries of life, dear,” Reaver winked.

Sparrow rolled her eyes.

“I will say I agree with those balverines though. You do look ravishing, even with your hair in a complete mess and such a deepening scowl on your face. My you look angry.”

Sparrow growled and grabbed Reaver’s collar. “Listen here, shitstain, you better choose your next words carefully or I’m about to end your long life right here right now.” Five spectral blades appeared, ready to plunge into Reaver at any second.

Reaver was unaffected by the threat and simply smiled bigger. Sparrow waited for his response but she never got one. Instead, Reaver’s lips were on hers. It was such a surprise that the blades immediately disappeared, fading into nothing. Her grip on Reaver’s collar loosened and he grabbed her hand. He pulled back, that shit-eating grin on his face as he held her hand. Sparrow was stunned. Her other hand slowly reached up and touched her lips. She could still feel his warmth of his kiss and she honestly didn’t know how to feel about it. Her cheeks burst into color and she went limp.

“I have a proposition,” Reaver spoke, caressing the back of her hand as he spoke. “What if I gave you a reason to live. Found you some purpose so fulfilling you would no longer want to die?”

Sparrow’s eyes drifted to Reaver’s and she found sincerity, much to her surprise.

He had her attention. Good. “Here’s all I ask: You travel around with me on adventures to wherever and I will find you a purpose to live. Stand by my side, and I will find you that purpose.” Reaver wore a smile that showed he was telling the truth, that he was actually sincere about this promise.

“Why...Why should I say yes to this?” Sparrow stammered, still in shock of his abrupt kiss.

“Because as I said, I find you so intriguing. I have lived for many, many, many years yet have not seen a single person like you before. Is it so hard to believe that I simply want to see what you can do? I want to see how someone like you can be so selfless. See why you would make yourself suffer through so much just for other people. For people who don’t really care about you.” Reaver pulled her hand to his lips and placed a gentle kiss there. “So what do you say, little Sparrow?”

Sparrow had to think about this. What would be the point of traveling with Reaver to wherever for whatever reason? Well, it would give her something different to do. But she knew the real reason he was asking her to travel by his side.

She wouldn’t be alone. Even if she had mixed feelings about this man, the main one being confusion, at least she wouldn’t be alone. And he was right, he’s been able to bring fire into her heart by annoying the piss out of her. If anyone could pull her out of a drunken stupor of depression, it was Reaver. But if she said no, would he finally leave her alone and let her die? But what would happen when she did die. Would she actually get to see her sister again? Here this man was, offering her a chance to live again on whatever short amount of time she had. She never wondered what actually would happen if she had killed herself. Would she actually get to see her sister? Or would she just be doomed to wander around aimlessly as a ghost? He was offering her a chance to live.

And companionship.

She realized that’s what she’s wanted all this time. She hasn’t wanted some random purpose to live. She just hated being alone. No matter how intimate she got with people or how many she hung out with, she was still alone. People only saw her as a Hero, not as Sparrow. Here was Reaver, a Hero himself, who saw her for who she was. He was giving her a chance to do something with her life. He didn’t see her as a Hero. He saw her. He saw Sparrow. Part of her wondered if he had ever felt this way. If he had ever wanted to be seen as normal and not as a Hero.

Reaver was offering her the key to solve her problem. For how heartless or selfish he was, it was still someone who could see Sparrow for who she was. She’s not even sure if Hammer or Garth could have seen her like that. Theresa only ever saw her as a means to an end.

Sparrow sighed and then finally looked at Reaver. “Fine. I’ll take you up on this proposition.”

Reaver smiled and patted her hand. “Good choice, I’m sure you won’t regret this.” He kissed her hand again.

Sparrow finally pulled it away from him. “This doesn’t mean I’m agreeing to sleep with you whenever,” she added, looking away, a small blush rising on her cheeks.

Reaver shrugged. “If the choice ever came to balverines or me, would you still choose them?”

Sparrow side-eyed him. “What do you think?”

“I’m hoping you’d choose me since I don’t think the balverines would be interested in bringing you much pleasure rather than themselves.”

“And are you suggesting you’re different than a pack of balverines?” Sparrow challenged.

“I am. Balverines are savages, they know nothing of pleasure. I, however, have had centuries of experience. I know much about providing pleasure.” Reaver smirked. “And besides, I’ve already seen you mostly naked.”

Sparrow shrieked and punched him in the arm. “Get out you smarmy bastard!” She pulled the sheets higher to her chin. Reaver stood up and grabbed the tray laughing the entire time.

“Oh this should be nice. Tatty-bye, little Sparrow!” With that, Reaver vanished behind the door. Sparrow rolled her eyes and relaxed.

She didn’t know what exactly she had gotten herself into, but it was surely to be more interesting than trying to die all the time. Sparrow turned her head and saw that Reaver’s jacket was still on the chair by the desk. She reached for it, but couldn’t get it. She summoned a gust of wind around it and then let it float toward her. She sat up with the jacket in her hands. She wanted to get back at Reaver for being a raunchy little shit, but how?

She could burn the jacket, but she didn’t want to burn it completely. But that gave her an idea. She spread the jacket across her legs and then put her hand on the back of it in a random spot. She burnt a small hole in one spot, and then another, and another, and she kept burning little spots in the jacket until there were enough holes to be annoying. She snickered to herself and threw the jacket back on the chair. That’s what he gets for forgetting stuff in her presence.

Sparrow slept soundly for the first time in a while that night.

#fable #fable 2 #fable II #reaver #reaver fable #sparrow #sparrow fable #sparrow x reaver #spreaver #writing #my writing #Galaxy:Fable #G-W76

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thepartingglassofthorin · 4 years

Text

Of Beginnings

When Thorin awoke in the morning, a kink in his neck was present, along with the feeling of guilt and dread. He was back among the living, and he remembered every moment of the journey; from insulting Bilbo at Bag End to asking for his pardon as he lay dying on the River Running. Those memories had haunted him in his dream state, causing him to gain little sleep.

He peeled himself off the straw mattress, finding sunlight was flooding through the barred window behind the Guard's desk. The Guard himself was leaned back in his chair, his book on his chest as he dozed lightly. The Dwarf King could hear the bustle of life outside of the prison, a pleasant smell wafted in from the vendors, causing his stomach to howl loudly. Thorin attempted to smooth his hair down while stifling a yawn, trying to ignore the worsening pains in his stomach.

The Guard continued to doze, a gentle snore coming from his round face, growing louder as the day past from early morning to early afternoon. By the time he had awoken, the morning vendors had sold their wares and goods, packed up and the afternoon vendors had all set up for their shift.

The door flung open, a brisk cold air nearly put out the embers in the fireplace as the guard from the night before stood in the doorway, his cloak held in the crook of his arm, the bright smile on his face grew as he waltzed up to the desk.

The Hobbit guard sat upright at the first instance of noise, drawing a knife from under the desk in his alarmed state, placing it back as his friend strode up.

"Guess who's gotten lucky, Tookie," He said with a smirk. The Hobbit glared at him as he rubbed his head, pulling himself to sit upright in his chair.

When he didn't respond, he continued, "I can see it now, eleven kids, just outside of Bree, in a little quaint cottage-"

"Do you have any clue what time it is," The Hobbit yawned, stretching his good arm up over his head.

"Oh, sorry. I was out celebrating with her Brothers most of the night, and-"

"You can tell me later," He interrupted, rapping on the desk. "You about you take this dwarf home, and then you can tell me about it tomorrow after I've slept in my own bed!"

The Prancing Pony stood with a gloomy look. The paint was peeling, and the roof whistled with small holes in the thatch, while the sign creaked slowly as it swayed in the wind.

The Guard, who's name was Stephen, held the door open for Thorin as they entered the dusty Inn, his joyful attitude only worsened Thorin's foul one.

The Inn was busy with staff as they prepared for the night rush of customers, Thorin almost ran into a waitress carrying a bus of mugs back into the kitchen as he entered, Stephen said a cheerful hello as she disappeared behind the door.

"Isn't it a little early for Drinks Stephen," A tender asked as he leaned over the counter. "You haven't even asked her yet," He added as Stephen laughed.

