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venemousremedy77 · 3 years

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IM MAKING A GRAVITY FALLS AU!!!

This AU is called Favity Galls. Something me and my cousin thought of a while back.

About: A Gravity Falls AU where everything is the same except everything is a bit...off. Some things are either switched up or exaggerated. It’s like a discount Gravity Falls.

Story: Maber and Dippel Oaks live with their Grunkle Fork in Favity Galls. They go on many adventures, exploring the weirdness of the town, and trying to find the author of the mysterious tapes. There are four tapes. Grunkle Fork runs the Unknown House, or House of the Unknown where Rendy and Sus work. Dippel wants to discover the mysteries of the town, especially the biggest one of all- Cill Bipher.

Characters-

Maber Oaks-

Looks like Mabel, except her hair is lighter brown, and she wears a red bow as opposed to a headband. She has a red sweater with a big blue Star at the bottom, with two yellow “shooting” lines shooting from the top of the blue Star.She also wears white shorts and brown shoes.

Her personality is way different however. Maber is incredulously stupid. She always causes mischief and is very ignorant to many things. She is always happy, and doesn’t really have a negative outlook on anything.

Dippel Oaks-

Looks like Dipper, except his hair is a light brown like Maber’s, and his hat is black and white with an Oak Tree, instead of blue and white with a Pine Tree. He wears a bright red shirt with a deep blue sweater over it. He wears light grey shorts with black shoes.

His personality is only a little like Dipper. He is still shy and a curious bookworm, however, he is a lot more paranoid, and gets freaked out more easily.

Fork Oaks-

Fork Oaks is the Favity Galls version of Ford Pines. Whereas the twins originally stay with Stan, in this AU, they reside with Ford, or Fork.

Fork is like Ford except his hair is a bit messier, and he wears round glasses. He wears a brown button-up jacket over a white shirt with a red bow tie. His pants match his jacket.

Fork is still very much a nerd. Except he is a lot more awkward and a bit of a con. He is not trusted by a lot of people and isn’t very reliable.

Tans Oaks

Tans (or Stines,I’m still debating) is the Favity Galls version or Stan Pines. In this AU, HE’S the author of the journal, or in this case, tapes. He’s also the one who gets lost in the multiverse for 30+ years.

Tans acts much like the original Ford, if not a bit grumpier.

Rendy Corndo

Rendy Corndo is the Favity Galls version of Wendy. She has long, auburn hair, and wears a blue flannel with black jeans. She also bears a raccoon cap. Her father is a coal miner.

Rendy is very chill. Like, a little too chill. To the point where it’s comical. A little ignorant,too.

Sus Ramurazz

Sus Ramurazz is the Favity Galls version of Soos. Unlike Soos, he is the voice of reason and integrity. He is very smart and aware, not to mention a bit of a “bummer” at times.

He wears a black fedora, a gray shirt, and black pants. He also has glasses.

Pacific Ocean-

Pacific Ocean is the Favity Gall’s version of Pacifica. She has orange hair, and wears a black dress. She also has a light brown scarf made of wolf fur around her neck, and wears white heels.

Pacific is still a spoiled brat (at first), except in this AU, she is the one who orders her parents around.

Gadeon Depressing-

Gadeon Depressing is the Favity Galls version of Gideon. He is very quiet, and mysterious. He often looks upset or sad, but he is merely vengeful and bloodthirsty in silence.

Despite his demeanor, he has a rather flashy outfit. Least, compared to his mood it is. He wears a cyan shirt, with a black sweater and pants. Instead of white hair that goes up, he has black hair slicked down.

Ronnie Valentina-

Ronnie Valentina is the Favity Galls version of Robbie. Ronnie is a nerd and very misunderstood. He wears glasses, has curly dark brown hair, and wears a black jacket with a broken orange heart on it, along with blue jeans.

Young Man McSugget

Young Man McSugget is the Favity Galls version of Old Man McGucket. Whereas McGucket erased his memory and lost his mind, McSugget accidentally used a device on himself which caused him to age in reverse. He is a very young, yet thinks and acts like an old man.

He wears a white shirt with poorly done overalls over it, and a too-large cowboy hat.

Sweetie and Growlna-

Sweetie and Growlna are the Favity Galls version of Candy and Grenada.

Sweetie wears a blue-stripped shirt and a white skirt. She has blonde hair, and does not wear glasses. She is very kind, and forgiving of others.

Growlna is very strong. Her voice is even manlier than before, and she has thick black hair. She wears a thick brown wool coat, and grey pants, along with winter boots-no matter the weather.

Shuffles-

Shuffles is the Favity Galls version of Waddles.

Instead of a pink pig, Shuffles is a brown hog, and he speaks in a thick, Russian accent. Yea, he talks.

Cill Bipher-

Cill Bipher is the Favity Galls version of Bill Cipher. He is still an equilateral demonic triangle, except now the triangle is upside down from what it was, and he’s orange. He still bears a black hat, but it is wider than it is long. Instead of a giant eye, he has a mouth in the middle of his face, only a mouth. His bow is black and yellow-two parts are black, two are yellow. His bow is like the bow you would see when tying your shoe, by the way. Instead of a can, he has a multi-colored fan.

Cill Bipher is neither evil nor good. He is technically blind, and yet knows everything going on around him. He is all powerful, and yet would rather be doing other reckless things. He is more playful and idiotic, yet despite his antics, could still kill everyone. He also has mood swings.

Where did I come up with the idea?

While, one day my cousin and I decided to create a Gravity Falls comic. It was an alternate ending to the show, made out of fun. We attempted to draw the characters like the canon style, and it went decently. Until one panel. I had to draw Wendy, Soos, Robbie, Stan, and Ford in one panel, and since I wasn’t used to drawing them, they looked hilariously off. My cousin joked that they looked like someone got them from the bargain bin at Walmart. We joked around, giving them “bootleg names”, which at first were very silly. Instead of Soos,Wendy, Robbie, Stan, and Ford-it was Chipmunk Dude, Gacha Queen, Sausage Boi, Retarded Richard, and Toaster Face Timmy (that ones my favorite XD).

A few days later during a car ride as we were joking around, we decided to make it an actual AU. We would make a “discount” Gravity Falls, where everything would either be off, or horribly exaggerated. We had the characters down soon, but at first we struggled with the name. At first it was Discount Falls, then we were going to put “Gravity Falls” spelled backwards, but that didn’t make sense. Then, I jokingly threw in-“Why not Favity Galls?” because I switched the first two letters of each word, and took out the “r”. We laughed...but it was the best name we could think of. And then, Favity Galls was born.

If you have anything to add to this AU, please tell me, and I shall update it here. This page is finished as of now, but will be update regularly. You are free to use this AU in fanfictions, Fanart,etc. A visual representation of the characters along with a full bio will come soon as I can make them.

Credits go to me, VenemousRemedy77 and my cousin.

(To be updated/continued)

#gravity falls #Favity Galls #AU #Gravity Falls AU #Discount Gravity Falls #Parodic Gravity Falls

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journal-of-an-outlaw · 5 years

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Price to be Paid - Chapter 12

Treasures, Big and Small (AO3 Link)

Words: 6,140

Warnings: THAT SLOW BURN IS PAYING OFF FOLKS

Arthur was right, the first location was just south of Flatneck Station a short ways.

The conversation was easy on the ride up and turned to the old days and how things used to be. How John joined years after Arthur did, which of the girls had the stickiest fingers and which one tried to rob Hosea but ended up staying for years.

Once Arthur had the free reign to be himself, he opened up to you about his past a bit more than on previous trips. You had heard stories of robberies gone wrong or saloon visits that took three days, but those had been in the company of others. The two of you hadn’t gone out alone since the day you collected debts and it was nice to just enjoy the day with ease.

He had even brought up Mary for a moment, before shutting down and clamming up for a good five minutes.

You approached the rock described in the map. It must have been two stories tall, with ledges all over making it easy to climb. Luckily it didn’t come to that, the map detailed a small opening that had to be explored in depth to find the first of three keys.

“I can squeeze in there, though it’ll be tight. Just hold a few things for me.” You handed Arthur your heavy coat and gun belt, which left you in a thin shirt and long skirt. The opening was dark which you didn’t like, but you shimmied into the cave after jumping to catch the ledge and pull yourself up with shaking arms.

Thankfully the cave opened into a larger area that let you breathe again. You called back that you were okay, and continued in. Intricate drawings covered the walls, images that spanned back hundreds of years. Retellings of bison hunts covered the wall to your left while the right was different patterns of the local flora, smudged and elusive after all this time. You ran your hand over a particularly pretty drawing, and imagined being the one to put it there originally.

A lock box sat on a rock at the back of the cave and you approached it, ready to find the first piece.

You pulled out your kit that would help you open it and began ticking away. Finally, you got in and grabbed the round metal piece resting on a red cloth. Alone it made no sense but maybe the other clues would add up to something worthwhile. You rolled it over in your hand, the weight substantial for such a small thing. Cogs and wheels covered the base, so you thought this must be the biggest piece and the base that others would attach to. Hopefully you and Arthur would be able to find all three pieces, your curiosity was incredibly peaked.

“Coming back! I got it.” While you wiggled back out, Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. You swung your legs over the small ledge and jumped down, handing the piece to Arthur while you brushed dust off your skirt.

“Look at this, I can’t figure out how this will all go together. Can you hold it this way?” He held still while you twisted the sides left and right, trying to imagine how it would look.

Arthur couldn’t take his eyes from your face while you worked, concentration pulling your eyebrows together and your mouth making a little pucker that caused his stomach to flip.

“Let’s get going, I want to see how this plays out.” You quickly moved to Eclipse while Arthur looked over the map, trying to find the second location.

“Here! Right next to Bard’s Crossing and the river. Ain’t too far from here.”

The ride was quick, but when you arrived you weren’t the only ones. A small group of ten people were temporarily camped out where you needed to head next and didn’t look too friendly. They had built a makeshift shelter and a guard patrolling the area.

“Should we just ask to get by…?” You asked innocently. Maybe they would understand.

Arthur stared with amusement on his face. “No, darlin’, I do not think we should just waltz on in there. Look, there’s a ridge up that way, maybe the map was saying we should go up there? We can sneak up there once it’s dark and see if the second piece is hiding in that cave, but I hate to ask you to go up that high if you don’t want.”

“I’m fine with heights, don’t worry. I know it’s silly but this treasure map is the most exciting thing I’ve done as an outlaw.”

You watched Arthur cover his smile with his hand and try not to laugh. “We gotta get you on a robbery, or something if this is the most exciting thing. Don’t count for much outlaw work.”

He suggested walking a ways away so the group couldn’t see the light from your fire while you waited for the sun to set. Nothing needed to be unpacked except fire starters and you sat on the ground against a tree, relaxing for a little while before you had to start climbing and finding a real life treasure.

“You gonna fall asleep on me?” Arthur asked while he made a cup of coffee.

“Just resting my eyes is all,” you mumbled quietly in reply. Your head bobbed against the wood and you tried to focus on staying awake.

Arthur sighed and reluctantly patted his lap. You stared confused, and he blushed slightly while saying, “Don’t put your head against that tree, you’ll wake up with a crick in your neck. You can…put your head on my knee, if you want. At least it’s softer."

The blue folds of your skirt bunched up as you scooted to sit next to him, and you smoothed them out before laying down and resting your head on his knee. While a bit awkward, he was right. He was much softer than any tree would be.

As you drifted off to sleep, Arthur made sure your breathing slowed to an even pace before moving. Your hair was long and wavy and loose, and shining in the midday sun. His hands brushed a flyaway piece off your cheek, curiosity finally getting the better of him. For months he had watched it bounce around or be tied up on top of your head and longed to run his fingers through to see if it matched the softness of your heart, and he was not disappointed. He moved a few more bits before finding a gentle rhythm of running his whole hand down your head over and over while you slept.

Truth be told he was buzzing inside with conflict and sheer happiness.

While his left hand blissfully ran through your hair, his right pulled out his journal and he started to sketch, the scene before him too compelling not to immortalize it. Drawings of you littered the pages of his journal. Sometimes it was nothing more than your eyes or your profile, but Arthur loved taking reminders of you with him like a secret he dared not breathe about.

Little moments he never had to share with anyone but himself.

A half hour after sunset, Arthur shook you gently.

“YN? You ready to get going?” You awoke from a dreamless sleep and rubbed your eyes, the chirping of evening birds bringing you back to the present.

“Hope you weren’t too uncomfortable, Arthur. I apparently needed that.”

He patted your shoulder and agreed he was fine, then headed back to the horses.

With the light from the sun all but gone you had to rely on his sense of direction to find the small camp again. The folk staying in the area had left. It hadn’t been a great place to defend and the two wagons full of people had dropped plenty of evidence behind of their stay. Rusty cans and indents in the dirt showed they had headed south, then followed the road until the trail was no longer visible. It was strange to stand in someone’s old home and reminded you of Horseshoe Overlook. You wondered what it looked like in the autumn, and if someone else had taken up residence in the place you once slept and called home. It left you feeling a little bit hollow and melancholy.

Standing at the bottom of the cliff, Arthur called you over.

“YN! Think you can jump that high?” He craned his head back to see up.

“Arthur that ledge is higher than you, so no, I do not think so. Might be able to jump down to it though, the top ain’t too far around if I hike up.”

You both agreed that you would walk and jump down in search of piece number two of the wild chase Sean had sent you on. It took nearly ten minutes to hike and you were out of breath by the time you arrived, but tried to hide it from Arthur who was still standing down below.

“This about right?” It was sure hard to see with the little light left, so you lit your lantern and leaned over the edge. Standing above the cave entrance, you sat down and moved as close as you dared to the edge. Your toes were a good foot above the ledge, and Arthur nodded.

There was a terrifying moment as you fell through the air before landing, but you stood up and turned to face the darkness with your lantern held up high.

