#the grainy quality on older phones >>>>>

[badl4nds]

cαved αnd bought αn iphone 6s+ for the resurgence of the tumblr grunge erα 👽🌿彡

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Maia Poet

Published: Apr 11, 2025

When I began to find myself swimming in a sea of trans content at the age of 12 in 2012, one of the first stories of "trans kids" I saw was the story of Jazz Jennings. I watched grainy, low-quality footage from his 2007 special. Even though Jazz is only one year younger than me, I thought he was much younger—because I was seeing him at six years old when I was already 12. It didn’t occur to me until months later, when I saw one of his more recent media appearances, that I had been watching a video from five years ago. That was my level of life perspective at the age when I declared my trans identity— I didn’t understand that the change in video image quality was a sign of how old the video was. When I realized that Jazz was around my age, I was stunned.

From there, I consumed every video I could find about "trans kids." There were only a handful of documentaries and talk show appearances. Once I’d exhausted those, I moved on to watching content created by adult transitioners. I began studying the intricacies of hormonal and surgical “sex change.” I watched hours of footage of women ten years older than me binding their breasts, and vlogging about ‘top surgeries’. Within two years, many of them had full beards and were talking about their mastectomies the way I talked about going to the trampoline park with my family— as a joyous, gravity-defying liberation of the Self.

When I finally got my own phone and was old enough to make a Facebook account, I even messaged a few of these adult women whose gender transitions I had watched play out over the course of my adolescence. If I had more understanding of how the world works, I would have known that I could have lied about my age to get onto the platform earlier. I was that naive. In retrospect, as a young adult myself I’ll never understand why those adult transitioners chose to respond to the messages sent to them by a 14-year-old. But that’s beside the point.

The point is, that as a pre-teen, I became so obsessed with understanding this phenomenon that by my early adolescence I memorized all of the information available to me online at the time. And because I already had a habit of being an elementary-aged kid who read parenting books and researched niche medical conditions, it was easy for me to convince myself that I, too, was a "trans kid" who in the absence of experimental medical treatments, would very well die.

Far before most people had even heard of this issue—and long before it became a teenage identity trend—I knew almost everything there was to know about transgenderism. It’s odd now to see adults twice my age acting as though this phenomenon came out of nowhere. I didn’t just see it coming. As a 12 year old who adopted a trans identity in 2012, I predicted it. I grew up immersed in all things ‘trans’. I watched this phenomenon morph in real-time from the narrative of old-school transsexualism into the invention of the "transgender child," and finally as it pervaded into the dominant youth culture of my ‘non-binary’ generation.

Many times during my detransition journey, I’ve asked myself the same haunting question: Where was everyone when Jazz Jennings got castrated?

In order to answer this question, I will publish this piece in two parts. Part one will focus on the ways in which mainstream media and medical authorities partnered to create the “transgender child” within the Western collective consciousness. Part two will focus on how collective shifts within parenting trends and attitudes about child-rearing amongst middle and upper middle class families, in combination with rapid shifts in the availability of internet-connected technologies— created a perfect storm of factors which culminated in the ‘transgender tipping point’.

I hope these papers will inform the public about how trans issues have gone from an unknown obscure topic, to the subject of a raging culture war— seemingly in the blink of an eye. I believe that trying to dissect the culture itself through the case study of Jazz Jennings, readers will come away from these essays with a greater understanding of the complex sociocultural and medical underpinnings of today’s trans phenomenon. After reading this paper, let me know how I’ve done!

The Jazz Jennings Phenomenon

[ Barbra Walters interviewed six year old Jazz Jennings in 2007. The “trans kid” narrative had just been born. ]

In 2007, America was introduced to the story of Jazz Jennings, a six-year-old boy from Florida whose parents had decided to raise him as a girl and share his story publicly. Cameras followed Jazz and his family as he grew up, chronicling his transition for an audience captivated by what was presented as a courageous and heartwarming journey of self-discovery.

But beneath the uplifting narrative was a far more troubling reality. At age 11, Jazz was chemically castrated to halt his male puberty. In high school, he was prescribed cross-sex hormones, which, when paired with early puberty suppression, rendered him permanently sterile. By 14, he was the star of the reality show I Am Jazz. In 2018, at age 17, the cameras followed him, hugging a teddy bear, into the operating room as surgeons attempted to construct a simulacrum of female genitalia from his underdeveloped male anatomy—an operation so experimental that multiple follow-up surgeries were needed to address serious complications.

[ 17 year old Jazz held a teddy bear as he waited to be wheeled into the operating room for his penile inversion procedure, aged 17. ]

Despite the fact that every stage of this boy’s process of being indoctrinated, exploited and maimed—was filmed and broadcast for national and international audiences, widespread concern over what was happening to Jazz did not surface until about 2021—far too late to intervene or prevent the damage. With millions watching I Am Jazz, no prominent voice broke through the mainstream media to question what was unfolding before America’s very eyes.

So again we must ask: Where was everyone when Jazz Jennings got castrated?

The Creation of the “Transgender Child” Was Televised.

The short answer is that we were all sold a story. We were led to believe in the existence of a new category of person—the “transgender child.” Most Americans were familiar with the concept of a transsexual, which in the schema of the 2000’s-era adult, was either a gay drag queen who “took the next step” or a middle-aged, married crossdresser with a wife and kids. The transsexual wasn’t an adult female on testosterone. The transsexual certainly wasn’t a child. 

