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itsarealshitshow · 4 years

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Stray Kids’ reaction to falling in love with a fan secretly

Requested by anon

Pairing: Stray Kids x reader

Warnings: None

Author: Admin Wiki

Scenario: Each member has a secret fan account to keep up with their fans and to secretly interact with them. Eventually they make friends with a fan online who thinks they’re just another fan. However, now that the members have fallen in love with you, what will they do?

Bang Chan (Bang Chan or Bang Chris)

Chris already knew that stays knew about him having a secret twitter account. He started it as a way to stay connected with his fans and to see what they thought about recent comebacks or what concepts they want to see. But now he mainly uses it to talk to a special fan that captured his heart. You’d messaged him first wanting to become friends and mememates. At the beginning of the friendship, both of you agreed to keep your identities anonymous. However, it wasn’t too long before Chan was head over heels for you.

To be honest his first reaction is just staring at a wall thinking about the situation he got himself into. It seems unreal that he’s fallen for a fan he’s never even seen or met in person. He’ll want to come clean about his feelings but because you guys are anonymous he thinks it’d be weird. Chan will slowly start hinting that you guys should video call or show each others photos of yourselves. Eventually when you reveal your face, he will too.

He’s all like “let’s go on skype to see each other for the first time. It’ll make it special” and bam his face is on the screen. You were so confused and when it finally hit it was over for you. He’ll confess his feelings to you that same night and hopes that you like him too.

i mean if chan appeared on my screen i’d piss myself and be so flustered. i would definitely say yes to him. y/n is always living the life i want 😪

Lee Know (Lee Minho)

He’s literally only ever on his secret accounts once a month. He probably never remembers about them until Felix sends him something and is like hyung please look at this. However this one time, Minho noticed he had a DM from someone other than his members. This intrigued him and made him look at it. He quickly becomes more invested in the platform that his secret account is on.

He’s literally only on that certain platform for you. He hasn’t seen your face but your personality and mannerisms definitely ensnared him. Which is also something his members quickly realized. Felix teases the hell out of him about the fact that he only ever checks the app to see if you sent him something.

This also makes him realize that he likes you. Someone who he’s never seen, never met, never spoken to. It makes him question himself and his feelings for a little bit. bc to be honest with you guys talking to someone online is way different than talking to them in person. especially if you like them Without a doubt he tries to keep it secret from the members, but Chan figures it out way too fast. Chan being the absolute dad that he is, encourages Minho to confess to you. Chan’s encouraging works because Minho plans on confessing to you as soon as you know his real identity.

Seo Changbin

He’s both the person who never goes on his secret account and the person who’s always on the app. It stays the same even when you guys start talking. He can be on it for a week straight or he won’t be on it for a month. But of course when he’s on it he’ll take the time to actually respond to your texts. You always text him theories that you’ve seen and funny memes that other stays have made.

It’s before one of their comebacks when he’s writing songs that he realizes that he’s fallen for you. It’s something that helps inspire him during his slumps and that makes him happy to feel. He’ll keep it to himself for a long time but after his realization he’s definitely going to go on his secret account a lot more than usual. He won’t disappear for a month and will start to talk to you consistently. He can’t believe that he’s fallen for a fan. To him it seems like something that rarely happens and that he should appreciate.

Huang Hyunjin

He definitely has like a tiktok or instagram account to see what the fans are up to. I feel like he’s really good at blending in with his account, not making it too obvious it’s him. Cause Felix or Jisung would accidentally confess their real identities. He’s the one who started to talk to you first, wondering how you felt about their recent comeback and what you think their next one would be. You’d send each other memes, crack videos and so much random shit.

Eventually you’d be the one to ask if you could send each other photos of each other or maybe go on a video call because you’ve been talking for a while. You’re just curious and if he’s okay with it you want to see each other. He’ll send a photo of himself and be like ‘I don’t think you’ll believe that this is actually me’. So of course you’re like ‘Send a photo of yourself with Chan and the both of you with toothbrushes and teddy bears’. Something specific like that and he’s like 😐 girl I’ll just video call you.

He already had a crush on you before seeing you, but after being on video call together he quickly realizes that he needs to tell you how he feels before someone else snatches you up. He doesn’t care that you’re a fan because in reality you’re just a regular person who idolizes him. A while after you guys started to video call more frequently and he’s certain you’re good and the one for him, he’ll confess his feelings.

Han (Han Jisung)

He’s not as bad as Felix but seeing as they were literally born a day apart, they’re pretty much the same. He’s definitely got a secret twitter, instagram and tiktok. He’s on them as much as he can because they’re all really fun but we all know that he’s also writing songs and in the studio all the time.

When he starts talking to you it’s both of you clowning stays. You’re all like “hii I know we haven’t talked before but I like the stuff you post so here’s something I think you’ll like.” AND NO CAP HE’S PROBABLY ALREADY FALLEN FOR YOU. You guys talk a lot after that and there’s multiple times where he’s revealed his identity and that you just sit there all confused. He’ll quickly be like “haha I’m joking.”

Finally there’s a time where he suggests you two do a video call and you accept. But mans forgot that you’ve never seen each other and he answers your call both of you just sit and stare at the screen like 👁 👄 👁 . He’s “ahaha yeah um, hi. I’m Jisung, what’s your name.” He kinda panics about liking a fan but soon after that video call you two organize to meet. And when you finally visit him he’ll confess.

Lee Felix (Lee Felix or Lee Yongbok)

Felix knows that we know he has a secret twitter and tiktok account. It’s so painfully obvious. Of course none of us have found it yet so maybe we’ve already unintentionally interacted with him.

In not so new news, there’s a clown right here. When he first started his account he started talking to a select few people and quickly became friends with you. On multiple occasions he’s accidentally said things like ‘What did you think of my comeback?’ or ‘What do you think of my new hair colour?’ and send a photo of himself that hasn’t been posted yet. He quickly realizes his mistakes and covers them up by changing the sentence and posting the photo to the Stray Kids instagram.

It takes him a long time to realize that he likes you. It’s Chan who makes him realize it by asking questions about you and seeing Felix’s reaction. Every single time Felix immediately smiles which makes Chan tell him that he should confess. This causes Felix to panic. You were a fan and he was the idol you adored. Would you be with him because you genuinely liked him? or just because he was an idol?

He decides that he has to confess either way or else he might start drowning in his feelings.

Kim Seungmin

He doesn’t seem like one of the members who has a secret stan account. Like Chan or Felix stole his phone and downloaded it so they could scroll on it if they didn’t have their phones. One day he gets a notification from one of the apps Chan and Felix downloaded onto his phone. Curious, he opens it and sees that it’s you sending a meme and are like “Your comments are super funny here’s a meme I think you’re gonna like.” Seugmin was like “Oh uh sorry it’s my friend who uses this account I’ll show it to him for you though.” Quickly though, Seungmin starts using the account for himself and starts to befriend you.

It’s not until Felix accidentally looks at the texts you guys have been sending each other that he realizes just how he feels. He realizes after he gets mad at Felix and telling him it’s an invasion of privacy to just read these intimate texts. i mean it is but i’m more relaxed with people reading some of the texts that my friends and i have sent. He’ll want to confess to you pretty soon after that incident. To him it doesn’t matter if you’re a fan or not because he likes you for you.

I.N. (Yang Jeongin)

He’s like Felix and Jisung. He’s on his secret account all the time but no one really notices because he doesn’t make references all the time. He loves being on his secret accounts and talking to fans secretly. It makes him feel closer to fans when comebacks are close.

You direct messaged him first which is what made the friendship blossom. You two send each other memes of his members and of just random things, like shows you two watch. It takes Chan talking to Jeongin about you to make him realize how he feels about you. He gets super nervous about the fact that he likes you. This insecurity comes from the fact he feels like if he were to reveal his identity you’d like him because he’s an idol you like and not for him. He’s not going to want to confess anytime soon sadly because of his worries.

#stray kids x reader #stray kids scenarios #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids

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mordoriscalling · 4 years

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Stay or Sail Away (1/6)

Here comes part one the modern AU fake dating Geraskier fic that I talked about in this post. I’d like to post each part daily. Tagging @geraskier-trashh as requested! :D

***

It’s not that Jaskier has any problem finding someone, thank you very much. It’s just that he’s busy. Busy with concerts and composing, meeting fans at various events, travelling, internet dramas involving Valdo (it’s always fucking Valdo). There’s no time for a relationship, only for occasional one night stands that sometimes that leave him heartbroken because he actually manages to fall in love with someone in the span of a few hours. It’s fine, though. Heartbreak inspires him like little else.

Jaskier's never complained about lack of bed partners, when he seeks them out. He’s charming, after all. Still, the moment he hears “commitment”, he flees. It’s just not his way. Or perhaps he’s never found anyone fascinating enough to commit to; it takes a lot to keep his attention. He wasn’t even looking for someone like that. Not until recently.

His troubles began a week ago, during a phone call with his mum. She reminded him of his father’s 65th birthday party and asked if he would bring anyone with him. This was followed by a series of questions about his love life because, as his mum put it, “you’re 35, Julian darling, and you’re always working so hard! I worry you’ll end up alone”. In order to placate her, Jaskier might’ve lied a little tiny bit about some things. As a result, because of all the twists and turns of the conversation, he made his mother believe he had a fiancé.

A fucking fiancé.

Wanda Pankratz was ecstatic, wishing to know everything about her son’s relationship, but he dodged all the further questions by saying that she would meet his love soon enough. She left it at that but, of course, told half the family about it, if the texts and calls from his sisters and aunts were anything to go by.

Hence, The Post.

It’s a bit pathetic and desperate, Jaskier can freely admit, but he has no other choice. His personal guard Zoltan almost pissed himself laughing when Jaskier asked him to pretend to be his fiancé, and not one of his friends knows anyone who would want to do this. Not even his agent Triss could help him out.

It all drove Jaskier to log on his anonymous Facebook account (he is a pretty big name in the UK; better be safe than sorry) and post in one of the big London groups.

“I need urgent help from someone who’d be willing to act as my fiancé during a family party on February the 24th. The only thing I expect is the ability to sing praises of our love and to compliment my aunts. It’ll take around 4 hours and then we end our relationship. Age from 35 to 40. It’d be great if you knew something about the sea because I intend to introduce you as a sailor who’s never home and afterwards, you die. Can anybody help?”

Since yesterday, the post has got more than a thousand reactions (mostly the laughing one and likes) and hundreds of comments. Many people tagged their friends as a joke, which is not helpful, but Jaskier still scrolls down and down, trying not to let his hope die. Nobody seems to think his request is for real and he’s received no serious offers so far. Then, one of the newest comment threads catches his attention.

Lambert Rivia: Geralt Rivia Destiny!

Geralt Rivia Fuck off

Yennefer Vengeberg Omg 😂 Cirilla Vengeberg-Rivia Eskel Rivia you must see this!

Cirilla Vengeberg-Rivia Yesssss!! This is perfect! ❤️

Eskel Rvia Do it Geralt

Geralt Rivia No.

Intrigued, Jaskier decides to check out these people’s profiles. Lambert Rivia is a handsome red-haired man who wears some kind of black military suit in his profile picture. Looking at his bio, Jaskier already knows why Lambert didn’t volunteer himself – he’s in a relationship. Eskel Rivia is blond, even more handsome than Lambert despite facial scars, and also has a photo in a black suit, together with a white cap on his head. There’s no information on Eskel’s relationship status and Jaskier is intrigued indeed. Yennefer Vengeberg is a terrifyingly beautiful woman who, judging how professional her profile picture appears, must work in some serious profession. Cirilla Vengerberg-Rivia is a lovely teenage girl with white-blond hair. Jaskier reckons she’s the daughter of Yennefer and one of the Rivia guys.

He left the poor Geralt’s profile as the last to look at, but now that Jaskier has seen the rest, he checks this one too.

His jaw fucking drops.

Geralt Rivia is a ridiculously handsome man. His face seems practically unreal because, surely, people as beautiful as Geralt don’t actually exist? The man’s long white hair (which makes no sense considering his apparent age), as well as his brown-almost-golden eyes, only add to his otherwordly, stunning appearance. Double stunning in that black military suit he’s wearing in his profile picture, just like Lambert and Eskel. The suit looks familiar and Jaskier has a nagging feeling he really should know what kind of army it is. Google helps him out and he quickly puts two to two – Geralt, Eskel and Lambert serve for the Royal Navy.

He bursts out laughing.

This is too good.

He wonders what he should to about this. Now that he knows about Geralt’s existence, he can’t really miss the chance of meeting him, however slim. His gut feeling tells him not to let the opportunity slip and well, who is Jaskier not to listen?

When he’s in the middle of debating what to write to the man, his phone pings. There’s a new messenger notification... with Geralt’s name. With a racing heart, Jaskier opens the message.

FEB THE 18TH AT 06:14 PM Hey. Everyone’s telling me to message you and won’t leave me alone. Is your request for real? Please say no

Jaskier chuckles and replies:

Hi! I’m sorry they’re bothering you and I’m also sorry to say that my request is very much for real. I’d be forever grateful if you helped me 😁

To this, Geralt responds with:

They really won’t stop until I agree They think it’s so fucking funny

Jaskier purses his lips, already suspecting this isn’t likely to work out. He'll have to face his loving mum and admit that he lied to her about fucking having a fiancé. She’s going to be so disappointed. At the very prospect, bad mood overtakes him, but he still types what he hopes to be a cheerful answer.

Damn, so sorry mate I won’t push you but, again, I’d totally owe you one if you agree ☺️

What would I get?

Jaskier tries to reason with his hope to calm the fuck down and replies:

Money, or a favour of some sort, I have many connections Could be free tickets to my concerts Even my company for the night 😏 Just whatever you want I really need help

Fuck

For a minute or two, the three dots next to Geralt’s photo disappear, and Jaskier’s hope plummets in a dramatic fashion. Then, more messages from Geralt show up in the chat.

Free tickets seem fine My daughter loves going to concerts She’d like free tickets but I never heard of you

Jaskier starts begging any god out there that Cirilla is Geralt’s daughter. Teenagers make up a large part of his audience (which is great, actually; teenage kids are amazing these days). If she’s a fan, the free tickets are a major bargaining chip.

Well, Julian AP isn’t my stage name I don’t use it on fb

What is it? Your stage name

I’d rather not say here And you must promise me you won’t tell anyone about it too Well, anyone but your daughter

Can you call me? It’s better to talk about this on the phone anyway

Fine.