This was different than the last cave. Filled with twists and turns, the sounds from the forest were quickly replaced with drips of water, and a strange fluttering that echoed and caused panic to strike through your bones. But you keep pressing on. Hopefully this cave was smaller than it felt. Eventually you reached a flat wall with three holes. One had a painted red X across the edges so you ignored that. One had a blue circle around it, and the other was untouched. You cursed out loud as you remembered Arthur had the map tucked neatly into his journal and you had no easy way to reach him, so any hints or clues lay back in the small clearing. You debated for a moment which option to choose, and finally settled on the painted blue circle. A sigh of relief passed your lips as you pulled out a lock box. The cold metal was at least familiar and you popped the lid with no trouble, grabbing the second piece from inside.

You turned to leave after placing the box back into the hole, but something made you turn back and face the third, untouched spot. Curiosity got the better of you and you hesitantly stuck your fingers in inch by inch to see what lay inside.

At first, there was nothing. Then, something spindly and wiry stroked the back of your hand, and you yanked it back to make sure whatever it was hadn’t stayed on. Panic pumped through your heart and you screamed, running back towards the entrance and away from whatever hell demons resided in that wall.

Arthur bolted up from his spot on the ground when he heard your voice rip from the cave, and was on his way towards it when you came bolting out and nearly toppled over the edge. You were shaking your right hand over and over, with your eyes wild and desperate to find an escape. The drop wasn’t too far, but more than you should have managed by sitting down and pushing yourself forward.

“What in the hell was that? Are you alright?” Your eyes were huge as you stared, still visibly shaken by whatever happened in the cave.

“I got it…but there was something else in there, too.”

“What was it, YN?” His voice cut the night air hard and deep, afraid someone had met you inside and intended to cause harm.

Checking to make sure the back of your hand was clean, you took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself. Your voice came out in a shaky breath and you shuttered at the memory.

“Spiders.”

You had never seen Arthur laugh harder.

At first he was bewildered, but that only lasted a few seconds before what you said really clicked into place and shocked him into a fit. He was doubled over, grabbing his knees for support. You watched him wipe tears from his eyes thinking bandits or the like were responsible for your terror. But no, just little bitty spiders.

“That funny to you, Mr. Morgan?” Your arms were crossed and you looked down with fake resentment.

“Oh, we’re back to that now are we,” he chuckled again, still not able to stand up straight. Laughter still rippled its way out as he repeated the scene in his mind.

“They were horrifying! Stop laughing. Ugh they crawled up my hands, they must have been everywhere. I nearly dropped the piece on the way out, and I could have died! Arthur, I said stop laughing.” You shoved him, unable to contain your own hysterics now too. The two of you enjoyed the moment, realizing that nothing was truly the matter. Eventually the laughter died away and you pulled out the second piece, motioning to Arthur to hand you the first.

A loud click rang out when the pieces finally went together. “Only one more!” The excitement overtook you and you danced a little with the key in front of you. Arthur laughed once more, then snapped open the map to have a look.

“Celebrating might have to wait until tomorrow, last place is a bit of a ride. Heartland Oil Fields, least half a day away and it’s already night.”

“Fine, fine. Where should we camp tonight then?”

Arthur rubbed his chin in contemplation. “Let’s get closer to the train tracks, then we can follow them up North and over to get to them oil fields.”

You agreed and mounted up on Eclipse. Zeus followed as you took the lead out of the area and headed back to the trail.

People were friendly here. Not that you passed many this late at night, but they all smiled, tipped their heads, and said hello while riding by. A rumor about the O’Driscolls being in the area wasn’t proving itself true that night as no trouble came across you on the road.

“Let’s head up here, turn left YN.” Another small clearing greeted you as a makeshift camp.

There was no fire set up this time as it was late, and Arthur was exhausted. He unrolled his sleeping mat and started snoring before you were even adjusted sitting on the ground. The short hour you had gotten earlier made you feel great, and sleep was the last thing on your mind.

The connected key pieces sat together in front of you, but you wanted to know more. The map was tucked away in Arthur’s journal, and you knew he would hate you for snooping but you only wanted the additional page.

“Arthur?”

His lack of response was all you needed to tip toe over to Zeus and rifle through his saddle bags to grab to book.

“Gottcha,” the journal fell open to the page holding the map, but something else caught your attention.

“Is that…?” The angle from which the art was drawn showed a face turned away, and long wavy hair like yours. Just like how you were laying in Arthur’s lap this afternoon.

“Oh my god…” you breathed while flipping back a few pages. Images of you were everywhere. Arthur could somehow capture your eyes, how happiness spread across your face, and even moments of intense concentration with his pencil drawings. And you loved it.

So everything Charles had said was true. Arthur did harbor feelings for you, and you finally had the proof that validated your own heart too. Holding the journal to your chest, you walked back to your spot on the ground next to your lantern, and slowly flipped through page after page. Reading his innermost thoughts was too invasive, so you only looked at the drawings to get to know this man better. He was so much more than the person you thought you knew, and all of it was contained on the pages before you.

A particular drawing caught your eye, and you ran a light finger down the cheek. Well, your cheek. Somehow you didn’t know the woman in these pictures, so much had changed with you over the past few months.

Arthur muttered something softly, and you panicked and sat on the journal to hide it out of sight. He was just sleep talking, and you let out a sigh of relief. Time to put what didn’t belong to you back, and go about like nothing happened.

As you fell asleep a warm ball of hope and happiness settled on your chest.

The next morning you arrived at the oil fields earlier than you had expected. Arthur wanted to get back to camp soon so he woke you just as the sun crossed the horizon. You had slept little the night before, thoughts of the man beside you keeping you awake.

“Want me to head inside this time? You look real tired, YN.” You nodded and stood above the ladder that descended into darkness. The pair of you had been contemplating where this damn map was leading and the only logical place left was the drop down. After your spider experience yesterday you were secretly relieved not to be leaving the sunlight anytime soon.

Leaning against the wooden legs of the oil rig, you watched the wind ripple across the plains ahead of you. Bursts of dry plants stuck out of the dirt, and small animals scattered around in packs. Every once in awhile a chill bit the exposed skin of your forearms and neck, making you shiver and pull on your sleeves. What was taking him so long.

“Arthur? You alright down there?” A thud and a string of curses was your reply. After checking that the horses were tied up well, you began down the ladder to join him.

“I got this, don’t need you coming to save me.” His voice was gruff and he hastily dropped his hand from the top of his head. From the short height of the cave it looked like he had stood up too fast when you called out and smacked the back of his head. The grumpy look on his face didn’t last long though as you neared to him.

“Is it down here? Been long enough I could have solved it and left for camp by now.”

Arthur took a deep breath and his shoulders bobbed. “I can’t find the damn box. Should be somewhere over to the left, but I looked and ain’t nothing there.”

You held the map closer to the lamp and chuckled when you realized he was holding it wrong. “Arthur. Turn it this way, so we should be looking right.” You pointed and he headed that way silently, the frustration etched into his face. He held the lamp up over your head, but there was little space for the two of you to fit.

“I’ll go, just keep that light up.” His arm held steady, and you found the box. The top didn’t open as easy this time, so you handed it back for Arthur to try. He studied it for a moment while you took the lantern and allowed him to try.

“Ain’t so hard, just gotta-” the top flew up and spooked you both. The final piece was inside, and he handed it to you for safekeeping until you could get back to the surface.

“Please, YN, get up that ladder so I can leave this blasted hole in the ground.” You giggled and started climbing upwards into the open air, and breathed a sigh of relief. You’ve always had a weird fear of small, dark spaces.

“Arthur…this one doesn’t fit. Look here, the other two clicked in so easy but I can’t find how to connect them all. Are we missing one other part?” You took the map out and compared the sections to what the whole should look like. “Something must have broken off…Damn.”

A round green orb was missing. In fact, it was the most important piece, the one you would look through while standing in the oil field to find the treasure stash. It had special markings on it that was supposed to reveal the spot after all three pieces crossed in front of it, connecting to create a web like structure in your hands.

“Maybe we can use something else?” You started looking around to see if anything was dropped, but no luck.

“This drawing makes it look like a marble.” Arthur pulled his satchel around and produced just what you were looking for. A green marble.

“Forgot I was playing with Jack last week and he hid these in my bag. Think this’ll work?” He placed the small shape into the socket, and it clicked into place. Excitement filled your chest as you held it up and looked through the finally assembled key.

“Oh, this is stunning! Whoever put this together must have been incredibly intelligent, look at how it plays off the rays of the sun and how the clouds are…should we wait until there’s a certain coverage?”

Arthur grunted in reply and took the object out of your hands. “Darlin’, we do any more waiting and I am gonna starve to death. Let’s find whatever treasure Sean had built up in his mind and head back to camp. I ain’t really in the mood for hunting.”

You took it back to locate the place you would be hiking up to. The hill was too steep for the horses so you two would be climbing up on foot, hopefully not taking long to locate something you had no clue was even still there. The green marble shone in the sunlight, and the circles of metal lined up when you stared at the peak of the rock. “Arthur! Up there, that’s where we gotta look. It matches the crazy designs on the back of the map.”

Once turned over, swirls and circles covered the back of the paper around a cut of rocks shaped like a face. The nose was broken, and in the crack was the red line indicating the location of the treasure.

It took nearly half an hour to climb up that damn rock. At first it seemed easy and you entered the task full of false confidence and expectations. But those were built on a weak foundation and fell apart as soon as you got more than a story off the ground. You were open and exposed, climbing the side of a mountain with a man who was clearly more comfortable with this kind of thing than you were, and he watched you sweat and curse every time your foot misstepped and you imagined yourself careening down to your death.

“I, I don’t know how much higher I can go, Mr. Morgan,” you panted up at him. He looked down surprised. “You alright down there, Ms. Moore?”

The rocks around you were suddenly slippery and your palms felt like the surface was too smooth to get a good grip on. “You continue on up, I am not going anywhere but down from here.” Arthur offered you a hand up but you swatted it away quickly, afraid to have your hands away from the stone for more time than necessary.

“Please, just hurry.”

He chuckled and climbed up the last bit. “Sure is a pretty view up here, YN!” Arthur rested his hands on his hips and drank in the view before him. You silently cursed whoever made that map and buried treasure up in the middle of a cliff. Albeit, they did pick a good place if they didn’t want anyone finding it.

“Shame. I found the box, I’ll bring it down to open though,” Arthur made quick work of climbing down to you and found you pale faced and pressed hard against the wall.

“I don’t think I can move. It’s terrifying.”

The next step down was luckily a ledge, and Arthur jumped down. “Here, if you need to jump I’ll catch you.” His hands were held up towards you and judging by the size of his arms he would have no problems if you actually jumped.

“Jesus Christ.” Your boot scooted closer to the edge. Right before you moved to him you saw how high you truly were, and felt a bit dizzy. Your legs gave out and you fell right into Arthur’s open arms.

He caught you easily, of course, and once you regained your balance you had no desire to release his jacket from your grip. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

He chuckled lightly. “C’mon, girl. You telling me a little cliff is going to do you in? You can do this, just focus for a moment. Look at me, focus.” Gently, he placed a hand on either side of your face and locked his eyes with yours. You concentrated on his chest rising and falling, breathing along in time to settle your nerves.

Once you felt better, you had no desire to pull back from how close you were standing with Arthur. His breath fell gently on your cheeks, and his eyes were such a pretty shade of blue when contrasted against the sky behind him. You smiled up at the outlaw, and his eyes crinkled around the edges in a gently response.

“You okay there?” It came out as a whisper, Arthur still not breaking your gaze.

You nodded, but still clutched him tight incase you had to look back down at the journey ahead. Arthur’s mouth was parted just slightly and was incredibly inviting, but you knew if you kissed him you definitely would never make it down this cliff. Finally you pulled back and began the descent to your waiting horses.

The last jump to the ground was short, and when you landed your skirt poofed around you. Arthur landed next to you and placed his hand on your back leading you towards Eclipse and Zeus who lifted their heads as you walked up.

“I’ve never been so happy to be back on the ground, thank you Arthur.”

He tipped his head, and reached into his bag. “Let’s find out what we won, eh?”

This time the box was easy. Wasn’t even locked, and after all you went through to get it you were thoroughly relieved. Just a plain, rusted lock box that opened easily.

“Woah…”

Three gold bars stared up at you from inside. Arthur’s eyebrows shot up higher than you’ve ever seen. “That is a lot of money. At least 500 each.” An awkward beat passed as you mentally debated what to do with the bars. Keep them? Split it?

“Here. You take one, I’ll take one, then the gang gets the third. I almost care that Sean gets one but he did nothing except try to lose this map instead of chase anything. I would be careful about cashing that in, YN, maybe hide it at camp for awhile.”

You gingerly lifted your gold bar out of the box. It was beautiful, but what it meant for you was even more so. If there was ever a time that you needed to run, you were set for a good while without having to do much. You stood up on your tip toes and laid a kiss on Arthur’s cheek while muttering a quiet thank you. A blush ran up his face and he mounted Zeus with a smile on his face.

“Now, please. Can we get back to camp?”

The pair of you arrived in the late afternoon to the sleepy homestead. Kieran was on guard duty and waved you both in while holding a shotgun. You could see Hosea leaning in and discussing something with Charles and Karen that looked serious, but they didn’t see as you walked towards the stew.

You scooped a bowl for Arthur first as he complained the whole ride back about how hungry he was, and he gratefully took it and found seating near the fire. The heat from the midday had worn off and you grabbed a shawl from your tent, wrapping it loosely around your shoulders. It was an old one of Abigail’s that she had given you as a gift.

“YN! Glad you’re back, I’ve got a plan I want you in on.”

Hosea called to you from the table and you walked over to the trio. Charles had a paper in front of him and Karen was keenly looking at the drawings.