"No, it's never too early for drinks," He chuckled, leaning on the counter with his back to the tender. "But I can't right now, perhaps after my shift."

The Tender leaned upright almost immediately. "Oh? Who've you brought back today? Fredrik again?" He leaned further over the counter to look at Thorin. "That boy is gonna find himself-" His brows creased as he saw Thorin, a frown becoming more defined the longer the two stared at each other.

"Your things are out back, sir," He said gruffly, with a jerk of his thumb towards his left. "Payment is two gold."

With a stifled growl, Thorin gave his payment and went to gather his things. As he walked out the door, he could hear the two men return to their merrymaking. He quickly grabbed his things, wiping the muck from his sacks before he set them on his back.

He was late, by almost two days. He had walked before, but this time was different. He couldn’t mess up, he refused to let this quest fail as the one before had. He couldn't shake the dread that laid in the pit of his stomach, try as he might. He didn’t understand any of it. The way Auel had tricked him, and then shoved him through the doorway without giving him a moment to think about his already hastily made decision.

Why wasn’t he able to know he was in the Halls of Waiting, why was it so dark and dreary?

The more his thoughts lingered on those unanswered questions, the more his stomach squirmed. Something wasn’t right with all this, and he had to figure out what!

The night was cold, colder then it should be mid April, but it was ok. Thorn knew some spring nights were temperamental.

But this was too cold. He opened his eyes and found himself staring at his toes. His bare toes.

The King leapt to his feet, he had been resting against a tree. Cold snow crunched under foot, he yelped in surprise and went to sit back down, only to lean all the way back, the tree having never been there.

Now thoroughly covered in snow, the Cold King’s mind scrambled for an explanation. He had only intended to sit and rest against the old oak on his way, the very same tree he had slept underneath on his last trip.

Snow crunched not so far away, Thorin pulled himself out of the snow and started to brush off his clothes, only to realize he wasn’t wearing what he had been. Of course he hadn’t, otherwise his boots would still adorn his feet! His fur lined vest and blue tunic were replaced with a white tunic, tucked into white trousers of the same fabric. Despite their thinness, Thorin realized he wasn’t as cold, or as wet, as he should have been.

He also realized that he didn’t have any sort of weapon on him.

“Come this way!”

The King whirled around, looking for the source of the feminine voice, the crunching snow coming closer and closer.

“Where are you,” he hissed. The collar of his shirt was yanked from behind in response. He landed in a deep snow bank, tumbling backwards through the snow as he slid down the hill. He came to a stop finally and laid in the snow for a moment. As far as he could tell the crunching was a well ways off now, but for all he could see, they could have watched him tumble down the hill and be laughing at him. Snow rose above his body by about a foot and a half.

The crunching came back, this time much closer, Thorin peeled himself out of the snow and sat up, peering out towards the crunching.

A young dwarrowdam made her way through the snow towards Thorin, her white gown hung loosely and seemed to shimmer against the moonlight. Her golden coils hung loose as well, and she smiled brightly at him, offering a small hand once she reached the snow covered king. Her bright blue eyes showed genuine joy, and reminded Thorin of someone, although he couldn’t place the name.

”It’s a pleasure to finally see you again,” she said, her voice was quiet, as if she didn’t want to break the stillness of the night.

Thorin took her hand and stood, trying to recall whom this was. It felt like a deep buried memory, but he couldn’t remember.

“We haven’t much time,” she hurried, pulling him towards a small farmhouse across the snowy field, her stature hid her strength well as Thorin almost fell into the snow again, not having a chance to reply or pull his hand from her grip.

He looked back at the snow bank he had fallen down and saw no trace of his fumble, or any sort of disturbance. "What sort of trickery is this," He mumbled to himself.

"It is no trickery, Thorin." She pulled him behind a hay cart and watched as three approached the door, they seemed to shimmer in the night with their silver cloaks. There was no light that they needed, for warmth or guidance. "This event will change your life, and it is important you understand it."

Thorin turned to her, a scowl across his face. "Who are you? You seem well acquainted with me, and yet I don't even know your name!"

"Shhhee!"

The tallest of the three stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door, he stooped under the roof and if the Master of the Farm let him inside, he would have to bend over to enter the humble home. All three lowered their hoods as they awaited the Master of the Farm, they shone with eerie brilliance, certainly not of Arda.

The darkness within the house vanished as a lantern was lit, it made its way down from the top floor as the tall one knocked again. A groggy voice responded, nothing really coherent.

Soon enough, the lantern was set by the window and the few latches were undone. The door opened to reveal a tall man, hardly past his twenties. He had red hair and freckles across his face, with bright green eyes. He wore a well loved robe, but that was it. He was built like a barrel, but wasn't flabby, what little bit of him Thorin could see was all muscle.

He held the lantern out at them, his face slowly turning sour the longer they stood in silence.

"Well? What reason have you to wake my wife and I up at this awful hour?"

"We seek shelter for the moment," The one on the porch said. "We are brothers, and ask your permission to warm our hands before we continue on our way."

The man eyes the bundle in the shortest' arms suspiciously, moving the lantern towards it. "And what of that? A sack of rutabagas perhaps?"

The one holding the bundle laughed, Thorin recognized it instantly and looked at his companion, worry etched on his face.

She looked back, slyly with a smirk pulling up one corner of her mouth.

”Nay, but she might look like one,” Auel said gently, stepping forward and showing the bundle to the man.

He hissed like someone had laid a hot fire poker across his backside, quickly setting the lantern down and taking the bundle from Auel.

”Are you insane,” He seethed, thumping came down the stairs as someone else joined the throng. Auel and his company moved inside, the shorter staying by the door and looking out at Thorin, the same sly smirk came over his shadowy face before he turned to make a comment to someone.

Thorin’s lady friend grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the slightly open door, lights began to shine within the house as more lanterns were lit. A quiet infantile cry came from the home as well, Thorin hoped that the man hadn’t any children whom had been woken up.

Thorin pulled his hand from hers, she stopped and beckoned him on, he frowned and cross his arms.

”What is the meaning of all this,” He asked, gesturing at the farm around him. She stood straight and strode over to him, not meeting his eyes. “Am I dead or not?” She took his hands in hers and looked at their calloused palms, her small fingers tracing the scars and lines on his hands. “I recall this farm from my younger days, but what purpose does it have in saving Fili and Kili?”

She finally met his eyes, sorrow filled his soul as she stared at him.

“Trust is not in your nature,” she spoke softly. The homestead seemed to shift and change as she spoke. Thorin felt as if he couldn’t keep his balance, like he was on a tightrope being shook from both ends. The land surrounding him flickered, a celebration appeared, love and warmth entered his heart. Before he could come to know what it was, the scene changed again, the farmhouse, barn, and hay shed all erupted in flames, screams, fear, terror, the roof of the home collapsed as a specific scream pierced the burning sky.

“But please,” She held his fingers tightly, bringing the scene back to the silent snowy field. “You must trust me and Auel with this. It will not be easy, or comfortable, but we both will be there, every step of the way.”

She looked up at him, her face as blank as a stone.

With a ragged sigh, Thorin squeezed back, falling into step beside her as they turned to watch the scene unfolding within the home.

The Three Figures stood at the door, their mission complete, and the new parents wished them well. They had wanted a child for so long, and although they hadn’t expected their joy to be fulfilled in this way, they wouldn’t have it any other way now.

The Three turned and stepped off the porch, headed right towards the two dwarves it seemed. The man shouted out at them.

”Is there a name for our little rutabaga?”

Auel stopped dead in his tracks. The brighter of the two had been a little further ahead of his companions, however he halted, turning back to give the Ancient Smith a warning glance.

With a hearty chuckle, Auel turned around as his hood fell off his crown, a bright smile replacing the saddened one he had hid beneath his hood.

”Her name is Armis SparrowSong! Tell her all thou knowest when she comes to find her heart!”

The scene shifted again, only the Lady’s steady hand on Thorin’s arm kept him upright.

