#i did not buy the posters from the reason pop up shops until far too late and missed out on ki’s and min’s

[biffhofosho]

We're talking Minhyuk everything today. He may be bulky af now thanks to his service, but this jar of bottled sunshine beams brightly through his every era.

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 24

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​

"This is a bad idea," Loki voiced his thoughts. 

"You make it sound like that’s new information." 

"Well, at first I thought it all might work out and make the day interesting, but right now I'm a hundred percent sure today's going to be as terrible as the entirety of last week." 

You gasped dramatically. "Terrible? But you had a good laugh with me!"

"What else was I supposed to do when my life was being ruined and my dignity trampled? File a complaint? To whom could I address it?" he asked, words sharp. 

"Why are you asking me? That sounds like your problem." 

"You don't see it as your problem only because you're the problem." 

"Nah. You're overthinking it." 

"Well, I suppose one of us has to balance out your lack of—" 

You cut him off with a sudden glint in your eyes. You stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, right in front of him, forcing people to walk around the two of you with annoyed grimaces.

"Did you just say 'us'? Could it be that I've finally grown on you?" 

Loki sighed a very resigned sigh. "Yeah. Like a tumor." 

Your smile was blinding nonetheless and caused him to turn his head the other way. It was the only reason he turned his head, obviously. Your joy was unreasonable. It wasn’t not like the word slipped off his tongue on accident and he tried to brush it off… 

He only listened to your following babbling with one ear, focusing just enough to know when to nod and grunt some confirmation at the right moment. It wasn't on purpose, at least not entirely. It just so happened that his mind was occupied by different matters at the moment. 

The path you decided on took you through what you described as quite a nice part of the city. Loki had his doubts about sanity and taste of whoever was behind the design of some of the buildings. The architecture was outrageously bland and plain and no matter how hard he tried, Loki could not find any reason behind such a fascination with squares and rectangles. Involuntarily, he thought back to the elegant arches and ethereal facades of Asgard's places of culture. The rich gold and vibrant colors that brought up all of the beauty of the city and homes of its people clashed violently with what he was seeing now. And why was everything so dull? 

You crossed the street, following the mass of people rushing in the same direction. The fumes in the air brought a grimace to Loki's face. You noticed, and forgot about whatever you were just talking about. 

"You okay?" 

Loki's attention snapped back to you, surprised with how much genuine concern could be heard in your voice. 

Well, you had already proven a few times that you meant him no harm, which was nice coming from someone on this savage, disgusting realm, but Loki was not yet used to it. He was trying, though, which he found surprising. 

You frowned at his lack of response and took one of his hands in yours, warming it up. "Are you cold? I told you to bring gloves. We could warm up in one of the shops right there if you want?" 

If you didn't know him any better, you'd say Loki looked flustered, but since it would be very out of character, you decided he must have just been overwhelmed with a world that must be so different from his. Your suspicions were confirmed when he insisted on walking. The hint of color on his cheeks must've been a figment of your imagination. 

"I'm a Frost Giant, after all," he explained, very interested in the display of one of the bakeries. "The cold doesn't bother me as much as others, regardless of my clothing." 

"Damn, wish I could say the same. It must come in real handy in weather like this," you gestured to the white blankets of snow covering every surface around. It was still fresh and clean, changing the world into something a little prettier than it usually was. Or maybe it was because it covered the trash littering the streets. 

Loki followed your gaze to the few tiny flakes of snow flying loosely in the air. The sky was clear, indicating fine weather for the near future. People didn't seem to pay much attention to the weather, if only to watch out on particularly slippery parts of the pavements. 

It was a shame, though, Loki thought. The snow was the only reason the city wasn't completely hideous to his eyes. It might have been caused by the Frost Giant blood in his veins, but he had to admit he enjoyed the walk through the whitened streets more than he anticipated, even putting the architecture aside. 

The air, despite the disgusting fumes the cars around restlessly continued to produce, had the bite and frost in it that he'd always enjoyed. He remembered the days spent outside from dawn till dusk with Thor, running around the palace's grounds, building their own fortresses from snow and branches and then attacking one another until their hands were sore and their runny noses frozen. Those were the few memories Loki didn't mind his brother in. He was a terrible fortress architect. 

They often ventured far, and made Frigga worry with how late they finally made it home. Even Loki's hands were cold by then, and his clothes damp and wet, but he was happy nonetheless, innocent and unaware of what his future would throw him into. 

Loki looked down at his hands. Those days were gone, and not much could bring them back. Even winter felt different in this world, more polluted and tamed. The frost was more of a suggestion rather than a sharp bite to his skin. His heritage would always protect him from damage, but he felt the cold anyway. 

The sad truth was, the past had to stay in the past, no matter how tempting it was to recollect and dwell upon old memories. Lessons had to be learnt from it, but one can never move forward if they drag their past with them. Despite his greatest efforts, Loki didn't remember who wrote that. Still, the words felt right to him. 

With a silent nod to himself, he got back to the present. You were still standing by the bakery he randomly chose to buy some time. He had been conflicted, but things seemed clearer now. 

Once again confident in himself, Loki straightened his back and turned to face you - only to find you already staring at him. 

"How about we marry?" you proposed. 

All air left him. 

"I beg your pardon…?" was all he managed to stutter out, his voice taking a high pitch at the end, despite his efforts to keep it casual. 

You didn't seem to notice the chaos raging in his chest. You only knocked softly on one of the posters at the display. With his heart in his throat, Loki read it with more difficulty than it would usually take him. 

"It says�� Some free samples are offered to everyone who proposes there? Is that a joke?" he asked finally. 

"Not according to those photos." You pointed to some low-quality pictures printed and glued under the poster. 

His frown only deepened along with his confusion. "You want us to fake a proposal for some free cake?" 

"Why not?" you shrugged. "It's not like anyone's going to check up on us to see if we actually get married later on." 

Loki blinked slowly. His heart did not slow down, but at least he was starting to hear his own thoughts over the blood pounding through his veins. "Could you please explain to me, why can't we just buy it like normal people?" 

"Do you have any money? Like, human money?" 

"No." 

"Well, all I've got on me will go for our breakfast, especially since Peter will be joining us shortly, and he always devours a double portion like he's been starving for the past year and a half. So, how about a quick proposal?" you nudged him with a wicked smile, ready to march in. 

Loki knew that stupid look on your face. You were not faking it. He sighed into the ridiculous, although nicely smelling scarf around his face. "Do you even have a ring?"

That seemed to pop your happy bubble. Your shoulders slumped and for a very brief, quickly shushed moment, Loki felt bad about it. "Damn it…" 

"Besides, how would you conceal, you know, my identity? It would be suspicious if I had to hide my whole face during all of this madness."

"That's the least of our problems, there's no way anyone would recognize you anyway. Look, we've made it pretty far already and no one's even looked at you twice—" 

You gestured around. 

A skinny, blond man was staring at Loki with a look of utter concentration and confusion of his face, no more than three paces away. 

You froze, and so did Loki. But only for a moment. 

You burst into a broad, jovial smile before approaching the man like a good friend. "What a beautiful morning, isn't it, my dear? Would you like to have a little chat with us about global warming? We've been sent out to make a quick survey about people's opinions and predictions—Where are you going, sir? It will only take a few minutes!" 

You looked after the man that would  choose to flee rather than continue the conversation. He didn't look back. 

You puffed out your chest with pride and turned to Loki. "Okay, I might've been a little bit wrong."

Loki was already casting quick glances around, fixing that stupid excuse of a cover around his face. He knew he would be recognizable. Too little time had passed since he was forced to attack the city, and people would still be bitter about it. Maybe after a few generations had passed and the memory of that disaster got lost in time… 

You joined your arms and shouldered him away from the spot and into a less crowded side-street. The snow crumbled underneath your feet, not yet turned into a muddy pulp. 

"Loki, listen, I know it might not seem like it, but I'm pretty sure everything's fine. The man didn't even recognize you, or he would’ve started screaming or talking in that very aggressive way some people love to use. And he didn't— which means he failed to connect the dots and probably thought you reminded him of some weird relative that he hasn't seen in years and just got confused… "

"You don't even believe that yourself," Loki cut you off. "You tend to babble when you get nervous."

"I… Well, you seem to know an awful lot about me for someone who hates my whole race." 

"It's not—" Loki opened his mouth but stopped. The words didn't seem important anymore. 

You paused too, still linked with him by the arm. Loki sensed the tension in your muscles and the change in your breath. 

Someone was waiting for you. 

The person wasn't tall, but the face obscured by a deep hood didn't seem the most trustworthy. A mugger wouldn't show up right in front of you, standing in the middle of the pavement. Surprisingly, no people seemed to be on your side of the street at all. 

Your fingers clenched on Loki's arm, as if you were preparing to haul him behind you. That brought a ghost of a smile on his face. As if he would let you. 

The man pointed a finger at Loki. "You should NOT be here." 

And that was when you recognized his voice. "Wong??" 

Loki frowned. "You know each other?" 

Before you managed to answer him, Wong approached you with anger loud in his every step. And snapped his fingers. 

Your stomach jumped high into your throat as the ground rolled under your feet without a warning. Loki's didn't feel much better, but he overcame the wave of nausea quickly—he knew what happened. It was a simple transportation spell he had used thousands of times. 

It didn't take you far—only to a small park, far from prying eyes. Some children were busy building a rather disfigured snowman at the far end of it, behind a line of trees, their naked branches heavy with snow. No one else seemed to occupy the place. 

Wong uncovered his face. You were right—he was pissed. 

"What is wrong with you, people? And I mean both of you. You were supposed to be the responsible one!" he jabbed you with a finger. "Don't you think he's a little too recognizable to be wandering around like that?" 

"He's got my scarf on!" 

Wong didn't bother with a response. Loki, despite his personal feelings towards the monk, couldn't blame him. 

Wong sighed, giving up trying to reason with either of you. He was aware of the god's current situation, because a big part of Sanctum Santorum's job was monitoring any threats to the realms and interdimensional peace—and Loki was very high on that list. 

On the other hand, despite the ice-cold looks he was being cast by said threat, Wong had to admit no major disaster happened yet—which was surprisingly nice (having the realm's continued peace in mind) but not ideal in Wong's personal interest (and the bet he lost to the Sorcerer Supreme). 

"I have a feeling nothing I say will make you go back to the Tower?" he asked. 

"Nope," you admitted. Loki only huffed with indifference, raising his chin high despite the thick scarf. 

Wong nodded to himself, as if he (rightly so) didn't anticipate any other answer. "Alright, then I'll at least cast a small glamor spell onto him, so you don't—" 

"Absolutely not!" 

The mere thought of the barbaric, bland magic of this realm being thrown upon him, boiled Loki's blood. If only he could reach out to his own magic, he'd show this pathetic excuse of a sorcerer what it really meant to wield such force… 

You nudged him in the ribs, hard. "He's kinda right, you know? You said it yourself—you're too recognizable." 

Loki was at a loss for words, and Wong used that moment to cast the glamor with a quick invocation and trained move of his hands. It tickled, like a wet, slippery mist blown into Loki's face. He snapped his attention back to the sorcerer, baring his teeth, but Wong was already departing. 