‘How would you like to head out on a mission with us?” Karen smiled up and patted the seat next to her for you to sit.

“There’s going to be something called a Governor’s Ball in Rhodes this month at the town hall. Dancing, drinking, schmoozing with the highest of society that this shit hole has to offer. Should be an easy haul and an excuse to get all dressed up.” Hosea’s eyes were lit up while he talked, the full plan laying out easily in his mind.

“I heard about it from a stable boy in town jealous his employer is going, but he isn’t. Anyways, I’ll need you as a distraction point woman and for pickpocketing those lame bastards dry. I still need to run it by Dutch but would you be interested?”

“Of course!” You were ecstatic at being included in a real mission with the gang. It wasn’t a train robbery but hell, being able to produce some kind of contribution would be a win. “Those are some things I’d be good at. Used to go to hall dances all the time back home.”

Hosea nodded at you approvingly. “Good. Should be easy. Won’t need more than those of us here, too many and we attract a lot of attention. Charles will be manning the wagon, and we can pose as a little family of three, not that you and Karen bear much resemblance, but I’m sure these backwards farm folk won’t ask too many questions. I can spin a sob story on the spot that will make them leave us be.”

He chuckled, and Charles even managed a small smile at the thought of Hosea making those bastards sad.

“We’ll iron out the details soon. Just wanted to make sure it was something you were up for.”

An excitement hummed through your body at the thought of wearing a nice dress and heading to a dance, and getting to rob some fools on the way. It’s too bad it was a full week away.

“You sure you want to take these folk with you, Hosea?” Arthur had crossed the camp and was standing behind Hosea’s chair, his eyebrows pulled together in confusion. “Must be a few of us more suited for that.”

All four of you exchanged a look, then turned to Arthur. “What do you mean? We got some fine people-”

Arthur laughed and cut him off. “Oh, I know you’re fine folk. That ain’t the problem. Just don’t know if you all can be trusted to pull this off. Have to see what Dutch approves, won’t we?”

Charles scoffed and stood to leave. He and Arthur had always been close so this was an awkward conversation and a low blow. “Don’t know what’s in you today, Morgan. Leave it alone.”

Hosea rolled his plans up slowly, thinking his next move through. The man was calculating, but never cold in his actions towards Arthur who he considered a son.

“Would you like to be included, Arthur?” Hosea’s tone was condescending as if he were speaking to Jack, not a fully grown man.

“No, that ain’t -”

“Should I have run this by you before uttering a word to anyone else?”

Hosea stood tall, and what he lacked in height he made up for in his aura. He may not have been the most loved by Dutch, but he was his most trusted. And in this camp that held a lot of weight to it. Arthur shirked back and rubbed his neck.

“Hosea, I just meant the women.” You sucked in a breath as if you had been hit. He didn’t trust the two of you for a simple robbery mission?

“What in the hell does that mean, Mr. Morgan?” Karen was standing now, too. Her eyes were full of anger and she glared hard at Arthur, unafraid of him in the slightest. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and suddenly it clicked.

“Karen, it isn’t you he’s worried about.” Your voice was quiet, but everyone turned to look as you finished. “It’s me. He’s afraid I’ll find a way to mess this up.”

You stood and placed your hands on the table. “Mr. Morgan, can I talk to you? In private?”

For the past two days, Arthur had been the only person you had been around. Maybe he got fed up with you and never said a word. Maybe he really didn’t trust you after all of these months. Or maybe he just didn’t think you could pull off a robbery. Either way the dice fell it made you boil with anger that he said something in front of the others who clearly thought you were up to the job.

Arthur followed you back behind one of the wagons. As soon as you were both out of sight of the others, he was met with the full force of anger that was harbored inside of you.

“What in the hell, Arthur, was that.”

The speech that passed your lips was pointed and cold. You were mad, and you wanted answers.

He at least had the audacity to look embarrassed while he spoke. “I don’t know, YN, I just don’t want anything bad to go down. I’ve seen what happens when folks are inexperienced.”

“You don’t know that I’ll mess it up, Arthur! It could be great, I thought you woulda trusted me by now. I go hunting, I pickpocket folks, hell, Sean and I even had that side of the road scheme for a few weeks!” You were exacerbated as you blew air through your lips and ran a hand through your hair.

“Why are you really so hard on this plan?”

A few moments passed as he thought. Finally he replied, “Because.”

You snorted. “Because! That ain’t no answer. Look at me, Arthur.” You moved closer to him to see his reaction, and his eyes locked onto yours as you continued. “I may not be the greatest outlaw, but I’m good. I’m gonna ask you once more now, why are you so set on me not going?”

“Jesus, YN. Because -”

In one movement, Arthur pressed you back against the wagon, his lips meeting your for the first time. Utter shock ran through you, but was quickly replaced with elation that started warm in your belly. His hands were in your hair and on your waist while you pulled him in closer by his shirt, and he eagerly responded.

The world swirled around you, but Arthur was the anchor in a storm you didn’t see coming.

His mouth moved against yours gently. It was a feeling you could live in forever, but Arthur eventually pulled back slowly. His face was still close, and you could see his dilated pupils and flush ridden cheeks.

“Hope I didn’t, uh, overstep anything there.” Arthur’s voice was thick and low.

“No, Arthur. Think I’ve been hoping you’d do that for awhile.”

He chuckled and twirled a lock of your hair around his finger. “Me too. And I wasn’t worried about you messing anything up, YN. I was worried you might get hurt if something goes wrong.”

“It ain’t even a high stakes mission, you fool. No trouble around.” You laughed and slapped his chest lightly, your high still buzzing through you. “I didn’t know you truly cared, Mr. Morgan.”

“‘Course I care, I’m just not too good at showing it.”

Before reluctantly separating, Arthur kissed you gently twice more as if he couldn’t get enough of what had been up until now had been simply a fantasy. As far as camp went there was little privacy and you were worried someone would come around the corner and see what was going on.

Arthur left first. But before he got too far, he turned back and called one last thing to you.

“You may not find any trouble on that run with Hosea, but dammit, woman, there’ll be trouble for sure if you call me Mr. Morgan again.”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #price to be paid #the price to be paid #fanfic #fanfiction #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #writing #sean maguire #sean macguire #red dead fanfic #I LOVE WRITING THIS #I appreciate feedback #let me know what you think #:)#rdr2 fanfic

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rhys-ravenfeather · 4 years

Photo

“Golly, you’re Miss Halloween?! You’re even prettier than I thought!”

“...thank you?”

Just a random cute, silly idea I had about the spirits of Halloween and Christmas meeting, and Christmas taking a liking to Halloween, much to her confusion. Yeah, I wanted to try drawing them as anthropomorphized animals, instead of having them look human, to try something different (and get some practice drawing animals). Yeah, as cliched as it is, I wanted to draw Halloween as a bat because what can I say, bats are adorable :3

Christmas was a little trickier--I didn’t want to make him a reindeer, and originally I was going to make him a polar bear, as a nod to the Coca-Cola bears. I wanted to make him a little more cuddly though, because as cute as polar bears can be, trying to snuggle one in the wild? Not such a good idea. So I decided to make him a white wolf/husky instead, and use his coat to add bulk.

IDK, I thought this was a cute idea.

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#rhys-art #Halloween #christmas #white wolf #bat #holidays #anthropomorphization #animals

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vergils-daughter · 5 years

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Ahihi! It's my turn! 🖤🖤🖤 Can I please request for V and Reader splitting up, with her trying so much to make him stay but, he still leaves? Then, many, MANY weeks later, he seeks her out, wanting to fix things with her. I want to see what's your take in it. Thank ya! 🖤🖤🖤

Well, first thing I am sorry it took me so long. And a second apology - I may have gone a little crazy and literally punched the canon in the face. But I like to describe time and place and put Reader in specific environment. If you wish, I can write more canon-like fic, just let me now :-)

V x Reader splitting up

This should have never taken place. Nevertheless, just like small sand grains all these malices, divergences, bagatelles became serious misunderstandings and started to disturb the work of delicate mechanism called your relationship. All this leads to the day when V leaves you…

“You need to understand that I can change myself for you, but i cannot stop being myself!”

Of course it would not be the first time he leaves the apartment to put his mind at ease. The way you are, you could make a stone crack from rage and V, despite his phlegmatic temperament, has his limits, too.

“I cannot be with someone who controls every aspect of my life. I need space!” - this is one of those rare occasions when V talks with his voice raised up. You are standing face to face in your small apartment. V’s silhouette is towering above you, as he is much taller than you, but in reality it is you who is the dominating one. You felt it in the way he turns his head. He is talking to you but it is already obvious that he wants to retreat. He wants to escape. No way!

“First of all, do not shout” - you speak with a cold voice - “and secondly, I do not control you, but I do organize our life, because YOU are not capable of it”.

Ouch. You see how he snorts and how his muscles show when he clenches his jaws. Then he opens his mouth as though he wanted to say something, but you cannot allow him to interrupt.

“You don’t have a normal job and because of all this business Dante dragged you into you almost died. Certainly you are not fit to be a demon hunter, V! Has that episode with Qliphot not taught you anything?

"Well, it is good that you always support me” - he speaks with a hurt tone.

“Spare me! You are saying, that I organize your life, but in fact you are angry that someone other than that long dead poet tries to put everything in order. Grow up, at least a little!” - Your anger starts to overflow you and the next wave takes you with it. V grabs his book and makes a move as if he wanted to open it. - “Don’t you dare to put a quote or I will throw this fucking book through the window!”

V clenches his fingers on the book as though he was afraid that you would really take it away from him. His eyes become dark, he has had enough. He turns his back to you and speaks very slowly.

“There is not a thing in me that you like. Maybe you were just wrong about me?”

And now he … This was getting out of control. Maybe this time you pushed him too far? You approach him and grab his arm in an attempt to turn him to face you, but he just pushes you away.

“You know that is not the case, V!” - you try, desperately.

“The truth is… I do not know, what IS. And I do not want to enquire any longer.”

With increasing amazement you watch him take his coat and the bag which he always took for the long missions. Then he walks towards the door.

Not entirely understanding what is happening now – or maybe, not wanting to understand? – you shout behind him:

“Don’t you dare leave!”

But of course that doesn’t stop him. When the door slams behind him you call out, so that he can hear you from the corridor.

“Don’t you think I will cry after you!”

Well, you do that a bit later, when you wake up at the morning, after a night spent on frenetic cleaning of the apartment, and find out that all of his stuff is gone. He must have come when you were asleep, but he did not wake you up. He took his books and clothes and just disappeared from your life. Perhaps for ever.

…

Dante wouldn’t be himself if he simply accepted just like that what had happened. When you said that you are moving to the far east, he looked at you as though he saw you for the first time.

You cross your arms and shake your head.

“But it is not the fault of this..” - he tries.

“Dante, I need to be back in my homeland” - you interrupt him before he starts the topic you very much wish to avoid right now. It is obvious that your splitting up with V sent some shock waves across the demon hunters’ world. Your romance started dramatically after the destruction of Qliphot and you saving V from crumbling into pieces. The rituals you had to use will give the demonologists something to ponder on for at least a few decades. However hard you and V may have tried to maintain some privacy afterwards, you were quite famous for a while.

“I have on offer for you, though” - you add. “I will set up a DMC branch office. Where I used to live there are demons, too, and there is no one to take care of all that rabble. Besides, I want to come back to giving lectures. I have so much to offer to my students after this Qliphot incident.”

Dante nods.

“You surely are not the type of person whose mind one can easily change, are you?” - he says, but you can see a genuine disappointment in his eyes.

Well, hell no, you are not.

…

“The concept of performing rituals that are based on demonic artifacts is very tempting, however the risk is very high. Sadly, not all of us are sons of Sparda” - you smile when you see the halls’ reaction to that - “…who can easily switch between the astral states of the soul. This is why for us, humans, rituals which originate from our tradition and available resources are more appropriate. Today we will talk about the angels’ talisman.”

You turn towards the board and draw a circle. The chalk squeaks, accompanied by the scratching of the pens and pencils. The hall is full, you notice not without satisfaction. The young, the old, a few theorists and occultists like yourself, but also some hunters marked with scars. Some of them are taking notes, and some came to listen, like this tall guy sitting in the last row, all in black…

Your squint as your weak eyes cannot see him clearly from this distance, but his silhouette seems familiar. You shake your head and resume the lecture. You do not have any time for this.

As the lecture ends, for some reason you leave the hall quickly when the lecture ends, before any of your students has a chance to rise from their seat.

Not now, not now…

From the university you go straight to the DMC office and the thought of all the work that awaits you there causes you to release a small sigh. You took a lot on yourself and even the fact that you no longer do any field work did not help. It got even worse – when your team is on the mission, you coordinate the transport and the details of payment and future commissions. You wonder how Morrison managed to work without a place to store all the documents and contacts. As you are walking by a store, the light of street lanterns reflecting in its windows, a thought crosses your mind – perhaps running an antiques shop would be an interesting change in your life?

But when you look at the window you see the reflection of a person following you.

You feel the shivers running across your spine. You are sure that is it not a random pedestrian that goes in the same direction as you. You feel the attention focusing on you. You pretend that you did not notice anything and try to keep a monotonous pace and walk as though nothing happened.

Something tells you that you should not run or it will be like in one of this silly horror movies. The tapping of your steps and the beating of your heart muffle all other sounds. You grab your talisman subconsciously and you focus so much on that someone stalking you that you don’t notice a man who arrives from around the corner. With a surprised cry you both fall down to the ground.

And when you try to get up quickly, not sure if to fight or apologize, you see the face of the man you fell on. V’s face.

That is, you see a bearded guy with a long ponytail, so unlike this sleek mage that miraculously survived the destruction of Qliphot. Wearing linen pants, a black t-shirt and a heavy coat that covers his tattoos. In clothes that are surprisingly… plain. And in boots instead of his favorite sandals, although that is a little less surprising as it is wet and cold on this distant isle he arrived at.