Jaskier sends Geralt his number and waits for the call. In other circumstances, he’d congratulate himself on getting a man like that to call him so easily, but he’s too anxious. His hands itch for his guitar but he doesn’t get up from his bed. He begins smoothing his hair out with his palms, praying in his mind that Geralt hasn’t changed his mind.

After the agonizing wait of six minutes, there’s an incoming call. Jaskier takes a deep breath and picks up.

“Hello,” says a gravelly baritone voice so pleasant that it sends shivers down Jaskier’s spine.

“Uhm, h-hi, Geralt,” he replies a bit breathlessly, “so, my name’s Julian Alfred Pankratz but I’m known to many as Jaskier.”

There’s a beat of silence. “Jaskier?” Geralt repeats, “the one who sings Her Sweet Kiss?”

Jaskier beams, his chest swelling with pride. “The very same.”

“Fuck,” Geralt growls, “Ciri wants to blast this song whenever we drive somewhere.”

Jaskier laughs. “She would love free tickets to my concerts, wouldn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

Geralt says no more. Jaskier has to swallow down to sop his throat from constricting. “So?” he asks, “Can you do this for me?”

The silence on the other side is deafening and Jaskier doesn’t even breathe until Geralt finally speaks up. “Fine,” he grunts, his tone indicating it’s anything but fine.

Air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a whoosh, replaced by a flood of such sheer relief that he may as well cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he babbles, heady with joy, “Gosh, you’re my saviour!”

“Just don’t tell anyone about this,” Geralt grumbles.

“Not a soul, Geralt, not a soul.”

“Send me the details about when and where and let’s get this over w–”

“No, wait!” Jaskier cuts in, “My family’s very perceptive, they’ll know it’s a ruse. We should plan everything carefully.”

“You’re making me regret this,” Gerlt growls.

“I’m sorry!” Jaskier hastens to say. “Just... at least tell me a bit about yourself?”

Geralt lets out an irritated sigh. “I’m forty, serve for the Royal Navy with my brothers. Eskel’s the nice one and Lambert’s the prick. My ex-wife Yennefer works for the government.” Jaskier actually shudders at this one because he already can picture it. Yennefer seems exactly powerful like that. “We have a daughter,” Geralt goes on, his tone softening, “Ciri. She’s fourteen. We live in London but I’m away often.”

“Oh, lovely,” Jaskier says with a wide smile because, really, this man’s love for his daughter is so clear and endearing, “this is something we can start with.”

“Just make everything up about our relationship and send it to me. I’ll play along.”

“Thank you,” he breathes out, still amazed at his luck. Jaskier is almost high on the success of his ingenious scheme and his obligations are therefore non-existent, so nothing stops him from teasing Geralt. “Though, to be completely honest," he says cheekily, "you don’t strike me as the type to sing praises of our love and compliment my aunts.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies. It doesn’t sound like a negation. “Yen says I’m not that bad if I try.”

The fondness with which he said Yennefer’s name is a cold bucket of water poured on his enthusiasm. “O-oh, ok,” he stutters out, thrown off-track, “So, uhm, would you be willing to try for me?”

For a moment, Geralt says nothing, then answers, “If you give Ciri an autograph.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Not a problem at all! Whatever she wants.” He pauses. “Whatever you want,” he adds more seriously.

Geralt only hmms, in a way that Jaskier’s prone-to-romanticism mind would almost call warm. Silence falls between them but it doesn’t feel awkward somehow. “Have to go,” Geralt says.

“Okay,” Jaskier replies quietly, “Thank you again. I’ll text you, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

After Geralt hangs up, Jaskier huffs out a shaky breath. Deep down, he already knows.

This is going to mess him up.

TBC

Part 2

#myfic #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #the witcher #modern au #pretend relationship #fake dating #fanfic #let's call this... the Sailor and the Singer AU xD #the Sailor and the Singer AU

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hovid19 · 4 years

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The Cops (Spencer Reid)

So I have a playlist I listen to when I’m super in my feelings and it’s a bunch of songs about love and broken hearts and all of that sappy shit. One of my personal favorite songs to listen to when I’m in the mood I’m in is The Cops by K.Flay. I suggest you give it a listen, because while it is the inspiration for this fic, it’s also just an incredible song!

This fic is very angsty and there’s like a teeny-tiny mention of smut, but nothing bad! I hope you all enjoy, because I had a lot of fun writing this one!

Word count: 2,236 words

You tried the best you could to blink away the tears forming in your eyes. Your head rested on your pillow, hands tucked under your cheek as you stared at the man sleeping next to you. He snored softly, his lips parted slightly, allowing some drool to slip down his cheek. You’d give everything to see this man like this every night and every morning and every hour in between. He was so beautiful. His hair was splayed out on the pillow below him, a mess of knots and tangles from the day before. He was lying on his back, though he was facing you, giving you the perfect angle to stare. Sure, it was creepy, but nothing you hadn’t done before. How do you not stare at something so pretty? You reached out to gingerly move a piece of his hair from his face, feeling him twitch ever-so-slightly under your soft touch. You sighed as you pulled your hand away, finally letting the tears fall down your cheeks. It would be eons before you found Spencer back in your bed again like this. Tomorrow, everything would change. The dynamic between the two of you was never going to be the same again, no matter what you tried to do or say to stop the shift. But, for now at least, he was here.

It had been 182 days since he had gotten down on one knee. The ring was absolutely gorgeous, a classic princess cut with a three carat diamond in the center. It was flawlessly crafted and you assumed it cost Spencer a fortune. Actually, you knew it cost Spencer a fortune. He’d complained to you on multiple occasions about how much money he had been spending recently, though you never presumed it had been on an engagement ring. You knew things were getting serious, but you never suspected marriage– and so soon. It had only been a year and a half. For Spencer, it was bold and daring and unlike him in so many ways. He was calculated and careful– everything planned meticulously down to the shoe laces that threaded into his Oxfords. He was never the type to jump the gun like this, but nonetheless, you were as happy as you could be given the circumstances.

You didn’t know love at first sight had existed until four years ago, when you met the man lying in blissful comatose in front of you. You had been anxious when Spencer– Dr. Reid as you knew him then– started asking you questions about one of your coworkers. You became increasingly more anxious when aforementioned coworker held a gun to your head when you were exiting the Virginia Beach Police Department. Spencer was the one to hold you while you cried that night.

But tonight, you held yourself in your own arms as you sobbed into the satin pillowcase, the cold fabric soft against your cheek. Your brain was on autopilot, shoving memories of Spencer to the forefront of your mind as you tried your hardest to just forget about him– forget about his hand on your neck as he held you close in a kiss and forget about his lips on your ear as he whispered secrets you and you only would ever hear. You took that as proof. Proof that somewhere deep down in his heart of hearts he saw you in the same way you saw him. There was intimacy in you and Spencer’s relationship you couldn’t find anywhere with anyone else. But it wasn’t blatant. No, for the two of you it was holding hands under the table and stolen glances at a friends party and make out sessions in an empty bathroom. He was risking too much for him to not feel the same fire in his heart you had whenever his contact flashed across your phone screen.

Two years ago, at 9:32PM, Spencer collapsed onto your couch in a messy, blissed-out heap. “You’ll never believe this girl, Y/N,” he had started, hands tugging at his hair in disbelief. “She’s unreal. I didn’t know a girl as perfect as her could exist.”

The sting in your chest was almost debilitating, your knuckles white from their grip on the granite counter in front of you. You were scared that if you let go, you’d collapse into a pile of tears and swears and cries for Spencer to hold you like he had done so many times before. “What’s her name?” You choked the question out, knowing the answer would puncture your heart.

“Natalie,” he sighed, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. You knew his daydreams were running wild with thoughts of her, and you could only hope you could be someone he would talk about to his friends. But you weren’t that girl. You weren’t Natalie, and you would never be. It took a lot to be good enough for Spencer. That big brain of his held only so much space for romantic feelings, and unfortunately, you hadn’t ended up as an object of his affection.

“Well, good,” you replied, finding something to keep you busy enough to stall the burn in your chest. It ached with every syllable he spoke about her. You settled on a bottle of Jameson that was hidden away in your pantry. “I’m just glad you’re happy.”

Six months after that, at 4:19 in the afternoon, Spencer texted you to tell you he had made things official with her. This pain was something new. It creeped into your throat and through your fingers, the pain coursing through every fiber in your body. You were accepting death as an inevitable outcome of this situation. You had heard of dying of a broken heart, and rolled your eyes every time at its mention. But now, sitting against the kitchen island and sobbing into your hands, you wished for the grim reaper to come take you any second and end the torture that your heart was receiving.

Three months later, at 10:47PM, Spencer had you pressed against your mattress, his lips pressing soft kisses to the exposed skin of your neck and collarbones for the first time, but definitely not the last. He had worked his way up to your ear, your legs squeezing tighter around his hips as he whispered, “we’re perfect for each other. Don’t believe anything else.” This was two hours after he had dropped Natalie off at her apartment.

It was an odd situation to catch yourself in. You felt dirty and confused and cheated, even though you weren’t really the one being cheated on. But every time Spencer slipped past the front door and into your bed, you forgot her name, as did he. But every time Spencer’s phone rang on the bedside table, you remembered, and so did he. It was one big mind game, but it was one you didn’t mind playing.

It took a couple of weeks to realize the reality of the relationship you’d found yourself in. It pained you to say that you were his back-up plan, especially when he was your first choice, but you had to face that fact early on or else your heart would split in two further than it had. At least you could have him, even if it was only part of him.

It was a Tuesday when he came over, throwing down his things quickly before pinning you to the kitchen counter. His hands grasped either side of your face, his lips attacking yours in a heated kiss. He knew you would never and could never say no to him. He used it to his advantage. “I want you,” he breathed out, lips moving to nibble the skin of your earlobe. “I want you so bad. Right here.”

You knew he had never truly wanted you. He just wanted your hunger for him, your desperation for him. He wanted you, but not all of you– not completely. You would never be wanted by him in the way you sought. “Take me, then, Spencer.”

That was how you ended up sitting on your kitchen floor, breath ragged and heavy as he zipped up his pants and left. Your lip trembled, tears escaping your eyes. You were his to use, whether you wanted to be or not. He had a way of getting in your head and knowing what to say. It was probably the profiler in him. He knew that no matter what you said, at the end of the day, you would always be his. And no matter how he made you feel and how much he used you, you would let him slip under your sheets whenever he wanted.

You could see the sun peer over the horizon as you stood at your kitchen counter, lips around a half empty bottle of Jim Beam. It was full this morning, but you needed as much distraction as you could get today. You had tried to run away from it all this time, hoping that it would go away on its own and you wouldn’t have to face the harsh, harsh truth of it all. You desperately wished you and Spencer could continue to live in the fantasy you had lived in for the past year that he had been playing both sides. Even though you both knew the casual sex would inevitably continue after today, there was just something so different about sleeping with the Spencer who had a fiancé than the Spencer who had a wife.

He came into the kitchen, arms slipping around your waist as he kissed your bare shoulder. His lips sucked on the skin and you were sure he was leaving a mark. A reminder that you were still his even if you couldn’t really be. “It’s eight thirty.” His voice was raspy.

“And?” you questioned, brining the bottle up to your lips again. “You’re getting married today.” It was a fact, a reminder and a reason. He seemed to hold onto you a bit tighter than before, just for a moment.

Silence enveloped the two of you as you stood there, getting drunker by the second. “I don’t know if I want to.”

You laughed, capping the bottle in your hands and setting in on the counter. You leaned back onto Spencer, feeling the warmth of his body around your frame. If only every morning could be like this. “Then don’t.”

“We can’t keep doing this.” At this, you turned in his arms, pressing your palm against his chest and pushing him away. He frowned, eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“Decide what you want,” you spoke, voice quiet as your eyes flooded. “Decide exactly what you want. You know me, Spence. You know I’m going to be here no matter what. It’s up to you to choose. But either way, just know you’re hurting someone.”

He licked his lips, leaning onto the counter behind him while he thought. You were scared. Petrified, actually. God, you loved this man with everything in you. He could do absolutely no wrong in your eyes and that’s what made him so dangerous. You waited for his answer, nearly holding your breath in anticipation.

“Well?” you questioned after a moment, words biting into the air. “What do you want, Spencer?”

He sighed, dragging his hands down his face. “I want you.” The words were almost silent. “But I want her, too.”

You nodded, a tear falling down your cheek. With that, he turned and walked out of your front door. You slid down the cabinets, a sob escaping your lips. You told yourself when this started that no matter what you’d love him. Even if he didn’t choose you, even if he wrecked you, you’d never fault him for it.

By the time you had collected yourself off of the floor, Spencer was already getting dressed in the back room of the church. He stuck his hands in his pants pocket, fishing for the note you wrote him two and a half years ago, a mere months before he met Natalie. He unfolded it, reading the words as his eyes stung with fresh tears. You wrote it when he had gotten out of jail, a reminder for him to know that he always had someone on his side, even if no one else was.

Even if the cops come calling, I’ll never talk. I love you.

Maybe, he thought, he loved you too. Derek knocked on the door to the room, stepping in and looking at Spencer. He smiled sympathetically at his friend, eyes drifting to the note held in Spencer’s fingers.

“Ten minutes.”

Spencer nodded, reading the words scribbled on the paper one last time before folding it back into his pocket and wiping at his cheeks.

Maybe he loved you too. But he knew he also loved her just as much.

#im sad now #criminal minds #spencer reid fic #spencer reid #spencer reid angst #mgg #matthew gray gubler #dr reid #angst #fic #criminal minds fic #mgg fic #spencer fic

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make-it-mavis · 3 years

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Homesick (Entry #37)

(cw: alcohol mention, fire) ----------

01/25/88 11:53 PM

Hey.

I wish I could say that I walked away from that heated encounter at therapy with little to no after effects. That I marched on back to my game, got some sleep, and continued on my road to recovery without missing a beat. I wish I could say that.

But that would just be unrealistic.

When I went back to my game after the whole thing with Worluk, I told my cousin what happened. He reacted just about the same as I’d expected him to. Horrified, relieved I was safe, glad justice was served before she could hurt anyone else. He also told me how proud he was of me for not using violence to solve my problem. The praise felt a little misplaced, given how much I did actually fantasize about ripping her to shreds, and I told him that. But that just made him all the prouder, he said. It was the fact that, unlike so many past instances, I didn’t act on those impulses.

It was a pretty big deal for me. But I still didn’t quite know how to accept his pride. That much hadn’t changed.