"It won't work on anyone who already knows you, but it should do fine against strangers. You two better not mess anything up," he said and disappeared into a portal before Loki could grab him by the throat. His hand closed on air where the sorcerer stood only seconds ago. 

"I hate this world," he growled out, clenching his fist. 

You patted his back soothingly. "I know, it's not the best sequence of events before a proper breakfast, but how about we finally go grab some? The place isn’t far." 

Loki brushed his face with a hand, the wet feeling not gone, but there was nothing he could do about it without his magic. He once again looked at the damned bracelet fixed around his wrist with pure, unfiltered hatred. 

[verai-marcel]

The Light That You Shine (RDR2 Fanfic, John Marston x F!Reader, Chapter 1 of 6, 18+)

Summary: John Marston was proud to be part of the VDL Riders, a biker gang led by Dutch van der Linde, and had been with them since he had run from home at the age of 15. He and his makeshift family lived by three principles: live free, help those who need it, and punish those who deserve it. For five years, his gang was all he cared about and nothing else mattered. But then John meets you, and his priorities start to change.

Author’s Notes: Go check out @veradia’s biker AU RDR2 art for what inspired me to write this. This is a prequel to Before This Dance Is Through, so everyone is 6 years younger; John is about 20 in this story and so are you, my dear reader. 

Tags: prequel fic, eventual smut, romance, drama, violence, cheesy 80s vibe even though it's 2012, modern AU, switching POVs

AO3 Link is here, sweetheart.

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

Chapter 1 - Start at the End

Word count:  2032

“Dammit Morgan, you could’ve warned me!”

Arthur grinned as he slapped John’s back. “Well, that wouldn’t be any fun, now would it?”

The others laughed while John rubbed the back of his head, leaning down to pick up the can of beer. It looked too shaken up to open at this point, so he set it on the table and glared at his brothers. Stalking past them towards the mini-fridge, he pulled out another beer, popped it open and took a long gulp. Dressed in his favorite black leather jacket over a plain white shirt, ripped black jeans, a chain on his belt to keep his wallet from being stolen, and scuffed biker boots, John looked like he bought all of his clothes in the late 80s and never changed.

“So, what’re we doing tonight?” Javier asked, leaning against the mezzanine railing. He had his medium length hair tied up, strands of it falling from the hair tie to frame his angled face. His leather vest and his blue jeans were impeccably clean, and not a single misplaced thread was on his V-neck shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He carried his favorite combat knife in a holster on his hip, hidden under the vest, and he wore black fingerless leather gloves.

Lenny sat on the couch, his freshly polished black boots propped up on the coffee table. He looked like he didn’t quite belong in a motorcycle club, in his black pants and black T-shirt. His white cowboy hat was clean, his white blazer crisp. He had his own knife holster, concealed under his jacket. 

Sean was standing behind the couch, leaning against the back of it. He wore a green headband around his shoulder length hair, fancying himself an Irish Rambo, choosing to wear a blue athletic cut T-shirt and olive green khakis. He wore his brown Timberland boots, the same ones he had since he joined the gang. They looked dirty and scuffed to hell, but they still did their job, so he had no reason to buy new ones. His green & red striped flannel was tied around his waist, hiding a knife holster.

Charles was sitting back in one of the arm chairs catty-corner to the couch. He had his long hair braided tight, the sides of his head shaved. His dark blue peacoat was open to show his black turtleneck and blue jeans. Both of his black biker boots had knife holsters with a few throwing knives.

They all looked towards Arthur, who shrugged as he looked at all of them. He had his worn cowboy hat on with his old bomber jacket over a grey shirt, faded blue jeans, and cowboy boots. He pulled a cigarette out and lit it with his silver zippo lighter, breathing in and letting out a puff of smoke before he responded. 

“Dutch wants us to go run security at some rich feller’s house party.”

“And how are we supposed to manage t’at? I don’t have any fine clothin’ for the occasion,” Sean groused.

“No amount of clothing can save you,” Javier joked.

Sean glared as the others laughed.

“Dutch said we just wear black polos and black jeans so we look like a security company,” Arthur said once the laughter died down.

“So. Is there an alternative motive for this job?” Charles asked.

“Of course there is,” Lenny said confidently. “There’s no way Dutch would deal with those kind of folks without a reason.”

Arthur nodded. “Word is that the rich feller has quite the car collection. We sneak in after the party while everyone’s wasted and drive a few of them outta there. Swap out the plates, get a paint job over at Hosea’s, done deal.”

“And if they have alarms or kill switches?” John asked.

“You know how to hot wire,” Arthur sniped. “You, Javier, and Lenny can deal with it.” He walked past all of them and headed down the stairs. "Meet you all back here by 6pm."

John shrugged. As they split up to prepare for the job, he looked around the small warehouse they called their biker club. Walking down the stairs, he went past their bike shop area underneath the mezzanine and paused for a moment. They had slowly built this place up from scratch, bringing in old furniture for their hang out space and tools to take care of their bikes.

And on the other side of the warehouse were two offices that had been converted into bedrooms. While the others had their own places to live, John and Arthur lived at the club, having both been orphans and taken in by Dutch. Their rooms weren’t anything fancy, just a little bit of room to sleep and store their worldly possessions. John headed to his room to take a nap.

Instead, he lay on his old mattress, staring at the ceiling. He had been with the gang for five years, since he ran away from his foster home. His mother had died six years ago from a drug overdose. When she was lucid, which wasn’t very often, she was kind, even as her eyes bled sadness at the edges; those were the memories he held onto the tightest. He didn’t even know who his father was, or if he was even still alive, but he knew that if he ever met him in person, he'd knock his lights out for leaving his mother such a wreck. 

After he had been sent to foster care, his foster parents didn’t try to understand him, they only tried to mold him into what they thought a proper young man should be. So he ran away. When Dutch found him, scrounging for food in a trash can behind the warehouse, he took him in. Gave him shelter.

Then there was Arthur. He was like a big brother, taught him how to fend for himself, taught him what it meant to give more than you received, even if it came with insults and punches to the face at times.

As more outcasts joined the gang, they also became his family, his brothers. Javier, Sean, Lenny, and Charles, one by one, they all joined and quickly became an intrinsic part of his life. He’d never want for more than this.

But lately, Dutch seemed off. For the past year, John had noticed him taking bigger risks, sending them on more violent jobs, and slowly stepping away from the hands-on work, leaving it to “the younger, faster men,” as he called them. There was a tinge of blind desperation in how Dutch led them now, almost as if he wanted to push them towards something greater, but wasn’t sure what that something was.

Rolling over, he stared at the wall covered in Led Zeppelin, Eagles, and other classic rock posters. He looked at the one Metallica poster he had and smiled wryly as he remembered Arthur throwing it at him, snarling “happy fucking birthday”, and slamming his door. He later found out that Arthur had snuck into the concert, stolen a poster, and ran half a mile to get away. And all because John had whined about not being able to go that night because he was sick.

He sighed and got up. He wasn’t going to get any sleep now. Leaving his room, he tinkered with his Honda Shadow Aero, his pride and joy, until it was time to go.

***

“We certainly look dangerous,” Charles said with a hint of humor in his voice as he calmly got out of the gang’s Sprinter van. 

“That’s because we are,” Javier said matter-of-factly as he hopped out next. 

Everyone bounded out of the van, with John the last out. He pulled the sliding door shut and followed the others into the house, hanging back as he listened to Arthur talk with the party host about the job. He trailed behind them as they were led around the house and made mental notes about where the party goers were allowed to go and where they were forbidden.

Once they were left to their own devices, Arthur turned around. “Alright men, let’s get to work.”

***

The party was wild, the party-goers were disgusting, and at the end, half of them were drunk, and the other half were passed out. 

It was almost far too easy to sneak into the garage, pick a couple cars that were not too flashy, and drive them off the premises. 

As they took off down some quiet back roads to lose any would-be followers, John sat and stared out the window into the pitch black night as Arthur drove with the window rolled down, his arm hanging out the window. Lenny and Sean had taken a car while Charles and Javier had left the party earlier, driving the van to Hosea’s shop.

“Hey.”

“What.”

John scratched his beard. “Do ya think—”

“I think more than you,” Arthur interrupted.

“Dammit Arthur, I’m tryin’ to be serious here!”

“Calm your balls,” Arthur said gruffly. “Yer so easy to rile up, I can’t help it.”

John let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you think Dutch is… do you think he’s tired of this? Of the club?”

Arthur was silent for a few moments. “Why do you say that?”

“He hasn’t been around much lately. He tells us to go do these jobs that are more and more dangerous. We haven’t done a charity drive or anythin’ nice for the community in the past two years.”

“Yeah, I noticed too. I don’t know, I’m sure somethin’ will come around. Maybe he’s been busy just tryin’ to get us steady work.”

“We used to just get jobs that were just jobs. Now we always have some double crossin’ or thievin’ or some shit that could get us in serious trouble!”

Arthur was silent for a little too long.

“Arthur?”

His sigh was long and tired. “I know. I know.”

The rest of the drive was silent as they drove the two hours back to the city.

***

After they had dropped the cars off at Hosea’s car shop, Charles drove them all back to the club in the van. It was 4AM by the time they all got back, and collectively they decided to call it a night and get back together the next night. As the others took their bikes and headed to their own homes, Arthur glanced over at John, who was still silent, still thinking.

“Yer goin’ to think yerself into the ground there,” Arthur commented.

John shrugged. “I can’t ignore it anymore.”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah. Let’s talk to Dutch tomorrow.”

As Arthur headed back to his room, John stepped outside and leaned against the brick wall. He pulled out a cigarette, lit it with his disposable lighter, and slowly took a drag as he stared up at the twilight sky, the stars barely visible in the city. He had an itch to be out in the open again, to sleep under the river of stars like he did in the desert. Or even to be out of a city, just for a while.

John finished his cigarette and slunk back into the warehouse, crawling into bed and staring at the ceiling until the sun came up before finally passing out when even his churning thoughts could no longer keep him awake.

***

“I swear, if we have to hear one more lecture about not having enough faith…”

Arthur just shook his head as he followed John out of the convenience store, quietly drinking his soda. 

“We just asked one damn thing, and he blows up at us like we’re questioning his entire existence!”

“You know how he is,” Arthur mumbled.

“I know how he was. How he is now… he ain’t the same.”

John’s statement was met with silence.

“You know I’m right,” John insisted.

Arthur let out a long sigh. “Well, what am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know!” John looked away. "All I know is that things ain't the same anymore," he mumbled as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and went silent as they walked back to the warehouse.

"Well," Arthur said after a while, "It weren't us that changed, that's for sure."

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Chapter 2 coming soon!

[ultradiplr]

#1 Fan

Plot: You catch the eye of your favorite baseball star Siebren de Kuiper before a game~

Tags: Sort-of-Sexting, Age Difference. Semi-Public. BJ. Overuse of the smiling emoji. Reader radiates big bottom energy, but is otherwise gender neutral. Sigma is a… Fuckboi. lol

A/N: I have no self control and even though I have like five other things I’m working on right now @sketchingshow ‘s Baseball!Sigma has given fuel to a new fire.