But the eyes… they remained the same. You were unable to forget them, even though you have been trying so hard. If your heart was pounding like crazy in your chest a moment ago, now it is clenched painfully like a fist. You jump up and watch V rising up. Ah. Whoever was following you a moment ago, vanished. Was it a trick of V’s?

“What are you doing here?” - you say through clenched teeth. You look at him in a way you hope looks hostile. V brushes away some stray hair form his face in a manner so familiar to you and smiles shyly. You really want to rub this smile off of his face with a fist.

“We need to talk” - he says.

You rise you arms as in defense and shake your head. But before you manage to say something, he grabs your arms and pulls close to him.

“I was wrong, I cannot make it without you, you were right, I am not fit to all this” - he says on one breath, hugging you tight. You feel that he trembles.

“V, I…” - you make an attempt to see something, but he holds you even tighter.

“Forgive me for leaving you, S/Y. This world is full of suffering and I cannot separate myself from it. All of this is too strong…” - he presses his lips to your ear - “You gave me peace and calamity. I cannot live without it…”

“V, you cannot live in a constant fight” - at last you can say something. - “You are not capable of killing. This is why you felt so lost…”

“But I’ve changed my job” - he says.

“Wha…” - you are at a loss for words now. You tilt your head and look at him with amusement. -“You… resigned from being a demon hunter?!”

V only nods his head.

“And… what do you do then?”

“I… collect magical artifacts and… stuff. Rare books. Dante helped me to organize a small shop, I run something similar to a used book seller.”

You shake your head as you cannot believe what you hear. You take a deep breath, because it costs you a lot to say what has to be said.

“I… shouldn’t have imposed anything on you and tried to gain control over you. I only wanted to… protect you, but not by changing you. For that you must forgive me” - you end the sentence in a voice so quiet that you are not sure if he heard you at all. You look at him, not sure what you will find in his eyes, but there is only pure adoration on his face. He leans towards you and kisses your lips, very gently, and you cannot hide that you missed it so much.

You loose track of time in this intimate moment. You feel that an urgent desire awakens in you to recall one additional aspect of your relationship. With a sigh you break the kiss and take his hand.

“Umm… do you have a place to stay for the night? Because I have an apartment nearby, so..

"I do not. Will you invite me?”

“On one condition”.

He gives you a suspicious look, but calms down when he sees your smile.

“You need to shave this beard. I bet that when you are summoning Nightmare you look like a Santa on drugs.”

And the Polish version:

To się miało nigdy nie wydarzyć. A jednak, niczym powoli nawiewane ziarna piasku, wszystkie te złośliwości, rozbieżności, drobnostki urosły do rangi poważnych nieporozumień, zakłóciły delikatny mechanizm, którym był wasz związek. Wszystko to doprowadziło do dnia, w którym V cię opuścił.

-Musisz zrozumieć, że mogę się dla ciebie zmienić, ale nie mogę przestać być sobą!

Oczywiście, nie byłby to pierwszy raz, gdy opuścił mieszkanie w poszukiwaniu chwili oddechu. Masz tę skłonność, że nawet kamień potrafi przy tobie pęknąć z wściekłości, a V, mimo swojego flegmatycznego temperamentu, też ma swoje granice.

-Nie mogę być z osobą, która kontroluje każdy aspekt mojego życia. Potrzebuje też miejsca dla siebie! – to jeden z niewielu momentów, gdy V mówi podniesionym głosem. Stoicie naprzeciw siebie w salonie, w małym mieszkanku, które dzielicie od paru tygodni. Sylwetka V wznosi się nad tobą, jest wyższy o głowę, ale tak naprawdę to ty nad nim dominujesz. Czujesz to w sposobie, w jaki na wpół odwraca głowę, słowa kieruje do ciebie, ale już widać, że chce się wycofać. Chce uciec. Niedoczekanie.

-Po pierwsze, nie krzycz – rzucasz zimnym tonem – po drugie, nie kontroluję ciebie, tylko ORGANIZUJĘ nam życie, bo ty nie jesteś w stanie tego zrobić.

Auć. Widzisz, jak się żachnął, a mięśnie odznaczyły się pod skórą, gdy zacisnął szczęki. Otwiera usta, by coś powiedzieć, ale nie pozwalasz mu.

-Nie masz normalnej pracy, a przez ten cały biznes, w który cię wciągnął Dante, prawie zginąłeś. Przecież ty się nie nadajesz na łowcę demonów, V! Ten jeden epizod z Klifotem cię nie przekonał?

-Dobrze jest mieć w tobie wsparcie – mówi urażonym tonem.

-Och, daruj sobie! Mówisz, że ja ci organizuję życie, ale tak naprawdę to jesteś zły, że ktoś inny poza jakimś dawno nieżyjącym poetą próbuje ci wszystko poukładać. Dorośnij choć trochę. – gniew przelewa się kolejnymi falami i unosi cię ze sobą. V wyjmuje z kieszeni książkę i wykonuje ruch, jakby chciał ją otworzyć. - I ani mi się waż rzucić jakimś cytatem, bo wywalę tę pieprzoną książkę przez okno!

V zaciska palce na książce, jakby bał się, że mu ją wyrwiesz. Jego oczy ciemnieją, ma już dość. Odwraca się od ciebie i mówi powoli.

-Nic ci we mnie nie pasuje. Może po prostu myliłaś się co do mnie?

Czujesz, jak grunt usuwa ci się spod nóg. Chyba tym razem za bardzo go przycisnęłaś. Podchodzisz do niego i chwytasz za ramię, próbując go obrócić twarzą do siebie, ale się wyrywa.

-Wiesz, że nie o to chodzi, V!

-Prawda jest taka, że ja już nie wiem, o co ci chodzi. I nie mam ochoty dłużej dociekać. – z rosnącym zdumieniem patrzysz, jak sięga po swój płaszcz, bierze torbę, którą zabierał na dłuższe misje i kieruje się w stronę drzwi.

Nie do końca rozumiejąc, co się właśnie dzieje – albo nie chcąc rozumieć – krzyczysz za nim.

-Ani mi się waż wychodzić!

Ale to go oczywiście nie zatrzymuje. Kiedy drzwi zatrzaskują się za nim, wołasz jeszcze, licząc na to, że usłyszy cię na klatce schodowej.

-I nie myśl, że będę za tobą płakać!

Robisz to znacznie później, kiedy po nocy spędzonej na frenetycznym sprzątaniu mieszkania budzisz się rano i orientujesz się, że zniknęły jego rzeczy. Musiał przyjść, kiedy spałaś, ale nie obudził cię. Zapakował swoje książki i ubrania i po prostu zniknął z twojego życia.

…

Oczywiście Dante nie mógł tego zrozumieć. Kiedy zapowiedziałaś swoją przeprowadzkę na wschód, popatrzył na ciebie jakby cię zobaczył pierwszy raz w życiu. Krzyżujesz ręce i kręcisz głową.

-Ale to nie wina tego…

-Dante, wracam w rodzinne strony. – rzucasz szybko nim pociągnie temat, którego wolałabyś teraz uniknąć. Oczywiście, że twoje rozstanie z V rozeszło się już szerokim echem po światku łowców demonów. Wasz romans zaczął się dramatycznie, od zniszczenia Klifota, ocalenia V od rozpadnięcia się na miliony kawałków, a rytuały, które były w to zaangażowane, zapewnią demonologom materiał do badań na kolejne dziesięciolecia. Jakkolwiek próbowalibyście zachować prywatność, przez jakiś czas byliście dość popularni - Ale mam dla ciebie propozycję. Założę filię DMC. Tam, gdzie mieszkam, też zdarzają się demony, a brakuje kogoś, kto ogarnąłby całą tę hałastrę. Poza tym chcę wrócić do wykładów. Mam za dużo do zaoferowania studentom po tej przygodzie z Klifotem.

Dante tylko pokiwał głową.

-Cóż, nie jesteś osobą, której zdanie łatwo zmienić, co? – rzuca, ale widzisz w jego oczach szczery zawód.

Oczywiście, że nie jesteś.

…

-Koncepcja przeprowadzania rytuałów opartych o artefakty demonicznej proweniencji jest kusząca, ale niesie ze sobą spore ryzyko. W końcu nie każdy z nas jest synem Spardy – uśmiechasz się, widząc poruszenie na Sali - który potrafi swobodnie przechodzić między astralnymi stanami duszy. Dlatego dla ludzi bardziej odpowiednie są rytuały oparte na naszych tradycjach i dostępnych środkach. Dziś omówimy talizman aniołów.

Obracasz się w stronę tablicy i rysujesz na niej okrąg. Kreda skrzypi po tablicy przy akompaniamencie skrobania długopisów i ołówków. Cała sala jest pełna, zauważasz z zadowoleniem. Osoby młode, stare, teoretycy i okultyści jak ty, ale też poznaczeni bliznami łowcy. Niektórzy pilnie notują, inni tylko słuchają, jak na przykład ten odziany na czarno wysoki typ siedzący w ostatnim rzędzie…

Marszczysz brwi – z tej odległości twoje słabe oczy nie widzą go wyraźnie, ale jego sylwetka wydaje się znajoma. Kręcisz głową i wracasz do wykładu. Nie masz teraz na to czasu. Z jakiegoś też powodu wychodzisz z sali jak tylko kończy się wykład, zanim ktokolwiek ze studentów zdąży wstać.

Nie teraz, nie teraz…

Z uniwersytetu kierujesz się prosto do biura DMC, a na samą myśl o czekającej tam pracy wzdychasz ciężko. Sporo na siebie wzięłaś i nawet rezygnacja z pracy w terenie nie odciążyła się. Gorzej – kiedy twoja ekipa jest na misji, ty koordynujesz transport, dogadujesz szczegóły zapłaty i kolejne zlecenia. Zastanawiasz się, jak Morrison to wszystko ogarniał bez jednego miejsca, w którym trzymałby wszystkie papiery i kontakty. Kiedy mijasz witrynę sklepu, w której odbija się światło ulicznej latarni, przychodzi ci na myśl, że prowadzenie sklepu z artefaktami mogłoby być ciekawą odmianą.

A kiedy zerkasz na szybę, widzisz odbicie postaci podążającej twoim śladem.

Włosy jeżą ci się na karku. Jesteś pewna, że to nie jest przypadkowy przechodzień zmierzający w tym samym kierunku. Czujesz jak przez skórę skupioną na tobie uwagę. Nie dajesz po sobie poznać, że coś zauważyłaś. Starasz się zachować jednostajny rytm i iść przed siebie, jakby nigdy nic.

Coś ci mówi, że nie powinnaś zrywać się do biegu, że to będzie jak w jednym z tych głupich horrorów. Odgłos twoich kroków i bicie serca zagłusza wszystkie inne dźwięki. Podświadomie zaciskasz palce na amulecie ochronnym i jesteś tak skupiona na obecności za twoimi plecami, że wpadasz z rozpędem na człowieka, który wychodzi zza rogu. Z okrzykiem upadacie na ziemię.

A kiedy otrząsasz się i próbujesz wstać z mężczyzny, na którym leżysz, niepewna, czy powinnaś walczyć, czy przepraszać, dostrzegasz jego twarz. Twarz V.

To znaczy, jakiegoś brodatego, długowłosego gościa z kucykiem, zupełnie niepodobnego do wymuskanego maga, który cudem ocalał zniszczenie Klifota. W lnianych spodniach, czarnym t-shircie i ciężkim płaszczu ukrywającym jego tatuaże. W ubraniu zaskakująco… zwykłym. I w krytych butach, co w sumie nie powinno cię dziwić, bo na tej odległej wyspie, na którą go zagnało, jest zimno i mokro.

Ale te oczy, one pozostały te same. Nie udało ci się ich zapomnieć, mimo że bardzo się przez ostatnie tygodnie starałaś. Jeśli do tej pory twoje serce tłukło się jak szalone w piersi, to teraz ścisnęło się boleśnie jak pięść. Zrywasz się i patrzysz, jak V wstaje powoli. Ktokolwiek cię śledził, zniknął.

-Co tu robisz? – cedzisz przez zaciśnięte zęby. Patrzysz na niego koso, i, masz nadzieję, wrogo. V odgarnia z czoła niesforne kosmyki – ten gest pamiętasz aż za dobrze - i uśmiecha się do ciebie nieśmiało. Masz ochotę zetrzeć mu ten uśmiech z twarzy pięścią.

-Musimy porozmawiać.

Wyrzucasz ręce w górę w obronnym geście i kręcisz głową. Zanim cokolwiek powiesz, V chwyta cię za ramiona i przyciąga do siebie.

-Myliłem się, nie mogę dać sobie bez ciebie rady, miałaś rację, nie nadaję się do tego wszystkiego. – rzuca na wydechu, obejmując cię mocno. Czujesz, jak drży.

-V, ja… – próbujesz coś z siebie wydusić, ale on przytula cię jeszcze mocniej.

-Wybacz, że tak cię zostawiłem, S/Y. Ten świat jest pełen cierpienia, a ja nie potrafię się od niego odseparować. Za mocne jest to wszystko… – przyciska usta do twojego ucha - Dawałaś mi spokój i ukojenie. Nie potrafię bez nich żyć…

-V, nie potrafisz żyć w nieustannej walce – w końcu udaje ci się coś wtrącić – nie jesteś stworzony do zabijania. Dlatego byłeś tak zagubiony…

-Mam inną pracę.

-Co… – na moment cię zatyka. Odchylasz głowę i patrzysz na niego zdumiona. – Zrezygnowałeś z bycia łowcą demonów?!

V kiwa głową.

-To co teraz robisz?

-Kolekcjonuję magiczne artefakty i przedmioty. Rzadkie książki. Dante pomógł mi w zorganizowaniu małego punktu, w którym prowadzę coś na kształt antykwariatu.