I felt pretty sick, so I turned in kind of early, but I didn’t sleep well. Some of the old confusing flashbacks were eating at me again. I’d be nearly asleep, just dipping into dreamspace when phantom memories of fire and explosions and echoing screams would jolt me awake. I hadn’t had visions like those in a while, but I also hadn’t been quite that sober in a while.

The next morning carried on like any other at first, apart from me being quieter than I’d normally be. Fix-it had his breakfast and morning coffee. He yammered at me for a little bit. Some Nicelanders showed up, and then he yammered at them for a little bit. Then, after wishing me a good day, he left with the others, and the arcade opened.

I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. But since painting had been so soothing before, I figured I’d try that. It certainly couldn’t hurt. I hauled out the tarp and Fix-it’s paints and papers. I sat cross-legged by the blank sheet for a while, feeling dry of creativity. But I forced myself to start anyway, trying to let my thoughts and feelings fall freely and paint along to them.

What was I feeling, anyway?

I took a deep breath and tried to meditate on that question as I painted.

Grey. Unsure. Numb. Lukewarm. I wanted to be happy about Worluk being arrested. It should have been closure on her traumatic chapter of my life. But I just wasn’t satisfied. What she had said about her sister’s ‘burning body’ just opened up too much mystery for me to put her out of my mind and move on. It wasn’t really the idea of me jumping over a burning sprite to get to you that was so disturbing. It was just the fact that I couldn’t remember it. I kept trying to brush it off and say that Worluk was just some raving lunatic spouting nonsense. But what if she wasn’t?

White. Blank. Cold. Lost. I couldn’t stand not remembering that day. Not remembering how you died. Not knowing your whole story. Out of anyone, I should have been the one to know. No one was closer to you than me. I was your friend. Best friend. Or something else entirely.

Yellow. Confused. Nauseous. Anxious.

I paused. Three colors splotched the canvas in aimless, abstract shapes. Part of me almost laughed, but in a really joyless way. This palette I’d been subconsciously putting together out of distress reminded me of something that used to make me happy. It was just missing one color.

Red. Demanding. Arrogant. Bold.

You.

I’d almost painted you by accident. Not in the right shapes, but the right colors were there. Some of them, anyway. Just the surface colors, the ones I could see on your pixels. Just seeing all of them together was enough to put a pang of what I could only describe as ‘miserable affection’ in my chest. It suddenly felt like it had been so long since I even took the time to think about you. I’d been so occupied with counselling, I guess I just didn’t want to give myself the chance to miss you too much and derail things.

But I was taking a break from counselling. I was alone. I had nothing but time to spend remembering you. And whether I thought it was a good idea or not, it was happening. You poured down on my mind like heavy rain.

So, without really thinking about what I was doing, I kept painting with every color you inspired in me.

Black for your smoky, metallic scent. Red-Violet for your overheated body. Sienna for your voice. Salmon for your genuine, high-pitched laugh. It did not take long for me to run out of space. I didn’t care. I kept painting. I smeared heaping gobs of color until the paper was slathered with glistening, muddy slime that was likely too thick to dry.

Eventually, I stopped. I could have just gotten another sheet of paper, but I felt too heavy to stand. I just sat there, staring at my gloves that were speckled with tiny flecks of paint. My heart, I finally noticed, had been pounding. I’d been running for so long from how I felt when I remembered you. The hurt. The betrayal. The moments of resentment. Worst of all were the moments when I simply, truly missed you.

This was one of those moments.

I wish that I could say that by that point, I’d learned to stop running away. That I didn’t have it in me anymore. I’d like to say that I just went limp and sank into the feeling until it inevitably either drowned me or I learned to breathe through it. But I wasn’t ready to believe I could do that. I didn’t trust myself. I didn’t trust reality to remain sound. But you were raining on me whether I chose it or not. I was neck-deep, floundering.

And then the desperation, as it has so often done, turned me a little strange.

The first thing I did was remove my gloves, and then my smock. It felt like all else in the world went quiet as I wet my fingers with a rainbow of paint. Keep it together, I told myself. Deep breaths. It was just color. All feelings, all memories, are just color. And color is choice. I could choose not to hurt over you if I just redirected. If I took every color that you were not, and wore them like armor to protect myself from all thoughts of you.

So I just… painted myself.

There were too many shades to rightly recall. Teal, bronze, vermillion, lavender, aqua, magenta, seafoam, you name it. But they didn’t keep you out. They just invited you in. For every color, there was some emotion, or some memory, that reminded me of my time with you. I fought to keep it together, but I couldn’t. I spiraled, and I spiraled hard. I grabbed onto my hair, and it clumped together in the paint between my fingers. I told myself that I’d done enough. I had taken a moment to mourn you, but I wouldn’t let it get to me. Not like it had done in the past. I was beyond that. I’d grown past it. I kept repeating: Don’t let it get to you. Don’t let it get to you. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about him. Don’t think about him right now.

Don’t think about his smarmy smile. Don’t think about his pointy ears. Don’t think about the lisp he worked so hard to hide. Don’t think about how he constantly bit his tongue. Don’t think about that time he rode an Excitebike and broke his nose. Don’t think about how his hands were rough from mechanic work. Don’t think about the times we spent sending Don’s sailboat models down the Frogger river in flames. Don’t think about the time he fell in an open grave in Ghosts n’ Goblins. Don’t think about pranking him for the first time. Don’t think about your bar fight at Tapper’s after. Don’t think about the trashy music he always played in his garage. Don’t think about how terrible he was at dancing. Don’t think about how tightly he’d hold you when he thought you were asleep. Don’t think about his stupid hair that always had to be a perfect mess. Don’t think about his actually really cool abstract contour line drawings. Don’t think about the time we microwaved six eggs just to watch them explode. Don’t think about the first time he brought you takeout without being asked. Don’t think about the first time you let him touch you. Don’t think about how it sometimes felt like you were the only two sprites in the arcade. Don’t think about how he made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

Don’t think about how you’ve forever lost your chance to tell him that.

That was it.

That did me in.

The good ol’ unreality came crashing back -- it couldn’t be true. You couldn’t be gone. It wasn’t real. By extension, nothing was real. Niceland was just a popsicle stick model that would collapse on top of me at any moment. Everyone I’d spoken to for weeks were just holograms. Even I didn’t feel real. I didn’t understand how I could be so numb and still be in so much pain. It was a nightmare. I needed to get away. I needed intervention, some kind of release, anything to chase the horror away.

I stood, feeling like I was in a trance. I had just the faintest control over my body. Everything I’d learned in counselling flashed in my head, but it did not take. I was driven by almost life-or-death urgency, as if I’d ingested poison and desperately needed the antidote. I shambled into the kitchen, marking cabinets with rainbow fingerprints as I looked for absolutely anything alcoholic. But Fix-it’s not a drinker, unsurprisingly. I wish that alone had been enough to stop me, but I carried my search into the bathroom. And there, on the spotless porcelain sink, sat a bottle of blue mouthwash.

Technically alcoholic.

I grabbed it. It seemed like the paint itself was trying to dissuade me, making the bottle so hard to grip. As I struggled to twist the cap off, I was screaming at myself internally to make the right choice. Make any other choice at all. But I needed it, I thought. I was in so much pain and I needed a drink or I’d…

I paused, shaking, the uncapped bottle almost to my lips. I finally saw myself in the mirror, smeared with a rainbow of garish war paint that covered almost all of my exposed skin and stained bits of my clothes. I looked beautiful, honestly. But the bottle of mouthwash in my hand, about to be my one last pathetic attempt at drowning my sorrows? It spoiled the beauty. It was below me. No matter how badly I was hurting, I knew better.

Pain explains, but it does not justify.

Yeah. Damn it. Damn it all.

That was enough time for the bottle to slip from my fingers and hit the floor with a sloshing thud, spewing its bright blue contents over the floor, and along with it, my last chance to run from the pain. My back hit the wall as I stumbled, a sticky hand clapped over my face. I sank to the floor. It was there that I cried harder and longer than I have in my entire life.

There was just no escape from how much I missed you.

My best friend.

I stayed there for hours in Fix-it’s bathroom after my crying breakdown, crumpled in the corner. I might have fallen asleep a little bit, because I remember sort of waking up as the arcade closed. I heard the rumbling of Wreck-it pounding the building stop for good, and then the parade of little footsteps overhead as Nicelanders descended the stairs and returned to their homes. Which meant Fix-it would not be far behind.

And he’d see me. In my… state.

That couldn’t happen. I couldn’t deal with that, not after such an atrociously messy breakdown. I knew it wasn’t the right move, and I knew he would have only wanted to help, but I sprang to my feet and locked his front door anyway. When that didn’t satisfy me, I grabbed a chair from the kitchen and propped it under the door handle.

There was something awful driving me. Some deep panic. It felt avoidant, like I just couldn’t face whatever was coming. But it wasn’t just Fix-it, I noticed as I feverishly paced. I couldn’t carry on with things the way they were. I was done. I was sick of it. I was sick of you being gone and me just having to live with that, with no memory of you passing. I couldn’t stand that I had to carry on just convincing myself our story had ended, while it seemed like everyone else had witnessed it first-hand. It wasn’t right. I had no closure. I just had nightmares of explosions, screaming, and fire.

Fire, fire, fire.

It was always fire. It seemed like no matter what happened, fire would not leave my head. Even the yellow, orange, and red colors of my brush were all fiery, and I knew that wasn’t a coincidence. I’d been so hung up on this stupid mysterious fire for so long. Then there was my odd fear of the fireworks. And the sea of gasoline in that dream, when you told me, “Come find me in the fire…”

I froze. ‘Find me in the fire.’

The front door handle jiggled and the door struggled against the chair. I heard Fix-it’s confused grunt. “Mavy?” he called. “Mavy, are you in there?”

I didn’t answer. He was nearly drowned out by the pounding in my ears.

Whatever happened on August 7th had fallen out of my mind. Well, sort of. It’s not that the memories were gone completely, they were just virtually inaccessible. Bits and pieces had been haunting me since you left. Fire brought vague, horrifying flashbacks of painful memories I didn’t recognize. But what if I wanted to recognize them? What if I didn’t run away when things got painful? Could I bring back the entire memory if I walked up to my fear and stepped inside it?

‘Find me in the fire,’ you had said. ‘Find me in the fire.’

Listen. You know me. By now, you’d probably be able to guess what I was about to do. But in the heat of the moment, even I wasn’t sure. I was going full autopilot, possessed by some stupid idea that probably wasn’t going to work. I think my destructive instincts were relapsing after being peaceful and constructive for too long. In any case, I searched the apartment like a bloodhound for the means to bring my impulsive plan to fruition, and fast.

It didn’t take long. In Fix-it’s utility closet, I found paint thinner. The irony of which sailed clear over my head at the time. The little flame symbol on the label was all I cared about.

I felt completely outside of my body as I poured the foul-smelling stuff all over everything. The floor, the furniture, the walls, even the bathroom. Fix-it was pounding and yelling at the door by then, demanding to know if I was alright.

“I’m fine,” I told him as I shook out the last drops.

I heard him sigh. “Mav-- Why is the door locked? Wait--” he paused, and then he spoke with the urgency of a man who has dealt with me his whole life, “-- what’s that smell? What are you doing in there?!”

I stood in the middle of the living room, right next to my muddy painting. All the fumes were starting to give me a headache by that point, so I opted to hurry it up. I took my brush -- my coded, faulty brush -- in my hand, and with the color red, I painted into my palm a fist-sized cherry bomb. Then, painting an orange spark, I lit it.

“Art project,” I called out to him. Taking a deep, unsteady breath, I took just long enough to mentally hold my own hand and tell myself that no matter what I saw or didn’t see, I was gonna be okay.

You may not have been fireproof. But I am.

I rolled the bomb in the direction of the bathroom.

“Mavy?!”

Closing my eyes, steeling myself to the imminent blast, I said, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

BANG.

The bomb went off, and I was staggered by a wall of suffocating heat as the apartment roared with flame. I caught myself on the coffee table and, trembling, opened my eyes. They stung immediately, and I blinked hard against the vicious light. The very air seemed stained a dry, sick red. It was just as terrifying as I had hoped, watching arms of hellfire claw across the floor, over the furniture, up the walls, quickly filling the ceiling with a black sea of smog. Squinting through it towards the door, I could see that the blast had knocked a bookshelf onto its side, only barricading the door further. It seemed to shake as Fix-it presumably rammed against it from the other side. If he was still calling out to me, I couldn’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.

So, what did I do?

I just stood up straight and… stayed there. I didn’t crouch beneath the smoke. I just let the flames crawl up to my feet and creep up my clothes, threatening to melt all my pixels together. The pain was quickly becoming too much to bear, but I focused on that. I wanted it to hurt. I wanted to feel the fire eat all the confusing layers away, until I could finally see the truth.

So many horribly familiar sensations snuck up on me. The sickening smell of the burn. The hot ash reaching down my throat and choking me. The painful dryness in my eyes. Reality felt unsteady. I quickly became very dizzy from the suffocating fumes, and I could no longer hold up my own weight. I remember stumbling backwards, and my darkening vision fell on the kitchen just in time to see the oven split apart, erupting in an explosion exponentially bigger than the first.

I was forced back, I lost my footing, and fell into memories so vivid, I may as well have been living them again.

I’m just… going to need a minute before I tell you about it. But you can wait.

Wherever you are, I’m sure you remember the day you died.

#fanfiction #fanfic #wreck it ralph #fix it felix #turbo #make it mavis #original character #homesick

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raph8sblog · 4 years

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🔆Dreaming Of You 🔆 Part I.

Love, is surely the most beautiful thing in life, right? When someone loves you back, it can give you wings to fly above the sky and feel yourself as the most lucky person ever, who ever walked on Earth, it’s makes you a better person, when you are loving someone unconditionally. The process of love seems simple, you just have to realise that you like someone, than get close to the chossen one and after a while admit your feelings bravely. But, what if the other half don’t feel the same way like you do? In the worst scenario, it will break you into million pieces but after a while you manage to get through the pain maybe you will write out your heartache or pour the feelings into music and create masterpieces. Then, the worst scenarios can turn out as the best experiences, which gave you great inspirations and motivation to get yourselt together. However, you know yourself enough, to acknowledge that you nor a poet, neither a musician and if someone crush your sensitive heart, you will just cry out your eyes, lose your hope and your remaining self confidence. So, you decided not to tell anyone about, how you felt.