Xx

You look at the clock over the ticket booth and grimace, looking down at the digital ticket you had pulled up on your phone screen, mentally face palming at how you had gotten 12:30 and 2:30 mixed up. You sighed and walked up to the qr scanner, verifying yourself, and walked through the rotating metal pipes of the entrance, figuring since you were already here you might as well check in. It’s not like you could go home and wait considering it took you an hour to get here.

Oh, the things you were willing to put up with so you could see your favorite baseball player Siebren de Kuiper in his last season.

There were a bunch of people here already, staff and fans alike, though mostly for the home team, so you weren’t that anxious at being so early. You walked through the entrance hall, taking a few photos of some of the player posters hanging, and out through a vomitorium that lead into the stadium. You looked out over the empty field, bright and green and surrounded by high walls of seats, and took a quick selfie with the vast expanse of the stadium behind you, at least being this early meant no one knocking you down or being in the way for a cute photo. 

You wandered down closer to the field, taking in the smell of freshly cut and watered grass, and took a load off in one of the more expensive seats. The home team was currently practicing before the game so you didn’t really care that much about watching them, content to fiddle with your phone until somebody told you to move. 

For a while you browsed some videos and looked through your social media when you got an alert. Siebren de Kuiper had posted an update on his profile. You tapped the notification and simultaneously had your heart drop into your feet and your stomach rise into your lungs when you saw something you never thought you would,

A picture of you, sitting alone in the stands wearing his name and number, boredly looking at your phone with the caption, 

“Not seen much nowadays, an eager fan. Lol. -Siebren.”

Your face was instantly set ablaze with embarrassment, too embarrassed to glance up and see the teams trading off field time, not sure how you’d react if you actually saw him looking in your direction. God, you wanted to die, but at the same time you felt like shouting out loud and dancing. You didn’t know what to do, you’ve never been noticed by a celebrity before. Should you leave a comment? Reshare it? Screencap it, print it, and hang it on your wall? Well, maybe not that, but what! Oh god this was so cool and crazy and oh god, you looked so weird in this pic! Was that what it looked when you sat down? Such poor posture! Ugh and you looked so tired! Would it be weird to try and doll yourself up or-

You shake your head and pinched the bridge of your nose, you were overthinking this. What would a normal person do in this situation? You typed out a quick comment. “Haha, that be me!” No, no too childish. “Wtf, that’s me!!!” Too surprised. Hmmm...

“Lol that’s me!”

Normal and friendly. Exactly how it should be. You were proud of yourself as you submitted the comment, marveling at it under his picture. You were nervous at him seeing it as you scrolled through his feed a little, mostly selfies of him with his team, over filtered pictures of his home life, and reshared posts about space facts and dumb baseball puns. It was honestly kind of adorable and underappreciated, if the low amount of likes meant anything, the man was as wholesome as they came and no one seemed to appreciate it!

A new notification popped up as you scrolled, a reply to your comment!

You tapped it and felt your heart flutter, Siebren de Kuiper had liked and replied!

“Thank You for your eager support then! :) - Siebren.”

A wide smile crossed your face at that, god that was adorable! You typed out a reply without thinking,

“Always a pleasure! <3” 

You giggled when you hit confirm, insides all warm. This was so cool. Like, literally, this was the coolest thing ever. You glanced up to the field, face burning when you noticed that he sat not too far away from you, sitting in the dugout a little diagonally from you, tapping away on a smartpad. Most likely browsing his own stuff. That was cool. He was cool. And handsome. And nice. And funny. And smart. And- okay your brain was going haywire. 

You needed to take a walk before you began to hyperventilate. You stood up and walked back into the entrance hall where miscellaneous vendors had set up, mostly baseball paraphernalia for the visitor’s team since the home team had it’s own gift shop in the building. You browsed a bit to distract yourself from the excitement. 

You were looking at a new version of the shirt you were already wearing when your phone buzzed with a notification.

“New direct message.”

That was odd, you never got dmed. You quickly opened it to find that you got a message from a random, empty account you weren’t following named Sigma14, weird name.

Where did you go?

You always forgot to lock dms to private, shrugging, you typed out a quick reply.

Sorry, Wrong person!

You were flipping through your settings to find the right configuration when a new reply came through.

Oh, I’m sorry!

I forgot this was my personal account!

It’s me, Siebren!

Your heart stopped and heat filled your body again, but your rational mind was rightfully unconvinced.

Yeah, sure you are.

Just send me the virus link

lol

You typed out, but waited for a reply this time, not knowing if you’d prefer to be let down with this being some weird scammer or actually get a real reply. Both seemed equally upsetting but for different reasons and on different ends of the spectrum. 

Here’s Proof!

He sent a few pictures. The first was of him, smiling into the camera with a thumbs up while sitting in a dugout, his face sweaty and his greying hair a little mused, then the next was a picture of the field you were just in, the name of the stadium clearly seen, and the last was a picture of the seat you were sitting in with a red question mark and arrow pointing to it. 

See!

He added after. You hugged your phone and squealed quietly, suddenly bursting with energy. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. It was really him!!!

akdjfldjsaf!

it’s really you!!!

I’m a huge fan!!

You typed out excitedly. 

Haha

I noticed!

Thank you for supporting me!

:)

So where did you run off to?

You took a photo of the shirt table you were standing at, glad that it was still pretty empty so no one seemed to mind you loitering around the table. You framed two different shirts with his name and number on it in two different colors, home and away.

Just buying some merch.

I need a new shirt

Lol

Which one do you think I should get?

You smiled when the texting bubble instantly popped up, feeling bubbly at the knowledge he was paying attention to you and not practicing.

Firstly, You have excellent taste!

And secondly, I don’t know…

I think I’d have to see it on you!

That last message almost killed you as you stood with your mouth open, if you’d been an omnic you were sure you’d have overheated and combusted. What the heck! What the Heck! Was he? No. Was he? No, surely not! He couldn’t have. That was… that was.. Did he just ask for a pic? You were blushing hard and silently staring at the words on screen before the typing bubble came up again.

Goodness!

I’m sorry for that last sentence!

I didn’t realize how that sounded!

I hope I did not upset you!

You let out a breath reading his reply, nerves calming. Of course he didn’t! Why would world famous baseball star Siebren de Kuiper want to get a pic of you in his jerseys? You were sure he could have actual models if he wanted. He didn’t need you! Oof, that was harsh, but true.

asfadaafsd haha

it’s alright!!!!!

I didn’t think anything of it

I think I’m just going to buy both, they’re both nice

You quickly replied, not wanting him to think you were upset at him. And you weren’t. Surprised, yes. But not angry. You mean, you’d totally send pics to him if he wanted, but you were sure he’d never want that. Right? 

They are!

And I’m sure both will look great on you!

:)

Your hands flexed on your phone as you gripped it a little tighter, looking at the two still unpurchased shirts. You picked up the shirts up, buying them and went to the nearest bathroom. You take off your shirt and replace it with the away shirt, leaving it a little unbuttoned, and snapped a mirror selfie, and looked at it on your phone. Cute despite the bathroom behind you. You did the same with the home shirt. 

You sat on the toilet holding your phone tightly as you debated actually sending them. They weren’t very explicit but still, the implication would be carried if he really meant anything the first time around. If he meant anything. Which he probably didn’t. So these photos wouldn’t be too bad to send… right?

You bit your lip and hit send. Waiting anxiously for a reply. Your heart was racing as you waited, feeling your blood pressure rise when the typing bubbles popped up.

:) :) :)

I was right.

They do look good on you!

You erupted in a fit of giggles, nerves a little on fire, god this was the craziest thing you’ve ever done. He wasn’t finished as more texts came in,

Would you like to get them signed?

:)

Holy fuck. Was he flirting with you? He had to be, right? Well shit, you couldn’t pass this opportunity up! You quickly typed out a reply, fingers shaking a little.

Would you?!?

Omg that would be amazing!

His reply came in instantly,

Come by entrance five in ten minutes.

I’ll gladly sign you.

:)

You actually yelled laughed, face burning like a stove, and pumped your fist in the air. Yes. Yes. Yes. You left the bathroom insanely giddy, wearing the white home shirt, and went to look at a map of the stadium. Entrance five was the farthest from the main entrances, and from what it looked like on your phone, a part of the stadium that was going to be completely empty. You chewed your lip as you made your way over there, nerves on fire. God you hoped this was going the way you wanted it and you hadn’t just misinterpreted everything.

About twelve minutes later as you sat in the empty hallway flipping through your phone and trying to distract yourself from your racing thoughts, he walked in through the stadium side. You got up instantly as his large shadow stretched across the floor. God, he was tall. Seven feet if you remembered correctly, two feet taller than you, and broad, insanely broad, arms like pythons. He looked a bit sweaty in his baseball uniform, an outfit that hid very little on his hulking frame, and smiled at you apologetically.

“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.” He said coolly as he walked inside.

 He stepped up toward you gently, a kind smile as he held out a hand. You grasped his hand with both of yours, his hands were large, insanely, fuck, he was so much bigger than you, your mouth watered a little. 

“It’s no problem, I was happy to wait!” You said nervously and a little quickly, “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He repeated in his slightly accented voice, warm and absolutely lovely, sounding a lot different than what you were used to from watching interviews. “A lovely name.”

You laughed nervously and looked off, embarrassed, “T-thank you.” you stutter out as you dropped your hands to hide in your pockets.

“So, make this out to Y/N then?” He asked, pulling a pen out of his pocket and looking at you softly. God, your heart was a puddle.

“Uhh, yeah, I guess.” You said and he hummed in agreement.

You were going to hold out a piece of your shirt out for him to sign, but instead he stepped a little closely and bent down, putting the tip down just under your shoulder. You didn’t miss the glimmer in his eye as he bent in close, holding you still a little with his big hands, and wrote delicately on your skin. You held your breath, biting your lip as the hulking mass of him was so close to you, making your head swim.

“To my loyal fan Y/N,” He said as he wrote, his tone having gone down a notch, making your skin erupt in goosebumps, “Siebren.” He signed, eyes locking with yours as he stood back up.

You laughed breathlessly, leaning on the wall behind you for support as he didn’t move back much, looming over you a bit. 

“T-thank you, I, uh… thanks.” You said, biting your lip a little and fluttering your eyes.

He smirked as he leaned on the wall above you, caging you a little, though leaving enough room that if you really wanted to leave you could. He was giving you a chance to stop, maybe saving face if he also misinterpreted, this was all up to you.

You chewed your lip as he looked down at you expectantly. Your hands shook a little as they rose and gently rested against the rough fabric of his uniform over his chest. He continued watching you, eyes darkening as you hands wandered over his abdomen, feeling him up a little. He was so firm and a lot more ripped than you had thought. This man was a damn brick house.

You hesitated a little as you got lower, looking up at him for permission as your fingers got to his waistband. He smiled, his hand not propping himself against the wall raising to grasp your smaller ones and gently pushing you lower himself, right over his half hard on.

He huffed hotly as you made contact with him through his pants and you couldn’t help the little whine that escaped your throat. You felt him up, mouth watering a bit at the feel of the size of him, only half hard it was already bigger than the length of your hand. You groped and stroked him through his pants, pulling a few groans from him for the effort, but as he got harder he stopped you.