Kręcisz głową, nie wierząc w to, co słyszysz. Bierzesz głęboki wdech, bo sporo trudu cię kosztuje wypowiedzenie tych kolejnych słów.

-Ja… nie powinnam ci wszystkiego narzucać i próbować cię kontrolować. Chciałam cię chronić, ale nie poprzez zmienianie cię. Wybacz mi. – kończysz głosem tak cichym, że nie jesteś pewna, czy w ogóle cię usłyszał. Zerkasz na niego, spodziewając się gniewu albo goryczy, ale jego twarz wyraża tylko czyste uwielbienie. Pochyla się i składa ci na ustach delikatny pocałunek, a ty nie jesteś w stanie dłużej ukrywać, jak bardzo ci tego brakowało.

Nie wiesz, jak długo trwa ta chwila bliskości. Czujesz jak budzi się w tobie nagląca potrzeba, by przypomnieć sobie jeszcze jeden aspekt waszej znajomości. Z westchnieniem odrywasz się od niego i ujmujesz za rękę.

-Hmm… masz gdzie nocować? Bo mam tu niedaleko mieszkanie…

-Nie mam. Zaprosisz mnie?

-Ale mam jeden warunek…

V rzuca ci podejrzliwe spojrzenie, ale łagodnieje na widok twojego uśmiechu.

-Musisz zgolić tę cholerną brodę. Pewnie podczas przywołania Koszmaru wyglądasz jak naćpany święty Mikołaj.

#dmc #dmc5 #dmc 5 v #request #splitting up just like that? wel.. and #and yes i think that he would look ridiculous with white beard!

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chimchimsauce · 5 years

Text

Advent Calendar

YN looks at the large box in a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Really? An advent calendar?” she says, glancing at her beaming boyfriend. “Yes, really! It’ll be fun!” Leaning over and kissing her cheek, her boyfriend stands, brushing off his jacket. “Don’t open anything early!” He says, waving goodbye as he climbs back into Bangtan’s large bus. “I won’t!” She calls, heart clenching at the thought of him leaving again.

Taehyung had only been back in town to see her for two days, and even then he spent most of his time with his bandmates, all of them having to squeeze in some extra practice due to a scheduling issue. Bangtan’s MAMA performance originally had backup dancers from a different company, but for whatever reason, they had pulled out of the job, forcing BigHit to have to rehire and retrain the new dancers. So their five-day break was whittled down to two days, Tae still having to run and go practice with the new crew on his off days as well.

YN sighs, slight disappointment welling up in her, which she promptly squishes down. She’d known what she was getting into when she began dating Taehyung two years ago; An idol’s life was never simple, never allowing for long periods of rest.

The girl glances at the oversized box he hauled onto her kitchen table. The whole thing is covered in shiny wrapping paper and sparkles, the obviously homemade calendar warming her heart. Out of curiosity, she pulls open the drawer marked with a number one. Inside, nestled in wrapping paper and fluff sits a singular Hershey’s Kiss. A string is tied gently around the tip, connecting the piece of chocolate to a small note.

Since I can’t be here to give you a kiss myself, I thought I’d leave one behind ;)

YN lets out a chuckle, unwrapping the candy and popping it on her tongue. As the candy begins to melt, she gently places the note back into the box, wanting to keep it safe.

Taehyung is known to buy and give ridiculously expensive gifts, which she appreciates, but all of his homemade presents are her favorite. It’s these gifts she pulls out in the middle of the night when she misses him, when it feels like he’s a million miles away.

Some days it’s harder than she’d like to admit, some days she misses him so much her stomach ties itself into endless knots as she cries herself to sleep. Others, she watches proudly through her phone screen as he and his members - his closest friends - make their way through the world, leaving a blazing trail of successes and awards behind them. But the best days are spent with Kim Taehyung (not V) cuddled underneath the covers, watching stupid movies and messing with each other. The best days are spent walking through small parks and talking about the most important unnecessary things in the world. The best days are spent just being with the love of her life.

Day Two and Three pass quickly, Taehyung managing to dial his girlfriend for a few minutes as they travel, eagerness resonating in his voice as he impatiently urges YN to open the small drawers. Day Two's gift consists of a gift card to her restaurant, the amount large enough to treat herself to a good meal or two.

“I'll wait for you to come back. Then we can eat there together,” YN says hopefully, phone wedged between her cheek and lifted shoulder, hands occupied with the small piece of blue plastic.

“Nah, you enjoy yourself, babydoll. I got it for you to use sometime while I'm gone, so you don't survive on instant dinners,” he says amused.

His concerns are valid. YN never was a particularly good cook.

“Okay, fair,” she replies, grinning softly.

A noise is heard in the background and her boyfriend lets out a sigh.

“I have to go,”

The line goes dead.

Day Three is a small bracelet, one Tae explains over the phone he picked up because he thought it would suit her. It's a simple thing, but incredibly elegant, a small butterfly charm dangling from the chain. He rushes off of the phone even quicker than before.

Day Four, Five, and Six, she receives a boatload of coins for the arcade nearby (It was running a Christmas special, apparently. How he'd known, YN is unsure), a couple of pieces of saltwater taffy he'd been gifted in Europe, and a pair of earrings he himself owns as well. She thanks Tae via texts, unable to get him on the phone.

It’s only on Day Seven where she starts to miss him, unable to pretend everything was okay. She doesn’t even want to open the advent calendar, looking at the box with a heavy heart, it a happy reminder of her boyfriend’s absence.

You’d think the girl would get used to it eventually, that him leaving wouldn’t impact her as much, but every time he leaves she aches inside, a piece of herself off dancing across the world.

But remembering her promise to Tae, YN opens Day Seven’s door. Inside, she can’t believe it because it’s so bizarre, is a small glass figure of a puppy, the small creature’s front paw lifted up into the air, almost as if he’d been turned into glass during a happy stroll down a merry lane. There’s a note this time as well.

I saw this in one of the vintage stores in America. I’m not sure why, but I thought you’d enjoy this little dog. It seems so jolly, doesn’t it?

Day Eight is more candy, a couple of peppermints with a corny Christmas joke stuffed into the box as well.

When I told you I love you I peppermint it ; )

YN can’t help but chuckle. Seokjin is rubbing off on him.

Day Nine is a silky blue scarf, rolled and tied up delicately with a silver ribbon. The material is so soft, it nearly tickling the girl’s skin when she wraps it around her neck. She takes a photo of it, sending it to Taehyung.

He doesn’t reply.

Day Ten is a matching hat, still tied with ribbon, and Day Eleven completes the set with a pair of furry mittens.

Taehyung knows she despises gloves, her fingers always feeling a chill no matter how thick they are. She only wears mittens.

Day Twelve is a small jar of peach-flavored lip balm which YN finds incredibly smoothing, the faint scent of fresh fruit lingering on her soft lips. She knows it’s more of a gift to himself than to her, Taehyung always loving when she wears flavored chapstick. It gave him an excuse to kiss her even though he didn’t need one.

Day Thirteen (still no word from Tae, but YN saw the boys had won several awards overseas), YN pulls out a small ornament, a photo of the two of them hugging glazed perfectly in the middle of the bell-shaped decoration. She hangs it immediately, smiling.

She remembers that day fondly. Taehyung had a rare day off, a day completely to himself, and he had spent it with her, exploring the woods that back her house. The couple had discovered a small and half-rotted treehouse suspended from one of the bigger trees. Taehyung had been fascinated by it, climbing it despite YN’s warnings of possible danger. He hadn’t cared. To him, that was the best discovery he’d ever had.

Day Fourteen was a fortune cookie that promises eternal happiness; Day Fifteen was filled with colorful stickers. They were random, hearts and puppies and cakes and octopi.

With Taehyung, you never knew what you were going to get.

Day Sixteen was a pair of designer sunglasses, the same pair she’d been mooning over since she saw them in the store. She hardly remembers mentioning them to Taehyung, but he never missed anything. He’d never once forgot her birthday or a date, never once forgot to pick up milk before he came over. It’s one of the things she loves most about him.

Day Seventeen held a couple of brightly colored pens, which she used in conjunction with her stickers. She couldn’t say she wasn’t amused, YN spending a few hours working on a drawing and tossing some stickers in wherever she saw fit.

Day Eighteen was a pretty lipstick, the perfect shade for her skin tone. Nineteen was more candy (He’s trying to make her fat, she feels it) and Twenty was a few bags of Christmas themed tea.

YN still hadn’t heard from Tae at all. He wasn’t even answering her messages, except once to say he wouldn’t be able to make it back home for Christmas. She was disappointed, but not particularly surprised.

Day Twenty - One was a keychain, pressed flowers stuffed between two circles of glass. It’s gorgeous, and YN places it on her bag immediately.

Twenty - Two was a small bottle of perfume in a scent Tae thought she’d enjoy. She did. It smelled of sunshine and fresh daisies.

Twenty - Three was a Christmas card, a photo of Taehyung and the boys grinning in silly holiday hats wedged in between. After reading it, YN places the card on her mantle.

Day Twenty - Four, Christmas Eve and the last day of the calendar, YN opens the drawer only to find it empty. She checks once again, even circling the box to see if she had somehow bumped it off the table.

But she found nothing. YN is about to give up, thinking he’d forgotten to add the very last day in his haste to put the gift together, when her phone dings, a text message grabbing her attention.

Her heart warms when she realizes it’s from her boyfriend, but her happiness is replaced with confusion when she reads the message.

Come outside

Curious, YN throws on a coat and follows the instructions, exiting out her front door only to see her walkway decorated with lit candles, the flames flickering gently in the cold. Soft music is playing from behind her house and YN walks towards it through the walkway of candles and into the woods, tears coming to her eyes when she sees Taehyung dressed handsomely and standing in the treehouse.

What had once been little more than a safety hazard has been transformed into a comfy area, the structure decorated with strings of fairy lights and fluffy pillows.

“Tae,” she says, breathless, looking up at him.

He’s smiling widely, an excited look on his face.

“Come on up!”

YN quickly climbs the new ladder, joining Tae in the refreshed treehouse. Immediately, she wraps her arms around him, squeezing him tightly.

“I thought you weren’t coming for Christmas!” she exclaims, hitting him gently on the shoulder.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!” he replies, kissing her on the forehead, “I missed you so much while I was gone,”

“Not as much as I missed you, Tae! I’m so glad you’re back. Did you enjoy yourself?”

Taehyung then launches himself into a fluffy of stories about his travels, breath coming out in white puffs of air. YN listens with rapt attention, hanging onto every word. When he’s done relaying his adventures, the two of them cuddle up under a blanket, looking up into the night sky.

“I enjoyed your calendar, by the way. It made me miss you a little bit less. But you know, Tae, there was nothing in today’s drawer. Did you forget it?” she asks him, chuckling.

“Nope, I didn’t,” he says.

“Are you the present? Because I’m not complaining,”

He laughs, a bright, cheerful sound.

“No, I’m not the gift. This is,”

With those words, Taehyung sits up, pushing his girlfriend up as well.

“YN,” he says, suddenly nervous and taking her hand, pressing something cold in it.

Looking in her eyes, he opens her palm, a ring glittering in the moonlight.

“Will you marry me?”

#bts #christmas with bts #networkbangtan #taehyung x reader #network bangtan #taehyung #tae x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst

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wineanddinosaur · 3 years

Text

Can You Build a Successful Bourbon Brand by Trolling the Taters?

The labels are colorful, cartoonish, comical, and a bit grotesque.

There’s Tater Bait, depicting a woman with a massive head of 1980s hair cascading over a visor.

Smash Bill shows a poor man’s Rambo, armed to the teeth with an M60 machine gun.

While Waxx Dippz displays a bald-pated man with a Van Dyke beard, seemingly staring into your soul.

Though you might not understand the joke, each of these (and six others labels) seem to be blatantly mocking the modern bourbon geek, that sometimes vile species of obsessive who covets Pappy, clears store shelves of formerly mid-tier stuff like Weller and Eagle Rare, and even adulterates bottles with silly stickers and post-purchase wax coatings, often with a total lack of awareness for their inherent absurdity.

“I deal with these people all the time. Sometimes their lack of a sense of humor is a little alarming,” says Matthew Colglazier, a longtime liquor merchandiser and marketer. “Taking a piss (out of them), that’s part of the fun, I think.”

Catch ’Em All

Colglazier has regularly found himself in the orbit of these whiskey collectors after more than a decade in the spirits industry in various capacities. The Indiana man has been buying single barrels for liquor stores for years and been making trips to nearby Midwest Grain Products (MGP), the massive, former Seagram’s distillery in Lawrenceburg for nearly a decade — well before most drinkers were aware that it was supplying upstart craft distilleries like WhistlePig, High West, and Smooth Ambler with much of the bourbon and rye they were bottling.

Scouring store shelves, looking at the thousands of non-distiller bottlers, as well as the countless craft distilleries that have emerged, all trying to get a piece of the perhaps $10 billion pie, Colglazier began to wonder how a new American whiskey brand could possibly set itself apart.

“When it comes to creating something new and different these days, that’s really a challenge,” says Colglazier.

Feeling confident in his industry acumen, however, Colglazier and some partners decided to branch out with their own brand in 2018. A family member had alerted him to Krogman’s, a whiskey and brandy distillery that had existed in Tell City, Ind., from 1863 until Prohibition, and then ran on fumes until the 1960s. Searching through trademark filings, Colglazier realized that no one owned it anymore. And, just like that, Krogman’s was his.

“We don’t own a distillery, we don’t own a license or anything,” says Colglazier. He sources all his “juice” and lets partners like Cardinal Spirits, a top craft distillery in Bloomington, do the bottling.