Also, your situation were different. You grew up as the ugly duckling next to the beautiful ones. You were the chubby kid since the kindergarden, until the high school. The one, who never talked back, when someone made fun of how many pack of chips you can it daily. Someone, who remained in silence, without a single word. You used to being alone, thanks to all the torments, that you suffered through. But, things changed, when you met with your best friend, Felix. He was the light in your life, who teached you that you are worthy and precious. You shared a lot of good memories together and after a while, of course you started to grew feelings for him. You never had the courage to tell him about it. He was the closest person to your heart, and vice versa, he trusted you wholeheartedly but he was still out of your reach. You convinced yourself that friendship is more than enough for you but life made a cruel decision when you two seperated. He went to Seoul to achive his dreams and shortly after he debuted as the member of Stray Kids, his fame started to rise. Now, even in your hometown a lot of people is listening to their songs, also when you are surfing on the net, you came across with fan pages as well. You always wanted to keep contact with him but after a while it’s became impossible. Or, you thought that, and gave up every hope, until the moment when luck decided to stand on your side again:

You got the intership, what you previously applied for at the university and now you are living in Seoul. After high school your apperance changed a lot, you lost weight and put more effort to your fashion style as well. But, even if you got a compliment your lack of confidence couldn’t change. All the harsh words still remained in your mind. That’s why you always payed extra attention to useless and stupid things, like how many calories you consume daily and when it was too much, you felt yourself extremely guilty. Even, if you looked pretty, your bad social kills made it difficult for you to get to know new people. You were lonely, when you moved to Seoul, you couldn’t talk to anyone at the uni even regardless of the fact that you were excellent from Korean language, thanks to your and your best friend’s effort. So, you tried to keep yourself busy and make money out of your free time and started working at a vinly store. Lucky for you, this is the place, where the miracle happened. One night, you were daydreaming in your shift when a costumer came to the counter:

- Excuse me, may I ask your opinion about this album? - you looked up, he was wearing baseball cap and a mask, so at first sight you didn’t realize who it was. But, his voice sounded familiar. Then, you looked down at the album and your breath stucked in your chest. It was the Clé:Levanter from Stray Kids.

- Wow... - you muttered to yourself flustered, when the boy tucked the mask under his chin. No more doubt! It was him! His freckles became visible, even in the dim light of the shop.

- It’s been such a long time Y/N! You changed so much but of course I recognised you!

- Am I dreaming? - you asked yourself not quite believing what just happened.

- How... Did you find me?

- Silly, I found your insta, you uploaded a photo of the vinly store. I won’t blame you about this, I have to admit it, this place has a good aesthetic vibe. - you looked around at the shop, the walls are decorated with old, colorful album covers. It was vintage and stylish at the same time.

- So, I came here to visit you! - he realized that you were in deep silence, you couldn’t find the right words, of course you were more than happy but your old emotions started to flood your heart again.

- Am I bothering you Y/N?

- No!! I’m just shocked Felix! You are here, with me, in the real life? I can’t believe it! - you relplied quickly.

- Then, I should help you prove it, that you aren’t dreaming. My schedule is not that busy this week, do you want to meet up? - you eagerly nodded.

Sometimes, life can be cruel and unfair but other times it can give you the flowers of happiness. That’s how your friendship continued and with no time, you two became unseperable again. Even, with Felix’s busy schedule you guys always managed to find time for each other. Seoul started to feel like home with the most important person on your side but beside the joy you felt yourself pressured by the old, same feeling. Your first and last love for your best friend also grew stronger than before. And you still didn’t have any courage to tell him, to risk your friendship and shatter everyting that you have.

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“Monday, 9:30″ your lockscreen was so bright that it’s almost made you blind. You slowly opened your eyes, the morning lights escaped through the window’s shatter and they were dancing on the walls. Your first class will start soon, you have to get up but you are way too tired so you decided to spent five more minutes under the sheets. But, your phone buzzed again, you reached out to check who texted to you and all the tiredness disappeared when you saw Felix’s name:

“Y/N are you up? Please text me back, we need to talk ASAP! I hope your afternoon is free, wait for me at the dorm!” it was strange, Felix never asked you to come to their dorm. Of course you’ve been there a few times before in the past months. You get to know the other members as well, but since you were a little bit shy, you still acted awkward around them. Today is a day off for the band, they can finally rest after the perfomances. So, maybe this is the reason why Felix invite you over, because most of the members are going out to enjoy their free time. Still, it can’t be the only reason, he wants to tell you something and you had no idea what’s troubling him. Nowdays he acted a little bit serious and cold, but you thought the main reason behind that is his busy schedule.

After the university you straight went to the dorm, you felt yourself uneasy, you was desperate. Maybe, you did something bad, or said something bad? It was always like this, you thought you are the cause of his sadness. You wanted to cheer him up somehow, you even brought his favourite snacks and you hoped that you are worrying for nothing.

When you arrived, it was already past four at the afternoon but Felix wasn’t at home. Changbin greeted you at the door with a wide smile. You really liked him from the moment Felix introduced you to his band mates, he was always sweet and caring towards you. He treated you like an old friend, so your fears with strangers dissolved when you were with him.

- Y/N you came right on time! We were watching a boring kdrama with Hyunjin and all the lovey dovey started to feel suffocating for me! - you glanced towards the couch, Hyunjin just waved to you without a word. To be honest, unlike with Changbin, you didn’t really get on well with Hyunjin. You are not sure, why though... You tried to be kind with him, but maybe it’s just the fact, that he was really handsome and popular with girls so he didn’t want to know someone plain and ordinary like you. Okay, it’s seems harsh to think, this is the reason behind his unfriendly actions. But, he was sweet towards his bandmates, you were the only one, who was neglected and ignored by him.

- Are you sure that I’m not bothering you guys? I can wait for Felix, outside as well! - you said awkwardly. Changbin just grabbed your hand and led you to the couch:

- Sit next to me ~

You sat between them and you tried to feel yourself less uncomfortable, the drama, that they have been watching, was truly boring, but it calmed you down a little bit because you were no longer paying attention to your inner thoughts.

- Hey, Hyunjineee!! You told me to watch this boring shit with you and now you are hanging nonstop on your phone! - you almost dozed off but Changbin’s voice dragged you back to the reality.

- I’m learning English. I want to improve myself. - he lied without looking up from his screen.

- Then, you should ask Y/N to help you out, since this is her first language. - you started fidgeting, it wasn’t a good idea, you felt yourself so small and insecure next to him. But, luckily for you, he didn’t required your help as well:

- Nah, I don’t need help! Y/N’s accent is making dificult for me to uderstand her explanations... - wow, he said that your language skills are not that good, right? Or you just imagining things because he is not that likeable for you?

- It was a little bit rude to say out loud, I hope you noticed this! - Changbin tried to defend you.

- I’m just honest and please let me learn in peace.

- Sure.. Just pretend that you are learning! - the sun was setting, the lights were so beautiful. Orange, red, and dark pink, these shades gathered together on the sky and made the scenery unreal. Hyunjin finally looked up from his phone and quickly he stand up from the couch to take some pictures:

- Golden Hour! - he sighed dramatically:

- Should I take some selfies as well?

- English is no longer interesting? - you just laughed at them quietly and glanced down at your watch:

“6:00″ ....... You started to get worried again, you wanted to ask them where is Felix, but then, your phone is buzzed and a message showed up:

“Come to the rooftop! I’m still shaking, I can’t go inside now!”

As fast as you can, you rushed up to the rooftop, where the city below was bathing in the warm lights. Felix was there, waiting for you, he turned around when you arrived, still giggling. He couln’t stop smiling, instead of speaking about why he called you there, he just embraced you. In his arms, your mind went blank, your knees felt weak:

- Remember, when you told me, that you liked someone so much that you thought you are going crazy from all the emotions? - of course you remembered, you talked about him back then.

- I still feel the same way, everytime I think about him. - you admitted.

- I think, I know why you felt that way. You were in love, so deeply...Uh... Y/N, I’m just lost in words! - he picked you up and spinned you around, you were confused, why he is acting like that? He is so happy and so strange at the same time, he wasn’t his normal self. And then, you felt like, maybe you got a chance for the first time, maybe he knows without any confession how you feel about him, you collected your courage:

- Felix... I... Need to tell you something.... Maybe, you are feeling the same way as....

- Yes! I’m feeling the same way as you! - he nodded, flashing his beautiful smile at you again. Your heart was beating so fast that you thought you are going to pass out. Here, in his arms, on the rooftopp, it felt like a fairytail, or like a chessy kdrama.

- But Y/N today, I asked her out and she said yes to me! - exactly, then, your heart really stopped beating for a moment...... He wasn’t talking about you....

- What..... ? - you asked weakly.

- I didn’t tell you yet! She is a really famous idol now at the entertaiment and I thought she would never talk to me, since I’m just a beginner next to her! - you felt a strange sensation is your stomach and your chest, it was a terrible feeling, which almost made you cry.

- I have to ask you this Y/N, this is a secret between us! I don’t want anyone to know about us, please cover me! Can you tell the boys tomorrow that you are with me, when they ask you why I skipped the practise? - you just nodded, shocked and defeated, Felix embraced again and whispered to your ear:

- Isn’t it wonderful Y/N?

- Yes.... It’s truly wonderful, I’m so happy for you Felix. - you replied, while a teardrop started to make its way down your cheek.

Hiiii Guys this is my first fic! So I kinda have this idea in my mind for a while, and I thought I might share it with you! Should I continue? 💓

#kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #stray kids fanfic #stray kids #lee felix #skz imagines #skz fluff #skz angst #kpop fic

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andrewuttaro · 4 years

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New Look Sabres: GM 33 - NSH - Jack for Hart

4-3 Regulation Win

Sometimes this team sucks ass. Sometimes it’s fun. In the career of Jack Eichel the results tend toward the latter. Since his sophomore season we have patiently awaited his arrival as a bona fide superstar in the NHL. We have awaited the evidence to shift from why to why not on face of the franchise. We have arrived at the nexus of the Eichel Sabres. Every goal you can think of Jack Eichel can do: tip-in, tight-angle, slapshot, snapshot, Ovechkin office, blueline, boards, up close, far back, you name it he does it. The Buffalo Sabres success or failure runs through Jack Robert Eichel. You thought his 19th and 20th goals were fun last game, well here comes 21 and 22, baby! Say it with me: Jack Eichel for Hart. Jack Eichel for MVP! We’ll get into how he took over this particular game in a minute. For right now allow me to direct your attention to the team around him. Zach Bogosian asked for a trade. All joking about what Bogo is or isn’t on the ice aside his numbers are brutal and his time with this team has been ruined by injury. Trading him will be difficult if it happens. Rasmus Ristolainen this season is proof winning can make you forget where else you want to be. However the reported request begs another question: What is the plan for this season for the Front Office? I have reason to believe, for several reasons, Jason Botterill and the Front Office of this organization targeted 2020-2021 to be their first season truly gunning for the playoffs. John Vogl replied as much to me in an Athletic subscriber Q&A and others, well informed and not, have suggested as much on social media. Whether it was Botterill’s plan from the moment he walked in the door in 2017 or not we may never know. Now, 2.5 years into the second rebuild we’re… uh… in a playoff spot with not a lot of faith we’ll still be in one come April? The other piece here is that there will be an absurd amount of cap room available in the summer. It’s the ideal opportunity to really make some big moves. Perhaps that’s the reason names like Zemgus Girgensons, Johan Larsson, Jake McCabe and yes maybe even Rasmus Ristolainen are still on the team. He’s just skating an entertaining-enough roster to get to this coming summer with no intention of seriously pushing for a playoff spot. I have feelings on this theory of course but more on that later. We got a real slobber-knocker of a game tonight to talk about.

The Nashville Predators sit in a similar situation to the Sabres. They’re just kinda middling as well: a game below .500 fighting for a playoff spot. Both these teams wanted the two points tonight and both teams came out showing their intent to go get it. There was a goal scored in the first minute of this game just like Tuesday. This time it was for the other team. A weird zone entry for the Preds that you’re justified in thinking might be offsides and suddenly Matt Duchene is dangling the pants off everything that stood in his way. Even Linus Ullmark was no match and got deked out before the goal, 1-0 Nashville. It took about 15 minutes but the clap-back energy that is present in this team when they’re at their best arrived when a weird Ristolainen move up in front of the Predators net gave Jimmy Vesey the last touch on a tap-in equalizer. It can not be understated how fast paced this game was from the very first period. When Colton Sissons hammered home a long distance five-hole tally late in the first frame it seemed the home team was out-running itself, still flying to defensive positions. Then period number two came. The Jack Attack arrived in force. A long pass to Sam Reinhart got to the Captain who sized up his options and moved in on Juuse Saros. He shot it top shelf in a tight situation. It was very frankly arousing. The 1980s style graphics and music made it feel surreal and I wasn’t even in the building. Especially as the night went on the building got louder and louder. It wasn’t even a sellout but somehow it doesn’t need to be: when the team is fun so is the building. Take note, Terry.

There are a lot of guys on the team making this fun little stretch of hockey go. Brandon Montour is at full potential. He was probably the best defenseman on the ice the same night Rasmus Dahlin came back. What do you know: Rasmus Ristolainen now has seven points in eight games. Winning solves a lot of our grievance doesn’t it? Also great: Marcus Johansson. There were several rushes and neat zone entries that ran through the super center. Johansson has quickly become the wildest dreams for a second line center Jason Botterill had when he asked for Patrik Berglund. This game was too fun to bring up stuff like that. The returning Rasmus Dahlin got a puck to Henri Jokiharju at the blueline about 14 minutes into the second period. Joker took the shot and it got a tasty touch from Eichel in the slot to redirect it in. Go-ahead goal 3-2 Sabres. The clap-back was on fire. But Nashville has clap-back in spades as well. One opportunity for the visitors beat Ullmark only for the outstretched stick of the Captain to block it. This game was an F1 duel. Four minutes left in the second period and the Preds were in a sustained cycle of zone time. Ryan Johansen got a sneaky rebound the snuck over Linus Ullmark’s outstretched left pad. It was equal again at 3-3. That was probably the most merited score I’ve seen through forty minutes this season. This game, especially the middle frame was just so incredibly even. It was back and forth by the eye-test and 50/50 in most every statistical category as well. Victor Olofsson said it in postgame: “We have confidence because we’re playing like we were earlier this year… we changed the way we play in games like this… we took momentum.”