Jazz’s case was the first to introduce this idea to the English-speaking world, featured prominently on 20/20 with Barbara Walters. His parents claimed they had always known Jazz was “different”—even pointing to behavior as early as 15 months old, like unsnapping his onesie, as evidence of a cross-gender identity. Unlike Jazz’s older twin brothers, Jazz did not grow out of his ‘girly’ phase by the time he was a pre-schooler. He continued to be a gentle boy, not a rough and tumble one. So, his parents decided to see an “expert” gender therapist in 2003— while the child was probably still in diapers.

The documentary featuring Jazz Jennings, alongside a few other “trans kids” called My Secret Self presented gender dysphoria as an innate, intractable condition detectable in small children and treatable with a medical protocol we today know was imported from the Netherlands. While it acknowledged the experimental nature of these treatments, this fact was easily obscured by the narrative that without such extreme, irreversible interventions being done on young children- that these children were doomed to end their lives. Viewers were reassured: no permanent changes would occur until Jazz was older and better equipped to make informed decisions.

But this was a lie of omission. Social transition in childhood, especially when paired with puberty blockers, is not a neutral intervention—it entrenches a cross-sex identity and all but guarantees progression to cross-sex hormones. We now know that over 98% of children who begin puberty blockers proceed to further medical transition.

The idea that blockers merely “buy time” has been thoroughly debunked– but only after a generation of children were sacrificed. What’s even worse, is that the Dutch clinicians who created this child transition treatment protocol, themselves advised against the early full social transition of a child prior to the early stages of puberty.

A Story That Subverted Our Common Sense

[ Jazz instilling his childhood passion of creating mermaid tails into another little boy whose parents are raising him as a girl ]

Jazz’s story was compelling because he was photogenic and looked feminine: he had long hair, princess dresses, a love for Disney songs and mermaids. His mother even speculated that Jazz’s love of mermaids was related to their lack of genitalia—a theory she picked up from other parents of gender-nonconforming boys on internet forums. But many kids, both boys and girls, in the early 2000s loved mermaids because of The Little Mermaid. It wasn’t because of a pathology. It was a trend.

This shows a broader trend of how the parents of “trans kids” have a tendency of scrutinizing their child’s every behavior as evidence of some problem just itching to be solved. They are superimposing their own adult analysis onto a child’s behaviors, in order to derive meaning from them. 

An adult who has tons of kids and is working multiple jobs to support them wouldn’t fixate so much on which fictitious character their child is obsessed with– nor would they have the time to construct an elaborate fairytale about why the kid wants to become that thing. But if you’re like Jazz’s parents, who are wealthy enough to have four kids living in a big house, who were really on the cutting edge of child-centered parenting, and who happened to have a kid who was very gender non-conforming– you’ve got yourself a perfect storm to find yourself as the parent of a “trans kid.”

Many young boys go through phases of dressing up as princesses. In Jazz’s case, what might have been a passing interest, or one that evolved into a career in dance, theater or fashion design— became a diagnosis. His parents, like many of those who now champion their young “trans kids,” were not initially ideologues. Most began as concerned, bewildered, or overwhelmed—struggling to soothe their distressed child and feeling inadequate in the face of it.

In today’s climate, these parents are swiftly ushered into the world of gender medicine. Pediatricians refer them to gender clinics, where experts frame early social transition as harmless and reversible. The same experts falsely claim that puberty blockers are reversible interventions which “pause” development so a child can consider whether they wish to proceed to cross-sex hormones, and that blocking healthy puberty in its early stages is something which must be done urgently, as a form of suicide prevention. Out of love and fear, parents hand the reins to medical professionals—believing they’re doing what’s best for their child. Importantly, all of these life-changing psychosocial and medical interventions are framed as neutral, harmless opportunities for self-exploration. Even as a child’s puberty is being actively suppressed, parents are lead to believe that no permanent, life-altering decisions have been made yet. They are given a false illusion of having ‘more time’ to decide upon the future opportunities which will be available to their child, not understanding one basic truth:

The first permanent decision regarding a child’s gender transition is often made much earlier than parents realize. Social transition in early childhood initiates a path that almost always leads to medicalization. Puberty blockers interrupt natural developmental processes necessary for resolving gender distress. By the time cross-sex hormones are introduced, the child’s trajectory has already been firmly set for years.

How the Dutch Protocol Created the Market for Trans Children

[ Jazz Jennings and the doctors who removed his genitals ]

The widespread belief that pediatric transition was a response to an existing and urgent medical need ignores a crucial reality: the existence of medical interventions for children with gender dysphoria has itself created the demand for those very interventions. The Dutch Protocol, which introduced the use of puberty blockers followed by cross-sex hormones in carefully selected adolescent patients, did not emerge in response to a large population of children begging for medical transition. Rather, it introduced an entirely new treatment pathway that shaped how gender dysphoria was understood and managed—one that was soon exported across the Western world.

Developed in the Netherlands in the early 1990s, the Dutch Protocol was initially presented as a compassionate innovation for a small group of carefully screened adolescents whose gender dysphoria was severe, persistent, and began in early childhood. These adolescents were described as psychologically stable, supported by their families, and free of major comorbid mental health issues. The protocol’s authors claimed that, for these specific patients, early medical intervention could reduce distress and improve quality of life. Mostly, these clinicians seemed concerned with the ability of these young (mostly) boys to “pass” as women in adulthood, as a way to correct for the difficulties faced by adult transsexuals who attributed their mental health and life difficulties following transition— to their inability to pass as the opposite sex in adulthood.