Early Krogman’s releases would include Krogman’s Bourbon and Krogman’s Rye, sourced from MGP and packaged at 90 proof in opaque black and red bottles depicting a drawing of the old distillery that no longer stands. It’s a typical way to launch a new brand, by evoking an esteemed history that isn’t necessarily your own and has nothing to do with the liquid in the bottle. These releases sold all right, but they certainly didn’t become a sensation among consumers. Colglazier knew he would have to start tackling his branding in a different way.

“How much innovation is there in the bourbon category today?” asks Colglazier. “I started to think: It doesn’t just have to be about the blocking and tackling of history.”

Around then, Perry Ford, MGP’s sales manager and an old industry connection, sent Colglazier an inventory list of the single barrels he currently had available. Looking over the menu, Colglazier noticed that all nine of MGP’s whiskey mash bills were available in single-barrel form, everything from four bourbons and three ryes to a corn whiskey and even a light whiskey. The MGP mash bills you’ll most often see in single barrel form these days are the ubiquitous 95 percent rye or the “high-rye” bourbon favored by Smooth Ambler and recent darling Smoke Wagon.

As a whiskey drinker himself, Colglazier wanted to try them all, but he needed a good excuse. His first thought: What if he created a unique single-barrel release for each and every mash bill, and then turned all nine into a set? Since the whiskeys were all 3 years old — a little youthful for your average bourbon enthusiast — he knew he’d have to make the labels novel, interesting, and highly collectable if he wanted to sell them.

That would start with what he called each release, naming them after the insider slang (so often intentionally misspelled) that had become popular on secondary market buy/sell sites, private Facebook groups, and message boards over the last decade.

“I tried to pinpoint relatively specific things that people would know,” Colglazier says.

Thus, there’s Tater Bait, a reference to neophyte collectors who do exceedingly embarrassing things in pursuit of rare bottles. Flipperzz refers to people who buy allocated bottles at retail costs only to immediately “flip” them for bloated, black-market rates. Dusty Hunterzzz is a nod to those who comb through off-the-beaten-path liquor stores for vintage bottles that have lingered on shelves for years gathering dust.

“Your civilian bourbon drinker would have no idea what these things meant and would just think, ‘Oh, that’s an interesting label,’” adds Colglazier.

He tapped local designer Aaron Scamihorn for the label art. Scamihorn specializes in a bold, vintage comic book style, perhaps more befitting the skate decks and even craft beer labels he also designs than the sort of staid, regal branding we typically see in the bourbon industry.

“When we first discussed this project it was the first time I’d heard the word ‘tater,’” recalls Scamihorn. His labels are inspired by the beat-up VHS box covers for campy, ’80s movies you would have seen stocked on the bottom shelf at Blockbuster (Buyy it Noww! was surely spawned from 1980s “Harlequin”). That era tracks with the late-30s/early-40s demographic of guys that Colglazier sees as most into bourbon collecting right now.

At the least, these are the dudes who already have a deep familiarity with the most online and underground parlance of the American whiskey world (Unicorn! Maxx Profitzz!) needed to get many of these jokes.

“Some were really on the nose, others were a stretch,” says Colglazier. “Some barely make sense.”

Of course, whiskey fans have long had the “gotta catch ’em all” mentality that, in many people’s eyes, has turned the industry into a game of liquid Pokemon, and Colglazier is well aware of that. But Krogman’s reminds me more of another set of trading cards: Garbage Pail Kids, the 1985 series of depraved and deformed characters meant to mock the then-frenzy surrounding Cabbage Patch Kids.

“It pokes fun, but honors [these people] at the same time,” says Colglazier. “It makes it recognizable to that consumer. It’s kind of a tightrope, and I’m not sure everybody understands.”

No BS!

The trickiest part of the tightrope, of course, is that the same people the labels are mocking are inherently the only people who might possibly desire having these crazy bottles in their collections.

“Looks like they are poking some fun at the bourbon world in general, but actually just bottling ALL 9 MGP recipes at cask strength with no BS!” wrote one man on Reddit. “Kind of better than all the other brands who make up a bunch of back stories. [sic]”

And that’s exactly Colglazier’s point. Yes, the Krogman’s labels may be satire, but the whiskey is no joke — it’s all non-chill filtered and bottled at cask strength, catnip for the whiskey cognoscenti who don’t really care about a brand’s nonsense “origin” story.

The set was first released starting in late summer 2020, mostly at big box liquor stores in Indiana, though Tater Bait made its way onto Seelbach’s, an online whiskey retailer that has plans to sell a complete set of nine in the future. There were three to four barrels each of most releases, so fewer than 1,000 bottles per SKU. (For the completists, bottlings made for the Kentucky market had variant labels meant to poke fun at all the Booker’s Bourbon releases like Country Ham.)

They sold for just $32 a bottle, a remarkably reasonable price in an era that has seen other sourced whiskeys cost many times as much. Smoke Wagon’s 8-year-old MGP single barrels, for instance, sell for upwards of $700 per bottle on the secondary market. That’s why another Redditor agreed that it was an “exploitable niche” to sell barrel-proof MGP so cheaply, calling the entire series a “slam dunk.” “The Whiskey Vault,” a popular YouTube channel, praised the series as well, loving its execution and transparency.

“Not subtle!” joked co-host Daniel Whittington.

A Collectible in the Making?

You could argue that Krogman’s is the most honest bourbon brand of this crazy era. It may seem like a troll — and, of course, it partially is — but it’s one of the few MGP-backed bottlers offering unique releases and not trying to dupe consumers and generate high demand based purely on hype. While other bourbon and rye brands pretend they exist in a vacuum, clueless to online discussions and tater-driven market forces, Krogman’s has a keen self-awareness of the hyper-obsessive culture it is being released into.

Colglazier isn’t sure where the series will go next, but a part of me feels that while leaning so heavily into the scene, he’s unwittingly created something that, in a few years, might end up being one of the biggest collectibles of the era. Krogman’s may be seen as an economically priced prank right now, but could it one day be the American version of Ichiro’s Malt Card Series released between 2005 and 2014 — of which a complete “deck” of the 54 bottles in the Japanese series sold for $1.52 million in late 2020?

Probably doubtful, as Ichiro’s came from the shuttered Hanyu distillery and Krogman’s is certainly not as well aged of stock. But sometimes it takes a few years for these ahead-of-their-time ideas to pick up steam. Even the Malt Card Series had initially been consumed by buyers, not squirreled away and collected.

“People really want to see themselves reflected back in the things they buy,” Colglazier says of his bourbon. “In many ways, what we buy, what we collect, these are validations of who we are. People have used lots of consumer goods to validate themselves. This is just taking it to the next level.”

The article Can You Build a Successful Bourbon Brand by Trolling the Taters? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/krogmans-bourbon-trolling/

0 notes

isaiahrippinus · 3 years

Text

Can You Build a Successful Bourbon Brand by Trolling the Taters?

The labels are colorful, cartoonish, comical, and a bit grotesque.

There’s Tater Bait, depicting a woman with a massive head of 1980s hair cascading over a visor.

Smash Bill shows a poor man’s Rambo, armed to the teeth with an M60 machine gun.

While Waxx Dippz displays a bald-pated man with a Van Dyke beard, seemingly staring into your soul.

Catch ’Em All

“When it comes to creating something new and different these days, that’s really a challenge,” says Colglazier.

“How much innovation is there in the bourbon category today?” asks Colglazier. “I started to think: It doesn’t just have to be about the blocking and tackling of history.”

“I tried to pinpoint relatively specific things that people would know,” Colglazier says.

“Your civilian bourbon drinker would have no idea what these things meant and would just think, ‘Oh, that’s an interesting label,’” adds Colglazier.

“Some were really on the nose, others were a stretch,” says Colglazier. “Some barely make sense.”

“It pokes fun, but honors [these people] at the same time,” says Colglazier. “It makes it recognizable to that consumer. It’s kind of a tightrope, and I’m not sure everybody understands.”

No BS!

“Not subtle!” joked co-host Daniel Whittington.

A Collectible in the Making?

The article Can You Build a Successful Bourbon Brand by Trolling the Taters? appeared first on VinePair.

source https://vinepair.com/articles/krogmans-bourbon-trolling/ source https://vinology1.tumblr.com/post/656790305151057920

0 notes

rauliskafan · 7 years

Text

A Little Lesson in Easter Eggs

Authors’ Note: Happy Easter and Happy Sunday!!! @vintagemichelle91 and I hope that you had a wonderful day! We are backtracking in our timeline just a tad to bring you a brief glimpse of the Barba Family getting into the holiday spirit! Enjoy!!!

“Mami? What we doing?”

Natalia smiled as she set down the carton of hard-boiled eggs, her watercolor pencils, and several sorts of glitter. Kissing Violetta’s plump, pink cheek, she dropped the food coloring into cups of warm water mixed with vinegar and handed her daughter a small spoon.

“We’re dyeing Easter eggs, sweet pea,” Natalia explained. “You can make them any color you like, and then we get to decorate them!”

Having always enjoyed the activity as a child and even more so with her students, Natalia rose early and began boiling the eggs before her baby’s breakfast was even underway. Now, after they had sat in the refrigerator and were more than safe to touch, she placed four eggs on Violetta’s dish, took four for her herself, and set the rest aside for her slumbering husband.

“Why we doing this?” Violetta asked.

“Because it’s tradition,” Natalia continued. “We’re going to make them as pretty as possible so we can give them to everyone as gifts.”

“Eggs for gifts?” Violetta asked, narrowing her eyes. “Why? Do you not have no more money?”

The question caused Natalia to cough a little around a single sip of her chocolate latte. Dabbing the corners of her mouth with the nearest napkin, she cleared her throat and slowly shook her head, still smiling.

“You don’t need to worry about such things,” Natalia said.

“But you better worry if you have to give away the eggs. There be nothing left for us to eat.”

At the same moment Violetta finished the thought that made the most sense to her mind, Rafael descended the steps, his green eyes growing wide as he rubbed a hand over the light beard coating his face.

“Nothing to eat?” he asked. “I know I overslept but---”

“There’s plenty of food, Atticus,” Natalia assured him, pointing to a plate of pancakes and sausage links that only needed a quick spin in the microwave before he doused them with maple syrup. “You didn’t sleep in that long.”

Glad to see him well-rested after an intense week’s worth of jury deliberations, she slightly stretched away from her seat, wrapping one arm around his neck to kiss his stubbled cheek as he focused on the table.

“And what’s all this?” he asked.

“That’s what I ask, Papi!” Violetta said. “Mami say we making gifts. But I think these going to be cheap presents.”

Looking to her husband for help, Natalia waved a hand over her wares and waited while Rafael yawned, casually tossing one egg into the air and skillfully catching it in the space of the same palm.

“I thought we were doing flowers and chocolates,” he said.

“See, Mami; now those real gifts.”

“We are doing that,” Natalia said, tenderly tapping her delicate nails against the tabletop. “But this is a nice touch. We can make each one special. Here; let me show you how.”

Dipping the first egg in bright pink water, she turned it with her spoon, letting the color soak and change the shade of the shell. Satisfied with the result, she set the egg aside and shifted her stare to her daughter.

“That it?” Violetta asked. “I not see how that so special.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Rafael commented, nibbling on a piece of pancake as he hovered between their chairs and arched an eyebrow.

“That’s only the first step,” Natalia said. “The even more fun part comes soon. But first let’s pick some more colors.”

Violetta reluctantly set one egg in another mug, watching it morph from white to green before placing it in a wire rack, following her mother’s lead.

“You want to get in on this?” Natalia asked Rafael.

“I don’t know. Looks like way too much fun before Happy Hour. Unless you have some Baileys for the coffee,” he teased.

“You don’t need alcohol to enjoy this,” Natalia insisted.

“I think we need something,” Violetta said. With a sigh, Natalia continued dyeing the eggs, turning one red, one yellow and the last one a baby blue. Violetta stuck with green for all but her last egg, and Natalia clapped when she opted for orange.

“Atticus?” Natalia asked once he had polished off his plate and was on his third cup of coffee sans spirits.

“Okay,” he started, making a show of rolling up his sleeves. “Let’s see what we can do here.”

His first two tries garnered him zero points for creativity, one egg green and the other one orange.

“Can you make a little bit of an effort?” Natalia quietly asked out of one side of her mouth.

“What happened to you wanting me to take a break from all my worries?” he quipped.

“An extra hour or two in bed,” Natalia said. “Which you had. I’m pretty sure you’ve recovered to the point where you can decorate an Easter egg.”

“I think so, too, Papi,” Violetta concurred. “This so easy that it boring.”

“What she said,” Rafael said as Natalia threaded her fingers through her hair and silently counted to ten before she fixed a fresh smile to her face.

“Just you wait,” she said, ready to show her darling daughter and handsome husband a thing or two.

“The trick is to make each egg an original for the person getting the gift,” she said, plucking the baby blue egg, the shell dry again, from the wire rack. “Now this one right here, it reminds me of Tio Sonny’s eyes.”

“Does it now?” Rafael queried with the slightest edge in his voice.

“We’ll get to the green eggs,” Natalia promised. “We certainly have more than enough of them.”

Rafael let the comment slide as a yellow watercolor pencil went to work.

“With a few swirls, we make spaghetti and then…”

Her voice trailed off as she set a few red sparkles meant to resemble meatballs near the twirling golden lines, and once she approved of the result, Natalia finally returned the egg to the carton.

“Voila!” she said. “A perfectly personalized present in no time flat.”

Waiting for Rafael and Violetta to approve her results and probably burst into applause, she was surprised to see them tilting their heads one way and then the other.

“So... it’s a plate of pasta,” Rafael observed. “For Carisi.”

“Exactly!” Natalia confirmed.

“And that sposed to be original, Mami?”

In the wake of Violetta’s question, Natalia bit down on her lip and felt her heart fall.

“I’m sure Tio Sonny is going to appreciate it,” Natalia said.