The fabulous rookie was the decider in this game. Olofsson is becoming the Swedish Artemi Panarin. YES, I’M COMPARING OLOFSSON TO PANARIN! He took over the lead in goals among rookies with a goal off his own rebound. Sam Reinhart kept the puck in the offensive zone and fired a long pass to Brandon Montour on the left boards. Montour put it net-front to Olofsson who took a shot and missed. The rebound bounced around behind the net and he collected it himself to put up and in behind Saros. It was now 4-3 Buffalo and something special unfolded. While there were select chances for Nashville, the defensive play ticked up like everyone was playing penalty kill. The Preds kept getting tied up in the neutral zone, a tale I remember vividly going the other way in an early December game with Nashville last season. This Buffalo team, much like the other one, has found the way to not only winning close games, but forcing the other team to work hard if they hope to have a chance. As the minutes and seconds in regulation ticked away you could see the visitors get more frantic. The Predators ended up outshooting the Sabres 39-32 but thanks to Linus Ullmark continuing to inspire confidence in front of him and a whole team that has discovered their defensive prowess, the goals category remained in favor of Buffalo. Even when Nashville pulled their goalie it seemed as thought they were just taking a series of slappers in the general direction of the Sabres net. None would go, the Sabres won their third straight for the first time since the fast times back in October. Buffalo honored the old Aud and the high scoring 1980s with real gunslinging kinda of a game.

So what is this fun for? It appears this team has arisen from a slump like few teams of recent years were able to. Now that is sorta appears they can, will they pursue the much-pined-for playoff berth? Long time readers of the blog will know exactly my feelings on the 2020 scenario I led this postgame with. I want playoffs now and I think this franchise needs playoffs now! I think this team was good enough to do it last season! Yeah, I’m bullish on that. However, the Alex Galchenyuk rumor, from the mouth of Darren Dreger mind you, disrupts the 2020 theory just a little bit. Galchenyuk, a reclamation project for sure, is an attempt at adding legitimate top six talent. If you get 50% of what Galch was two seasons ago, hell if you get his normal point production, you have a complete top six. Not only that but you have a top six more or less proven to be what this Coach would want to play on night-to-night basis. Love it or hate it Ralph Krueger has always come back to that same top line. Does this team plus a Galchenyuk move not look like a team trying to make the playoffs this season? Once more, how many of us twitter GMs have prognosticated that this team is one top six player away from being something great? Not great like not losing most games, great like could make the playoffs and have a fighting chance once they get there. Games as exciting as tonight are ultimately nothing but memories if they don’t contribute to a point total that can get you a spot in the dance. What does the Front Office think of this season? They can make a decisive statement with a trade, will they?

Believe it or not this was the Sabres first win against the Preds at home since 2008. It was only the second home win against the Predators in Sabres history. That’s an interesting stat. The stats that mattered tonight though are leads. The Sabres defended their last one for eleven and a half minutes against the Predators. That’s hot. More leads: Jack Eichel passed Alex Ovechkin to reach second in the league in goal scoring with his two goals while Victor Olofsson passed Cale Makar for the rookie lead in goal and points. Unreal. As crazy as this is right now the December schedule has no mercy for us. Now the Sabres fly off on a three-game road trip of the Islanders, the Leafs, and the Flyers. That’s not a cake walk. We have a strong MVP candidate on our hands and a very decent Calder Trophy candidate as well; but all our fawning has to mean something or you minus well just call this a rerun. Let’s end on a fun note though, this game merited it: When the Sabres played their last game at the Aud in April 1996 none of Jack Eichel, Rasmus Asplund, Casey Mittelstadt, Henri Jokiharju and Rasmus Dahlin were born yet. It’s a new age in Buffalo. It’s a New Look Sabres!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. Yes, I know there are also reports Botterill has put a trade on the backburner since the winning resumed. Let’s just hope that’s not the case and move on. Enjoy nice things while you have them: the Sabres are three points up on a playoff spot.

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hencethebravery · 7 years

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Title: “The Spooky Truth with Dr. Jones,” (1/2)

Summary: Emma Swan is a podcaster looking for a semi-interesting story. Dr. Killian Jones is a paranormal investigator who doesn’t believe in the paranormal. Emma Swan absolutely does not want to write this story—but it seems to be writing itself. A CS Black Tapes AU.

Notes: This delightful little AU was 100% inspired by The Black Tapes, a seriously awesome fictional horror podcast that you can listen to for free. Which you should. Right now. I’d like to thank and/or notify a # of awesome people who helped with this: @seastarved @zengoalie @ofshipsandswans @abbadons-little-witch @the-reason-to-sail-home @businesscasualprincess @swanandapirate (who also wrote a podcast AU, so if you like this, you should probably check it out). Also on Ao3.

+ Honestly, the worst thing about this job is the constant threat of, “You have a face too pretty for radio,” every time she has to conduct an interview with some bland fuck-boy that the country has suddenly decided is worth her time. If not for the occasionally tedious subject matter and overeager interviewees, it would be damn near perfect.

It’s certainly odd, considering how long she’d spent trying to make herself invisible; avoiding friends and relationships in exchange for the blissful quiet of self-imposed isolation, all while maintaining her carefully constructed state of emotional constipation.

“They’re not my friends,” trying to explain to her producer, David, “they’re my subjects.”

Snorting, with an affectionate rolling of his eyes, “That’s awfully sentimental of you, Emma.”

“Except you,” her words starting to run sloppily together, resting a warm, heavy arm around his neck, “you’re a regular ‘prince charming.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” brushing off the compliment but she can see it in his eyes, how much he cares, and while it still makes her vaguely uncomfortable, it’s nice knowing there’s somebody in her corner. “Let’s get you to bed, ‘princess.’”

It was supposed to be a one-off episode, part of a larger story about people and professions and why we do what we do to get by—defining ourselves through our work, that kind of thing. She had done a few episodes already; one on geo-caching, another one focusing on a lady who actually got paid to paint the claws of people’s cats. And that was when David had gently knocked on her office door and told her about a conference about the paranormal going on at the local college, and would she, maybe, like to attend?

She had been in the midst of sorting through a rather demoralizing gallery of neon-colored cat toenails when he’d made the suggestion, so it wasn’t hard to imagine the gusto with which she flew out of her chair; oversized bag of gum, phone chargers, and pencils swung over one shoulder, her knee-length boots half-zipped up her calves, “Yeah,” she answered excitedly, “I’m on it!”

“Dr. Killian Jones is handsome,” she speaks into her dictaphone later that night, an unfamiliar vibrato of excitement painting her words, “there’s no point in denying it. I won’t have my young, impressionable female listeners hanging on his every lovely, accented word thinking this guy isn’t as good looking as he sounds.”

She considers the, frankly, unreal color of his stupidly blue eyes and continues, “But I don’t want there to be any kind of confusion. Dr. Killian Jones is a real dick.”

The lecture hall is louder, busier, and fuller than she’s ever seen it before. She’s taken a few classes here, attended a few events, and she can say with absolute confidence that this campus has never seen such a to-do in all its many, stuffy years.

The hall is a diverse mix, but there's an unusually large amount of tittering freshmen, and she can't help but feel as if she might be missing something.

She puts that exact question to a rather excitable group of young women (and men), all of them clutching copies of the same book. It's large, hardcover, she can barely make out the thick, dramatic eyebrows of the author on the back.

“So, uh, what's with the crowd?”

A young man wearing bold, square frames and a bowtie covered in tiny ghosts answers incredulously, “How can you not know?”

“Don't be rude, Jefferson,” interrupts a small, dark-haired brunette, her lipstick a bright, fire engine red. “Dr. Killian Jones,” she answers happily, handing Emma a copy of her book, “expert in all things fucked up and certifiably creepy.”

Emma skims the almost revelatory reviews on the back as the girl continues, “The accent and the eyes don't hurt either.”

“Not a damn bit,” the kid with the bowtie, Jefferson, mumbles under his breath.

Emma releases a sigh. There's no point in being coy, she'd actually been excited about this. Turns out it's nothing more than an academic peep show.

“You should stick around,” the girl comments carefully, her grin shrewd, “I don't think you'll regret it.

“Here’s the thing about me,” she reflects carefully, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from her fingertips, “I’m skeptical, but I don’t begrudge people their beliefs.”

It probably has something to do with the absolutely devastating, trope-tastic childhood that she carries around with her like a brand. All those years yearning for some kind of “happily ever after,” when really it was just one bleak foster home after another, disappointment upon disappointment upon disappointment. But for a while? It was all that had kept her going.

“I would have given up otherwise,” a dry sniff, a cough that attempts to hide an unwelcome truth, “no matter how idealistic—stories… even the crazy ones, were everything.”

She pauses the recording, takes another swig of the warm beer in her hand, and pictures Killian Jones’ smug face, stiff blazer, and distinctly non-professorial jewelry. Recording.

“Asshole.”

“But what’s wrong with letting people believe what they believe…? If it brings them comfort?”

Emma’s sure this kid couldn’t look anymore nervous if she tried, the flushed cheeks and shaky hands an obvious betrayal of her adoration and fear of this guy. Sure, the deep, dulcet tones of his voice were what radio jockeys dreamed of, and yes, maybe the black stud in his ear managed to convey so authentic a quality that it had to be seen to be believed, but still—the all-knowing grin and perfect teeth were undoubtedly punch-worthy.

“I would never want to deny someone their comfort,” he begins gently, a charming twinkle in his eye, “but there’s quite a bit more at stake, love—”

Impossibly, the girl blushes even deeper as he continues, “Your intentions, while quite admirable, they undermine the integrity of scientific fact, and in this day and age, well…”

He laughs and the entire room joins in, even the girl who had asked the question, and Emma can’t help but feel that if she were to pull her aside at the end of the night, she would have insisted that he had done her some kind of favor.

Unsurprisingly, the rest of the night seems as if it will continue in much the same way. The guy has an answer to absolutely everything, and nothing has gotten under her skin more. He’s unshakeable in his rightness, in the certainty of his argument and his devotion to the truth with a capital “T.”

It would be almost admirable if it wasn’t so obviously a lie.

She decides to conduct street interviews the next day, nothing too formal, just the usual method of stopping folks on the street, inquiring after their views about the supernatural; make sure they feel comfortable and get honest, usable content.

“And you don’t think this tone of yours will influence their ‘honesty?’” David asks slyly, his smile familiar and deliberate and she’s had just about enough of how well he knows her sometimes.

“What tone? I just wanna prove to the guy that maybe he’s a little bit wrong about things.”

“No,” he laughs, shuffling around a pile of folders on top of his desk, “you want to humiliate him.”

“That would be unprofessional.”

“And no one would ever accuse you of that.”

She very professionally admits that she manages to speak with a handful of people who would agree with Dr. Killian Jones. They find belief in the supernatural, the magical, the unbelievable, to be a failing of the human mind, not a strength. A few of them even mentioned him by name, “That doctor, you know,” and she had to physically stop herself from recoiling, “the one with the accent. He’s got the right idea.”

But there’s also the vast majority of people who harbor some kind of belief in the unknown, even if it’s the teeniest, vaguest inkling—they want to believe, “And it warms the cockles of my cold, dead heart.”

It’s his answer to the last question that really seals the deal—acting as confirmation of the steadily growing theory that there’s a lot more to Jones’ “mission” than he’d like his enamored audiences to believe. It’s when the story that Emma Swan has started to write in her head goes from “so-so” to “award-winning.” It’s also when she gets the small blotch of ink on her face.

She’s just about ready to throw in the towel, hasn’t been able to stop anxiously chewing on the cap of the pen she had shoved into her mouth to keep from groaning at all of his well-crafted answers, when a stern-faced, well-dressed woman stands to speak.

Her voice seems to ring unusually loud in the suddenly hushed auditorium, and Emma’s eyes immediately swivel to the doctor’s face, which has, almost indiscernibly, shifted from charming to mildly concerned. Interesting.

“Yes, I have a question, Dr. Jones.”

He adjusts slightly in his seat, straightening the lapel of his blazer and clearing his throat, “Of course, darling, have at it.”

“You seem to have so many answers, and you’re so knowledgeable about all of these incomprehensible matters, I just have to know—”

“At this point, I’m so freaking enraptured by this ladies’ pantsuit, it’s all I can do to keep my butt in the seat,” there’s now a few empties strewn about the floor as she paces excitedly back and forth, her finger manically tapping against the side of the recorder, “In fact, I was so interested in this question that I happened to get pen ink all over my face,” she pauses, “but that’s neither here nor there. Point is, this lady stands up and says—”

“What happened to Milah Gold?”

A new, almost threatening kind of silence falls over the room. It had been “hushed” when Miss Pantsuit had stood up initially, but truthfully, there was still a smattering of noise you might usually attribute to normal human movement; the rustling of a candy wrapper, a small cough or shared whisper between friends, but the silence in the wake of this particular question, is, well, it’s almost spooky, isn’t it?

It’s like a vacuum has sucked all the air from the room, especially when you consider the fact that Jones’ face is so red it’s almost purple. His lips tighten and move together as if he’s about speak… and that’s when the goddamn lights go out.

“No shit?” David asks, distracted over the phone, his voice tinny and distant. She can hear Mary Margaret and the baby in the distance, the sound of a live studio audience clapping in time with his wife’s sickeningly sweet singing voice.

Emma’s own voice is high and fast as she walks quickly back to her car, a near-frigid October breeze whipping her hair into a frenzy against flushed cheeks, her boots still charmingly unzipped around her legs. “David, it was fucking wild. The lights went out.”

“So you said,” he laughs and says something to the baby in a squeaky, high-pitched voice she can’t help but roll her eyes at, “So, uh, you think there’s a story here?”

“Fucking hell, David, yes, yes, I think there’s a story here.”

“Well, you know I trust you,” Emma holds her breath as she stares at the strange, excited expression on the face of the woman reflected in the semi-frosted glass of her car window, “Go for it.”

It takes her a moment to realize that in the time spent walking from the lecture hall to her car, she’s somehow depleted all of her oxygen, and she has to quickly inhale before responding. Not to mention the fact of that damnable spot of ink still barely noticeable on the high apple of her stupid cheeks and she knows David’s waiting for an answer but it’s the freaking principle of the thing. She’s already about to lose a few cool points, with her back now resting heavily against the door of the VW, summoning the courage to be emotive for once in her pathetic life.

“Thank you, David. Seriously, I mean it.”

“No need to thank me,” he answers gently, “Emma Swan always gets her man.”

It will pain her to admit it, but there’s little room to exaggerate when she later tries to describe the undeniable smoothness of Dr. Killian Jones after the absurdly dramatic disruption of his, so far, grossly successful night of win, after win, after win. There’s some light shrieking and girlish giggling in the darkness of the auditorium, and Emma’s almost positive there’s a hand lost up a skirt somewhere, but as soon as the lights come up a few minutes later, it’s as if the whole thing never happened.