But the Dutch studies that laid the foundation for this protocol were small, lacked control groups, followed participants for only a few years, failed to keep rates of loss to follow up within a clinically negligible level and were deeply methodologically flawed. Despite this, the model was rapidly adopted internationally as the gold standard for pediatric gender care. Before any outcomes were published on the Dutch kids, the practice of transitioning kids was adopted with full confidence in countries like the United States, where the cautious gatekeeping of the original protocol was largely abandoned. Screening criteria were loosened, psychological evaluations were fast-tracked, and transition timelines were compressed. What began as a narrowly defined intervention for a rare group of patients became a mass treatment pathway for any child who expressed discomfort with their sex.

As more clinics adopted the protocol, more children were referred for treatment. As more children were referred, more clinicians trained to meet the need. As medical infrastructure for youth transition expanded, so did public awareness—and with it, parental anxiety that they may not be doing ‘enough’ to ‘help’ their gender non-conforming children, by simply allowing them to grow up without psychosocial or medical intervention. Suddenly, any child questioning their gender could be perceived as a ticking time bomb. The narrative of “better a trans kid than a dead kid” spread, not because the risk of suicide had been proven to be high in non-transitioned children, but because it had become a rhetorical tool to justify medicalization.

In this way, the existence of a medical treatment pathway for gender dysphoric youth created the perception of a crisis of “trans kids not getting the healthcare they needed.” The “trans child” was no longer an anomaly but a potential reality for any child who failed to conform to gender norms, and then– a reality for any kid no matter how gender-conforming they were in childhood, to declare themselves as trans in adolescence, and to find themselves on an operating table where a surgeon carves away at their healthy bodies in a futile attempt to create for their patients, a new metaphysical reality. 

Where once clinicians waited for children with intractable dysphoria to emerge from adolescence before prescribing interventions, they now trained parents, educators and pediatricians, to look for signs of gender nonconformity in children—converting ordinary developmental exploration into medical red flags.

Jazz Jennings became the poster child of this new paradigm. His transition was held up as proof that early medical intervention could be a success story. But what was never mentioned was that Jazz’s transition was not done by the criteria of even the Dutch Protocol. He was socially transitioned in early childhood, long before the onset of puberty, and he began puberty blockers at age 11. Because his male genitals never developed, surgeons later struggled to construct even a functional approximation of female anatomy. Jazz’s experience exposed the flaws in the protocol’s logic: puberty suppression might prevent unwanted physical changes, but it also stunts the very development needed for later surgeries. In trying to erase male puberty, clinicians created new medical challenges—ones Jazz paid the price for.

Almost a decade before Jazz had his penile inversion procedure, the Dutch clinicians already knew that boys with suppressed pubertal development would need a more invasive procedure involving tissue from the colon to make up for the lack of genital development. Yet, for some reason, it doesn’t seem that any of the clinicians treating him were aware of these findings, nor did they make him or his parents, or the public whom they were actively propagandizing to, aware that a more complicated surgery is the inevitable, well-known outcome of early pubertal suppression in juvenile males.

Today, the Dutch Protocol is being re-evaluated even in the country where it began. Dutch clinicians have acknowledged that their original research cannot justify the global expansion of pediatric gender medicine as it has come to exist. Will that stop them from justifying their protocol on other grounds? No. Definitely not. But, systematic reviews in Europe have found that the evidence base for youth transition is weak, and that the risks may outweigh the benefits. The world is beginning to wake up to the harm inflicted upon children in the name of ‘compassion’ and ‘mercy.’

Pediatric social and medical transition protocols were not a response to rising rates of gender dysphoria, nor an ‘uncovering’ of a dysphoric population of kids who always existed but were finally receiving the “‘life-saving” treatment they deserve—it just created lifelong medical patients out of healthy children. Gender medicine, both for kids and for adults, offered solutions that promised to resolve complex psychological distress through medical means, while failing to address the root causes of that distress. And it created an illusion of necessity, when in truth, what had changed was not the metaphysical nature of the children, but the treatments made available to them.

Norman Spack & Ken Zucker: Two Different Treatment Protocols

[ Norman Spack describes “salivating” at the pediatric transition protocols of the Netherlands ]

The rapid shift toward medicalizing childhood gender distress did not happen spontaneously—it had architects. One of the most pivotal was Dr. Norman Spack, a pediatric endocrinologist at Boston Children’s Hospital, who helped bring the Dutch Protocol to North America. After learning of the work being done in the Netherlands, Spack was reportedly so eager to adopt puberty suppression protocols for children that he later described himself as having “salivated” at the idea of blocking puberty in gender dysphoric youth.

Spack opened the first major pediatric gender clinic in the United States in 2007, the same year Jazz Jennings’s story went public. He was not alone in his enthusiasm. By the time Jazz was a toddler, his parents were already being told that puberty blockers would be available to prevent their son from developing into a man. This promise was made long before Jazz reached puberty, long before he had even learned to tie his shoes, and more importantly, long before there was any robust, long-term evidence showing that the Dutch cohort fared better than their non-medicalized peers. The idea that “doing nothing” was cruel—and that intervening medically was compassionate—had already taken root.

[ Ken Zucker— the man, the myth, the legend. ]

This marked a dramatic departure from the predominant therapeutic model of the prior decades, as practiced by clinicians like Dr. Ken Zucker. Zucker, a psychologist at Toronto’s Centre for Addiction and Mental Health (CAMH), focused on helping children explore and potentially resolve their gender distress without affirming them as the opposite sex. His approach—common throughout the 1990s and the 2000s after being practiced in earlier decades—emphasized watchful waiting, play therapy and parenting strategies aimed at reconciling the child with his biological sex—rather than socially transitioning or medically affirming the gender distressed child. Zucker recognized that the vast majority of gender-dysphoric children would ultimately reconcile with their natal sex if left alone, and his research showed this to be true.