“Enough of that.” He said a little strained, voice heavy with lust as he patted your greedy hands away.

He stood up a little, no longer leaning over you for a moment as both hands went to undo his belt as your hands rested on his large thighs, you mind momentarily filled with the image of you straddling these thick slabs of meat. When he finally pulled himself from his pants, just as long and thick as you always imagined.You licked your lips and looked up at him, his face red, sweaty and eyes looking at you hungrily, it made you shiver in excitement. Fuck, you wanted him to come undone.

Without any prompting you bent down and kissed his cockhead as you slid onto your knees, earning a breathless word in dutch. You didn’t know what it was, but it sounded endearing and it stroked something inside you. He had to bend his knees a little and haunch over you, leaning his head against the wall, the height difference a little difficult while standing, but it made it all the more hotter in your opinion.

You lavished his hard cock with wet kisses and gentle stroking, going off the amazing noises he was making to get a feel for what he liked as you licked him sloppily. His dick was so hard and hot and beautiful His tasted a bit salty but he smelled really good, like grass and dirt and... chalk? It was a strangely arousing combination.

You smiled up at him as he stared at you, eyes half lidded and face red, looking a little angry and a little delirious. So handsome. Like a wet dream. You trailed a line of kisses from the underside of his base up to his tip, eyes locked with his as your lips got closer to his head, and when you did, you opened your mouth and laid his head on your tongue.

He moaned loudly, his hips canting and slipping through your hold into your mouth a little, dragging another moan out of him as you enveloped his head with your soft mouth. A hand dropped from the wall above you as it weaved itself into your hair. Your tongue swirled around his head, humming with please as he choked a little at the feel and gripped your hair a little harder.

He began to circle his hips a little, his cock slowly leaving and entering your wet mouth, getting a little deeper as he went. You just took it, drooling and moaning as he got deeper and deeper and pulled out less and less. As you got most of him in he stilled to a halt, breathing hard as you swallowed around him, looking at him with eyes full of hot tears with the stretch. Fuck, the feeling of him so deep was glorious, but he hadn’t hilted, and despite the fact he looked about to bust and you were not that sure if you could, you began bobbing your head a little to get farther.

His strangled moans where music to your ears as he didn’t stop your endeavor, burying his head in the crook of his arm against the wall as his other hand still had a tight grip in your hair. Your throat was getting raw as you mouthfucked him and you knew that you were probably depriving yourself with sufficient oxygen, but you didn’t care, the desire to please him much too large. 

Finally your nose met the pubes on his groin and he held you still against him, every muscle on his body pulled taut. He was mumbling something, but it didn’t sound like English, or dutch for that matter, just pure breathless gibberish as you felt him pulse in your mouth. You focused on breathing and relaxing around him, brain too scrambled to do much else.

Everything felt so good, your nerves were so sensitive and every little sensation made you shiver in desire.  The feeling of your shirt against your chest, of your pants against you groin, of his fingers in your hair, of the feeling of his thighs under your hands, it all felt so good. Fuck, having him in your throat was turning you on so much it felt like you were going to cum from this alone.

Slowly he began to rut into your mouth, using your mouth as his own little fleshlight. Fuck, it was so hot. H was breathing so hard, his thighs twitching under your hands. He was saying something now, dark and needy, spoken like demands or praises but you couldn’t understand him, couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the squelch inside your head of him fucking into your throat.

Your eyes lulled and you just moaned around him, feeling the drool spill onto the front of your shirt as he fucked you to delirium, choking you repeatedly on his cock. Suddenly he held you tight to his base and said the first words to break through the haze of lust since you started, 

“Swallow.” He said through grit teeth, like you had any other choice.

The feeling of him twitching in your mouth and spilling his hot cum in the back of your throat triggered your own orgasm, and without any direct stimulation your body was wracked with a full body shiver. Your body flinched against his hold as you felt the thick liquid get forced down, but he held you steady, and before he was finished, he pulled out quickly to squirt the last of himself on your slightly swollen lips and drool covered chin.

You would have been angry if you weren’t so out of it. He hummed with please as you stared up at him through the tears in your eyes, tilting your face up to him so he could see the copious amount of cum on your tongue.

“Swallow.” He said softer than before, out of breath.

You obediently closed your mouth and swallowed, opening it again to show him and he smiled widely, petting your head. 

“Goed, goed.” He purred and it made you bristle in happiness in your post orgasm state.

You stayed like that for a while, him petting you and whispering kind words as your mind slowly booted up again. As he got himself presentable again and you cleaned yourself, he helped you back onto your feet and you checked the time on your phone. 2:15? Geez, time really flew by.

You were about to alert him of this when his hand met your lower back as he lead you back toward the entrance hall, “Yes, I know.” He said with a wink.

You were confused until you actually got out and saw through the large glass windows of the entrance the sheets of rain pouring over everything. There was an alert on your phone from the ticket holder, 

Delayed Game.

You looked up at him and he smiled smugly, “It seems I have a bit more time before the game.” He said with fake surprise.

“Do you have anything else you’d like to get signed?” He asked, hand still on your lower back as he lead you into the more private area of the stadium.

The fire of desire was lit again and you smiled up at him, “I still have two more shirts.” you say innocently.

He hummed and you felt his thumb rub lightly over your lower spine, 

“Well, then, let’s find a pen.”

[houseofvans]

ART SCHOOL | Q&A with Martin Ontiveros (PDX)

The art wizardry of Portland based Martin Ontiveros has appeared in various galleries, albums, posters and has even been transformed into diabolical toys and figurines. Ontiveros’s graphic ink and brush style is meticulous and bold, transforming his horned and demonic creations into fun and bad-ass pop occultism. We’re excited to chat with this ink sorcerer in our latest Art School where we talk about technique, studio days, and what is coming up for him the rest of this year. 

Photographs courtesy of the artist.

Introduce yourself?   Hello, I’m Martin Ontiveros, also known as Martinheadrocks, illustrator and wizard. “Marty” to my closest friends and family. I live in Portland Oregon, I’m left-handed/ambidexterous and I have a large ginger cat/familiar named Zeus. Nice to meet you.

How do you describe your art to folks who have never seen it before? Pop-occultism? Creature Chic? What you might find inside an ancient tomb or temple from a previously unknown civilization.

Who were some of your early artistic influences that really inspired you to draw? It started with Star Wars in 1977, and Mad Magazine, especially the work of Jack Davis. Childrens book art by Jim Flora. Books and movies about UFOs, cryptids, phenomena, ghosts and black magic when I was a kid. Later it was Heavy Metal Magazine and the underground artists of the 60s and 70s, S. Clay Wilson, Greg Irons, Spain, etc. 80’s punk and metal pioneer artists like Mad Mark Rude and Pushead. Derek Riggs and his Iron Maiden covers. 

Lots of rock album art. Fantasy/conceptual artists like Mike Ploog, Boris Vallejo, Frazetta, Richard Corben. That was all the stuff that built up the desire, but what really got me drawing were the indie comics of the 80s with people like Marc Hansen, Matt Wagner, the Pander Bros, David Boswell, Dori Seda, Mary Fleener. I really really wanted to make comics by the time I was 17-18. I’ve since discovered it’s not for me. Art of the Ancient World, Mesopotamian and Mesoamerican in particular. There’s more to this list, I’m an old man now and have seen a lot, but we don’t have all day.

What’s a day like in the studio for you? And take us through your artist process –from start to finish on a piece. I used to start work when it was already well into the evening and would go until after the dawn, but in the last couple years I’ve reversed that schedule. Now I usually get up around 4am. I still get the benefits of nocturnal studio time that way, at least until the sun is up—no one bothers me and it’s quiet. I’ve become a Daywalker—I have all of the vamipre’s strengths and none of the weaknesses.

 A typical day is trying to stay focused while fending off my own distractions (I’m ADD) and steering around having to leave the house for anything, ha. I always start with a bit of doodling to warm up a little, then jot down a thumbnail sketch of whatever’s on the agenda that day—usually very small and rough, just to set the composition and borders. 

Sometimes I’ll spend extra time fleshing out details on certain aspects of the drawing, say a helmet or insignia. Then I’ll figure out my dimensions and either draw to size or use my trusty proportion wheel to do it smaller if need be. Next is the hard pencil stage. I like using 2H or 3H lead which is rough on the paper but much less messy than a soft lead. I don’t work with a loose outline, I need a solid and tight map to work from and when I have it on lock, I’ll transfer it to my final surface. 

That method goes for both a black and white ink piece or a painting. I’ll warm the brush up by laying our some strokes on scrap paper and when I feel like I got a grip on it, off I go. If it’s a painting, I lay all the color and shading out first, then put down the linework. And even if my pencils were tight, there’s always room for improvisation, a tweak or two, especially when I’m inking—some happy accidents come up now and then. I should mention that I sometimes have to chuck a drawing and start the process all over again, even if it’s close to completion because if it isn’t working, screw it. It seems wasteful and time consuming and I could probably avoid it by going digital, but I choose to do it old school.

What’s your tool of the trade medium-wise? And is there a new medium you’re looking to try in 2018? I swear by my brush and ink. Nothing gives me more satisfaction. The artists I’ve always admired most are handy with a brush line. Not to say I don’t like pens, it’s just that I’m not as steady using one and leave them for doodling. I love papier mache, it’s not a new medium to me, but I’ve yet to know how to make the time to do it more so let’s say that that is my goal for 2018. If there was any other medium that I’d choose to do over drawing, it would be that.

You’ve worked on many collaborations with bands and created some awesome cover art and posters. What has been your favorite collaboration and what would be a dream collaboration be? Oooh. That’s a toughy. I did a tour shirt for Mastodon this past year and I have to say that was likely the pinnacle so far. When I caught their show later, it was thrilling to see people buying it at the merch table and to know there’s maybe hundreds more out there wearing it. Dream collaboration…probably the Melvins. Or Alice Cooper? But with the Melvins I know I could just probably do me and not worry about whether or not I’m a good fit. I’m not what you would call “conventional”.

What are you listening to when you’re painting your various creatures and demons? Give us five bands you’re checking out at the moment. I listen to music when I sketch/conceptualize and switch to podcasts or play a favorite movie or show when I’m really into the process, it’s comforting to hear people talk during the heavy work for some reason. It’s another long list but some of my go-to bands are High On Fire, Sleep, Windhand, Black Cobra and Slayer. That’s if I want it crushing. If I’m doing something trippier, it’ll be Om, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd, Dead Meadow, that kind of thing. Podcasts are generally true crime or comedy.

What’s been the hardest challenge being an artist? What do you tell folks who want to travel down a similar path? I don’t recall the artist’s name who said it, but to paraphrase, the quote was that art can often be a dark and lonely pursuit for us. I believe he was referring more to the fact that we spend a lot of our time working in solitude which is inherent, yet it can also weigh you down emotionally. That really speaks to me, even more so because I’ve also wrestled with depression for most of my life. 

Your work can be so entwined with your sense of self-worth, so I suppose the hardest challenge for me is to not let my heart sink when something I make doesn’t receive the attention I hope to get for it. People can be fickle though. I try to remember that, and move on to the next thing. With that in mind I guess I tell folks to make sure they get out of their lairs when possible and share their frustrations with other artist friends, foster a support group of sorts because it helps to know you aren’t alone out there with all these feelings. That and maintain a regular paying job when they start out, because man…it can be tough making a living at it.