"It's time to wake up, Thorin." She turned and took both of his hands again. Her form seemed to change rapidly, her defining features remained the same, but she grew taller, shrunk low. Wrinkles, scars, age spots all came and went from her face and neck, but her vibrant eyes remained on his face, piercing his soul.

"Know this name, do not forget her." Her grip on his hands began to lessen, fear bubble up from his stomach as his hands found her forearms.

"What is your name," He ask, pulling her slightly, a silent plea for her to stay. She smiled as her form began to fade.

"Garnet."

Thorin lurched forward as her name burned his ears, Garnet. The stars shone above him, giving him light as he stumbled to his feet. Bleary eyed, struggling to connect with the earth below his feet, his foot found a root and caught on it. Pain shot up his leg as he fell against a tree, sliding back to the forest floor. Memories flashed in his mind of the River Running and a chill entered his heart as a shadow fell across him.

It wasn't just a dream, He thought. Garnet took me to that desolate farmhouse, for whatever reason.

His mind reeled, the chill in his heart grew as he sat and processed all that had happened to him within the past week.

With a furious shake of his head, Thorin stood up again, walking away from the roots and shadows of the Forest, making his way towards the road again. He couldn't let those thoughts stop him. He had to get to Erebor, not to reclaim it however. This time, it was to save his nephews from their Horrible Fate. He knew he couldn't convince them not to go, he had tried last time to no avail. He only hoped that this time they would be more careful, that he would be more careful.

Author’s Note

Ok, so I know I said there would be longer chapters ahead, and I promise there are, but I forgot how short this one was.... The next one makes up for it, I promise, I think it’s like.... 27 pages/9k~ words?

Oh! Before I forget, you can read ahead on Quotev, under the same name!

Tags: @tschrist1 @emrfangirl

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

#thorin oakenshield #thorin x oc #retry #reset #fix it fic #the hobbit #hobbit #shire #prancing pony #middle earth #fili #kili #bilbo baggins #bofur #super excited!

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staystrange · 4 years

Text

a masterful melody

Schitt’s Creek • Patrick Brewer / David Rose Rating: T • ~2k words • ao3

"What was so great about the last one we had? Isn’t one open mic night enough for a while?”

Patrick looks appalled for a second before the smirk returns. “Are you kidding me? First of all, it’s been over a month since the last one, and didn’t you see that improv troupe? And Bob’s poetry? I should probably put them towards the beginning of the setlist next time, so that everyone is sober enough to really appreciate their impeccable performances.”

David couldn’t stop the look of displeasure from appearing on his face even if he tried. “Oh my God, please don’t.”

-or-

Rose Apothecary hosts its second open mic night.

The song that Patrick sings to David is Out of My League by Stephen Speaks, which I would argue is one of the most beautiful songs ever written. The title of this fic, obviously, also comes from that song, though 2018 me really screwed 2020 me over by naming another fic for a completely different fandom after this song as well.

A week after David and Patrick say “I love you” to each other for the first time, Patrick brings up the idea of a second open mic night.

It’s the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday; the midday rush is behind them, and David and Patrick are alone in the store for the first time since they opened the doors that morning. Word of the limited restock of their most popular soap must have spread since they sold the first one to Jocelyn yesterday.

David’s automatic reaction is no, absolutely not. Heck, he barely knows how Patrick had managed to talk him into agreeing to the first open mic night, though he suspects it might have had something to do with that look that Patrick always got in his eyes when he looked at David, the one that David was absolutely powerless against. It also might have had something to do with the amount of kissing they did after David agreed, effectively preventing him from changing his mind. He had, of course, still been skeptical, especially when Patrick walked into the store with a license and everything was suddenly very official, but once Patrick stood onstage and opened his mouth and that came out, even David had to admit he saw the appeal of these things.

“Come on, David,” Patrick says now, smirking as if he knows that since the first open mic night went so well for both the store and their relationship, there’s no way David can say no.

David refuses to let him win that easily, though. “Hmm, I don’t know. What was so great about the last one we had? Isn’t one open mic night enough for a while?”

David couldn’t stop the look of displeasure from appearing on his face even if he tried. “Oh my God, please don’t.”

“Ooh, I know, I should give my time slot over to Alexis so she can sing that song from her reality show — what was it called again?”

“A Little Bit Alexis,” David mutters, rolling his eyes. “And no, don’t you dare, you were by far the best performer up there that night. In fact, I think we should just nix the open mic night idea and just have you perform solo instead.” David takes a step closer to Patrick and rests his hand on Patrick’s shoulder; Patrick’s smirk melts into a smile, and David knows he’s a goner. “Fine, I guess we can have another open mic night, but only if you sing to me again.”

David honestly can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, but there’s no taking them back now.

“I don’t know, David, I can’t make any promises. What if two improv troupes show up this time? I might have to give up my time to them,” Patrick teases, and David just shakes his head with a soft smile, pulling Patrick in for a kiss.

They’re interrupted by the sound of the bell and the door opening, and David reluctantly pulls away, turning to greet the customer as Patrick returns to the counter and the spreadsheet he has open on the computer.

An hour or so later, David tells Patrick that he’s running across the street to the café for a caffeine boost, but he really goes to see Ronnie to get another license for the open mic night on Friday. He can’t help but feel a burst of nervous energy as Ronnie hands him the warm, freshly printed piece of paper, but the look of happy surprise on Patrick’s face when David returns to the store and slides it onto the counter makes it all worth it. And besides, he has a precedent now, something to prove to his anxious mind that he has no reason to fear and every reason to look forward to Friday night.

———

Friday evening arrives in a flurry of last-minute preparations. Patrick leaves right at five to get his guitar from Ray’s house, leaving David behind in the store to set out the wine and cheese and hang up the fairy lights that he only lets Patrick hang in their store for open mic night. When he’s finished and the first guests start arriving, David’s surprised to find that the nerves he anticipated, the ones that almost led him to ask his mother to pull the fire alarm as Patrick publicly dedicated his performance of Tina Turner’s The Best to him, are nowhere to be found. Patrick has yet to return with the acoustic guitar, so David allows himself a smile, hoping that Alexis, who has just walked in with Ted, won’t notice and tease him mercilessly for it.

By the time Patrick returns (turns out, he’d also showered, changed, and stopped at the bakery in Elmdale to pick up a few slices of David’s favorite pie for them to share later), Rose Apothecary is filled with Schitt’s Creek natives and even some people from neighboring towns. People chat excitedly as they fill up on wine and browse the products that David had triple-checked were perfectly organized before they reopened the store for the event. With the pie safely stored in the back room and out of sight, Patrick leans back against the counter next to David, handing him a glass of rosé. “Don’t drink more than this until I’m done singing,” Patrick says. “I want you to remember this.”

“I thought you were giving up your performance time to Alexis, or another improv troupe,” David teases, taking a sip. Patrick chuckles. “I’m kidding, of course. I won’t, I promise.” He takes another sip. “This is very good rosé, though.”

“Glad to hear you approve. I figured this was a good time to test run the rosé that we just got from that new vendor before we start selling it in the store next week.”

David hums in approval, setting the plastic wine glass down on the counter before nodding to the stage. “I think they’re ready for you,” he says quietly.

Patrick glances up toward the back of the store and nods in agreement. He leans in to kiss David quickly before walking up to the stage with his guitar on his back, tapping on the mic to get everyone’s attention. David cringes, but allows himself to relax as Patrick plugs in his guitar and strums out a chord.

“Hi everyone! Welcome to Rose Apothecary’s second open mic night!” The audience cheers, quieting down a few moments later as Patrick lowers the mic stand a little bit to fit his height. “I’m Patrick Brewer, and I will once again be your host for the evening.” He stops, glancing down to adjust the capo on his guitar. “I’d like to dedicate this song to my boyfriend, David Rose.” Unlike last time, David doesn’t feel the need to run to the back room; instead, he smiles sheepishly and waves to the crowd before looking back at Patrick, who catches his eye and mouths “I love you” before finger-picking the opening notes.

It’s your hair and your eyes today That just simply take me away And the feeling that I’m falling further in love Makes me shiver, but in a good way

David is so caught up in the lyrics and the fact that Patrick is singing them to him in public in front of the entire town that he barely registers the fact that he recognizes the melody, though he’s not sure where he knows it from.