His approach was grounded in the simple fact that, at the time, there was no medical intervention to offer these children. Puberty blockers and cross-sex hormones for minors were not yet part of mainstream medical practice. This therapeutic orientation existed not only because it was cautious, but because it was all that existed. Because medical transition was off the table, clinicians were forced to understand gender dysphoria as something that could evolve—and often resolve—over time.

The emergence of puberty blockers as a tool for interrupting development radically altered that framework. Once medical interventions were available, the question was no longer, “How should we help the child learn to accept their body?” but “When do we start altering the body to match the child’s stated identity?” The very presence of a medical option redefined the ethical terrain—and subtly, but powerfully, redefined what was seen as “affirming,” “progressive,” or even “life-saving.”

This shift did not occur because new evidence demanded it, but because a new possibility existed. And it was this possibility—not a genuine explosion in a new strain of particularly intractable childhood gender dysphoria—that drove the ballooning rates of pediatric transition. Once clinicians could prescribe blockers, more parents began to seek them. Once parents began seeking them, more clinics opened. Once clinics opened, more children were diagnosed. And once children were diagnosed, the cycle reinforced itself—bolstered by an uncritical media, ideological activism, and a medical community eager to innovate before fully understanding the consequences of the past experiments done on earlier cohorts of adolescents and adults.

Jazz Jennings was swept into this current at the very beginning. His journey, far from being an organic expression of his inborn “gender identity,” was shaped at every turn by the availability of interventions that had only recently entered the medical arena, and by the burgeoning American obsession with reality TV shows centered around extreme variations within different parenting styles. By the time Jazz’s trajectory was cemented with an early social transition, he no longer fit neatly within the original Dutch Protocol criteria. The practice of early childhood social transition showcased a new ethos– not that many of these kids would naturally grow out of their distress, and that caution is required, but that these children were doomed to never outgrow it. That is, at least, the bold-faced lie which Jazz’s parents allege was told to them by the therapist who diagnosed their toddler with Gender Identity Disorder in 2003.

He had not even reached puberty when the path of medical transition was laid out before him. He never had to contend with the fact that someday he would become a man. By the time he was five, he was fully convinced that his (or his mother��s) childhood fantasy could continue forever.

The story of the “transgender child” is not a story of new, emerging science responding to a medical need that has always existed. It is the story of medicine creating a new patient population—and a society that eagerly embraced it, blind to the harm it might cause– because the “experts” who stood to gain so much in profit by recommending intervention over non-intervention, would begin to develop a bias in the way they approach medicine: to prioritize the short term happiness of a child over his long-term well-being.

Reflections

As I look into Jazz’s story, with an understanding of the way that medical interventions for pediatric gender dysphoria spurred a cultural shift in how we understand the nature of children, I am left with so many more questions.

What really did Jazz Jennings’s parents know about the pathway they were signing their son up for? I know that the Jennings’s were aware of how experimental these interventions are. But, I often wonder whether they even knew that this treatment protocol they were signing their son up for, was pioneered by clinicians in the Netherlands, who had been doing these treatments for less than a decade by that point. I wonder if they were even aware that there were non-medicalized models for treating pediatric gender dysphoria which showed promise, and had been practiced for far longer than the medicalized ones. Were they even made aware that they had options other than “a dead son or a living daughter?”

What exactly did their toddler’s gender therapist tell them about the nature of their son’s condition? I wonder why Jazz’s parents were told by the gender therapist who diagnosed their toddler son with Gender Identity Disorder in 2003, that it was unlikely that their son would outgrow his distress and reconcile with his sex— when everything in the literature of that time suggested the opposite. If this was what the therapist indeed said, this isn’t just a spiritual belief in a gendered soul passed off as medical advice— this is a clinical pathway sold to parents of a toddler on the basis of a bold-faced lie. The dogma that “kids know who they are” would not emerge into popular culture until after Jazz’s social transition as a kindergartener had commenced. Something about this arc of the story is fishy.

Were Jazz’s parents not told that early gender non-conformity is more indicative of a later homosexual outcome than a transsexual one?

Did Jazz Jennings’s endocrinologists not know that early pubertal suppression in juvenile males stunts genital growth and necessitates an even riskier “gender reassignment” surgery? Because the Dutch clinicians who had been suppressing boys’ puberties for about 20 years by the time Jazz got his puberty blocker implanted— certainly did. This ‘side effect’ of pubertal blockade was reported on in a Dutch newspaper. Did no one think to communicate this to…. anyone???

==

Don't underestimate the willingness of his mother - because, let's face it, it's never the father without the mother - to sacrifice her child for fame, money, attention and particularly applause at how virtuous she is.

[vigilante-chase]

Summary: Rose and Adrian get a visit from someone close to Rose.

Pairing: Adrian Chase x Black!Rose Wilson

Word count: 2.7k

Warnings: mind manipulation, violence, Slade Wilson jumpscare

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Part 6: Under The Sin-fluence

After dropping Rose off at her hotel, Adrian texted her as soon as he got home. The adrenaline from the night still buzzed through him, but more than that, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Adrian hesitated for a moment, then decided to keep the conversation going. If he was going to get to know her better, now was as good a time as any. He decided to ask her if she had any siblings, and patiently waited for her response.