In another dimension, what would you be if you weren’t an artist? I’d be that weird old sorcerer living somewhere in the woods that the villagers speak of in whispers. Benevolent, but not to be trifled with. So, not too much different from what I am in this dimension, just with blue skin, maybe.

What are your favorite Vans?  Chukka Low? Old Skool? Era? (I had to look up the actual names). Basically low padded ankle with laces, and always dark colors with a black toe because I don’t like my vision being drawn down to my feet moving under me. I honestly don’t wear any other brand of kicks. I keep a pair of Slip-Ons for doing things around the house. Vans makes good jeans too.

What’s the art scene like in your part of the woods? What do you like the most about where you’re living these days? The scene that I know here is primarily illustration, at least that’s what I keep my eyes out for. Lots of sweet, supportive people without attitude and many that are good friends. There aren’t as many galleries as there used to be but there are other venues to get your work out there. I’m now in a part of SE that I’ve never lived in before, at the edge of being outside of Portland proper but only just so. It’s mellow and quiet here and most things I need are within walking distance. I got a couple stores, a good Mexican food place, a bar, you get my drift. I do wish some of my besties lived closer by though. And a decent art supply store.

Since this feature is called Art School, can you give us your most helpful art tip? This probably won’t make me popular by saying it, but learn the difference between homage and theft. Yes, it’s fun to pay tribute to an artist’s style or someone else’s pop culture/intellectual property now and then, I’ve done it, we’ve all done it, not shaming that…but the difference is, if ALL you’re doing is copying, it comes off as creatively lazy. I don’t care how many followers you may gain from it. Come on. If you’re skilled enough to copy someone else’s shit, you’re skilled enough to make up your own content. Raise the bar, people. Don’t lower it.

What’s on the horizon for 2018? New merch in my shop, a group show in Mexico City, more band stuff, my first trip to NY ever, toy releases, designs and customs, a collaboration or two, hopefully a couple of conventions later in the warm months. I’d like get back into painting on a larger scale and figure out how to take it slower in general, make my work really level up, you know? There’s always room for improvement!  

Follow Martin | Website | Instagram | 

[ohthatbunnygirl]

Engines can be Rose (part 4)

An art school AU Reylo Drabble

______________________________

It was Lisztomania.

Well, not exactly the eighteen-forties fan-frenzied response to classical composer Franz Liszt, but the Phoenix song of the same name was certainly causing a present day scene. Walls and bodies shook in the living room, people screeched along with the lyrics at the top of their lungs, and arms flailed as intoxication ruled the night. Up against a wall, a far less enthused Rey clutched onto a cup of something she’d never drink. Desperately scanning the dancefloor for an escape route, her face took on the appearance of Edvard Munch’s ‘The Scream’ as she took a brave step forward. Horror for Rey was feeling a sweaty wet arm on her sweaty wet arm. That meeting of moisture made her want to wring old Liszt’s dead ass, and Rey thought she’d reached the end of her wits until when a shoulder bumped into her spine.

“Sorrrrrry!”

A slurred stranger’s apology didn’t count for much when sugary punch seeped between Rey’s toes. She shuddered with revulsion, but Rey miraculously refrained from flicking the drunkard off. It wasn’t anybody else’s fault that she felt awkward and out of place, but once “soiled by rum punch” was added to the list of reasons why she hated the party, Rey decided to call it a night. It wasn’t her scene at all, she couldn’t stop thinking about her art project deadline anyway, and if anybody met the girl’s gaze they would have assumed that the only possible explanation for her attendance in the first place was likely trickery.

In truth, she’d been bribed - and not even with money. No, Rey had been bribed with pizza- and not even with good pizza.

Four, eighty-cent frozen pizzas in exchange for accompanying her friend Poe to the party so he wouldn’t be alone was the deal once considered too tempting to turn down. Sadly, this wasn’t the first time Rey had made a bad bargain on cheap pizza. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time that she’d been lured with pizza by Poe that month, but there was the bonus that night of getting to pat herself on the back for being a selfless best friend who cheaply fed herself too. It was basic broke ass college economics that led to Rey entering a three bedroom apartment party, but the minute they’d stepped into the chaos Poe had predictably swept away into a sea of loud greetings as Rey longed to bash her head on the rocks.

Every damn time.

After an hour of accidental shoving around a dancefloor, Rey weaved through the crowd. Pretending to dance in order to push past sweaty bodies, she slid along a wall. It took three songs to make her slippery way, but one darn good eel impersonation later she’d reached the hallway. Dabbing off her cheeks with a dress sleeve, she deeply inhaled. She tasted sweet freedom in the air mixed with a hint of nag champa incense, but her buddy Poe was nowhere to be found. Positive that her friend was likely charming the literal pants off of his crush, Rey inched closer to the front door. She was almost home free until she picked up on the faintest whine coming from behind the nearest bedroom. Much like Rey knew that she was caked in at least four people’s sweat, she also immediately recognized that that particular noise could only come from something cuddly with a nose squishy from inbreeding. 

That was the noise of something so spectacular that the normally shy girl threw open a door to a room that she had no business wandering into.

“Oh. My. God.”

Both of Rey’s hands fluttered up to her mouth as she gasped in delight. Bouncing on her toes, she loudly squealed as an adorable roly-poly puppy snorted up at her. The jumpy fawn-colored French bulldog joyfully pawing at her ankles while snorty-whining as Rey could not even….she just could not even. 

“Look at you!” Releasing a whine of her own, Rey picked him up. “Oooooh my god, you are the best thing in the world.”

Forgetting that she’d barged into somebody’s room, Rey sunk down onto the corner of the mattress resting on the floor. Lying on her side, she allowed the full on puppy attack to commence. A fluff invasion was thoroughly welcome after her crap night, and Rey swore that each little cheek lick was worth all the cheap pizzas in the world. Heck, each puppy breath snort was well worth all the flaky friends too.

“Who do you belong to?” she cooed at the little tub of velvety butter, scratching around his ears. “Who could leave you for even one minute alone?”

The question was meant to be rhetorical, but Rey had her answer when the door flew open.

“Be right back, just gotta throw down my bag-” a booming excited voice called out before his laughter died. “Uhhh, Rey?”

No, no, no, no, no.

Standing frozen in the doorway, her shocked TA gawked at her.

“There was a dog,” Rey rapidly explained, scrambling to sit up as the pup in question padded over to snort all over Kylo. “I-I heard it…he was whimpering-”

“You’re in my room,” Kylo cut her off, unconsciously scratching at the scruff along his jaw as his eyes widened. “You’re in my room…on my bed.”

“Sorry, I didn’t know that you lived here.”

“Well, I do.” 

Sinking into a thickening discomfort on top of Kylo’s comforter, Rey winced. The flustered girl felt smaller by the second as he continued staring at her with a dazed expression, and poor Rey rushed into a bad case of the rambles, “It’s just that my friend Poe was invited by this guy Finn who works at the coffee shop we go to. Poe didn’t want to come here alone in case it turned out that Finn wasn’t single -even though Poe’s pretty sure that a topped off coffee is an invitation for a blowjob. But anyways, some pizza propositioning was involved in getting me here, and then the puppy made me stay…”

Great talk, Rey.

Too mortified to meet his gaze any longer, Rey stared down at the mattress she was sitting on. The black sheets were rumpled from recent use, there were pillows on the ground, and Rey’s lips turned down into her own confused frown as she took in more and more of her surroundings. The room was stark. There were exactly zero pops of personality aside from a red painting on the wall, there was no clutter, and Rey would never have guessed that a talented artist could inhabit some place so utterly lacking in passion, so militaristic. To be fair, Rey didn’t know what she would have expected. She’d never given Kylo’s life outside the classroom much thought, but when she didn’t recognize a glimmer of the Kylo she’d obsessed over it hit her that she didn’t know him at all.  

He was absolutely altogether foreign to her.

Rey didn’t know what band posters she’d expected, or what awards he might have framed. She couldn’t guess the author of one single book on his bookshelf, and with each swallow of bittersweet clarity, her stomach turned. Feeling foolish, feeling naive, and more than ever feeling like a little girl with an out of her depth crush.

Cringing, Rey moved to get up when his voice stopped her. “So you met Ramen?”

“Who?”

“The puppy,” Kylo answered, scooping up the yipping animal for a cuddle so brief that Rey almost missed it. Sitting beside her on the mattress, Kylo continued petting Ramen while casually explaining, “I’ve actually only had him for a couple months, but he’s a pretty cool dude.”

“He’s awfully cute.”

“I think so too! Yeah, my ex-girlfriend’s family breeds French bulldogs for competitions. The pedigree is apparently strong with this family, and every puppy in his litter went for nine thousand dollars.“ Cupping the puppy’s ears, Kylo whispered, “Then some elitist twat suggested that Ramen’s walk wasn’t up to standards, and when I defended his perfectly fine trot, my ex’s mom gave him to me for free.”

Rey’s jaw dropped. “You own a nine thousand dollar dog, but your mattress is on the floor?”

“Yep.”

“And you named your nine thousand dollar dog, Ramen?”

“Yep,” Kylo answered back with a grin so wide that it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “Ramen was the food that basically kept me alive freshmen year. So what better name for something else I love?”

Not about to argue with sound logic, Rey gave Ramen’s humongous ears some soft tugs. Purring at him, “And here I thought you were just adorable, but little did I know that you’re pet royalty too.”

As the puppy took an ungraceful leap off the bed, Kylo laughed. “He’s the fanciest one in the flat.”

“Well, your room is-”

“Boring.” Kylo finished for her, rolling his eyes. “Whatever you were going to say the honest answer is that it’s boring.”

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“Something nicer then?”

“Probably,” Rey carefully considered her answered while absently leaning in closer to Kylo. ”My building on the outside honestly looks like scrap metal decided to get together in the nineteen-seventies. I don’t have much room to talk when it comes to running a place down, and I’ve always thought that you do what you can with what you have. At least the room is roomy.”

Kylo’s lips quirked to the side. “The room is roomy?”

“I meant large.”

“Yes, quite boring and large,” Kylo added with an over the top head bob. “Glad we can be honest now about it.”

“Boy you enjoy tearing it down, don’t you?”

“No, I just call a spade a spade,” Kylo shrugged, pushing his hair back behind his ears without a trace of agitation. “Honestly, my money doesn’t go into the room because any spare funds I have immediately get funneled back into my education or my art supplies. I’m too busy to worry about aesthetics inside a place I’m barely at, and I’m practical about where I spend my time- and who I spend it with. If it’s an option between taking a girl out on a date with forty bucks or buying a fancier IKEA tv stand, then I’m going to choose the girl every time. ”

To avoid the torture of hearing anything further about Kylo’s dates with other girls, Rey said the first thing that sprung to mind. Taking charge of the conversation while suspiciously eyeing his shiny black boots, “Hmm, you never struck me as all that poor.”

“I didn’t use to be.”

“You still don’t look it now.”

“Thanks,” Kylo’s gravelly voice rolled into a chuckle. “It’s nice to hear that the mostly all black ensembles I rock are doing me some covert social status favors after my fall from grace.”