“No doubt. He’ll be able to make egg salad for lunch come Monday,” Rafael said with a wink, making Violetta giggle.

“See, Mami. You no need to go to all this trouble. Just add maybonnaise!”

Rafael joined in as she kept laughing, and Natalia slowly pushed away from the table, hanging her head as she moved towards the front door.

“Hermosa, come on,” Rafael said, reaching for her hand, his fingers just surrounding her wrist when she disentangled herself from his grasp and met his gaze.

“This is important to me,” she said. “Nana Alessia and I used to do this every Easter.”

Rafael exchanged a quick glance with his daughter, their faces morphing into matching masks of guilt when he parted his lips to speak.

But Natalia was quick to raise one hand in air.

“Forget it,” she said. “Just go ahead and make all the egg salad you want. I’m pretty sure there’s maybonnaise in the pantry.”

Snatching her sweater, Natalia took off into the cool spring morning, blinking back a few tears as she walked fast without looking back. Part of her felt foolish for making a mountain out of a few eggs with or without mayo, but she had so many memories of drawing her next-door neighbor’s favorite foods on a certain shell. Of fashioning others to look like kitty cat faces for the same woman’s two little boys. And finally stopping to smell the imaginary roses, painting petals of every type to bring to her own teachers from days gone by. Wanting to share that with Violetta had kept her up half the night, visions of rainbowed orbs meant for so much more than egg salad delighting her little girl along with the hope that her husband would take some pleasure in the project. All of them together and laughing and...

“What’s the matter with you?” Natalia mumbled under her breath after she had walked at least five blocks without realizing the distance, wiping her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve. So what if they didn’t appreciate the pasta picture or give her the chance to draw ballet slippers for Maggie or a puppy dog to remind Rollins and Jesse of Frannie Mae? What mattered was that she had a family that she loved, who loved her back in ways she had only dreamed of, Rafael and Violetta both resurrecting her from the lonelier parts of her former life and bringing out nothing but the brightest colors. This was silly, and with a deep breath, Natalia turned on her heel to head for home.

“Atticus? Sweet pea? I---”

Her tongue tied as soon as she entered the kitchen. There sat Rafael and Violetta with the balance of the dozen eggs.

“Mami, look!”

Standing slowly, Rafael drew Natalia nearer, softly kissing her cheek as he pointed to the table.

“I know they don’t actually look like gardenias,” Rafael started. “But---”

“But we still try to make your flowers, Mami!” Violetta exclaimed, leaping from her chair to pull on the hem of her mother’s skirt. “And we make this one look like a apple cause you a teacher and this one…”

Violetta’s expression turned quizzical as she peered intently at the pink egg, the bottom painted yellow with clumsy zigzag patterns.

“Uh… I guess Papi want this one to be like ice cream cone,” she said.

“It’s a cupcake with strawberry frosting,” Rafael corrected her.

“For real, Papi?” Violetta challenged. “It so not look like that.”

“Now you tell me,” he shot back. “I didn’t hear you say anything when---”

“I thought maybe you know what you doing, Papi.”

“Muñequita, I---”

“Will you two please stop.”

The sound of Natalia’s soft voice brought their squabbling to a halt as they looked to her with the same pair of expectant, emerald eyes.

“Hermosa, we’re sorry,” Rafael said.

“We only try to make them presents for you, Mami,” Violetta chimed in. “Cause we not so nice before.”

“And it was fun,” Rafael said. “Painting the eggs I mean.”

“Even if Papi not know what he doing.”

Avoiding their stares, Natalia carefully examined the eggs, tracing the white petals against the green and orange backgrounds. She pictured her family working hard at the task, sad that she hadn’t stayed close to share in it with them.

And yet…

“Thank you,” she whispered, facing them as her eyes filled with happy tears. Rafael’s cheeks turned a lighter shade of pink, his lips curling into a smile as he took her into his arms, and Violetta scooted forward to hug her mother’s legs.

“Glad you like your presents, hermosa,” Rafael said, kissing her hair.

“Yes. And I like you even more.”

Their lips just met as Violetta tried to jump, and Rafael lifted her up. Cuddled between them, the little girl basked in their kisses until her face turned serious.

“What is it, sweet pea?” Natalia asked. “Something wrong?”

“Not really. It just…”

“You can tell us,” Rafael gently urged.

“I know we no should break the presents. But… now I want egg salad for lunch.”

Locking eyes with her husband, Natalia stifled a laugh and kept Violetta close to her hip as she left Rafael’s embrace.

“I’ll start boiling some more eggs,” she said, kissing him once more.

“And I’ll make sure we have the maybonnaise.”

#raul esparza #rafael barba #natalia barba #violetta barba #a hard lesson series #little lessons #law and order svu #svu fanfiction

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archangelgf · 7 years

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I. and when you kiss me, i am happy enough to die

Maven avoids tapping his fork against his plate.

It was a habit of his. The chink, chink, chink was grating on most people’s ears but strangely calming to him. The sounds of metal had always been fairly appealing to him, smooth and ringing. Lucky for him. Tomorrow Evangeline Samos, with her coy smile and easy metalbending, will probably be announced Cal’s consort, and then he would never be without the sounds of metal again.

Well. Until he was king. Even then, that is debatable. Evangeline is a strong possibility for marriage, after all, her family is powerful and influential enough to be very worth marrying into. He lifts his hand to tap his fork against his plate again, then thinks better of it and starts carefully cutting into the sirloin laid out in front of him.

Maven glances to his father.

Drunk, probably. Or at least halfway there. Elara Mother casts him a scrutinizing look when he calls for more water. She knows what he’s doing, but he knows that in the end it doesn’t really matter.

Thomas slips over from the shadows. It shouldn’t be him. Mother knows this, scoffing lightly to herself, which draws Cal’s attention to her. Good. Thomas reaches over to pour him a glass of water, brushing his shoulder carelessly with Maven’s. Maven’s eyes dart to Cal, who’s sitting across from him and desperately trying to engage his father in conversation about Queenstrial tomorrow.

It’s a good enough distraction for Maven to twitch his fingers against Thomas’s palm when he pulls back. There’s a hint of a smile there, then Thomas vanishes again.

Mother surveys him over her glass of wine with narrowed eyes. Watch yourself, child, her expression says. Maven refrains from sighing just to not draw Cal or his father’s attention. Being with Thomas, she constantly reminds him, is a luxury he can just barely afford. It was just luck that Thomas agreed to be a contact for the Scarlet Guard should the need ever come up, because otherwise he’s sure Mother would have removed him from the castle. Permanently.

“Mavey,” Cal says. Maven’s head turns towards him, twisting his mouth into that annoyed-but-endeared frown that he knows always amuses Cal so much. “Which of the Queenstrial ladies appeal to you?”

Maven snorts. Cal is clearly trying to distract himself from tomorrow. “Not Evangeline, that’s for sure,” he quips, lilting his voice to seem cheery. “Perhaps I will have to interact with them more. I’m not sure.”

Cal nods quickly. Maven lifts his water to his lips and tries not to think of Thomas.

“I don’t know why they’re requiring me to attend,” huffs Maven. He cringes when Thomas yanks on a particularly big knot in his curly hair. “Ow.”

“Well, love,” says Thomas kindly, moving on to brush another section of the prince’s unruly curls, “if I had to take a guess, it’d be wanting to show solidarity.” He pauses, then straightens out Maven’s collar, frowning. “Not that you didn’t know that. But your little high houses are kind of scared of the Guard. He’ll want to impress them, I assume?”

Maven sighs as Thomas shifts around to fix his tie. “Yes, he will.” No doubt about it. Tiberias VI has no room for Reds who aren’t servants in his lif. And Cal, if he became king, would probably follow suit out of pressure from the High Houses. Maven isn’t stupid. He knows the power of the High Houses on the royal family, but for Thomas, Maven would do what he must. Probably not any Reds in government offices, but still, he had promised Thomas....

Equality. Of some sort. And he would do almost everything to make Thomas happy, to make Thomas feel loved.

The prince takes a quick glance around the room before leaning forward and murmuring, “And with the Guard--”

Thomas’s expression remains light and open. “Whatever you need, highness,” he whispers, pecking Maven’s forehead, “I will supply it.”

He had originally met Thomas on the war front. He was merely fifteen then, and he was cold, and he was desperate to go back home. And one day he had just.... met him. Seventeen-year-old Thomas, that is. There was a period of them being “just friends” until Maven finally realized how much he wanted to be more than just friends with Thomas. Until he noticed how much he was noticing the little things about the boy; his somehow perfectly bright smile, his weird laugh, the freckles on his cheeks, his dimples - all of it.

Maven had resigned himself to never tell Thomas this. Ever. There were just too many reasons not to. They were from completely different parts of Norta, their blood colors were different, he wasn’t even sure if Thomas liked boys like he did, and even if by some miracle the boy he loved loved him back he would have to leave for Whitefire palace sometime very soon.

And when he kissed Thomas - well. That was definitely an accident. Definitely.

He’d pulled away, his cheeks coated in silver blush, and apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry,” he’d blurted, “I didn’t--er, I mean-- oh, no.” In that moment, whatever etiquette training Maven had been put through was out the window. He had never really acted like that before, and he’d soon learn that he really only acted that way around Thomas.

Thomas had laughed. Full on laughed, gleefully, and kind of snorting while he did it. Maven had nearly died then - he was sure that Thomas thought he was stupid and silly and their friendship would never be the same ever again. “You’re so cute,” said Thomas fondly, and then he leaned over and kissed Maven again.

Maven’s sure that he’ll never quite forget it.

And then there was the problem of leaving. It would happen soon. And for a while Maven was in a state between happiness and heartbreak; he would have his love but would have to leave him; until he came up with an idea. It involved getting Thomas’s last name and bullying - sorry, pressuring his brother and mother into giving him what he wanted.

So by Queenstrial, Maven was a relatively happy prince with a Red servant boyfriend that he’d managed to keep a secret from everyone except his mother for two years or so -- there was but one more thing he needed. When the Red girl with lightning fell into the Queenstrial arena, his mother came up with a wonderful plan.

“Marry her,” Elara tells him simply.

Maven freezes. “Marry her,” he says softly, not utterly shocked by the whole thing but surprised enough. Why, Maven had expected a loveless marriage to a Silver girl, an engagement and a child made solely for alliances between whatever house that was and House Calore. But he’d expected that alliance to be one of his choosing - a life where he could make his own decisions and still be happy with Thomas in the end, even if Thomas did deserve a better title than a mere consort. Cal is the one who was supposed to be forced to marry a certain daughter by Mother and Tiberias. Not him!

“Yes, marry her, Maven. And do not whine.” Maven stares bleakly at her. At least there was one good thing her removing all that fear had done. Mother sighs, shaking her head. “My son,” she says softly, taking one of his hands in hers, “you know I love you. I’m only doing this to benefit you.”

Yes, he knows that. Reluctantly he lets his shoulders drop, let her win as she always won. At least he knows that his mother had his best interests in mind.

Mother smiles, pleased. “This could be your chance, Maven. To be king.” To be king, she whispers in his mind at the same time. “This girl is our gateway.” Our. “To your success,” she adds.

He narrows his eyes at her. Carefully he removes his hand from her wrist, and whispers, “How?”

Based off the Thomaven prompt here.

I JUST LOVE MY BOYS SO MUCH OK

I don’t know how long this is going to be. Knowing me I’ll probably never finish because I PROCRASTINATE WAY TOO MUCH. But I’ll try my hardest.

Tagging people. Uhm. @chaoslaborantin @redqueenfandom @maudthebookeater

I DONT KNOW WHO IN THIS FANDOM LIKES THOMAVEN DKDKADJKDJKDKSF

#red queen #glass sword #king's cage #maven calore #cal calore #shit idk?? hes in it like w/e #thomaven #my writing #red queen fanfiction

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kei-oh · 7 years

Text

Titile: (Untitled at the moment)

Verse: Batman

Patient Name: REDACTED, Makeda

Date of Birth: REDACTED

Place of Birth: ALIEN OF SOUTH SUDANESE ORIGIN; DATE OF NATURALIZATION REDACTED

Sex: FEMALE

Hair: SILVER

Eye: Brown

Height: 5’5

Weight: 115 lbs

Previous Associates: Slade Wilson, William ‘Billy’ Wintergreen (decd.), Talia al Ghul, Jade Nguyen

Arkham Inmate No.: 57821

Intake Notes:

Sentenced to Arkham Asylum following several premeditated attacks on REDACTED and its known associates. Patient exhibits symptoms of disassociation and selective mutism throughout trial, but shows no outward signs of aggression. No further information or previous diagnoses were released by government sources. Due to weight of her crimes and knowledge of her skill, it was recommended by government sources that she be confined to the maximum security wing. No evidence, besides the crime and evidence submitted to the court, was provided to back up the recommendation. Police and guards in the court room noted a relatively calm demeanor. Still unsure why the judge sentenced her to Arkham- only that evidence provided suggested a mental disturbance. Such evidence, like most everything about the patient, was withheld on grounds of compromising national security.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jonathan Crane closed the thin, manila file on the newest patient assigned to his care, wondering how exactly to proceed with such little information on a patient who refused to talk.

His gut reaction was to add her to his growing list of patients to experiment his toxins on, but that wasn’t an option. Not yet, at least. Given the tight-lipped nature of the CIA on the nearly catatonic woman sitting before him, this was someone they would keep tabs on- at first. He’d seen it before. Agents check in bi-weekly on the patient to obtain any useful information; ensure they would do no more harm to the people or their operations. Gradually, depending on the patient’s mental state, their visits became less frequent as their egos’ were reassured the patient was no longer a threat- or, in the cases the patient managed to escape (none of his patients ever managed to get that far), they were transferred to a secret location to never be heard from again.

He would just need to bide his time. Satiate their hunger on other patients, long forgotten by their family and friends until her fate was the same as theirs.