Pantsuit hasn’t plopped her proper butt back into her seat, but there’s a grin on Jones’ face that almost makes her believe he had planned the whole thing to catch her out. He makes some crack about the auditorium being haunted, “But don’t quote me on that,” winks, and turns those insane eyes back on the witch (Because she’s gotta be, right?) in the third row.

“The matter of Milah Gold’s disappearance is still up for a debate,” he answers firmly, succinctly, “and in all fairness I’m not quite certain why you would bring it up here.”

The witch in business attire takes a seat after that perfunctory response, and then, finally, after an almost masturbatory few hours in which Dr. Killian Jones manages to elevate himself to a pedestal so high she’s certain his body would explode on impact were he to do the whole world a favor and fling himself off, Emma Swan remains carefully still in her seat, waiting for the adoring fans to file out. Her recorder waits impatiently in the pocket of David’s denim jacket, at least three sizes too big, and she’s secretly yearning for the red leather number lost under her bed somewhere.

The pencil she’d tugged out of the rat’s nest on top of her head is tapping restlessly against her knee and goddamn, does she just want to get this guy alone. And she’s preparing herself because she just knows at this point, that when she gets within a hair’s breadth of his stupid face, he’s going to smell amazing—like warm, decadent cologne and expensive coffee. And she’s going to stare at his lips and her knees will undoubtedly quiver at the way he says… words.

“Come on, Emma,” she whispers furiously, wiping the unattractive, crusty remnants of old, useless sleep gathering at the corners of her eyes, “let’s give this guy something he’ll actually be afraid of.”

Whichever marketing firm designed August Booth’s website is a freaking genius.

“Well,” he laughs, blushing slightly, “thank you, Miss Swan.”

She meets him at his office in a town called Storybrooke, about an hour south of Portland, and calling it quaint would be an understatement. The people in this town would appear to be so close they’ve got a running schedule for everyone else’s daily fiber intake, and she wants to leave almost as soon as she arrives.

“So, it’s gotta be the pie or something, right?”

The guy’s charming, she’ll give him that, if not a bit… empty. Which is vague, she knows, and she’ll have to revise the language at a later date, but when she considers his laughter in her room later that night it’s the first word that’ll come to mind. Empty ideas, empty gestures, just… he’s there, but no one’s really home. Dr. Jones is a dramatic, performative jackass, there’s absolutely no doubt—but what’s not up for debate is his passion. The man obviously cares. Now, exactly what he cares about and why? That’s up for discussion.

“I don’t think I know what you mean,” smiling, but again, it’s all a bit off.

“Small towns like this,” she explains, “a lot of the time the reason people give for sticking around. It’s a signature dish or an old, anthropomorphic tree or something.”

“Ah,” he answers, turning around to face a large, imposing bookcase, “it does have... something.”

When she says “large,” she means floor to freaking ceiling. Emma’s got bookcases that David has called “large,” and she snaps a picture on her phone because this? This is large. Not only does it extend from the persian rug-covered floor to the water-stained ceiling, the thing is the width of the entire wall, one end to the other. Every shelf, every inch of available space is occupied, either with books, VHS cases, manuscripts, or various occult objects you couldn’t pay her to actually touch (she’s not so much with the tempting of fate).

“Jesus, does it spin around, too?”

She might pretend he doesn’t flinch at the Jesus-bomb, but regardless, he smiles again, of course, and makes some kind of Scooby-Doo reference she chooses to ignore.

He’s kinder up close and she wants to die. Basically. The anger is harder to use when she can see how fucking sweet he’s being to the gaggle of students hanging around, how he’s actually listening to their questions and comments instead of continuing the performance she had watched him perfectly execute on stage.

“I understand where you’re coming from, truly,” his hand pressed firmly, earnestly against his own chest, “but I’ve seen the damage it can do, and I have to take my own comfort in what I can actually see.”

He offers yet another winning, gentle grin, signs a few more books, confirms or denies a few more rumors, and she watches, entranced, as he collapses into his seat with a sigh. She almost feels bad for the guy. Almost.

“I know you’re there,” he starts kindly, his arm flung tiredly over his eyes, “no worries, love, I won’t bite.”

“What’s with the pet names?” she asks sweetly, dropping heavily into the seat across from him, “Does the tenure let you get away with that?”

He seems to lose his balance even though he’s seated, surprised at the vaguely mean, pointed quality of an older voice, “You’re not a student.”

“And you are very smart,” she responds kindly, her own smile adopting the least genuine feeling of kindness she can hope to convey, dragging her press pass out from beneath her flannel, “Emma Swan, ACRS.”

“Radio?”

The inviting, gentle nature she had witnessed earlier seems to have evaporated and there’s a part of her, a small, small part, that kind of hates what she’s about to do. As if it would kill her to make another friend.

“It’s a podcast.”

“I’m sorry, a what?”

“It’s radio. Look, don’t you think it’s just a little bit strange that—”

“Let me stop you right there, Miss Swan—”

Thus beginning the era of “interview interruptus,” as she would so gleefully begin later, trying and failing to conceal her pride at using a term she had coined a few months earlier. There was lots of fake politeness and huffs of frustrated breath and eye-rolling and honestly she barely got to ask a question let alone receive any answers, and he must have been getting just as irate as she was because the guy actually had the nerve to—

“What the hell are you doing?”

Realizing that she was standing dangerously close to this man, stepping out of his wickedly tempting sphere of handsome, academic influence (and she was right about the expensive coffee thing).

“You had some ink on your cheek,” he answered quietly, as if he were surprised at his own movement, his hand slowly returning to his side. “My apologies.”

“It’s fine,” she said sharply, swiping her hand over her face, “don’t worry about it.”

“Miss Swan,” he paused, “Emma.”

His brief silence was heavy, and while in reality it was probably only a few seconds, it felt as if hours of contemplation went by. It seemed like he was devoting so much energy, so much careful attention to his next words to her, and honestly, it was kind of refreshing.

“I understand you’re skeptical, alright? I’ve been known to doubt on occasion as well.”

She rolls her eyes and he smiles, his pronounced cheeks adorably flushed, “But I’m bloody exhausted, I could use some rest. Here’s my card.”

It’s just a normal business card, which is pretty disappointing. Could’ve at least used some holo-graphics or something.

“E-mail me, give me a call. We can talk then.”

Emma Swan is well-versed in the complex, many-layered looks of suspicion and distaste. She’s not quite sure which one she’s decided to unleash on the good doctor here, but from the look on his face it’s not too far off from the one she’d given Neal when he had tried to “bury the hatchet,” as it were. His face softens and he releases a quiet breath, a new, patient smile on his face.

“Try something new, darling. It’s called trust.”

And that’s when she runs for her car.

You can tell that August Booth wants to be able to pull off that genuine, trustworthy thing that Dr. Jones is able to convey so well, which is what makes it that much more distasteful to observe.

“I didn’t even think they made VHS tapes anymore.”

August glances back at her over his shoulder with a mischievous look on his face, or at the very least, trying to be. It’s a little bit like a teenager who thinks they’ve managed to pull one over on the teacher, when really they’re about to be sent to summer school.

“They do, actually,” he starts, pulling a black tape off the shelf, “something about the way it records. Catches it better.”

“Never thought I would hear that,” she answers, following his path across the room to an old television with a large player stacked beneath it. “Catches what better?”

A few hours later she’s calling, e-mailing, and texting Dr. Killian Jones, trying to temper the excitable tone of her voice, “Hey, Dr. Handsome? Yeah, I hope you’re well-rested. I’ve got something you need to see.”

Dropping her phone almost directly into the good doctor’s hot coffee probably isn’t the best idea she’s ever had, but it’s certainly one of the more dramatic.

“I hope you know that I won’t be paying for that,” he starts calmly, his eyebrow predictably, adorably quirked.

“Don’t quirk that thing at me,” she answers hotly, pulling the phone away at the corner, wiping the liquid off on her jeans, “she’s endured a whole lot worse than your shitty coffee.”

He takes an actual, delicate sip of his hot, expensive, garbage coffee and she thinks, gleefully, of all the articles she’s read about problematic coffee bean importation and the fact that this self-righteous jerkface actually thinks he’s taking the moral high ground right now before she tries to hand the phone over yet again. Slower this time.

“Watch it,” insistently pushing the phone into his hand, “I think you’ll find it... enlightening.”

“I can assure you, Swan,” slowly returning his mug to the table, his eyes never leaving hers as he tugs it from her fingers, “it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see about that.”

She probably should’ve warned him, the screaming is pretty loud.

Exorcism footage is undeniably fucked, and she’s starting to regret the re-watch rabbit hole she tumbled down the night before. She hadn’t slept much, and between the violent, erratic spasming and otherworldly shrieking she’s not sure she’ll be sleeping ever again, thank you very much. It is worth it, however, for the shocked, offended look on his face when Alex Reagan, aged 10 or 11, lets out an ungodly shriek so loud that the barista behind the counter drops a bucket full of dirty mugs and dishes. (And, okay, she does feel slightly bad about that.)

“Good God, Swan,” he hisses angrily, desperately trying to mute her phone before it gives the older lady in the corner booth a heart attack, “you could see fit to warn a man.”

“Oops.”

His sigh of frustration is almost erotically gratifying, and she unleashes a smug, self-satisfied grin of her own before he resumes the video, at a much lower volume this time, and a serene sense of concentration seems to envelop him as he watches the entire 10 minute clip.

It had seemed pretty legitimate, in her admittedly amateur opinion. Maybe she hadn’t spent her whole life debunking the paranormal, but she liked to think she had a pretty good instinct for these things. August Booth was a shady character, there was no doubt in her mind of that, but this tape—and the others? They had to be real.

Her voice is clear, steady, and entirely unimpeded by snacks as she records. Her foot fails to nervously fidget beneath her desk as it normally would. Her motives are pure and ethically sound.

Take that, David Nolan.

Let me describe it for you, so you can really get a clear sense of what we’re seeing.

There’s a young girl tied to a chair. She’s unusually small for her age, Booth says she can’t be any older than 10, but it takes at least 3 large, beefy guys to keep her in that chair. There’s a sound coming from the video, and, ya know, her mouth is open, so it has to be the girl, but… it sounds more like the cries of a wounded animal. A cat, maybe. And it echoes, loudly, throughout the room—you can tell that it’s distracting the priest, which… I dunno, maybe that’s the point.

He’s chanting something in Latin, and it’s having some kind of effect on the girl, Alex, her jaw seems to be clenched so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t break. This goes on for a while, I won’t bore you with the rest, but it’s the end that’s really… it’s really something else. The priest seems to finish his chant or sermon, whatever it is, and Alex goes real still, like maybe she’s heard something in another room?

And then…

“Bloody hell.”

“Told ya.”

...Her mouth just… drops open, but it’s more than that, it’s not like she’s surprised or excited or shouting, it just drops, like the physical reality of her bones aren’t even a thing, because this poor girl’s jaw, it’s down to her sternum, at least, and it’s only a second, it’s a literal fraction of a second but when you see it. Man, do you see it.

“Debunk that, Mr. Bean.”

Dr. Jones looks thoroughly unimpressed for a whopping 30 seconds before he speaks.

“Where did you find this, Emma?”

“I may have taken a trip to Storybrooke after our chat the other day.”

The man couldn’t look less amused by that confession even if he tried. His manner seems to shift from inquisitive scientist to scolding parent, and she tries not to feel disappointed.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Swan.”

“Oh, it’s ‘Swan,’ now, is it?”

He slips the phone back into her hand and returns to his seat, his sad, neglected coffee having significantly cooled since she walked in the door. She had been hoping for another explosive debate, if she were being truthful. Not that they’d made much progress the other night at the college, but she enjoyed riling him up—he blushed a lot.

“What is it you want from me?”

She sighs and considers her position. The least she could do is be truthful with her subject. The chair slides harshly across the floor as she moves to take a seat, and the coffee shop seems to fall almost eerily quiet in the absence of the video, the sound of their voices filtering in between the generic noises of a public space.

“I just want the truth, Jones. Like you.”

“Somehow, Miss Swan, I’m not quite sure that’s true.”

There’s something unsettling about the way he studies her, like he knows all of her deepest, darkest secrets, can read her insecurities as if they were second-rate horoscopes in some local paper and she wants to take it all back—she’ll write about the cat toenails. After a few long, uncomfortable minutes in which she feels strangely psychoanalyzed, he manages to expose at least one of her secrets.

“I know you got that tape from August Booth,” taking a sip of his cold coffee and wrinkling his nose, “and I can’t say I approve.”

“Good thing I don’t live or die at the whims of your approval, Dr. Jones.”

“Yes, I would have to agree. Quite a good thing.”

He seems to disappear into himself for another moment, not dissimilar to his reaction when the almost comically serious, dark-haired woman had asked him about Milah Gold that night at the lecture.

“I have a proposition,” he starts again, straightening his jacket, “if you’re going to be as… shall we say, ‘committed,’ to hounding me about this as you appear to be—”

A bearded waiter wearing suspenders (because this coffee shop isn’t trendy enough) stops by their table to retrieve empty mugs and take any other orders, and she would very much like to get some herbal tea (David “pop-pop” Nolan seems to think that caffeine “makes her worse”), except this dude won’t stop flirting with her paranormal professor. Her time is precious, after all.

“Excuse me, yes, hello?”

Killian Jones stops flashing his obnoxious eyeballs at their stunned waiter long enough for her to order her tea and then he’s gone, both of them making eyes at the other until he’s back behind the counter.

“You are a mystery unto yourself, Dr. Jones.”

He clears his throat and tries to hold back another one of those smug grins she still can’t stand, and he gestures towards her phone sitting innocuously on the table, like a bomb waiting to go off.

“I know this all seems like just another story to you, but there’s a lot more to this world than you know.”

“I do know, that’s why—”

He chuckles and gently interrupts, “Just, hold on one moment and let me finish. I’ve listened to a few of your ‘podcasts,’ as you call them. You are clearly very smart, intuitive, I have no doubt you could tell a compelling story.”

Flirty, in-over-his-head waiter returns with her tea, and luckily, doesn’t stick around for another game of mental footsie.

“If you’re going to tell this story, as I have no doubt you will, I want to make sure that it’s the truth.”

She raises an eyebrow, as if listening to a few of her episodes means he knows her. Nothing is more important than the integrity of her work. Nothing. Cat toenails or no, she’s not a liar.

“I’m not great at a whole lot, Dr. Jones. But I’m a brilliant reporter. I’m thorough and careful and creative and I do my job. I don’t need you or anybody else reminding me of what the truth is.”