Adrian tilted his head at his phone. Could it be because of Slade's interference with her life or that she does too many missions to see her family?

Adrian: "Is it because of the missions or because of your dad? Like, does that make things complicated?"

There was a pause. Three dots danced on his screen for what felt like forever before her reply came through.

Rose: "Yeah, you could say that. But questions about him are off-limits. Sorry."

Adrian frowned but quickly typed back:

Adrian: "Got it. I don't talk about my dad much either. He left my mom for another guy, which is cool, but, y'know, stuff like that's hard."

Her response came slower this time, and when it did, it was short.

Rose: "Lol really?"

Adrian chuckled but felt a pang of disappointment when her next message followed quickly:

Rose: "I'm gonna get some sleep. You should too. Don't stay up all night thinking about me 😉."

He bit his lip, gripping his phone tighter than he realized.

Adrian: "Too late."

She didn't respond, and Adrian sighed, tossing his phone onto the bed. Sleep wasn't going to come easily—not when his brain was buzzing with more questions about her. Who was Rose Wilson, really? She seemed to come out of nowhere and shake up his little world of comfortability. 

Adrian grabbed his phone, holding it tightly again while biting his lip, went to his search engine. He typed "Rose Wilson." The results were frustratingly generic. Links to social media accounts that weren't hers, random bios, and pages for people who shared her name cluttered the screen. He tried again, adding "Ravager" to the search. This time, the results were... different.

Mugshots of Rose stared back at him, her eyepatch covering her left eye. Articles chronicled high-profile assassinations, and there were images of her standing beside another figure—her father. Deathstroke. Adrian tilted his head. Both of them had eyepatches, just on opposite eyes. He frowned. Did Deathstroke have some weird pirate fantasy he was acting out?

Adrian scrolled further, finding an anonymous forum. The posts were a mix of Deathstroke fanboys and incels salivating over Rose.

Posts like, "I wish Ravager would ravage me!!!" or "STEP ON ME MOMMY RAVAGER"

Adrian scowled, disgusted by the gross little freaks that thought Rose would even spare a glance at them. "Yeah, keep dreaming, losers. She wouldn't touch you with a ten-foot pole," he muttered to himself.

One post caught his eye: a grainy security video. Adrian clicked on it, the low-quality footage playing on his screen. There Rose stood firmly, in an older version of her suit, high ponytail and eyepatch on her face. She was surrounded by five security guards, wielding her sword with lethal precision, slicing and thrusting as they closed in. One guard managed to grab her from behind, locking her in a chokehold, but she twisted free, grabbing his gun and shooting him point-blank and taking the others out.

The camera zoomed in  on one of the guard tried crawling away. Rose watched as Deathstroke entered the frame, walking casually to the wounded man. He crouched beside the guard, said something Adrian couldn't make out, then stomped on the man's head with brutal finality.

Rose stood nearby, her expression unreadable. Deathstroke turned to her, said something else, and together, they looked directly into the security camera. A single shot rang out as Rose fired at the lens, ending the footage.

Adrian sat back, his stomach twisting. He was horrified — horrified at how insanely turned on he was.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair, and yanking off his glasses. "Guess it's time to let off some steam." He was just gonna have to patrol as Vigilante just to get over his horniness and get a nice dopamine release. Even as he suited up, his thoughts kept circling back to Rose.

The next day, Adrian tapped the steering wheel of the vigilante-mobile as he pulled up outside Peacemaker's trailer. His excitement was overt, causing him to tap the steering wheel—he had been waiting all night to tell Chris about what had gone down with Rose Wilson.

The car door opened, and Peacemaker stepped out with Eagly shuffling behind him. Chris gave Adrian a suspicious glance, squinting through the sun. "You look like you just won the lottery or something. What the fuck's going on with you?"

Adrian grinned under his mask, practically bouncing in his seat. "Dude, last night with Rose? Something amazing happened. It was awesome, fantastic, and did I mention it was... amazing."

Peacemaker's eyebrows shot up, a genuine smile creeping across his face. "No way. You finally fucked Rose? You didn't, like, do something super weird?"

Adrian laughed hysterically. "No! We didn't fuck yet. It was more of gratuitous grinding and dry humping, but it felt very much like fucking...well, for me it did."

Chris burst into laughter and slapped Adrian's dashboard hard enough to rattle the whole car. "Damn, that's funny as fuck, dude. At least you're closer to getting laid!" They exchanged a triumphant high-five with Adrian beaming with pride.

"And you know what they say," Chris added with a grin, "if it's good enough, she's legally obligated to call you Daddy at least once."

Adrian's eyes widened. "What? No, I—wait, seriously?"

Chris just laughed harder. "I'm kidding, dumbass!" Eagly screeched as if in agreement, flapping his wings.

Adrian shifted the car into drive, and they sped off toward HQ, still riding high from the conversation.

At Hennenlotter, the team gathered around the room, where Governor Robinson sat handcuffed in a desk. His face masked with defiance despite his restraints.

Economos rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "Governor Robinson isn't talking. Won't give us anything about who supplied him with Bane's venom."

Chris crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes. "Told you, we should just beat the shit outta him. Easy."

Rose Wilson leaned against the wall, irritation and annoyance radiating from her body. "Give me five minutes with him, and he'll spill everything."

Harcourt shot her a glance. "We're not trying to kill him. Yet."

Robinson sneered from the chair, "You dumb little pussies think you're in control, don't you?" His voice dripped with venom from withdrawals from his drugs. "You have no idea what's coming. Especially you..." He pointed to Rose, "There are big plans for you, Rose Wilson."