All the times I have sat and stared As you thoughtfully thumb through your hair And you purse your lips, bat your eyes, and you play with me Sitting there, slack-jawed and nothing to say

‘Cause I love you with all that I am And my voice shakes along with my hands ‘Cause you’re all that I see and you’re all that I need And I’m out of my league once again

David feels tears forming in his eyes and quickly looks away from Patrick, his eyes finding Alexis across the room. Her eyes are wide as she glances between Patrick and David and mouths “oh my God” to him when she notices that he’s looking at her. This only encourages the tears to start falling, so he quickly turns back to look at Patrick, blinking them away as best as he can as a crooked smile settles on his lips.

It’s a masterful melody When you call out my name to me As the world spins around you You laugh, roll your eyes And I feel like I’m falling but it’s no surprise

‘Cause I love you with all that I am And my voice shakes along with my hands ‘Cause it’s frightening to be swimming in this strange sea But I’d rather be here than on land Yes, you’re all that I see and you’re all that I need And I’m out of my league once again

He thinks that nothing could ever surpass The Best for him, but he’d be lying if he said this didn’t come close.

The roars from the crowd snap David back to reality (Stevie’s cheers are somehow the loudest; David can tell she’s had a little bit too much wine already and makes a mental note to bring her a glass of water) as the last notes ring out. Patrick takes a modest bow and mumbles “thank you” into the mic, his eyes never moving from David’s.

After introducing the next act (Ted, with an entire set of punny jokes prepared), Patrick unplugs the guitar and walks back over to David, resting his hands on David’s hips and tilting his head up to kiss him. When they break apart, Patrick leans his forehead against David’s for a moment before turning around to rest his back against the counter, his right arm in its usual place around David’s waist. They watch the rest of the show from there, and despite all of Ted’s puns being eyeroll-worthy, the smile never leaves David’s face.

———

David doesn’t figure out where he knows the song from until he hears Patrick humming it once everyone’s gone as they stack chairs and rearrange the store so it’s ready for the next day’s customers.

“Oh my gosh, you’ve been humming that song all week, haven’t you? That’s where I know it from, right?”

Patrick smiles, setting a stack of chairs against the wall. “I was wondering if you’d notice. I’ve wanted to play this song for you for weeks but I was saving it for another open mic night.”

“I’m so glad you did but I also kind of wish you didn’t because now that I’ve heard you sing it, the original singer will never be able to compare. I feel bad for him a little bit.”

Patrick laughs. “You know, every time the original lyrics said ‘she’ and ‘her,’ I had to change them to ‘you’ and ‘your’ so I could sing the song to you and about you.”

“Did you actually?” David asks.

“Yeah, wanna hear?” Patrick steps away from the stacked chairs and pulls his phone out of his pocket, pressing play on the song and setting it down on the counter.

“Okay, first of all, it sounds so gorgeous on piano, but overall your version is so much better.” David says after a minute, pausing the song and handing the phone back to Patrick. “You’ll have to sing it again for me sometime.”

“Sure, I’d love to.” Patrick not-so-subtly glances down at David’s lips, and David obliges, kissing Patrick more deeply than he has all night, now that they finally have the store to themselves again.

“Ready for pie?” Patrick asks after a moment, breathless from the kiss.

David grins. “Fuck yes.”

#original #fanfiction #schitt's creek #david x patrick #david rose #patrick brewer #alexis rose #inspired by open mic night #takes place a little bit after singles week #blink and you miss it spoiler for season 5 #sorry it took me so long to get this one up on tumblr!

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suitofvibraniumarmor · 5 years

Text

Small Town Girl

Summary: Sometimes when you want someone, you have to prove it to them. Pairing: Chris Pratt x Reader Word Count: 2160 Warnings: None, unless you don’t like fluff! Challenge: This is a transfer from my multi-fandiom blog. I wrote it a while back for Ash’s ‘90s Challenge. My prompt was Shape of My Heart by BSB – I went more with the spirit of the song. @captain-s-rogers

The summer day was cool, even for Seattle. Chris zipped up his jacket and continued his trek from the pier where the ferry had docked, to the farmers’ market he visited one or two weekends every month. Sometimes he brought cuts of lamb to barter for other products, but today he came with only his backpack and his wallet.

Customers and merchants alike were bustling around the market. There wasn’t a bad time to be part of the crowd, but Chris always preferred to come out mid-morning so that he could get his purchases done and return back to his home on San Juan Island to enjoy the rest of the day.

“Mr. Pratt, I have fresh spinach bunches, just for you!” an old man called to him.

Chris smiled and made his first stop of the day at Mr. Lewis’s greens stand. “You’re too kind. Thanks for setting them aside for me.”

“Of course, of course,” the elderly man replied. “Have you seen Y/N yet today?”

“Just arrived, actually,” Chris said, chuckling through the slight blush that dusted over the tops of his cheeks. “She busy today?”

“As always,” Mr. Lewis replied.

Chris nodded and handed the man a couple of bills to pay for the spinach. He put the paper-wrapped vegetable in his backpack. He waved to Mr. Lewis and promised to stop by on his way back to the ferry.

As he made stop after stop at various stands, filling his backpack and visiting with the regular vendors, Chris took his time getting to Y/N’s stand. She sold flowers mostly, but occasionally set out fruits and vegetables if she had an overabundance from her garden. He had met her on her first day at the farmers’ market, fell in love with her laugh the first time he heard it, and did whatever he could when they crossed paths to make her smile. Her flowers often graced his kitchen table, giving him justification to think about her on the days between his visits to the market.

Mr. Lewis wasn’t the only one aware of his attraction to the woman, thanks to several inquiries Chris had made during his first few visits after meeting her. He hadn’t been told a single bad thing, and had mustered up the courage to casually ask her out for dinner — a few times, actually. Despite his persistence, Y/N always laughed him off, told him the joke was going to get old one day, and to let her know when he found an actress or singer or someone else in the entertainment industry that had captured his heart.

Until he figured out how to convince her that he was serious, he would just have to make due with seeing her during these visits to Seattle.

Backpack almost full, Chris finally made way to Y/N’s stand. She smiled and waved her acknowledgement of his while she finished up with a couple of customers, then sauntered down where he was checking out her selection of dahlias.

“These are even fuller than your last batch, I think,” he mentioned.

Y/N nodded. “I’ve been singing to them.”

“Really?” Chris raised his brow.

“No,” she laughed. “The whole crop of them would be dead if I did that.”

Chris laughed with her. “Well, you got me. How’s life, Y/N/N?”

She shrugged. “Life is life. I plant, I grow, spend time with friends and family. The usual. Oh! I only had a couple of extra heirloom tomatoes, and you’ve got to take them home. They’ll go with anything, but I’ve been eating them on their own, actually.”

Y/N busied herself with searching through the crumped paper bags with her belongings, coming up with two, plump, bright red tomatoes. She handed them to Chris, and he pointed to the dahlias.

“I’ll take a bunch of those, too.”

“Tomatoes are on the house; five for the dahlias.”

They finished out their transaction, Chris put the tomatoes in his backpack, and kept a careful grip on the dahlias. He opened his mouth to say something more, but Y/N cut him off.

“No.”

Chris frowned. “No, what?”

“Chris,” Y/N sighed. “You’ve been coming to my stand for almost four months now, and every time you’ve asked me to dinner, I tell you no. Thanks to Mr. Lewis, I’ve caught on that you’re not joking, but I still think you’re crazy. I’m happy to see you when you come by and I —” She held up her hands and shook her head. “Anyway, the point is, you deserve better than me. You’re way out of my league.”

“That was very honest,” he said, not sure what to make of her answer.

Y/N shrugged. “I’m an honest person.”

Gripping the dahlias a little tighter, Chris leaned forward and spoke so only she could hear him. “You and I are not a crazy idea, and I’m going to show you how serious I am. Just you wait and see.”

He held her gaze a moment longer, then sauntered back towards Mr. Lewis’s stand for some help with the plan already forming in his mind.

* * * * *

Y/N was packing up the few vegetables and flowers left on her table at the end of the day, ready to get home and relax, when Mr. Lewis approached her.