Stand up, she thinks to herself, leave. You don’t know need him to tell this story, it’s practically writing itself at this point. In her recollections of this moment, lost in the digital confines of her recorder, looking out over the bay in her VW, the sun setting magnificently in the distance, she will lie. Just a little bit.

“So he tells me he thinks we’d make a good team, basically, only the language was a bit more formal.”

As if she were some kinda middle-class British lady in a Jane Austen novel and he’s gonna be her Mr. Darcy or a Knightley or whomever the hell decides to play the gentleman in the story of her life. Makes her realize that he wasn’t who she thought he was or some bullshit, and “No,” aloud, recording, “he’s exactly who I think he is.”

“Anyway,” taking a breath, re-focusing, onto the next step, “he’s taking me out of state tomorrow.” Some kind of haunting in Canada and dammit, she’s gonna need to dig her passport out of her closet.

“This is Emma Swan, ACRS, signing off.”

#ouat ff #cs ff #cs fanfic #cs mc #cs au #captain swan #cs: shit is breathtaking bro #@hencethewriter #jonespod #i know i'm terrible about multi-chapter fic #but i promise #this one is already #almost done #the second chapter just needs finishing

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chrishoulihan · 7 years

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FYF ADVENTCHEA

So this shit turned into a fucking novel, I’m putting it under a cut and it’s just as much for my own recollection as it is for anyone who wants to hear about my festival weekend. Get into it

So I arrived in LA on Thursday morning after my flight was delayed by an hour and ended up getting there at the exact same time as Anna A @yourveryeyes which was fortuitous! We took a Lyft to Exposition Park to pick up her wristband for the festival, wandered around a little bit, and ended up taking the Metro downtown to meet up with Kylie @electric-candyman who was GREAT TO MEET and was also going to the festival, and her friend Chris who doesn’t have a Tumblr afaik and was going to both FYF and the Planetarium show that night. We went to MOCA which was pretty sweet, they had a Rothko room and a few Rauschenberg pieces that were really cool to see in person. After that Anna and I split off to go to Hollywood and check out Amoeba on our way to Sufjan and that was obviously amazing, I didn’t have enough space in the bags I packed to buy any records (which was by design, my broke ass can’t afford to drop a lot of money on vacation and you can’t waste money on stuff if you don’t have room to carry it home *tapping head guy meme*) but I bought a little heart-eyed cat emoji pin as a souvenir and I definitely wanted to buy 5000 things I couldn’t have.

From there we went to the Hollywood Forever Cemetery for Planetarium and met up with Anna L @louisdebumhole ANN- SQUAD REUNITED HELL YEAH. We got to the cemetery and went in all together like over an hour after the doors opened but since it was a lawn show there was still barely anyone lined up at the stage by the time we got there and we got just behind the rail?? AMAZING. I haven’t had the opportunity for rail at a Sufjan show since the Christmas pageant in 2012. Chris showed up not too long after us and joined us right by the stage and Anna L’s friend was there on the rail too so it was a party.

OBVIOUSLY PLANETARIUM WAS INCREDIBLE. My dumb ass forgot to save my Instagram story so I don’t have any of my own videos but it was so great. Sufjan wore his stupid beautiful clashing pajama suit and some fuckin moon boots and he looked fabulous and sang like an angel and said a lot of nonsensical inspirational stuff (like this which is the only video I managed to salvage.) The whole record sounds even richer and fuller live; Jupiter, Moon, and Venus sounded especially amazing. AND fun fact, Matt Berninger was there and watched the entire show from the left side of the stage! My indie dad Matty B supporting his homies!! I also got a setlist after the show ended, which was exciting even though of course it’s literally just a list of planets and in the exact same order as the record lmao. But it’s my first Sufjan-related setlist and I will cherish it forever.

So we got back to Anna L’s house I think around midnight that night and by then I had been awake for like 21 hours so I was exhausted and basically passed out as soon as I could. Next day was the START OF FYF and Anna A/Kylie/Chris and I decided that we wanted to go for Bjork rail, since she was the first act on the main stage on Friday and there weren’t really any other bands playing before her elsewhere that we were dying to see. Before we went to the festival Anna A and I hung out with her friend Jen who was great, we got boba and then went downtown to The Last Bookstore, which was bomb, and had lunch at Grand Central Market. Got to the festival about half an hour before the gates opened, made it through the long ass queue, and went immediately to the main stage where we got basically center-right just behind the rail!! For fucking Bjork!!! Commence freaking out for the next three hours. Chris and Kylie showed up later right behind us and it was such a fun and easy queueing experience for me, everyone around us was super chill and everyone was so hype to see Bjork that we pretty much just looked out for each other and bonded over our mutual fandom. Anna and I had intended to see Bjork together in NYC back in 2015 but it got cancelled so this was a LONG TIME COMING and I’m so glad that we were able to make it happen.

So Bjork was the first set of my whole festival weekend and honestly it was one of the best performances I’ve ever seen?? SHE WAS AMAZING and I knew I was gonna be emotional but I wasn’t fucking prepared for how surreal and incredible it felt to hear THAT VOICE in person and to be that close to her while it happened. Unreal. She had Arca with her as her DJ and a whole string ensemble, and she came out wearing a glow in the dark lime green headdress mask thing and a huge puffy dress that made her look like a beautiful pinata. Everything about it was fucking perfect; she did at least one song from every record except Vespertine. Multiples from Vulnicura/Homogenic/Post, Come to Me, Mouth’s Cradle, Wanderlust, Mutual Core. Fucking awesome. Favorites for me were probably Joga (CRIED), Mouth’s Cradle (fuckin bomb arrangement and a huge surprise), Isobel & Bachelorette (two of my all time faves), Notget and Hyperballad which had LITERAL FIREWORKS AND FIREBALLS going off onstage behind her?? What the fuck?? Amazing. And it was the most fun and loving group of people on the rail I’ve ever been part of; everyone around me was so genuinely excited and emotional and singing along and I could FEEL THE LOVE.

So that was an amazing start to the festival obviously and after Bjork we met up with Anna L and went straight to go see Anderson Paak who I missed BOTH TIMES he was here in Portland last year because I’m an idiot, and WOW he is so great live!! I’m actively offended that he is not my boyfriend tbh, he has the most beautiful and infectious smile I’ve ever seen on a human being. Big ol dance party up in the lawn stage. After that we went back to the main stage to watch Missy Elliott for a while and that was a lot of fun; found out after the fact that Bjork and fucking BEYONCE were watching off stage, so like, now I can say I have been in the presence of Beyonce. Went to Flying Lotus early which was the last set of the night to get a good view, with our sweet Flylo-branded 3D glasses obv. Flylo was amazing as always and the 3D show was awesome, I hope he takes it on the road cause that shit was fire. I’m also really into the mystical shaman look he seems to be cultivating lately lmao, and he looks cute as hell with the longer hair!! One of the biggest highlights of the whole weekend for me was when he started the Captain Murphy stuff, got one verse through The Killing Joke, and then was like “you know what fuck this I changed my mind, I want to do this song cause I never get the chance to do it” and fucking busted out with COSPLAY, which is only my favorite Captain Murphy track ever!!! I wasn’t expecting it cause it’s pretty obscure even for the Captain Murphy stuff and I lost my goddamn mind it was so much fun. (Gotta say though that the longer he keeps riding out Murphy tracks from 2012 at his live shows, the more egregious it is that he still hasn’t fuckin dropped a Murphy album or any substantial Murphy release since then. Come on bro. I’ve been waiting 5 years) ANYWAY so that was great of course. Day One = big success.

Day Two! Before we went to the festival that day we met up and had lunch with Anna L’s bf Jesus, who had a Saturday/Sunday festival pass and is a lovely man with great taste in music and cat photos and baseball caps. First set of the day for me was Thundercat and it was my SIXTH time seeing him live, which is hilarious (gonna be 7 times in September.) One of the first things he said to the crowd after getting on stage was “you guys look like you smell weird,” which was accurate. Obviously he’s always great live and I loved getting to hear more of the Drunk songs since the last time I saw him. He’s also rocking some pretty sweet neon pink dreads right now. Caught the end of Noname’s set with Anna A and Chris afterwards and really enjoyed it! I want to check out her album now cause she was great. Grabbed some food and then the whole crew met up together again to see Perfume Genius – GORGEOUS. I’d never seen him live before and he’s so captivating to watch. His performance of Slip Away to close the set was one of my favorites of the whole weekend.

After that I ended up splitting up with everyone, watched some of Arca’s set but ended up leaving to go hang out on the lawn before Erykah Badu because my feet were killing me and I really needed to sit down and recharge. Erykah was supposed to go on at 9:50; cut to 10:15 and she still hasn’t gone on and I was already planning on cutting out of her set at 10:30 to try and snag a semi decent spot for Frank Ocean, so I said fuck it and bailed to go do that. BUMMED I DIDN’T GET TO SEE HER TBH I was really looking forward to it. But it’s kinda good that I left sooner rather than later because the main stage was already pretty packed by 10:30 for Frank. I got an okay spot to the right of the stage probably about 10+ rows back from his platform catwalk thing, and it was easily the most crowded audience I was in all weekend. Talk about being packed like sardines it was madness, if I had showed up like 10 minutes later than I did I would have had an absolutely shit view.

So like…..FRANK FUCKING OCEAN. Never ever thought the day would come that I’d see him live, and the whole experience was so incredibly special to me. I DEFINITELY cried buckets when he sang Lens, which has weirdly become one of my all time favorite tracks in the last few months, and Ivy really really got to me out of nowhere too. Literally everyone around me within earshot sang along to every single word of every song and it was amazing. He played an unreleased cover of some old school funk track that was absolute straight fucking fire, me and the girl next to me danced our asses off together. That shit better get an official release on his radio show like he said he was planning!! Also Brad Pitt was on stage at one point and that was HILARIOUS tbh I wish I had gotten any sort of video of that myself, but the way the wasted dude behind me shouted “WHAT THE FUUUCK” when he popped up on screen will remain fresh in my memory forever. The whole show was gorgeous and I just LOVE FRANK OCEAN!!! I want him to tour so bad so I can actually plan out a scenario where I can get rail for his show and have a better view.

Aaaand Day Three. Got to the festival kinda lateish because the first act the Ann- Squad wanted to see wasn’t till after 6 (Little Dragon), so once we got there we took some photos and wandered around a bit, met back up with Chris and Kylie and took these majestic photobooth pictures, and then Anna A and I went to Little Dragon early for a good spot. I had never seen them before and it was a blast, just a total dance party. They mostly played stuff from Season High which was fine by me cause that album fuckin bangs. Then mood whiplash when we went straight from Little Dragon to Moses Sumney lmao. We got to Moses’ set right when he started our mutual fave Lonely World, serendipitous tbh!! He is beautiful and I loooove the lighting setup he’s got going for his show, it felt really unique to me among the loud dancey festival fare.

After that we went back to the main stage for Solange, which was great; I’m not as familiar with her music as I could be tbh but I really enjoyed how conceptual and dance-oriented her show was. At one point a whole massive brass section streamed in out of nowhere just for one song and it was fuckin awesome. Towards the end of Solange’s set Kylie texted me to say that if we hurried there was still a little bit of rail space left for Run the Jewels in fifteen minutes, to which we were immediately like UHH YES WTF and hustled our way the fuck over – made it in time, got just behind the rail for motherfucking Run the Jewels right before they went on somehow, *Killer Mike voice* goddammit it’s a motherfucking miracle. Give Kylie 5000 gold medals tbh. And RTJ ended up being probably my favorite non-headlining set of the weekend, SO MUCH FUN. The crowd was fucking nuts, everyone around me was going stupidly hard, and I discovered that I know pretty much every word of RTJ3 lmao. The only thing that could have made it more perfect would have been if they’d done Panther Like A Panther, WHICH THEY DIDN’T and was greatly missed by me. But it was amazing. I’m kind of in love with El-P’s ridiculous ass tbh.

Last show of the weekend – Nine Inch Nails!! Who I love!!!!! And hadn’t seen live in almost four years!!!!!! I’m always fucking trash for Nine Inch Nails honestly, their live shows just turn me into a raging dancing idiot and this was no exception. ‘Wish’ will always be one of my favorite songs to hear live from any band ever. Also got to hear Something I Can Never Have and Reptile for the first time ever for me which was awesome!! Bold move of Trent to throw in Something I Can Never Have as the fourth song in a festival set but I was loving it. Like I said yesterday I randomly lost my fucking mind to The Hand That Feeds lmao, I was actually jumping around like a moron. The newer songs were great too, Field On Fire FUCKING BANGS live holy shit. Basically it was just so great to cap off the weekend with band that I’ve loved for ten years and are always fucking immaculate live. And then when it was all over I got chicken strips and fries and walked out of the festival with the fam eating my delicious food. Perfection.

So that was my weekend and I honestly could not have dreamed of having a better time. I’m so so glad that I was able to do this, see some of my favorite bands with an awesome group of people who love music just as much as I do, get out of town and clear my head, and find some healing at a time when I really needed it. I feel very lucky.

#gonna post some video comps later today

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gaming-grandma · 7 years

Photo

I finally finished RiME today! I say “finally”, but it took me about 7 hours.

To quote one of my favorite youtubers, “I have been sucked into this tsunami of good *** games”. The past year I’ve played maybe 1 or 2 games that didn’t surprise me with how great they were. I have had so many great experiences lately! Titles like this include Abzu, Journey, Uncharted 4, Breath of the Wild, the Last Guardian, Persona 5, MGSV, Starbound, Overwatch, Hyper Light Drifter, and Owlboy, Those are just off the top of my head, so I may be forgetting a few.

I digress. RiME is also on that list. I didn’t expect too much going in, because just before release I started hearing murmurs on the internet about how it was going to flop, and that it was rather disappointing. I disagree with those who think so- Although it is a complicated subject, and the subject matter itself is rather hard to grasp on a first playthrough, RiME is definitely not a disappointment.

It succeeds in what it wants to do, and as long as you don’t have unreal expectations about what you think it’ll be like, you’ll like it.

The Smiles

RiME is one of those games that prides itself on its spectacular visuals and music, similar to Journey, Abzu, or the Last Guardian. In fact, the game itself feels like the love child of all three of those games. I wouldn’t say it surpasses them, but it does a good job at inspiring awe, intrigue, and other such delightful emotions. The story makes sense with literally 0 dialogue, albeit it only begins to make sense towards the end of the game. I love the environments and colors that were brought to life by Unreal Engine! The music was fantastic, and I see myself buying the score soon. Gameplay was good, I had very few frustrating moments due to controls or camera angles, which is definitely something I can’t say about the previous games I’ve mentioned. If you liked Journey or ICO or Shadow of the Colossus and enjoy mystery adventure puzzles with great visuals and music, you’ll definitely enjoy this.