Rose's eyes darkened. Before anyone could stop her, she stepped forward and delivered a brutal punch to the governor's jaw, sending him slumping unconscious in his chair.

Chris and Adrian simultaneously murmured, "Damn."

"Okay, that was badass," Adrian added, awestruck.

Peacemaker gave Rose an approving nod. "That's how you shut a guy up. High five?"

Rose ignored him, leaving him hanging, and shaking out her knuckles.

Harcourt sighed deeply. "Shit! He was supposed to be awake so we could question him."

"He'll wake up eventually," Rose muttered with a shrug.

Meanwhile, Adebayo sat behind her laptop, her fingers flying across the keys. "Got something," she said. "There's some event happening in Seattle—something that's connected to the governor's disappearance. Could be the lead we need."

Harcourt nodded to Economos, "They may have traces of the drugs at this event, let's suit up and pack up."

Chris grinned. "Seattle road trip? Hell yeah."

On the way to the event, Adrian sat in the van, blissfully watching Rose as she whispered and giggled with Adebayo.

"Would you two stop acting like a pair of teenagers," Harcourt muttered, side-eying them from the passenger seat.

"Um, This is very important girl stuff," Adebayo shot back with a grin. "Okay, now what happened next?"

Rose leaned closer to whisper to her. "We were basically kissing and grinding, Adrian was...hot. Like, he's cute as fuck in a dorky way, but that body though." She emphasized her point by biting her finger and exhaling.

Adebayo giggled. "Oh my god, stop! He's gonna hear us." They snuck a peak at him to see him staring longingly at Rose and ignoring Peacemaker.

Adrian could barely contain his giddy smile as he sighed dreamily staring at Rose. He had no idea what she and Adebayo were whispering about, but he had some hope it was about last night. Though they texted for a while after he dropped her off, he wanted to be in her presence again. Chris, sitting next to him, rolled his eyes. "Dude, did you hear what I said? You're making that weird fucking face again."

Adrian looked over, grinning. "What face?"

"The 'I'd like to fuck the girl who could probably kill me in my sleep' face." Chris muttered with a laugh.

"Not a bad way to go, actually," Adrian replied, completely sincere.

Chris turned to Economos. "Are we seriously watching him stare at them like a creepy perv that wants to jack off right now?"

Economos and Harcourt exchanged a glance. "This is... unsettling," Harcourt muttered. "Chase, keep it in your pants."

Once at the venue, the team split into pairs.

"Stay sharp," Harcourt warned as they entered. "Stick to the plan. We meet back up after the event ends."

Chris and Harcourt headed towards the security post while Adebayo and Economos scouted the outer perimeter and disabled the cameras.

Rose and Adrian crept silently through the dim corridors of the abandoned facility, their steps muffled against the cracked concrete floor. The intel had pointed them here—a supposed cache of Bane's venom stockpiled by corrupt officials. Rose's grip tightened on her sword, her instincts on high alert, while Adrian clutched his pistol in one hand and another in the other hand, 'just in case.'

"Okay, so... this is, like, totally the kind of place where bad guys keep their venom, right?" Adrian whispered, his voice brimming with misplaced confidence. "Dark, creepy, and it smells like ass. Classic villain vibes."

Rose shot him a look, her single eye narrowing. "Shh! Focus on getting the venom, not making commentary."

"Right, right. Totally focused," Adrian said, nodding fervently. Then, under his breath, he added, "Still smells like ass, though."

They entered a back room filled with towering crates stacked haphazardly. Adrian's face lit up. "Jackpot, babe!"

But as Rose pried open the nearest crate, her expression darkened. It was empty.

Adrian frowned, leaning over her shoulder. "Uh... this feels... bad. Harcourt's gonna be pissed."

Before Rose could reply, the air shifted, growing cold and heavy with an oppressive weight. Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed from the hall, drawing closer. Adrian and Rose snapped into defensive stances, weapons drawn, tension thick enough to cut with a blade.

Then, a voice—familiar and chilling—pierced the silence.

"Hello, Rose."

Her breath caught, heart racing as recognition struck her. She'd know that voice anywhere, even after years of trying to forget it.

Slade Wilson stepped into the room, his imposing figure illuminated by the flickering overhead light. He moved with deliberate purpose, pulling his mask off and  tucking it under one arm, revealing the hardened lines of his face and the cruel smirk curling his lips.

Rose's sword trembled slightly in her grasp, but she steadied herself. "No..." she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of fear and defiance.

He stalked towards her like the predator that he was, "Missed me, dear?"

Adrian's reaction was immediate—and entirely Adrian. "Hey, mother fucker! Don't look at her!" He raised his pistol and started firing without hesitation.

Slade moved like a shadow, weaving through the hail of bullets with effortless precision. Before Adrian could reload, Slade closed the distance, knocking the gun from his hand with a calculated strike and choke-slamming him into a crate. Adrian crumpled to the floor, groaning.

Rose lunged, her sword meeting Slade's in a clash of steel. Sparks flew as their blades connected, her strikes fierce but met with equal force. "How the fuck did you find me?" She growled, pushing hard against him.

Smiling at her strength, it just wasn't enough. He pushed her back, slamming her against the wall. "I thought I taught you better than this," Slade taunted, sweeping her legs out from under her and knocking her to the ground. He loomed over her, pulling a syringe from his belt.

"NO!" Rose screamed, thrashing as he grabbed her by the hair. She punched and elbowed him, but his grip was ironclad. Slade only laughed a deep rumble from his chest, and gripped her hair tighter.