“What happened?”

“Ah, that’s a good story,” Kylo sighed, his broody expression falling back in place. ”Pretty much everything about my current lack of funds has to do with a marvelous double whammy school screw over. Back when I was an undergrad, the Financial Aid office claimed that my parents made too much money for me to qualify for help. That made sense, but then after my parents cut me off after a political disagreement, I still couldn’t receive assistance.“

Rising up from the bed, Kylo placed a drowsy looking Ramen in a kennel in the corner of the room. Going through the motions of something nurturing even as the muscles along his spine tightened with tension. Back conveniently turned away as he explained, “Oddly enough, the school doesn’t exactly accept pictures of a heated up Thanksgiving Day frozen food meal as definitive proof that you’re financially screwed at eighteen. So all of the sudden, while I was taking on a sixteen-hour course load I had to simultaneously work two jobs just to afford my books, my tuition, and this apartment shared with a guy I met on Craigslist - who thankfully was not much for murdering. ”

“Wow, school’s pretty expensive here without any grants.”

“Indeed,” Kylo agreed. Sitting back down again beside Rey, he was unable to fight back the bitterness in his laugh. “There’s a reason the last gallery collection I showed was titled ‘Daddy Issues’ “

Before Rey could talk herself out of it, she took his hand in hers. Squeezing sympathetically, offering whatever comfort her small fingers could while dwarfed by his massive hand. The acrylic paint chips underneath her nails stood out so vibrantly against his skin -the quirky boldness so very her- and Kylo’s smile softened.

“You’re sweet.”

Dragging her teeth along her lower lip, Rey shook her head.

“Not entirely…”

A loud thump sounded from outside the door. Instantly, the illusion of intimacy dissolved away from them when they shifted apart from one another, hands releasing. Staring at the widened gap between them, Rey was struck with the ugly reminder that a party raged outside. Up until that moment, she’d plum forgot that her handsome crush hadn’t actually invited her to his room for an intimate chat. It wasn’t a date. They weren’t even friends. No, she’d barged her way into his life, and on the off chance that he was only humoring her, Rey gave him an out.

Stammering out, “Sorry again for slipping into your room.”

“Well, I’m not exactly kicking you out am I?” Kylo said, shifting his piercing gaze back to her.

“No, guess not,” Rey swallowed hard, chest rising and falling without hope of a steadying breath when he looked at her like every step of his day had been geared towards having her with him in his bed.  

Before the girl could trip over her own nerves again, Kylo intertwined his ink-stained fingers with hers again. An innocent enough hand squeeze kept her beside him on the bed as her heart fluttered up into her throat. Oxygen and excuses blocked off, feeling temporarily safe from embarrassing herself with words that would have proven useless after he proceeded to steal away her breath.  

“I should probably say something clever now,” he told her, “but I can’t stop staring at your lips.”

For a few stuttered heart beats, Rey was sure that she’d heard Kylo wrong until his thumb brushing against her knee proved otherwise. It was no daydream. There was nothing more real than those small maddening circles grazing against her skin as he shamelessly admitted,

“I actually think about them a lot.”

“Oh,” Rey exhaled.

Shifting his gaze from her eyes to her mouth and back again, Kylo continued, “I keep thinking about…”

“What?” Rey whispered.

“Thinking about how sweet you’d taste.”

[the-record-columns]

May 8, 2019: Columns

The weather is what it is...

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

Anyone who has ever talked to me about the weather and its potential to affect whatever event or gathering had been planned would probably have heard me say: “Well now, if I were in charge of the weather, I surely wouldn't have to worry about peddling any advertising for a living--now would I?”

The Record has been mighty lucky with the weather at all of our events, and I am counting on another beautiful Memorial Day Weekend for May 24 and 25th’s ChickenFest.

The recently completed MerleFest in April always has iffy issues with the weather, whether it is simply rain, or the Friday wind we all endured as tents seemed ready to fly away part if the time. At the VFW Campground they even had to deal with the dreaded capsized porta-john issue--thanks to the same windstorm.

In my opinion, the first edition of Wilkesboro's Carolina in the Fall a few years ago was truly a wet one. Wetter by far than the worst weather ever at the Rotary Club's Wilkes Agricultural Fair—an event widely known to be able to break a drought of Biblical proportions. My mother, Cary, however, would always look for the silver lining in every circumstance (cloud), and that is just not a bad thing to do.

So, back to the inaugural Carolina in the Fall. The Rotary Club of North Wilkesboro was in charge of looking after the sale of the artists. CD's, T-shirts, posters, hats and other assorted items at the Carolina in the Fall music festival in Wilkesboro. I was scheduled to work both nights, and on Friday I slipped out of the tent long enough to catch part of Rhonda Vincent and the Rage's set. It was beginning to get dark and the faithful were well bundled up, raincoats of many colors could be seen, and some brought their own pop-up tents and tarps. They were there for the music and by George they were going to stay and hear it—ankle deep water in places be damned.

After one their songs, Rhonda Vincent took a few moments to thank those who were hanging in there in spite of the weather. She then recounted a story of her days as a youth playing with her father's group. As the story went, they worked weekends in many places but played most Mondays through Fridays in Branson, Missouri. As I recall, she said they played five one-hour shows a day in Branson. One morning show there was a torrential rain storm and there was not a person in the audience—not one, she swears. Vincent said that she and her young brother were far less than excited about playing to an empty venue and said so, wondering aloud why even bother. Their father stopped them cold in their tracks and assured them that, while there was no one there, that was not the issue. He told them they were being paid to do five shows a day, and they were going to do the best show they could—every time—regardless of the circumstances.

The family then went on to do the show from start to finish to their fathers satisfaction—including her and her brother, who by then dared not to do their best.

Vincent went on to say that it wasn't too long after that that their group was invited to play on the Grand Ole Opry and that exposure got them lots of other opportunities, and was a real boost to their careers. She called the name of the man from the Grand Ole Opry who was in charge of booking acts at that time, but I cannot recall it. At any rate, her dad asked him how he came to invite them to play the Opry, and he told him he was on vacation with his family in Branson, Missouri recently. While there, he said he happened heard their group play to an audience of empty chairs while the rain poured down. He told them he and his family were around the corner under a bit of shelter, and he figured any group that would put on that good a show for no one, would certainly play well for an audience. The rest, as they like to say, is history.

My mother, Cary, would simply smile and nod knowingly.

   Southern Hospitality Will Get You Every Time

By HEATHER DEAN

Record Reporter

  Southern Hospitality: Disambiguation

“A phrase used in American English to describe the stereotype of residents of the Southern United States as particularly warm, sweet, and welcoming to visitors to their homes, or to the South in general.”

 I imagine growing up in small town America is the same as it is here. ‘Please and thank you’ are second only to ‘mom’ and ‘dad’ in our learned vocabulary. Manners are as important as the perfect banana pudding recipe, and no one knows a stranger. People who have never met wave in passing on highways and speak to each other walking down the sidewalks.

Seems like the perfect American scenario. Until, it isn’t.

I had popped into a local owned landscaping and garden shop, perusing the plethora of beautiful hanging baskets, abundant with a variety of colorful blooms. The place was packed, as it was a lovely day. People were picking out herbs, flowers, yard décor and reveling in the fact that perhaps, just maybe, winter has finally left us. The staff was helpful, people smiled and greeted each other in the isles as they passed. It was like a live ad out of Southern Living Magazine. In my pollen covered bliss, it was lost upon me that Mother’s Day, is in fact, this weekend.

There I was, minding my own business, standing in line to pay. The lady in front of me commented on the lovely color arrangement. The lady at the register commented on my good choice of a basket that still has blooms so that it won’t fade in a few days. Southern Hospitality dictates that we not be within 10 feet of someone without striking up a conversation like we’ve known them all our life, you know. I however, hate small talk and find it mundane, though I always answer politely, because I was raised with manners.

Walking to my car, I was lost in thought about my flowers and how lovely they would look on my porch. It’s the little things that make me happy. I was unaware of the lady walking practically beside me, her arms full of flowers as well. “Those are pretty. Are they for your mom?” she asked, rather loud, and assumingly, like any proper southern woman would in such close proximity.

And that’s when it happened. Being half-Yankee I never mastered the mindless but kind retorts and head nod of the Charming Southern Belle. At least, not without the obviousness of certain passive- aggressiveness, as my facial expression, especially the arched eyebrow, give me away every time.  As is my usual undoing, I answered her immediately and pragmatically, as this Heather does.  “No. My mom’s dead.”

After a few steps I realized she was not walking with me anymore. I turned to look at her and see if she needed help carrying her things. The look on her face said it all. I had committed the blasphemous faux pas of answering honestly, not lady-like and she was not pleased. In fact, she looked a bit miffed.   I tried to feel bad about it, honestly I did, but it took all I had not to burst out laughing. Well, in my defense, that’s what she gets for asking, bless her heart…

 Note:

In all seriousness, please remember that the holidays are hard for many of us, as we don’t have our loved ones with us on these days.

  Over 700 rockets land in Israel

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

Friday nights mark the beginning of Shabbat for every Jew in the world and for all of Israel.  It's a time when merchants stop selling and the public stops buying, and work comes to an end to honor G-d and to rest from six days of labor.  Hamas, however,  is ever vigilant to stir up trouble. Beginning this past Friday night, May 3rd, sometime around 10:30 p.m. EST up to the very moment of this writing, Hamas has been hurling rockets into southern Israel. 

So far, more than 700 rockets have landed and still counting.  Israel retaliated with precision air strikes, and tank and helicopter attacks on known terrorists’ locations and the rocket launching pads of Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad who share a joint base of operation.  Hamas is targeting civilian homes as well as hospitals.  An Israeli teenager was seriously injured while attempting to reach safe shelter in Sderot and many civilians are being treated for shock and injuries.  Rockets even landed on the beach in Ashkelon.  Thank God the injuries and casualties were minimal compared to the number of rockets thrown at Israel in an attempt to deliver widespread destruction. 

Even so, hundreds of thousands of Israelis are being forced to run  for safe shelter each day and night with only a few seconds warning.  The bombs are falling at an average of every three minutes. Imagine having to help young children, babies and the elderly out of bed in the middle of the night hitting the floor running in order to reach a shelter in time to avoid injury or death.  Even patients in hospitals are being transported to underground bomb shelters. It's a nightmare which must be stopped. 

Little information is known about this particular attack but looking at the weeks and months leading up to it, there are many clues. The Palestinians are frantic for money on the eve of Ramadan and furious that Israel and the United States (among a few others) have put a stop to humanitarian payments and financial aid which the Palestinians wrongly used to finance their "Pay for Slay" program.  Once this happened, Qatar stepped in and pledged to give the Palestinians 30 million dollars a month to distribute as they see fit.  For a number of reasons which do not hinge on Israel, Qatari payments have been slow in arriving and with Ramadan soon to kick off, the Palestinians have their backs against the wall. 

There is also speculation that Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad are taking their orders from Hezbollah in Lebanon and from Iran.  Their stake in this is to disrupt Israel in advance of Israel's Independence Day celebrations and also ahead of the international Eurovision Song Contest which will take place in Tel Aviv later this month however delegations began arriving on May 2nd. If Iran, Hezbollah, Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad can cause disruption in this contest or perhaps a cancellation altogether, Israel's image will be tarnished and diminished. Hamas and the Palestinians are trying to force Israel to take military measures which they know will be condemned by the U.N. and others.