The Frowns

I learned too little too late that this game is a port from the PS4 version.

That might be “oh, whatever” but they definitely dropped the ball on optimizing it. There are some major FPS issues in this game on PC, especially if you don’t have a high tier machine. My PC is somewhere in the lower end of top-of-the-line, so it’s more than capable of handling this. However, due to optimization failure, there were a more than a few moments where it inexplicably dropped to jarring FPS levels when it’s normally hovering around my cap of 60. Keep that in mind- if you have a PS4 and a PC, buy it on the PS4- it runs more consistently. Unless, of course, they come up with a patch, which I see probably happening. Note: This whole complaint isn’t detracting from the game itself, but rather the creators. At least we got it on PC at all!

Aside from that, the only major frustration I can think of is that sometimes some things were very specifically blocked off for no logical reason. Like, why can’t I just jump on this fallen boulder to get over the doorway? I know he’s capable. Fine, I’ll backtrack and get a key four rooms away. There were moments like that were the path seemed too easy, so you’re forced to do things the hard way without a great reason as to why.

The gameplay never feels like it evolves past platforming and jumping across ledges and pushing switches. It’s a short game, so I understand that there’s only so much you can do, but I found myself doing the same puzzles at the end of the game that I had been doing since the beginning. I don’t mean it gets repetitive and stale, but rather that there’s not much else going on with gameplay. So, it ALMOST gets stale, I guess is what I mean.

CONCLUSIONS!

This lovely little game about fear, sorrow, acceptance, and spirituality manages to teach the mechanics and get the player thinking and feeling some pretty deep things without ever uttering a single word! I loved it, and although it was unfortunately short (but sweet) and didn’t sell well, I think you should pick it up if you’re into the types of games I’ve previously mentioned.

I give it a 4/5!

#RiME #video game #game #steam #review #my opinion #thoughts #PC #PC game #games #gmareviews

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annamariemirfin · 7 years

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Trip to Skagway, ALASKA

The weekend after my trip to Dawson I went away to Skagway, Alaska with Annie for her choir concert. It was a pretty interesting experience. I was impressed by how scenic the trip and the city itself were and now, of course, I can say that I have been to Alaska / the USA. I feel like a large part of the appeal in going to Skagwag was that it would give me the ability to make this claim.

As we drove to Skagway the scenery changed dramatically. We went from driving through mixed boreal forest, to suddenly being surrounded by snow as far as the eye could see - as far as the huge white mountains that towered on the horizon, then as we dropped down in elevation the snow melted away, here the road wound right through the rocky mountains and we traveled past running waterfalls of meltwater, and then all of a sudden, very abruptly, there was greenery! There was grass, real green grass on the mountains rocky outcrops, and leaves on the deciduous trees! When we hopped out of the car so that I could fill out a green card (hah! The irony!) to cross the US border, I was struck by how different the air smelt and tasted. I could taste the moisture and the organic scents in the air. Oh it was so refreshing. I really realised at that moment that this was something I had sorely missed. I also reflected that I was kind of crazy for putting myself through another northern spring time. I don’t like the spring that much, I really don’t. I learnt to appreciate the unusual and unique beauty of winter (I should include some more creative writing I have done about this) and the surreal, intense northern summers are quite an experience, but spring is sort of just this dissatisfying, draining time of transition when I miss the sights, scents and tastes provided by a moist, well vegetated environment. I am a garden girl. I need my plants. In saying this there were a number of other reasons why I have stayed in Whitehorse for this long and I really did want to see my time out til the summer. Everything comes with a bit of a cost.

In Skagway I rejoiced at the sight of lush greenery, it didn’t feel as fulfilling to me as Dunedin / New Zealand greenery (well it was just different) but it was still beautiful. The mountains were covered in a mixture of fluffy, bright green deciduous trees and darker evergreens. The colour contrast was very distinct. The sky was blue and strewn with wind whipped puffs of white cloud. There were lush gardens outside people’s homes, luxuriously thick grass and bushes of colorful alien plant species with flowers in the brightest, most vivid shades of yellow, purple and pink. They were bold, ostentatious, incongruous. How foreign and even unreal it seemed. Artificial perhaps. But pleasingly artificial in the way that a huge ice cream sunday, or storebought apple pie is pleasingly artificial. It was a poetic and artistic inspiration to me. My senses were rather delighted. There was colour, there was motion there were the most wonderful, interesting smells. It seemed far windier here than what I was used to. Trees swayed; their light, papery and semi-translucent new leaves flitted frantically. USA flags adorned some of the houses we passed by, and the flags too, whipped about in the breeze. I imagined, that inside every home with a USA flag on it, to fit one stereotypical US symbol with another, an apple pie was being baked in the oven in the kitchen inside and it would be pulled from the oven by a smiling house wife in a pink checkered pinnie. It seemed to be that kind of place. This impression was aided by the abundance of simultaneously appealing and unappealing sweet shops that could be found throughout town, such as the Popcorn Emporium. I had wandered through a cloud of an intense, delicious yet unnatural smelling aroma. It smelt of vanilla cupcakes, or some marketed good that claimed to be scented like vanilla cupcakes because it really wasn’t quite convincing and all together just a little too cloying. I soon traced the scent to The Popcorn Emporium where I felt my eyes widen and my noise both rejoice and crinkle at an abundance of super sweet - too sweet - smells and sights. There was vanilla popcorn, caramel popcorn and samples of just about any other kind of popcorn you can imagine, runny batter being slopped onto waffle makers by staff wearing bright red caps, alarmingly coloured ice cream being piled onto cones. It was a caloric wonderland.

The town of Skagway, like all of the other towns I have visited in the Yukon, is a well preserved historical klondike town. (You may remember reading that Skagway was one of the ports that the stampeders used to access the Klondike goldfields). The ex-boomtown has maintained its historical character well. In some stores the staff even wear period costume.

Skagway has a huge tourism business and several ferries of tourists arrived while we were there. In some ways this is a sort of annoying aspect of Skagway, but in other ways it’s sort of nice, because it meant that the quality of the stores and shops were rather high - I found many that I was rather fond of - and sometimes it’s just nice to feel as though you’re in a more populated place. It creates a bit of a buzz, a higher energy.

That evening I attended Annie’s choir concert which was a very small affair held at the local Presbyterian church. Two chamber choirs performed and they were both very good. Following this the choir went out for drinks at the pub and then Annie and I met our couchsurfing host, Max, at ‘Olivia’s’ restaurant. This turned out to be perhaps the worst salad experience of my life. I ended up paying $20 for what was essentially leaves, avocado and brussel sprouts. > : (

After that we went to stay in Max’s cabin in the woods (just a 10 minute drive from downtown). He’d had made it himself and it was basic and small but quite cozy and well furnished inside. Max was a shy but very kind host and we had a very interesting discussion with him about alternative cancer medicines. He is very well researched in this field. The next morning I savored the scents of the outdoors and the tranquility of the forest (this was a special part of the trip for me) before traveling to Dyea (say die - ee ) with Annie (this is where the start of the Chilkoot trail is, one of the major trails that stampders used during the Klondike). We had a delicious and satisfying lunch later on at a Thai restaurant and I very much enjoyed visiting the Skagway museum and learning more about the Klondike goldrush. Really this was where I learnt most of what I know about it now - better late than never! My trip to the museum was very enlightening and highlighted my prior ignorance. Suddenly everything made sense. All of the puzzle pieces fell into place. The story excited me, genuinely enriched my experience of the place I was in. In fact, it was absolutely critical to understanding the place I was in. After that we drove back to Whitehorse.

Oh yeeaah, and stupidly, I didn’t bring my Canadian working visa with my on the trip. I had only been thinking about how I was going to get into the US and not how I was going to get back into my ‘home’ country. ‘Why would any US border security guard care that I have a Canadian working visa?’ I had thought. Luckily the Canadians were nice about it and accepted the picture that I had on my phone. I felt like such a rogue traveler. Living on the edge ey.

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PETER CROUCH: FA’s decision to fine Liverpool boss Jurgen Klopp is a victory for killjoys

Peter Crouch is a columnist for Sportsmail

[19459108] How could they sue him? I asked myself that question when I heard Jurgen Klopp received a call from the FA.

I had seen the derby of Merseyside and, since I always have to stay in the camp of Liverpool, I loved what I saw in the last minute.

De Klopp started tearing on the field to jump on Alisson Becker, my first reaction was to burst with laughter.

Spontaneity is one of the many things I like about football. I played in enough derby's to know what to bet.

We beat Everton 3-1 at home and away in my first season in Liverpool and the sound at Anfield was unreal, so it was always uneasy when Divock Origi beat the winner.

Klopp became entangled in the moment, but was that a big deal? I appreciate why Evertonians thought it terrible to see it. To be honest, if I were in the position of Marco Silva, I would have mourned if I had seen the opposition leader gallop that way.

Silva deserves credit for the remaining calm both after the game and in the following days. You saw with Neil Warnock and Nuno Espirito Santo, when Cardiff lost to Wolves last season, how managers can make exceptions to parties and situations can get ugly.

Yet I saw the good side in what Klopp did, I would have been in trouble. I know that the £ 8,000 punishment I received was not exaggerated but still, I do not think it was necessary.

Forget Klopp for a minute and be honest. If the manager of your team would respond that way after you scored an essential goal, you would love it. Do not say you would not do that. We want our managers to feel what we feel and Liverpudlians saw that from Klopp.

The best response I've given & # 39; I've seen it from one of my managers was Stoke's Tony Pulis after my Joe Joe volley ended in 2012. It was obviously the best goal that I've ever scored, but the thing that I remember the most, turned around and saw Tony shaking up and down with his waving baseball cap & # 39; Oh my f *** ing God! & # 39;

He had this big smile on his face – again, just pure enjoyment – while he was walking up and down the sidelines, not really knowing what to do. We play football and watch the moments when absolute happiness gets the upper hand.

There is also something nice for a football player to see his manager respond to a big moment that way. You feel like you are all there and it helps you through the difficult times.

That's why I never pulled my head around those people who score against their former clubs, but show no emotion. What is it all about?

You see someone apologize to supporters who used to play and & # 39; sorry & # 39; found, but it's all for effect. If you're sorry, why would you shoot in the first place?

Klopp quickly accepted his sentence and said he would not do it again. I apologized, but I was happy to read and did not regret his actions. Why would he?

We watch every week a competition that offers us iconic moments. If you think back to the inaugural Premier League season 1992-93, Sir Alex Ferguson and Brian Kidd have to come on the pitch after Manchester United has defeated Sheffield Wednesday

you had to call top three of Jose Mourinho moments, I would Like to say that most of you would take him along the sidelines at Old Trafford after Porto's shock Champions League success in 2004.

These are moments that go into history. If Liverpool wins the competition, images of Klopp's sprint against Everton will come to a row. By giving him a fine, we now say that we no longer want to see this from managers? I hope not. We do not want a diluted passion and emotion.

Arsenal negotiated

I was upset about the fact that his first game was in charge and that he was subjected to enormous amounts of criticism and said too much in [my second column of the season] . A manager of his family tree deserves respect and time, and he turns out to be a smart appointment.

What I find difficult to work on the fantastic run of Arsenal, is why the on-field brilliance of Pierre-Emerick Aubameyang is no longer emphasized.

If Harry Kane, Mohamed Salah or Sergio Aguero had had a series of 20 goals in 27 games – his second in the 4-2 win over Tottenham was first class – we would be in a hurry to say how good she was but it feels like some people do not pay attention to Aubameyang.

The derby of North London was a good example .

There were not many people in the stadium, but I did not know what to do. some incidents that could not be approved, such as coins thrown on the field and the terrible incident with the banana peel, but I actually thought that the game – with big challenges and some skirmishes – was exactly what football in this country should to be.

It was passionate and devoted and Arsenal showed those qualities in abundance. Watching how the Gunners develop in the second half of the season will be intriguing.

He is intense but Sol will not portray him as a master

I was born in Macclesfield and have always followed the fate of the local team, so I was very happy that my old friend Sol Campbell got his first job in management at Moss Road. His first league game is on Saturday in Colchester.

Sol is an intense man, but he is meticulous in everything he does. Some people think he will try and get in and out of Macclesfield, but I will look at every detail to maximize his chances of success.

I played with him for both Portsmouth and England but I met him for the first time at Tottenham when I came through the rows. Sol, Les Ferdinand, Steven Carr and Stephen Clemence were always brilliant with academic guys who came and he was an inspiration to us all.

When Sol was in his splendor, it was almost impossible to play against him. He could have played for every team in the world after he left Tottenham but eventually went to Arsenal and was a mainstay in perhaps their biggest team ever. Trust me when I say that he really was that good.

He has made no secret of his ambition to become a manager and fairplay for facing a difficult challenge. Given their current position, the 92nd team in the divisions, is the only way up and I hope that he can help them out of trouble.

]

It was a joy to watch Manchester City again on Tuesday. I said four weeks ago that I can see them looking undefeated through the season and the chances of that drama will be drastically reduced if they reach Chelsea on Sunday.

The way they saw Watford was so impressive and a man who stood out was Riyad Mahrez. I knew he was a top player in Leicester, but did not see how he would make a difference to the City team after paying £ 60 million for him.

However, he was glorious on Vicarage Road. Like many others who have joined City, his level has risen because of working with Pep Guardiola. Watford is a difficult place to go, but with the exception of the sticky last 10 minutes, they have made it seem right through the sea and I can not see how they will be stopped.

You can only imagine how Liverpool feels. This is the best team I have seen coming from Anfield in 20 years and it looks like they will be short.

Everything has been set up for a huge game between City and Liverpool at the Etihad Stadium on January 3rd.

Who caught my eye?

Morgan Gibbs-White. I have spoken to everyone who wants to listen to me since Stoke Wolves played in a preseason-friendly and I will not stop. This young boy plays and passes with the calm of a veteran. He quickly goes to places.

Away from the field I look forward to the next Thursday evening. Liam Gallagher is performing a stripped-up show at the Union Chapel in London and I'm lucky to have a ticket.

There is never a bad time to see Liam and I will sing What I did … What I did …

Shopping ! Because there was no game in the week of the week, I thought I would try to continue with lists of gifts. How successful I am, however, remains to be seen. Usually I get it hopelessly wrong. What I listen to …

That's what we

I gave a beautiful rendition of Last Christmas in the car the other morning and I have my daughter with her Christmas songs like I have the voice of an angel.

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