"Aww..." he mocked, "Don't wanna be daddy's little girl anymore? You used to beg for my attention, and now..."

Adrian struggled to his feet, his face paled with panic. "Get your hands off her!" Unsheathing his own sword, he lunged, finding an exact gap in Slade's armor and piercing him in the side, only to be met with a brutal kick that sent him sprawling again.

Slade sneered at the pain in his side, his gaze fixed on Rose, and grabbing her again. "You've finally got what you wanted and you'd do what, exactly? Be here in Bumfuck, Washington with this imbecile?"

He jammed the syringe into her neck. Rose cried out as the venom coursed through her veins, her body seizing with pain. Slade tossed her to the ground like a discarded toy, and Adrian was at her side in an instant, cradling her trembling form.

"Rose? Come on, you gotta help me kick this fucker's ass," Adrian pleaded, his voice breaking. Grabbing his sword, he looked up to strike Slade, but like a ghost - Slade was gone.

Rose writhed on the floor, her screams cutting through Adrian like knives. Her fists slammed into the concrete, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

"Okay, yeah, this isn't normal," Adrian muttered, his tone veering into panicked humor. "Like, on a scale from one to demon possession—whoa!"

Rose shot to her feet, her movements unnaturally smooth, her eye cold and devoid of emotion.

"Rose?" Adrian asked cautiously, backing away. "You good?"

But the woman before him wasn't Rose anymore. She was Ravager—cold, calculating, and lethal. Without a word, she lunged at him, her sword a blur of motion.

Adrian dodged, barely avoiding a slash that would have taken his head off. "Okay, yep. Definitely not good!" He rolled across the floor, grabbing his sword. Ravager didn't hesitate, her strikes were relentless. Adrian blocked and parried, but her attacks were too precise, too fast.

"Hey guys, little problem here!" Adrian shouted into his coms. "Rose is, uh... not acting like Rose anymore. Any chance of backup? No rush, just, you know, before she kills me!"

Harcourt's voice crackled in his ear. "What happened?"

"Slade injected her with something!" Adrian ducked another swing. "Now she's gone full Terminator!"

"We're on our way," Harcourt replied grimly.

Ravager kicked Adrian's legs out from under him, pinning him with her blade pressed to his throat. He saw nothing in her eyes as she pressed harder, he gripped the sword and pushed back, much like she and father did before.

"Rosie, come on," Adrian whispered, his voice trembling. Looking up at her, he was hoping something in her remembered who she really was. For a moment, something flickered in her eye—a glimmer of recognition. Or maybe that was just a blink. But he almost got to her. 

Harcourt and Peacemaker burst into the room, guns drawn. "Stand down, Ravager!" Harcourt commanded.

Ravager turned toward them, her expression unreadable. Peacemaker tackled her, slamming her into the ground. She fought viciously, slamming punches to his helmet. But he delivered a calculated strike to her temple, rendering her unconscious.

Adrian scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. "Jesus, did you have to hit her that hard?" He walked over to Peacemaker and Harcourt, who was checking Rose's pulse.

"I was helping you!" Peacemaker shouted with a shrug, lifting Rose over his shoulder.

Harcourt finished assessing the situation, nodding to Adrian "For now, let's get her into the van, Adebayo will patch you guys up. We'll worry about Slade later." Adrian's jaw tightened as he stared at Rose's unconscious form. 

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 17: hostage situation

Title: just the impossible

Words: 697

Summary: “Strange or the people of New York. Tough decision. Who lives, who dies…. You are playing a delicate game, Sorcerer Supreme. You decide who survives. Play God, just for a second, or we destroy your planet. Your choice, Sorcerer Supreme. You have 24 hours to decide.”