“You had a successful day, it looks like,” Mr. Lewis commented.

Y/N smiled and handed him the last bundle of dahlias. “For Mrs. Lewis — and you’re right, I did have a good day.”

Mr. Lewis smiled his appreciation. “Sophie will love these for the dinner table. Oh, speaking of dinner … this is a huge favor to ask, but I do hope you’ll humor an old man. The church Sophie and I attend has a father-daughter dinner every year, but my daughter isn’t able to attend this year. It’s tonight, which I know is last minute, but perhaps you’d accompany me?”

Y/N smiled. “Of course, Mr. Lewis. I don’t usually make big plans after farmers’ market day, anyway.”

“Then I’m in luck.” He waited for her to write down her address, then tucked the paper safely into his pocket. “I’ll see you just before seven, my dear.”

“I’ll be ready.”

The two friends said their see-you-laters before parting ways. On her way home, Y/N mentally flipped through her closet, deciding which dress would be most appropriate for the event. She wouldn’t have much time to get ready by the time she got home, but she would make it work.

* * * * *

Y/N smoothed out her yellow dress, primped her curls, and checked her makeup in the hallway mirror before answering the door for Mr. Lewis.

“Ah, you look lovely,” he complimented. “Ready?”

Y/N nodded, accepting the elbow he offered to escort her to his car; she noted that he was still in the same clothes he had been wearing at the farmers’ market and felt over-dressed. Not wanting to be rude, Y/N kept the thoughts to herself, instead engaging in small talk with the older man as he navigated through Seattle traffic.

“Mr. Lewis?”

“Yes.”

Y/N bit her lip, hesitating in asking the next question. “I don’t mean to seem rude or anything, but — this seems like the way to the farmers’ market.”

“Yes.”

Y/N frowned then. The man was being tight-lipped for a reason, she was now catching on. The conversation stopped as she tried to figure out what in the world was going on. She didn’t get to wonder for long as they were pulling into a parking space at the market, and Mr. Lewis was coming around to open the door for her. She stepped out and her attention was caught by the candlelight in the distance.

“Go ahead, dear,” Mr. Lewis encouraged. “And hopefully once you’re completely in the know, you’ll forgive me for this little trick. I’ll wait here in case you don’t want to stay — although I’ll be very surprised if you don’t.”

Fear never crossed her mind, only confusion. Y/N made her way across the market lot, towards the candlelight. Her breathing was heavy as excitement took over her emotions; she still didn’t know what was happening, but her interest was piqued enough to keep moving towards the candlelight.

There had to have been at least one hundred candles lit all around the area of the market where she set up her booth. The overhead lights helped, but the candles were what gave way to the whole set up: a table for two with a pretty tablecloth and two tall candles, dahlias in the middle of the table in a pretty vase, and a chair on either side of the round table.

Y/N swallowed hard, as it seemed no one else was around, except for one man standing off the to the side in a suit, with a towel over his arm — obviously in the role of a waiter. When no one else appeared, she took a deep breath.

“Hello?”

Movement to her left caught her attention; Chris stepped out from behind a market banner. He was dressed in a button-up shirt, dark jeans, and dress shoes. Y/N couldn’t help but smile.

“You,” she grinned, shaking her head.

“Me,” Chris confirmed, approaching her. He shoved his hands into his pocket and shrugged. “You wouldn’t accept a dinner date with me, and I get your reasoning, Y/N, but I had to prove to you that I’m serious.”

Her smile fell a little as she remembered her reasoning. “Why? Why me? This is all … it’s amazing — that seems like an understatement. This is the most romantic gesture of my life, okay? But I’m … I’m no one. I moved to Seattle from Small Town, Nowhere, and I live a quiet life here. Your life is — it’s big. It’s bigger than me.”

He pulled one hand from his pocket and interlaced his fingers with hers. “I don’t care about any of that, and I hope someday you don’t, either. Right now though, I’m not asking you to figure out how your life fits with mine. I’m not asking you to marry me or to even start some long-term thing. I can’t say I haven’t thought about that — the point is, I’m just asking you to have dinner with me. One meal. Then we can take it from there. As long as that dinner’s with you … that’s all I need, it’s all I want.”

Y/N couldn’t tell if she was hyperventilating or had stopped breathing all together. Though his words were charming, there was no ulterior motive behind his speech; no intentionally greased words to convince her to have dinner with him. Only true and genuine desires.

“You really were serious before,” she said, squeezing his hand and taken by slight surprise as the lump in her throat.

“Yeah,” Chris said, his other hand coming up to caress her cheek. “I was.”

Y/N let out a deep breath, blinking back the happy, excited tears that were pooling in her eyes. “I don’t want to jump the gun or anything, but if you kissed me before dinner, I wouldn’t be upset. You know, if you’re okay with that.”

Chris smirked. “You kidding me? I’ve been waiting months to kiss you, Y/N.”

He dropped her hand and reached around her waist to pull her flush against him. He caressed her face again as he pressed his lips to her, softly at first, and then with more earnest as both arms encircled her. Y/N’s hands had started on his shoulders, but slowly moved up behind his neck as the kiss deepened.

Before the kiss could turn into a full-on make-out session, the waiter cleared his throat. “Pardon me, but your meal is getting cold, Mr. Pratt.”

Chris cleared his throat and nodded at the waiter before looking back to Y/N. “Guess we should eat, huh?”

She giggled, wiping at her smeared lip gloss. “Guess so.”

The food was delicious, and the conversation even better. By the time Chris and Y/N parted ways — phone numbers exchanged and a second date planned — hours had gone by, and all of the candles had been extinguished by light breezes as they came through the market. Y/N had called a cab to take her home, and Chris waited with her in the parking lot until the yellow car arrived.

“Sure you won’t let me take you home?”

Y/N shook her head. “Just dinner, remember?”

Chris took a deep breath and let it out. His own words were coming back to bite him in the ass. “You’re right. Just dinner. And … another kiss?”

Y/N glanced in the driver’s direction as she leaned with one hand on the open car door. “Okay, but the meter’s running.”

“I’ll give ‘em my card,” Chris whispered before touching his lips to hers once more.

* * * * * * * * * *

Tags: @captain-s-rogers @the-murder-strut-murdered-me @xtina2191

#marvel #fanfiction #chris pratt #reader #reader insert #chris x reader #chris pratt x reader #fluff #chris pratt fluff #chris pratt x reader fluff #chris fluff #chris x reader fluff #random post

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tvmoviechristmas · 5 years

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This Might As Well Happen: A Comprehensive Diary of Christmas Con

In early October, I was discussing the upcoming BravoCon, a celebration of Bravolebrities with my baby sister, Kerri, who was shocked nobody in my family wanted to go. I was trying to explain to her that it was both super popular and super expensive, when suddenly she interrupted with an idea.

“You know what would be crazy,” Kerri announces, “What if Hallmark had a convention? Hallmark Con! Would you go?”

"Kerri, they would hold Christmas Con in like Missouri, where Hallmark headquarters are,” I noted pretty quickly, “And I’m not paying to get a plane ticket to pay to see Lacey Chabert in passing. I’m not taking the time off work for that trip, that’s insane.”

“But it would match your brand!” she exclaimed, “You love Hallmark!”

“I don’t love Hallmark enough to get on a plane, but it probably won’t happen for years anyway.”

A week later Christmas Con was announced. It was taking place fifteen minutes away from where I live. For a second, I genuinely believed the universe had the ability to fuck with us personally.

The idea of buying a ticket for Christmas Con was a passing idea in my head, but it was not an item that was on the top of my to-do list because I had tons of other things to worry about. I was working full-time and taking certificate classes at night. I was in the middle of moving apartments and trying to sort through. organize and pack all the stuff. I was desperately trying to get my older sister to answer my texts about whether or not the facial stabbing that occurred in It: Chapter Two was handled realistically because she is a doctor and why become a doctor if not to answer my questions about injuries in pop culture?

Things were crazy, and Christmas Con was just not a priority. I figured I had time to decide if I really wanted to go anyway. Christmas Con would not have that much of a demand, right?