For more than a year, Palestinians have been gathering each Friday by the thousands along the Gaza border fence engaging in violent protests and taunting IDF soldiers. This past Friday an IDF officer's jeep was shot at from Gaza.  No group claimed responsibility however the IDF said it appears to have been the work of Palestinian Islamic Jihad which they believe Hamas is using to carry out attacks against Israel to avoid having to take responsibility.  All this is happening following the Israeli elections and at a time when Prime Minister Netanyahu is still forming his coalition government.  

Before the world asks Israel to reach any sort of compromise or peace arrangement with the Palestinians, the Palestinians should first prove that they are capable of living in peace with Israel and acknowledge that Israel has a right to exist as a Jewish state with fully defensible borders.  What would happen if Israel were to give up all her weapons?  The answer is clear; she would be attacked and wiped off the face of the earth.  However, if the Palestinians, the Iranians, Hezbollah and others were to lay down their weapons, what would happen?  Again, the answer is clear.

There would be peace with Israel and peace in the Middle East.  Every nation has a right to self-defense and, like it or not, this includes Israel - the rightful homeland of the Jewish people and America's only true friend and ally in the Middle East.

   Celebrating Our Mothers

By CARL WHITE

Life in the Carolinas

I think it’s safe to say that most of us love our mothers.  If you are a frequent reader of my somewhat organized words, it’s not difficult to know when I’m reminiscing about my sweet mother. The passing of time has mellowed the heartache of not having her on earth now. However, I miss her every day. I have also noticed that it is only her good that I remember so maybe she was a saint.

She always put others first and especially her family, that’s just the way she lived her life. It is not odd for me to meet someone who was inspired by her kind way of being. That’s just the way mom was.

The fortunate among us enjoy the love of a caring mother or the memories of that wonderful mom in our lives. The world is made better by caring mothers. I know we love our Dads, but this story is about the moms in our lives.

One would think that the honoring of our Mothers with an official day would be a logical conclusion. However, it was not quick or easy. More than 40 countries around the world honor mothers with a special day and in the United States the story about Mother’s Day is fascinating.

As with most things it all started with someone’s idea.

In 1905 Anna Jarvis led the effort to establish Mother’s Day as an official US holiday. She was inspired by her mother Anna Marie Reeves Jarvis who was a peace activist who among other things cared for soldiers on both sides of the American Civil War. Anna Marie also created Mother’s Day Work Clubs in the 1850s, to teach women proper child-care techniques and sanitation methods.

It’s interesting that the mother that inspired the holiday used the term Mother’s Day for the Work Clubs more than half a century before our American Mother’s Day become an official US Holiday.

Anna Marie died in 1905, and it was in that same year that her daughter Anna Jarvis started the process to get Mother’s Day officially on the books. In 1908 the US Congress would not entertain the idea with some saying if we have a Mother’s Day we will also have a need to have a Mother-in-law's Day.

However, on a local level, the first official Mother’s Day celebration took place in the southern state of West Virginia in 1908.

The celebration was in the form of a memorial for Anna Reeves Marie Jarvis by her daughter Anna Jarvis. It was held in Grafton, West Virginia at St. Andrews Methodist Episcopal Church, which is now known as the "mother church" of Mother's Day, and was incorporated as the International Mother's Day Shrine on May 15, 1962, as a tribute to all mothers.

With Anna’s continued efforts by 1911, all US states would recognize Mother’s Day as a State holiday, and in 1914 President Woodrow Wilson signed a proclamation designating Mother’s Day, held on the 2nd Sunday in May, as a national holiday to honor mothers.

It was certainly a great day of celebration for Anna. However, as time passed, she became frustrated with exploiting the holiday for profit. She felt that companies had lost sight of the sentiment and turned to greed.

The same lady who fought the battle to recognize our dear mothers now found herself in a great fight. Anna would now spend her time protesting various aspects of what had become the commerce side of Mother’s Day. She would be arrested in the mid-1920’s for disturbing the peace when protesting the selling of Mother’s Day carnations by the American War Mothers.

As we all know life takes all types of twists and turns and in the South many great things have are inspired, invented and shared with the world. The problem being we don’t always like it when people try to change it.

I am grateful for my mother and all the wonderful mothers who care about doing good. I don’t mind folks selling things that we can buy and give to our moms, however, if your mom is anything like mine was, the thing she wanted more than anything else, was a visit from her son.

A big thank you to Anna and her Mother who spent her life doing good for others.

[lightningabovefirebelow]

How to make Fan Expo Canada even better

Dear Fan Expo Canada,

I went to your con this year for my fourth-straight Fan Expo and once again, I wasn't disappointed. I cannot stress how much I love your event and how it allows me to connect to my interests. It was full of crazy cosplayers, the biggest celebrities, thousands of square feet of shopping, gaming from computers to TCG, and of course, Space and Bear Sailor Moon. (I love that guy.) It seems that Fan Expo has become the ultimate geek outing for many in Toronto and indeed, all of Canada. You are also an event that brings thousands of dollars each year to the city of Toronto, and I believe the municipal government has placed a keen eye on your show in terms of tourism.

With that, I am already excited for 2018, and I'm sure it will be as big as heck. I applaud you for bringing in Michael J. Fox as your headlining guest for Fan Expo 2018. Mr. Fox is an outstanding actor and advocate (not to mention a fellow Canadian!) and I'm sure his appearance there will raise further interest in the fight against Parkinson's disease.

Still, I see things that are lacking from your con which I would love to see there. Of course, as a con seriously concerned about money, you do not have to implement everything I say here. These are merely suggestions. And yes, a lot of these are anime-centric. Still, I believe a convention that can implement these suggestions will make Fan Expo even better than ever.

Go beyond Seven

The sad thing about Fan Expo is that on Saturday, the show floor and most of the programming wrap up at 7:00 p.m. Anime North's artist alley and dealers go on until 8:00, while panels and programming, many of which with a mature-oriented nature, stay on through and beyond midnight. Wasabi Anime has hinted it would stage programming beyond seven at Fan Expo for 2018. I agree that night programming would be interesting for Fan Expo and allow you to delve into new frontiers. Sure, keep the after parties rolling, but late-night programming would be very interesting to see.

Dig even deeper into the Great White North

Obviously, for 2018, the big news is that Canada's own Michael J. Fox will be coming. You’ve invited Stephen Amell and William Shatner for previous events. And in the past you’ve brought in the cast of the original Sailor Moon dub, which was mostly Canadian. But I could see further opportunity by adding even more noted Canadian personalities.

Canada has been a key role in promoting global pop culture and I would love for this con to acknowledge this with appearances from more Canadians. Squirrel Girl creator Ryan North is a Canuck if I’m not mistaken. There is cosplayer Phil Mizuno who is without further words, epic. The entire cast of the recently ended international TV sensation Orphan Black at Fan Expo would probably result in a ticket sale craze.

This is Canada, a country with national pride that runs in our blood. Let’s use Fan Expo to build this pride even more by highlighting the best this country has to offer.

 More Anime?

A lot of your table artists deal with anime. I know because the AA is a personal favourite. I want to congratulate you on your partnership with Wasabi Anime / Green Mustard, a partnership that will further enhance the otaku experience at Fan Expo.

But I know you guys can do it even better. It would be interesting for you to invite even more Japanese guests to Fan Expo, including top Japanese animation directors. Maybe the guys behind My Hero Academia would be a fitting choice for Fan Expo. Also, as an anime fan myself; it seems appropriate for you guys to ask Crunchyroll to return to present their newest anime acquisitions at Fan Expo. And I know this is far-fetched, but a virtual idol concert with hopefully enough Hatsune Miku would be out of this world!

Yes, do expand your anime offerings, but don’t go too overboard with anime. After all, there is Anime North.

 More community partnerships

Every year, I noticed that the Toronto Public Library, who’s Reference Library in Yorkville stages the Toronto Comic Arts Festival two weeks before Anime North, gets a table at Fan Expo. In addition, during the March Toronto ComiCon, I can see that Ad Astra is promoting their May con there. Fan Expo for me was my gateway into the greater fandom community. I encourage you to bring in more community partners to expand this community. Anime North, the Toronto Sailor Moon Celebration, Furnal Equinox and ConBravo are just some of the few cons you can offer tables to.

I see opportunity for you to engage in good causes. One interesting thing that San Diego does is it holds a blood drive. Anime North raises cash for SickKids through the charity auction and for this year, a Slash tourney. I bet charity partnerships are not new to you, especially since Cosplay for a Cure has a cosplay repair clinic there. Let's see you expand these charitable partnerships for 2018.

It would also be nice to see an increased military recruitment presence at Fan Expo. My belief is that comic-book readers have a strong sense of belief in social justice and with that, they would love to express this in a job that allows them to defend this nation from the evil forces that may want to defeat it. The stories of heroism at Vimy are without a doubt on par with what Captain Canuck would do.

 Make the ultimate nerd shopping experience even more

One of the main reasons I go to Fan Expo is to experience the shopping craze. Aside from the artist alley, vendors are important to the Fan Expo experience.

I noticed many of your sponsors entered into agreements with retailers to exhibit and sell their products, or retailers set up shop in Fan Expo. Canada Computers sold their gaming rigs and computer peripherals. Hasbro had their Hasbro Shop in partnership with Toys R Us (a partnership in limbo now that TRU has filed for bankruptcy). Sphero exhibited its Star Wars toys there thanks to a partnership with Best Buy.

I invite all of your retail sponsors to further expand their offerings and sell the directly of the convention floor. Best Buy did not sell their Star Wars toys on the floor, and it would be nice should The Force be strong at Fan Expo in 2018 that they do.

 Work with the CNE (and maybe even the TTC)

Fan Expo runs concurrently with the final weekend of Canadian National Exhibition. Obviously, this is a big weekend for families across the GTA as they mark the unofficial final weekend of summer before sending their children back to school.

Fan Expo guests get to enjoy in-out privileges, and some I swear would love to ride those epic rides at the CNE. Currently, the only way to get there is to pay an extra TTC fare and ride the 509 Harbourfront streetcar to get to the con. You should take a survey of your guests to see if they would be interested in a shuttle with the CNE. As a suggestion, VIP guests could take advantage of the shuttle for free, and others could pay a $1 fare for each ride.

Furthermore, I can see opportunity for further collaboration between the two events. A few years ago, the CNE had a Big Bang Theory exhibition. I would love to see more pop culture events at the CNE and Fan Expo is the obvious choice for bring pop culture to the CNE.

And speaking of the TTC, Anime North just announced a $25 special weekend pass for AN congoers in 2018. Fan Expo, study this pass and plan something similar for 2018.

 Expand the con

A few years ago, Fan Expo was limited to the smaller North Building of the Metro Toronto Convention Centre. That year was chaotic, as you would have imagined. I bet that Fan Expo, despite having expanded to both buildings as of now, is itself about to burst at the seams. There's an easy way to fix this problem, and it may also make after-midnight programming possible: expand to the surrounding buildings.