Looking up, his icy stare found its way to rest upon the woman barred down with straps across her chest and hips and shackled at the wrists. It all seemed silly. Here was a woman, clearly underweight and lacking substantial muscle mass strapped down like an animal. Physically, there was no way she could overpower the orderlies and guards around here. The video evidence submitted to the court only showed her assembling and making explosives. Anyone with a basic understanding of chemistry could do that. Still, airing on the side of caution was always advisable, particularly when the recommendations were coming from government actors that had dealt with her.

The patient stared at a fixed point on the ground, eyes blank and seemingly lifeless. “Miss Makeda, my name is Dr. Jonathan Crane. I am the psychiatrist assigned to your case.”

No response. Not even her eyes drifted up towards him. The patient gave no indication that she had even heard him.

“Miss Makeda?” Jonathan questioned, raising an eyebrow as he waited for a response that never came. Sharply sighing and rising to his feet, he got out his penlight and strode over to the patient. “Makeda, I need you to look at me if you can.” Still no response. God, she looked pale. Had they given her Droperidol or some other form of antipsychotic to restrain her without consulting him first, or was she in shock at being here? If the orderlies had screwed up and given her something they shouldn’t have… “I’m going to tilt your head up and shine this light into your eyes-“ no acknowledgement was expected, but procedure called for it.

Pupils were dilated, unchanging when they were exposed to light, and her skin was cool to the touch as he noticed its sheer, slickness reflecting the office light. Her chest barely rose, indicating a slower intake of oxygen, as her whole body seemed to shake. “Mr. Blake, Mr. Graham, I need one of you to get the bag valve mask. The other, go tell the doctors and nurses we have a patient experiencing an overdose.”

Nimble fingers made their way down to the point under her jaw where the head and neck connected as he took note of her pulse. He didn’t need a clock to tell him it was irregular. Someone had given her something without his consent, and not just that- given her too much.

Stephen Graham was instantly at his side, respirator in hand, stumbling over his words as fear of both the situation and the doctor himself consumed him, ”She wasn’t this bad when we restrained her and brought her here. This wasn’t us, Dr. Crane. I don’t- I’m not-“

Look at him cowering before us…

Jonathan held up a hand to silence both the orderly and the voice in his mind as he reached out and snatched up the ventilator. He secured the face mask and the valve and began compressing the bag ever five seconds he nodded to the orderly to begin wheeling her out of his office.

He matched the orderly’s quick pace down the hallway, all while maintaining consistent compressions to ensure the patient was getting enough oxygen. “Did either you or Mr. Blake administer any drug?” he asked coolly, studying Stephen’s face for any sign of a lie.

“No, Sir, we met with them agent-guys for the exchange, and we restrained her as you see here and brought her to you, just like we was told.”

Jonathan remembered why he rarely spoke to orderlies. They were unintelligent, obedient monkeys, usually possessing little more than a high school education. “And you stated she wasn’t ‘this bad’ when the transfer occurred?”

“No, she just was quiet and still, with that dead look in her eyes- like she’d given up.”

“And you didn’t think that was strange?” Usually, every patient Arkham took in was lively and difficult in some form, whether they were yelling and screaming that they were innocent and sane, or got physical with the orderlies…

Suddenly, Makeda’s amber eyes found his, and for a brief moment, they registered his face, wide with uncertainty before trying to look at her surroundings. Zs she began to frantically move her head to look around, his other hand firmly held her head still. “I need you to remain still. I am manually helping you breathe.”

And just as quickly as her focus came back, the blank stare returned and she went limp once more. He picked up his line of questioning. “You didn’t think it was strange that she was so quiet, despite being told to keep her restrained?”

“No… Well, yes, but-“

They entered into the emergency wing of Arkham, his colleagues were at his side, stopping the orderly in his tracks and barking orders to get the patient out of her restraints and onto the hospital bed.

“Thank you, Dr. Crane, we’ll take it from here,” a nurse stated, taking the respirator from him and edging both the orderly and himself out of the room as they were followed out by the lead emergency doctor, Dr. Eighan.

“Thank you for your quick response, Dr. Crane. We’ll do what we can for her, and we’ll let you know if and when she recovers.”

And just like that, Stephen and Jonathan were left alone outside the emergency room, but not before shouting came from inside the room.

************

It was black, and then it wasn’t.

Makeda’s eyes shot open as she bolted upright, gasping in as much air as she could.

Brightness. White light. Silence.

Then pain tearing at the very seams of her soul. Limbs on fire. Thoughts whirling. Bones collapsing.

World ending pain.

It came flooding in with images of a sterile room like a tide she couldn’t hold back that wracked her entire body, and the nausea. Spinning, everything was twirling around her as the world moved quickly passed. She reached around the bed she found herself on for any sort of container before a trash bin was thrust into her hands, just as she retched into it.

It was an odd feeling. She couldn’t hear anything, not even her own vomiting. If it weren’t for the pain, she’d have assumed this was just another dream. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flurry of motions from the people in the white coats as she continued to empty the contents of her stomach into the bin, before being sent into a state of panic.

Where was she? Who were these people? More scientists?

Drawing from the new adrenalin pumping through her veins, Makeda leapt up out of bed, only to be met by orderlies that attempted, in vain, to restrain her. With ease as though she were possessed by a god, she shook them off and took off running on unsteady legs, pushing through those that were trying to stop her. The pathway to the door was blocked by two larger men in uniforms that tried to restrain her as another person entered the room, watching the chaos unfold.

Thrashing against the grips of the burly men, she lashed out, body moving primarily on instinct.

Flashes of red painted her vision, met with blue and a distinct pinch in her trapezius, and then black. All consuming black.

#ooc #((here's what i have so far))#batman au

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thesassybooskter · 6 years

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THE LORD MEETS HIS LADY by Gina Conkle: Spotlight, Excerpt & Giveaway

NOW AVAILABLE/SOURCEBOOKS CASABLANCA

Lord Marcus Bowles has stained his family’s reputation for the last time. Only after spending a scandal-free year restoring some far-flung property can this second son return in good graces. But Marcus isn’t one to abandon a lone damsel on a dark country lane.

One stolen kiss and Genevieve Turner’s handsome midnight savior disappears. Typical. No matter, Gen is finally on the way to her new post, and hopefully to finding her grandmother as well. Instead she finds her mischievous hero is her new employer. Surely a few more kisses won’t hurt…

Buy Online: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | iBooks

Add to Goodreads

How to Enjoy London Like a Georgian

The Georgian era was a fascinating shift from pastoral to urban living. The economic boom brought scientific advances. Much of the populace elevated themselves to a better place in life—especially the merchant class. Entertainments abounded. Life’s little luxuries were affordable. People enjoyed a diversity of products pouring into London on a regular basis.

In researching the Midnight Meetings series, I came across many surprises. You could call this list 5 things for an interesting life in London:

The British Museum. Seeds for the world-renowned institution were planted in 1753 with the death of physician Hans Sloane. A naturalist with a love for all things exotic, Sloane had purchased the house next door to warehouse his unique collections. People traveled far and wide to visit the house in Bloomsbury, finding a hodgepodge of international oddities. Trustees of Sloan’s estate didn’t know what to do with Sloane’s things. They tried to give the collection King George II, but he didn’t want it. Parliament acquired the collection and by 1759 the official British Museum opened its doors to the public.

Hot air balloon-mania hit England in the 1780s. It’s been reported that 200,000 people (royalty included in that number) showed up at the Artillery Ground of Moorfields to see a demonstration by Vincenzo Lunardi. He ascended without incident (other than his cat, which he took along for the ride, getting sick). The charming Italian was quite popular. Hawkers sold Lunardi fans, garters, and bonnets.

Pets ranged from the regular to the exotic. Unusual pet ownership spread amongst all classes with animals like a mongoose, ring-tailed lemurs, and marmosets. The Tower of London had a zoo open to the public, featuring jackals, lions, monkeys, baboons, and even an Indian elephant. Great beasts from around the world were housed in the Tower as far back as the 13th.

Fine furniture became egalitarian with Chippendale’s innovations to the industry. In the past, fashionable homeowners clamored for furniture fashionable made by high-end designers. Those men signed each furniture piece they made the way painters sign a painting. Then along came Chippendale. He published his Gentleman and Cabinetmaker’s Director (a design book) which changed how the English bought and made furniture. Design books weren’t new, but Chippendale’s approach was revolutionary. He presented the furniture as part of interior design: think presenting whole sets for a drawing room rather than an individual piece on a page. Chippendale hired men to make furniture for him, but his book not only changed ensemble decorating, it fostered a Do-It-Yourself approach to fine furniture-making. Humble gentry purchased Chippendale’s books and crafted their own fine furniture (such as my character, Mr. Samuel Beckworth in The Lord Meets His Lady).

The resourceful woman created her own future. The nobility watched over their daughters lest those young women go astray, but other classes of London enjoyed a kind of bare-knuckle freedom. Life was harsh on the fair-sex. Yet, many women refused to be victims of the times. Some forged a good life in commerce. Publisher Elizabeth Nutt is one such example. She ran a cluster of shops near the Royal Exchange where she sold respectable publications. She was also listed as “Mercury Woman”, a printer of seditious and sometimes salacious material on Grubb Street. She ran the business with her daughters.

London, no matter the era, was and is a place of opportunity for those who seek adventure on its streets. ~Gina

Excerpt

Lord Bowles set one hand on the dark-stained oak and pushed, all the while watching her with gentle determination as she rose awkwardly from the floor. Iron hinges whined a lethargic turn before the door clicked shut on honking fowl. The entry dimmed but was no less luminous for the unexpected sparks between them. Lord Bowles was a dose of good French brandy at the wrong time of day, enticing but entirely unsuitable.

“Do I make you nervous?” he asked.

His lordship missed nothing. He was like a thief-taker digging for the truth. In their two meetings, he’d shown more substance than the aimless wastrel people claimed him to be. For the first time since she left London, she missed the clamor and the crowds. This quiet between her and Lord Bowles, it denuded her.

“Nervous? A little.” Her attention flittered over him. “The part of me that finds you handsome. Too handsome for your own good.”

He blinked, his lips parting. Well-shod feet shifted and another beat of stillness passed. Did she surprise him? Good. Unease melted off her back from satisfaction of his lordship being the one off center. Served him right for coming here like this.

She wiped dough-flecked hands in her apron as though she had all the time in the world. “And since I’m being forthright, milord, I wanted some time to myself. You don’t get much of that living above The Golden Goose.”

“No, I suppose not.”

With his wind-mussed queue and rumpled brown velvet coat, Lord Bowles could be any man awaiting acceptance of a social call. He was a dangerous flirt with genuine, friendly appeal, endearing qualities that played havoc with her resolve, but she would be firm.

Her head tipped at an open doorway off the entry. “The parlor is that way, milord. I’ll fetch some coffee for you.”

She headed to the kitchen, her skin prickling across her bottom and thighs. Lord Bowles watched her. Ambling footsteps sounded in the small dining room behind her. He wasn’t going to be a docile guest.

Did his lordship think he’d found a convenient light skirt?

Crossing the kitchen, she tensed, expecting footfalls to follow her on the flagstone floor. A knee to a man’s baubles sent a clear message to overzealous men at The Golden Goose. With her employer’s friend, she’d have to use different tactics.

At the hearth, she checked the roast in the cooking hastener, but no footsteps came, nor did a hand palm her bottom. One glance at the kitchen showed Lord Bowles lounging in the doorway, one hand resting in his coat pocket. The corners of his mouth curled up as if he read women all the time and knew their secrets.

“Thought I’d wait here, save you the trip to the parlor with my coffee.”

“Because I’m of delicate constitution?” She reached for the spindle jack hanging from a rafter above the hearth.

“No, because I like watching you.”

Her cheeks warmed and her nipples poked her stays. “Lord Bowles…” she began sternly.

“I know,” he said smiling shamelessly. “I’m being inappropriate with my friend’s housekeeper. Can we agree to talk freely when we’re alone? I’ll curb myself when others are around.”

“I can’t lose this position, milord.” She started winding the spindle jack, a slow and noisy effort. Her breasts jostled and the flush spread down her neck and chest. There was no denying, it was nice being the object of his improper interest.

The Beckworth kitchen was bright with limestone walls and a cheery, yellow cabinet, not a typical haunt for the likes of Lord Bowles. He’d seek amusement elsewhere. With turnips on the table and bread rising in a bowl, his boredom with this rustic kitchen was her best weapon.

“There is a point to my visit,” he said loudly. “I come bearing an offer of help.”

“Help? With what?” she asked above the cranking cogs.

Lord Bowles stepped cautiously down into the kitchen. “I’d rather have a decent conversation with you than yell across the room.” He gestured to the long pine table near the hearth. “May I have a seat? I promise to behave. We’ll have a table between us.”

Her arm burned from working against the spindle’s tension and the heavy roast by her knees. She was about to give him a set down, but she spied that silly hole in his stocking and softened.

“No flirting, milord.”

He smiled boldly. “On my honor, none. We’ll be solemn as clergymen.”

“Clergymen,” she huffed and blew a wayward wisp off her face. “A few minutes. No more.”

He crossed the kitchen and took a seat at the table. She cranked harder. The string was nearly wound around the pulley.

“What is this offer of yours?”

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About Gina Conkle

Gina Conkle writes sensual Georgian romance and lush Viking romance. Her books offer a fresh, addictive spin on the genre, with the witty banter and sexual tension that readers crave.

She grew up in southern California and despite all that sunshine, Gina loves books over beaches and stone castles over sand castles. Now she lives in Michigan with her favorite alpha male, Brian, and their two sons where she’s known to occasionally garden and cook._ Find her at www.ginaconkle.com.

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THE LORD MEETS HIS LADY by Gina Conkle: Spotlight, Excerpt & Giveaway was originally published on The Sassy Bookster

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