Wrong. Christmas Con sold out in minutes. I figured I could potentially shoot my shot on obtaining a press pass (I do have three fans and a write-up in the Chicago Tribune!), but once again, I was like “this can wait for a couple of days”. There were other things to do!

It could not wait for my sister, Kerri, though. There was nothing she wanted more than for me to go to Christmas Con. So she went on Instagram and DMed them questions about how to get a press pass before sending me what felt like a billion texts on how she promised the Christmas Con organizers that I was going to send them an e-mail to get a press pass that day and that she was going to pray that I get one because it was my destiny because it was fifteen minutes away and I run a made-for-TV Christmas movie blog. Do you want to fight destiny, Kace? Do you?

I guess I did not. So I e-mailed in my request, was somehow approved for a media pass, and subsequently lied to a billion people about what my plans for the weekend of November 8th were because nobody I worked with needed to know I was going to Christmas Con.

But that’s where I was going. As Kerri told me, “you’re a Christmas movie expert! That’s where you are supposed to be!”

FRIDAY

4:08 PM - According to the last minute e-mail I received from the Christmas Con organizers, the convention is supposed to open to the media at 4:30 PM. However, one of my two talents is getting hopelessly lost going anywhere, so I leave my apartment at around 3:40 PM and arrive at the convention around 4:00 PM. The parking lot looks deserted when I arrive and I briefly wonder if I am at the right location, but then I spot some ladies seemingly tailgating the event in winter wear. This spectacle gives me the inkling that I am probably close to where I am supposed to be.

I figure that I might as well enter the con sign-in area a little earlier because I have a vague worry that the media line might be messy; however, the process of checking in is generally quick and painless. It probably helps that there was absolutely no line whatsoever. Even though I am terrified that someone to tell me that they made a mistake and it is ludicrous that a tumblr blog is getting a press pass to anything, I am actually given a media badge and waved into the hall.

I check my phone. It is only 4:08 PM. Immediately, I am frightened at the prospect that some security guard is going to yell at me for being in the convention area early, but after taking a deep breath I just decided to roll with it. It’s Christmas Con! We are all supposed to love each other! That’s the Hallmark way!

As I walk into the convention center, “Sleigh Ride” begins to blast on the sound system. Since “Sleigh Ride” is my least favorite Christmas song, my guard is immediately raised. Hopefully, the music choice is not a harbinger of bad things to come at Christmas Con.

4:25 PM - I decide to mill about in the empty autograph area to get an idea of what Hallmark “celebrities” are going to be signing at the event. While attempting to get a picture of an Erin Krakow banner, I hear a door burst open and someone shouting “Lace! Lace! Lace!” from behind me.

Immediately, I become paranoid, scared that some con organizer is yelling “Kace! Kace! Kace!” because they know I am not supposed to be in the autograph area before the place opens. Maybe they also read my blog, and realized that maybe they do not want someone who doesn’t fully buy into Hallmark’s conservative message roaming around their event.

After ten excruciating seconds, my brain clicks back into place and I turn around to realize that it is just Jonathan Bennett having a dramatic Mean Girls reunion with Lacey Chabert before the event starts. Sometimes sneaking into areas you shouldn’t be in is worth it, even if it does spike your anxiety. That’s how you get exclusive content.

4:31 PM - As the clock hits 4:30 PM and the VIP pass holders storm in, I become a little more comfortable at the notion of hanging around Christmas Con and start to roam around the hall. The vendor area is a lot smaller than I expected and I did not expect it to be all that big in the first place. In total, there are about 20 booths set up, and a solid chunk of them aren’t even selling anything. The items that are being sold in the hall are not exactly what I expected either. One vendor is selling what seems to be a bunch of top hats. Another is selling cooking sauces. Surprisingly, there are only a couple of vendors actually selling Christmas decorations. Earlier in the week I had withdrawn cash from the bank with the idea that I might be able to buy something while I was at Christmas Con, but *spoiler alert* my cash balance stays the same throughout the entire three days of the event.

The centerpiece of the vendor area is a photobooth set up by Hallmark where you can take various kitschy pictures (in a snowglobe! by a fireplace!) while muted advertisements for their upcoming original movie slate and streaming service play in the background. It also is an area where you can look at a hilarious collection of framed screenshots and promotional photos of Hallmark’s crop of “celebrities”, which is my personal favorite part of the experience. Nothing says Christmas like a framed photo of Candace Cameron Bure peeking around a door!

4:43 PM - As the convention starts to warm up, a lot of the “celebrities” are just walking around the vendor area . Nikki DeLoach jumps into a snowglobe picture with some random fans. Holly Robinson Peete films the Hallmark booth on her phone, while Rachel Boston tries to take a picture of the giant Christmas Con banner hanging over the autograph area. I am sure that this is the part of the experience is supposed to make the VIP experience worth it. You pay a lot of money to come in a half hour early, and maybe a Hallmark “celebrity” will walk by you as you take a picture holding a “I Love Hallmark Movies!” pillow.

5:12 PM - The crowd starts to pour into the vendor hall as Christmas Con officially opens to the public and I instantly become a little scared. The Christmas Con crowd is not my crowd. I watch made-for-TV Christmas movies for the snark. They watch made-for-TV Christmas movies for the sentiment. I was genuinely dismayed when my mom bought me a Hallmark movie sweatshirt. They were theirs with pride. I get hives at the idea of paying money to take a selfie with anyone. They are all here to wait in line to take pictures with Lacey Chabert. Their idea of Hallmark-based small talk is discussing with each other how glad they are that Alicia Witt is here because they loved A Very Merry Mix-Up. My idea of of Hallmark-based small talk is ranting about how It: Chapter 2 could air on Hallmark if you really wanted it to. The plotlines are similar!

No, seriously! A woman in her early 40s, successful in her career but with the Wrong Guy, returns to her hometown after a tragic event to settle unfinished business. There she meets a friend from her childhood (played by a blandly attractive CW actor) who has been in love with her all along, and whose entire character is based around this love. He works with his hands and can build things! There are some missteps but eventually they kiss once and live happily ever after. On the sidelines,t here is a black friend mainly there to provide exposition and a gay friend who the writers aren’t really explicit about being gay. You put in some snow in the background and you can air it on Hallmark on Christmas Eve! It is uncanny!

Nobody at Christmas Con would care though, so I figure that this would be the time to check out the empty panel area. Right in front of the panel stage are a bunch of entries for a gingerbread house decorating contest that was being held on Sunday.

Yeah, the Christmas Con people are not my crowd.

5:30 PM - “Sleigh Ride” plays for the second time and I begin to think that maybe Christmas Con is against me.

5:51 PM - A lady sits down next to me in the panel area, which is still basically deserted. “Did you expect there to be more?” she asks me.

I flash my media badge at her. “Honestly, I didn’t pay for this so I can’t be disappointed.”

“I’m just happy I didn’t fly in from North Carolina for this because that would feel like a real waste.”

I just hum noncommittally in response.

5:57 PM - “There’s no bad Hallmark movie!” I overhear a woman telling a reporter.

Well, that person isn’t reading my blog.

6:07 PM - Christmas Con is supposed to officially start with a tree lighting ceremony. The crowd gathers around in tree in the autograph area to see the event, but for the most part all you can see is people trying to take pictures.

Santa comes out with little fanfare and no announcement. It is a stark difference to Jonathan Bennett, who comes in with a huge announcement that includes a list of all of his credentials (there aren’t many, he’s only been in one Hallmark movie). According to the Christmas Con materials, he is hosting the event. I am not exactly sure what that means but apparently it involves him leading the crowd in a call-and-response version of “Deck the Halls”.

“It’s what this is all about!” he tells the crowd after they oblige him.

After that bit of hyping, Bennett decides to introduce the true star of the convention and so-called “Queen of Christmas”, Lacey Chabert. They do not waste any time after she is brought out and they light the tree. It’s hard to feel magical about all of this because it is impossible to see.

Bennett’s hosting tells me that we’re having a good time though. “Hey Santa,” he asks, “Did you know New Jersey could be so much fun??”