The obvious expandable space here is the convention rooms at the adjacent Intercontinental and the nearby Fairmont Royal York, both official con hotels. The Westin Harbour Castle also has a sizeable conference centre, which you could take advantage of. But I don't see any reason to expand to new buildings if you don't think it's necessary.

 Tell everyone "Cosplay Is Not Consent!"

I cannot overstress the importance of this. Maybe publish information in your guidebooks about unacceptable behaviour and reporting harassment at Fan Expo. Change the wording on your posters to encourage bystanders to not stay silent and speak out. Anything that can make Fan Expo enjoyable for all is appreciated.

 You don't have to take these opinions too seriously. These are just some general suggestions. Nevertheless, think about the opportunities. Being a fan-centred convention, you are in the business of making something memorable happen, so please, take my words, and consider what would make the con even better. It will be of a benefit to all congoers and guests. I hope you find these words beneficial and to quote Spock, “may you live long and prosper. “

 Sincerely,

Kevin Diep.

 P.S.: This is practice for writing a newspaper editorial.

[hollywoodprint]

4. Sorry Not Sorry

4. Sorry Not Sorry

Avery was not going to find heartthrob Max Kelly standing off to the side of all the action. She decided to start her celebrity hunt at the bar. She doubted he got his own drinks but someone would know where he was.

Wanting to look the part but also remembering the purpose of the night, she opted out on a cocktail. Instead she found herself at the bar with a beer.

Everything about tonight was unusual.

It wasn’t long before she heard whispers about Max.

“Well I hear he’s still hooking up with his ex.”

“And I know for a fact is this guy has got to be hard core into drugs or the booze. No one that famous can be T-total clean.”

It was good gossip but it wasn’t getting her any reliable material for her story.

Two men tried buying Avery a drink. Each time she declined their beer and offer for company. After being half way through bottle number two, she was at a dead end at the bar. She was no closer to finding Max Kelly then she was when she originally arrived.

Hand firmly around her drink; she made a conscious decision to slow down before she took her part in this play too far too soon.

Avery started to make a round about the giant room that was the club. A song came on that she heard while shopping tonight with Ainsley. She quietly bobbed her head to herself.

She stopped walking once her feet met the edge of the dance floor. Everyone was so close to each other, all leaning in to whisper in ears of their friends because the music was too loud.

Doing a wide scan of the room, Avery’s head keep a light bob to the beat of the music.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up to attention. She knew immediately there was a man behind her. As she was turning  to decline anything he was about to offer, he stops her with a whisper, “A woman who drinks beer. A rarity nowadays. I’m more than certain most of the ladies in here are drinking a Cosmo.”

He finally leans away but he doesn’t go too far. She turned ready to shoo him away like she had the others. In case he scared off Max Kelly.

She was a met with quite the surprise.

Max Kelly had come to her.

He was more gorgeous than he looked in photographs. Avery, under any other circumstances, would have drooled over him. He was the classic handsome that teenage girls selected for posters in their rooms.

However she was on a mission, those willow green eyes and wavy black hair had to stop playing tricks on her. She had to keep her head in the game.

Once he realized she was sizing him up and with no shame at that, Max held a palm out, requesting her hand.

Avery had seen this move in the movies and yet she was still not expecting him to kiss the back of her hand when he did.

Trying to play the role of gentleman? This guy was too much to handle.

He leaned in again, “What might your name be?”

“I’m Avery. Most people call me Ace.”

He was already smiling at her when she said Avery but her nickname threw him for a loop as he leaned back chuckling. He spoke up but didn’t invade her space, “You really must be a Warrior Princess with a name like that.”

She smiled and reminded her heart to stay firmly in her chest. No time for small talk. Brass tax it had to be. “Who is that big guy behind you?” She waved at what had to be Max’s bodyguard.

Max explained but a song louder than the last came on and she couldn’t hear him. She moved this whole charade along, “I’m having a hard time hearing you.”

He takes her hand in his own. Guiding her, he leads her to the farthest side of the club, away from everything. Lively but a much more quiet section of the club, a mini bar set up among the couches.

Avery kept some space between them, beer and her hands in her lap.

“That.” he nodded at the tall bald guy a couch or two away, “Is my bodyguard Michael.”

She smiled, “Do you use him often?”

He gave her a cocky grin before inquiring, “So you do know who I am?”

She decided since so much of this involved secrecy she would be honest with him when she could. “I would have to live under a rock to not know that you’re Max Kelly.”

“You’re blunt.”

“Most would people say so. Yes.”

“Good.” Max could hear Chase in his head saying he needed less Hollywood treatment in his life.

His mind let him wonder what Chase would think of this girl.

Wait? Since when did anyone skip his bed and roll right into meeting the best friend?

He inwardly shook his head free from her spell. She hadn’t even been in his arms yet and Max was already giving her special treatment.

He found himself asking more about her, “Where are you from Ace?”

For some reason when he used her nickname she didn’t cringe nor did it make her want to punch him in the face. It was natural coming from his lips. Beautiful full lips.

Avery focused. “I was born in New York. Later I was brought up in Georgia.”

“Interesting, which state do you like the best?”

Who was interviewing whom?

“Each state has something to offer.”

“Spoken like a politician. Answering but not answering.”

“Still honest.” She flipped the script, recalling she had a job to do. “I’m surprised you’re alone. You usually have an entourage of people. At least that’s what the pictures say.”

Inquiring but in a relaxed manner. She was supposed to be digging for unknown information but casually.

Though he hadn’t known her long, Max found himself wanting to tell her his life story. He couldn’t figure out why. “Sometimes I guess I just miss being a normal dude. Even when I was just modeling back in the day, I had more down time to myself.”

“But you could have easily just stayed at home tonight.”

He couldn’t admit to her that his house was too empty these days. It was getting harder and harder to come back after a long day, week or month of movie shooting to come home to a bare house.

Instead he gave her a Max Kelly answer, “They have my favorite beer here.”

She noticed he gave her a peek inside the window of the real Max without saying a word. Much more than he had ever given anyone else.  His eyes really did tell a story—he was missing something.

She wanted more of that story. “Let me buy you a beer.”

A waitress stopped to flirt with Max. Undeterred, Avery ordered them both another drink.

He liked that she didn’t display any displeasure or jealousy in the attention he so frequently received. She was also direct. This woman was becoming more and more like a unicorn. Unseen, mysterious and magical.

“The next one is on me.” Max chuckled as their new drinks arrived.

She quickly shook her head no. He couldn’t help but watch her as the curls bounced to and fro. One word left her lips, “Nope.”

“Oh come on. What kind of man lets a woman buy?”

“The kind that keeps company with me.”

Avery questioned herself: Where was this coming from?

“Well Ace you are interesting company.”

The strangest part is that Avery could feel herself keeping up this playful banter.

After a swift thought, she puts her beer down, “Okay. You want to return the drink favor?”

Max was about to get the attention of another waitress.

“No more drinks. You and me Kelly. Dance floor.”

Avery stands fighting the urge to pull her dress down. Her clutch in one hand and her other using her pointer finger to beckon Max. She coaxes him to go back out into the noise.

Their beers finished and on the table the duo make their way to the music.

There was a mix playing. Off went Ariana Grande and on came Avery’s shower favorite.

Demi Lavato- Sorry Not Sorry.

In that moment she was just Avery. And she was just having fun with a new friend.

The way that yelp of happiness left her, made Max aware that this was her jam.

“Show me that Ace up your sleeve girl!”

And she did just that. No one approached them but everyone watched.

Avery’s hair was in her face, curls bouncing from side to side. Her hips switched with the beat and she wasn’t sorry. She guessed the three beers had set in because something in her allowed her normal reserve loose for the evening.

She noticed that Max was noticing her and not really dancing. She walks up to him, those hips not missing a beat and she whispers in his ear, “You can’t dance or something?”

The Hollywood star gave her a diamond smile, “Or something.”

“I guess I’ll bring the dancing to you then.”

She danced around him, on impulse she patted his butt. The only look of surprised he showed was a raised eyebrow.

Avery yelled, “Come on Max! Show me what you got! Work off that beer you owe me!”

Max was a leader, always had been. He took over, braking out his best dance moves. He was relaxed for the first time in a long time. His chest popped and the rest of his muscles ebbed and flowed like water. He hadn’t moved like this in years.

As soon as the thought of regretting this in the morning entered his mind, it just as fast exited as he watched Avery retaliate. There was some move he swore she stole from Beyoncé who in all honestly stole it from Tina Turner but, who’s worried about dance history?

The sass in the air slap, Avery’s walk better than any model he had every seen. Though her bottom was the second attribute he noticed, her legs being the first—he had never seen a butt move like hers.

The floor was his again and they went back and forth once more until Max bent over and grabbed her by the legs, pulling Avery close.

Before Max stood and spun her around, all she could see was Michael giving them the thumbs up from the front of the crowd. This made her fist pump in the air in acknowledgment.

It hadn’t hit her what they just did all of this in a downtown Los Angeles club until they were laughing together outside. The cool air welcomed from the hot dancing that just went on inside.

“I guess that’s your power song?” Max laughed as he texted his driver for a pickup.

“More like my shower song.” More honesty.

He pictured her naked but immediately decided, now wasn’t the time.

“Well Mr. Kelly.” Her voice cut into his thoughts before they could go anywhere else. “It was very pleasurable meeting you.”

She taps her phone, finds the Uber app and is about to head home. She hadn’t really gotten any details other than Max’s hidden talent of pop, lock and dropping it on the dance floor.

This was going to take some time. Another meeting or two should do it.

Hopefully.

A light shines in her face before she can finish selecting a cab. Max’s Uber app is open. He already slected an UberSelect. She justed needed to punch in her address. “No. Allow me to get you home.”

His smiled was genuine. “It was lovely meeting you as well Ace.”

Avery shook her head in disbelief but used his phone; something tells her this would get her another chance to meet him somehow.

“Maybe one day you’ll tell me how you got that nickname?” As he inquired, she handed her phone back. She only had three minutes before her ride was here.

“One day?” As in he wanted to see her again?

Max nodded, “One day.”

They both goofily grinned at each other as a red 2017 Mercedes CLA met Avery at the curb.

He got the back door for her, “One day.”

“Until then Mr. Kelly.”

He tipped his imaginary hat to her and closed the door. Max watched as the Uber took her as far as he could see before getting into the back of the Range Rover.

“You know Mike, you disappear when Tracey comes around. The night I find the unicorn I can’t shake you.”

“A unicorn, Mr. Kelly?”

“You know, when you meet someone unlike anyone you’ve ever known before.”

“Ahh. Well, look at it this way…With your theory, as long as I’m near there will be no more Tracey and more time with the unicorn.”

Max’s smile faded, “I didn’t get her number!”

“You didn’t get a phone number?!” The driver and the bodyguard couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah I was too busy making sure she got home safe.”

The driver was impressed at his chivalry,

An idea popped into Michaels head, “That’s it! You got her address.”

Max frowned, “Thanks Mike. That’s not stalkerish at all.”

“Hey anything for a unicorn right?”

“Well,” Max looked out the window into the night life of Los Angeles, a small smile broke his frown,“…maybe one day…”