6:51 PM - After the tree lighting ceremony, I go back to the panel area to finish my soda before bouncing. My escape plans are dashed by a staff worker promises me that they are going to start the trivia game soon. I did not ask her if it was, but I feel obligated to stay now so to not disappoint her.

7:01 PM - Before the trivia game starts I glance at the stage and realize that one of the podcasters is livestreaming the room to their Instagram feeds.

“Oh fuck,” I mutter to myself, “Are they taking a picture of us?”

“Yes, they want to see how bored we are,” the lady sitting next to me responds.

7:06 PM - The trivia game starts about fifteen minutes after the staffer promised me it would. It promises to be full of talent from “smash hit Hallmark podcasts”, a concept that sounds fake to me but is real enough to Christmas Con.

I make it about fifteen minutes in before I realize that watching other people answer “True or False” questions about Christmas isn’t incredibly fun when you don’t care all that much about the Christmas holiday itself. So I decide to duck out, hoping I don’t look like a complete jackass for doing so.

7:30 PM - Before I leave for the night, I take a lap around the autograph area to see how its going. It is going incredibly well for Lacey Chabert who has a line so long that the convention organizers announce that she will be staying 45 minutes after the event closes for the night. Only Lacey Chabert is making that courtesy though, which seems fair because nobody else is commanding much of a line.

In terms of bang for your buck, meeting up with “celebrity” who is not Lacey Chabert seems like the smart choice. The other guests seem to be having somewhat long conversations with the one or two people waiting in line for them, and if conventions like these are feeling like you are close to celebrities, isn’t that the experience you want?

A part of me feels guilty that these “celebrities” are just sitting around not doing much of anything, and it almost made me want to spend money on meeting them just so they would have something to do. Then I think about it for three seconds, and remember that 1) I hate meeting “celebrities” and 2) I do not make enough to justify spending money on lifting the self-esteem of “celebrity” strangers. So I leave that idea behind and leave the building for the night.

—

SATURDAY

11:30 AM - My Saturday morning class lets out early, so I make it to the convention center about an hour earlier than expected. It is much more crowded today. I’m assuming it’s because there is going to be more to do aside from watching a crowd watch a tree light up. My plan is to just park myself in the panel room all day.

I ask a staffer where media is supposed to line-up for panels. She tells me she has no idea, but she will ask and let me know shortly. She leaves and I watch her talk to people for a couple of minutes. She doesn’t turn around. I keep waiting and waiting before I realize that she is never coming back. I wasn’t getting answers, but I settle for buying a $6.00 cappuccino instead. I’ll figure it out.

11:42 AM - The first panel of the day is billed as a reunion of former All My Children stars Melissa Claire Egan and Cameron Mathison. I find myself sitting next to a family who are very excited at this prospect.

“We are going to be breathing the same air Cameron Mathison is,” the teen girl cries in excitement to a woman I would assume is her mother.

“In a way, we already are,” the possible mother excitedly whispers back.

As they continue to vibrate in excitement, “Sleigh Ride” plays in the convention center for the third time and I groan to myself. At least someone’s happy.

11:56 AM - Cameron Mathison has been spotted by the family and excitement abounds, but not for his shirt.

“Shouldn’t he be festive?” the possible mother asks about his all black ensemble.

“Well, he has to take a lot of pictures.” the teen notes back.

12:05 PM - All of the panels are hosted by the co-hosts of Bubbly Sesh, Hallmark’s official podcast. They bounce on to the stage before telling the crowd how excited they are to be there.

“We are with our tribe. Our team. A room full of Hallmark fans!” they say to a crowd of cheers.

I also cheer. Mainly, because I finally got the Wi-Fi to work on my laptop after a half hour of fruitless efforts to maintain a connection. But they don’t need to know that.

12:07 PM - I learn a lot about Cameron Mathison during the first few minutes of his panel. Apparently, he is the new host of Hallmark’s Home & Family talk show. He also was diagnosed with cancer in the past year, but is now in remission. And he is the apparent “king” of Hallmark Christmas movies, according to the BubblySesh podcast hosts, but that last fact seems debatable to me.

Mathison also claims during the panel that starring in The Christmas Club, an upcoming Hallmark holiday movie, is what made him realize that he needed to push his doctor for a cancer diagnosis. So Hallmark can apparently save lives.

12:14 PM - Before the Q&A starts, the BubblySesh podcast hosts tell the audience to keep the questions free of the “nitty gritty”. The want everyone to stick to Christmas and careers! It’s a real bummer because it means I have to scrap my plans to ask everyone what would happen if you got stabbed in the cheek, as that would probably be too gritty.

The Q&A stays relatively tame throughout. The most exciting it gets is when an audience member brings up the idea of doing a Hallmark All-Stars movie. The lady sitting next to me is excited about that concept! I wonder if Hallmark would have the budget to pull off a Love, Actually. I doubt it.

Every panel wraps up with the BubblySesh announcing that “it’s time for the BubblySesh Pop Culture Quiz!!!”. This quiz is less of a quiz and more just general Christmas based questions with a grating announcement beforehand. This announcement would become more grating every time I heard it (and it was at nearly every panel). At the time though, I wasn’t aware how haunted I would be by this “game”. It was still early in the day.

1:07 PM - Next up on the day’s schedule is a scarcely attended panel about Christmas podcasts, a podcast genre that is apparently more bustling than I would have ever expected. All the panelists (of which there are way too many) are enthusiastic about how well their podcasts are doing and give the crowd advice on how to start their own because, as they say, you can never have too many Christmas podcasts.

I never expected to get a motivational speech about how I could start a Christmas podcast if only I believed in myself, but then again I never expected to be at Christmas Con.

2:10 PM - The marquee panel of Christmas Con is up next, which is a Mean Girls reunion featuring Lacey Chabert and Jonathan Bennet. This panel is less of a Hallmark panel and more of a Mean Girls panel, and it takes all of five seconds for “so fetch” to be referenced.

The most Mean Girls detail of the panel though is how Jonathan Bennett latches on to Lacey Chabert. He spends the entire panel looking for every opportunity to compliment “Lacey Chabert”, and he always uses her full name.

“Everyone on the Mean Girls set was constantly cracking up because Lacey Chabert was so funny.”

“Lacey Chabert cooked everyone a Thanksgiving meal while we were shooting Mean Girls, and she is a great cook!”

“Lacey Chabert is the sweetest.”

I half wait for him to announce how one time Lacey Chabert punched him in the face, and it was awesome. I have no idea why he thinks this hypeman routine is necessary, since Lacey Chabert has been commanding the longest autograph lines by a sizable margin and the hardest question she gets from the audience is “Why are you so nice?” I do wish I had a Jonathan Bennett in my life though. It must feel nice to be constantly complimented. I guess that’s why people aim to be the Queen Bee though, isn’t it?

2:32 PM - In what is clearly supposed to be Christmas Con’s buzziest moment, Daniel Franzese, who played Damian in Mean Girls comes up on stage to start delivering candygrams to surprise of the audience and the panel. Lacey Chabert starts to cry, while Jonathan Bennett screams.

After a couple more questions, Bennett tells everyone to take out their phones and begins to perform the opening of the “Jingle Bell Rock” dance to the room. Another potentially buzzy moment from a convention that desperately needs some.

3:08 PM - Up next is an odd assortment of a panel featuring Nikki DeLoach, Alicia Witt, Holly Robinson Peete and Chad Michael Murray’s southern drawl. The last one confused me because I was pretty sure Chad Michael Murray had not spoken with a pronounced southern drawl before. I text my younger sister, Tara, a noted One Tree Hill fan if he had a drawl on the show and she tells me he did not. So why is he suddenly Southern? He also seems to have a hatred for chairs, and spends a majority of the panel trying to desperately slide off his.

3:23 PM - During the routine question about Christmas traditions, Nikki DeLoach gives an emotional answer about her young son requiring multiple heart surgeries and that her experience in the hospital taught her the importance of charity and giving back to the community during the holiday season.

Somewhat hilariously after that, everyone else on the panel announces that of course they are going to be doing more charity work this holiday season. Are they being genuine? Who can say. But you certainly can’t give a rote answer about how your favorite tradition is decorating the tree after a fellow panelist tears up about her experience giving toilet paper to the less fortunate and how it impacted her life. Nobody wants to look like a jerk.

4:07 PM - The last panel of the day features Jackee and Melissa Joan Hart, and the room is barely empty. As someone would inform me the following day, “it’s because they are more Lifetime than Hallmark Christmas movie stars”.

Lack of Hallmark “celebrities” aside, it is a great capper to the day. Hart provides a decent amount of insight on the made-for-TV movie making process, and Jackee is just a fun personality to watch.

The panel concludes with someone asking what’s a fun fact that someone wouldn’t know about them. Jackee answers that she is still having sex.

Good for her. It is a solid note to end the day on, as I decide to skip out on the upcoming Ugly Sweater Contest to go back home. Six hours of Christmas Con is enough Christmas Con for the day.

—

SUNDAY

8:31 AM - Early in the morning, there is a press line available for the media to attend if they have any questions for the Hallmark “celebrities”. I decide to skip that because the only question I need answers to is what happens when you get stabbed in the cheek (my older sister still has not gotten back to me on that), and I don’t think anyone who stars in a Christmas movie is going to have a satisfactory answer.

As I lay in bed, I briefly consider not going back to Christmas Con at all, but then I finally get a response from the super about the cockroach I found in my bedroom the night before. Turns out they are bugbombing the place, and I need to be out of the apartment for five hours.

So back to Christmas Con I go.

10:30 AM - Christmas Con Day 3 is a weird place. Lacey Chabert is no longer the celebrity commanding the longest line, because former General Hospital star Ryan Paevey is there and his line is an hour and a half long. I am informed it is because he is hot.

Even stranger is the fact that there is a twenty minute line to get a picture with a snowman balloon. I know there’s not much to do at Christmas Con but that seemed to be pushing the bounds of reason to me. But I suppose these are the new rules of Christmas Con.

10:52 AM - The people in the VIP line for the Danica McKellar and Rachel Boston panel are give me a rundown of how the autograph queue works.

“You have to have your priorities in order!” they tell me before explaining that they got to the con at 9 AM to make sure to get their photo with Ryan Paevey. “He’s so handsome!!!”

They also explain that they find their VIP passes useful in snagging all the autographs their hearts desire. I say that that’s good because the VIP access the media badge allows me to have just seems useless for panels, which have never reached capacity.

“Yes, they have!” a lady tells me, “There are always people hanging out back past the barrier trying to look in!”

I don’t have the heart to inform her that those people are just in line waiting for food and that as someone who has attended every single panel, I have always noticed empty seats.

Later on in the conversation, I try to express concern that some of the panels have been too random a selection of “celebrities” who have no chemistry with each other and make for an awkward time. The group disagrees with my assessment.

“Actually, they are all great friends. Did you not hear Jonathan Bennett call it Christmas Camp earlier? Do you follow him on Instagram? He’s been playing pranks on Lacey Chabert! It’s hilarious!”

Have I said that Christmas Con is not my crowd?

11:02 AM - Before the panels for the day start, “Sleigh Ride” plays for the fourth time. Apparently, no Christmas Con day can start without it.

11:16 AM - The panel line-up for the day starts with a panel with Danica McKellar and Rachel Boston. Someone informs them that they always have chemistry with their leading men, a fact which is news to me, a person who watched both McKellar act through one of the worst on screen kisses of all time in one of her June Wedding movies and Boston *mwah* her way through Ice Sculpture Christmas.

“We have kissed most of the men here,” Boston noted in response before listing the con guests she’s done movies with throughout her time on Hallmark. There’s one person she realizes that she and McKellar have yet to kiss though. “Not Ryan Paevey.”

“He’s next!” McKellar decides. That gets a decent response from the crowd, because he’s good looking!

11:48 AM - “Sleigh Ride” starts up again as the panel closes. It has now played five times, which is five times too many in my opinion.

11:59 AM - The people sitting behind me at the writer’s panel are already preparing for next year’s Christmas Con. It goes to show you that not everyone hates being here. It’s a mixed response!

The writer’s panel is probably one of the more interesting ones because it’s one of the few about the process of creating made-for-TV Christmas movies. Of course, it means that barely anybody is there.

The few of us who manage to attend the panel have the chance to snag a “I Love Hallmark Christmas Movies” wristband from one of the writers. She gives me two.

1:49 PM - After the writer’s panel is supposed to be the gingerbread contest judging, which I figure is a good enough time to take one last lap around the vendor hall.

Ryan Paevey is still commanding an hour and a half line for autographs, but thankfully people are no longer waiting to take a picture with a balloon snowman. The booth selling Christmas romance novels has gone out of stock, but they give me their last advertising card. The outside world has discovered that nobody is monitoring the screen that displays #ChristmasCon2019 tweets so I spend a few minutes watching the spam tweets they are sending it’s way. It’s beginning to look a lot like Jeffrey Epstein was murdered here on the Christmas Con big screen!

One booth is trying to sell one of the “I Love Hallmark Christmas Movies!” wristbands for two dollars each, which is a total scam because other booths are giving them away for free. So I step in and give one of the ones I got at the writer’s panel to the elderly woman who is about to buy one. Those vendors probably do not like me, but I did not come to Christmas Con to make friends. I came to escape my bugbombed apartment.

Speaking of, I am desperate to go home but a phone call informs me that I can’t go home until 4:00 PM. Two more hours of Christmas Con for me it is.

2:06 PM - After the gingerbread contest, but before the start of the When Calls the Heart panel a bell choir, who is not on the schedule, randomly performs. As I sit there wishing my apartment was bugfree so I could sleep in it, I hear loud and raucous cheers start up. I turn to the person next to me and ask if they know where the noise is coming from, and they tell me that there is a wine glass convention happening next door.

As the party at the wine glass convention seems to rage on, I wonder if that’s where I should be instead. It would certainly keep me awake, and well, I broke some of my wine glasses during my move. It could be helpful!

2:18 PM - The When Calls the Heart panel is incredibly confusing to sit through for many reasons. First of all, I don’t watch the show, so every plot point mentioned just leaves me nodding as I try to pretend I am an avid viewer who cares. Second of all, I keep zoning out and zoning back in to the panel and every time I do it, something weird seems to be happening. Sometimes Paul Greene is trying to lead a sing-a-long of “White Christmas”. Sometimes Jack Wagner is wondering what the plot of When Calls the Heart actually is.

The most confusing aspect of the panel though is Greene’s button situation. Apparently, he thought that Christmas Con was the place to forget to button up. Maybe he’s trying to keep up with Ryan Paevey. Did you hear that he’s hot?

3:07 PM - The final panel of the event is the alleged “Hunks of Hallmark” panel. However, it is announced that Ryan Paevey is too hunky to be there, because he has a seemingly endless autograph queue and that’s where the real convention money is anyway. So we have to settle for Jesse Metcalfe and Andrew Walker, who has just arrived from JuiceCon. This fact delights the Q&Aers, and in what is supposed to be a hilarious bit we are all in on, everyone brings up the fact that Andrew Walker has a juice business when they come to the microphone.

At this juncture, I feel like a kid sitting in their final class of the day waiting for the bell to ring. Sure, we might be having fun bringing up juice all the time, but also it’s time to go home. And after one final joint scream of “It’s time for the BubblySesh Pop Culture Quiz!!!”, we are free to leave.

3:52 PM - The panel closes and immediately “Sleigh Ride” queues up for the sixth time of the convention. If ever there was a sign for me to go home, it is that.

3:59 PM - As I drive the fifteen minutes back to my apartment, I call my mother. She asks me if I had fun at Christmas Con, and I genuinely don’t know how to answer.

“It was a thing that I did,” I ramble. “It was an experience. I think I would have been mad if I paid for any part of it or if I had to travel further than fifteen minutes. But I didn’t. And even the parking was free, so all I lost is time, which doesn’t account for much really, I guess.. And well, it’s a story. Plus, it’s my brand.”

And who am I to deny a universe that wants me to live up to my brand in new weird, free-to-me ways? If Christmas Con was good for anything, I guess it was that.

#christmas con #other treats

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