Sorry.

~~~

The video was short. Short, simple, and to the point. Yet it was the worst thing Wong had ever had to watch.

Stephen was in the center of the frame. He was tied to a chair, his hands bound with a combination of ropes and a spell that no doubt burnt him whenever he moved. Even from the grainy footage, Wong could see the red, blistering skin on Stephen’s wrist. Stephen was blindfolded and gagged, blood soaked through the fabric from a large gash on his forehead. It made Wong’s blood boil. Vishanti knows what he would do if he could get his hands on the kidnapper. Wherever he was.

The camera panned out to a group of terrified civilians, a few in suits, most in casual clothing. There was even a little girl, young enough to be five, sobbing quietly behind an older woman, possibly in her mid-60s.

The camera lingered just long enough for Wong to make out and commit each and every one of their faces to memory before it returned to Stephen’s face, bloody and stained with dirt.

“Strange or the people of New York. Tough decision.” A disembodied voice announced in an accent Wong couldn’t quite place. “Who lives, who dies…. You are playing a delicate game, Sorcerer Supreme. You decide who survives. Play God, just for a second, or we destroy your planet. Your choice, Sorcerer Supreme. You have 24 hours to decide.”

The video clicked off. Wong fought to keep the anger, fury, guilt, and tears away. He needed to look strong for Kamar-Taj; he was the Sorcerer Supreme, dammit , but whoever had sent the video had brutally tied up his husband . His husband, or a dozen or so innocent people. A child , for the Vishanti’s sake.

Wong took a deep breath. His husband’s life, or the lives of the innocent. Neither situation was good. But he knew Stephen.

Stephen would rather die than put anyone’s life before his own. It was a quality Wong both loved and hated, a selflessness that Wong fell in love with, and the selflessness that pushed them apart, and the selflessness that brought them together again. Stephen would have done anything and everything in his power to save the hostages. Even if it meant sacrificing himself in the process.

-------

Wong picked up the phone when it rang.

“12 hours left, Sorcerer Supreme.” The voice taunted.

“I have made my decision.” Wong said, voice flat and void of emotion.

The voice laughed. “Tell me, then. Your husband or the hostages?”

Wong closed his eyes. He ignored the tightness in his throat, the burning in his eyes. “Let me talk to him first. Please.”

The other line was silent. “Fine.”

There was shuffling, a grunt, and Stephen was coughing into the receiver.

“Wong–”

Wong let a tear slip. “ Stephen… Steph…”

Stephen paused. “Wong? Wong, please, what’s going on-”

“I love you. I love you so, so much. I need you to know that.”

“I… I love you too, but- you can tell me later, I’ll figure it out, I promise–”

“Stephen, listen to me. Please . I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. You are the light in my life. You taught me how to love, how to find peace, how to truly live. You drove me mad when we first met, but I learned to love your jokes and your selflessness and everything about you. Your soul, your spirit, your body. I love you, Stephen.”

Wong could hear the tears in Stephen’s eyes. “I… you’re reciting our wedding vows. Why are you reciting our vows? Wong–”

“I love you. And I’m sorry.”

“I love you too, what’s going on– Wong-”

The phone switched people. Wong could hear Stephen shouting in the background.

“Your choice?”

Wong took a deep breath. Memories of him and Stephen flashed through his mind.

“I…” Wong closed his eyes. “Make sure the hostages get home safe.” It’s what Stephen would have done.

It was silent on the other end. “Of course, Sorcerer Supreme. Thank you for your cooperation.”

Wong nodded silently. The line disconnected seconds after a single gunshot rang out.

Ao3

[bijlikidukan]

A Closer Look at the Value Behind Smart Entry: Understanding the Real Cost of Modern Video Door Phones

In today's rapidly evolving digital landscape, home security has become more than just a luxury—it's a necessity. As cities grow denser and homes become smarter, the integration of technology into everyday living is becoming second nature. Among the many innovations reshaping home safety, the modern video door phone stands out as a convenient and efficient way to monitor and control entry access.

The concept of video door phones isn't new, but the recent surge in demand has brought with it advanced features, better designs, and more affordable options. One brand that consistently catches the attention of homeowners and apartment developers ali  ke is One Touch. Known for its sleek designs and intuitive interface, One Touch has become a recognizable name in home security solutions. Yet, when it comes to the one touch video door phone price, many buyers find themselves asking—is it worth the investment?

The Evolution of Home Entry Systems

Traditional doorbells are becoming outdated. Today’s homeowner demands visibility, connectivity, and control—features that older systems simply can’t provide. With smart video door phones, you’re not only alerted to someone at the door, but you can also see them in real time, speak to them, and, in some cases, grant access remotely.

What makes One Touch particularly interesting is how it blends utility with user-friendly functionality. Whether you're installing the system in a standalone villa or within a multi-storey apartment complex, the devices are adaptable and designed for seamless installation.

Features That Justify the Price Tag

Many people initially hesitate at the one touch video door phone price, especially when comparing it to traditional intercom systems. However, a deeper dive into the features reveals why it often offers better long-term value:

High-Definition Video Quality: Unlike older systems with grainy visuals, One Touch door phones often come with HD video capability, allowing crystal-clear views of visitors.

Two-Way Audio Communication: Real-time communication without opening the door offers both safety and convenience.

Touchscreen Interface: The intuitive touchscreen panel makes navigation easy even for users who aren’t tech-savvy.

Night Vision Capability: A must-have in any reliable door phone system, ensuring safety round-the-clock.

Expandable Systems: You can often integrate multiple indoor monitors or pair them with CCTV systems, which makes them ideal for larger properties.

What Influences the Price?

Like any technology-based product, several factors influence the final cost of a One Touch video door phone:

Model & Series: Basic models with limited features are obviously more affordable, while high-end variants with AI-enabled motion detection or smartphone integration come at a premium.

Number of Units: A single indoor unit system is less expensive than a multi-unit setup that caters to larger homes or buildings.

Installation Requirements: If the wiring infrastructure is already in place, the installation cost remains minimal. For new setups, additional wiring, drilling, and setup might add to the total expense.

Additional Features: Wi-Fi capability, remote unlocking systems, and mobile app integrations can push the cost higher, but also offer unmatched flexibility and control.

Comparing Cost with Value

In a price-sensitive market, it’s natural to question the value of home security upgrades. However, when weighing the pros and cons, video door phones—especially reliable ones like those from One Touch—tend to offer better ROI compared to standard systems. You’re not just paying for a gadget, but for peace of mind, convenience, and enhanced safety.

Moreover, the aesthetic appeal of these devices adds to the overall value of your home. A well-integrated video door phone system also contributes positively to property valuation—an attractive point for potential buyers or tenants.

Are There Budget-Friendly Alternatives?

Absolutely. The One Touch brand itself has multiple models catering to different budget segments. Entry-level options can be suitable for small apartments or single-entry homes, while mid- and high-range models are better suited for villas or gated communities. It’s best to evaluate your specific needs before choosing a model—sometimes, a mid-range system offers the best balance between cost and functionality.

Final Thoughts

While the one touch video door phone price may seem like a premium investment at first glance, its real value lies in the safety, convenience, and long-term reliability it offers. With modern design, smart features, and a growing reputation for quality, One Touch systems continue to redefine how we think about home access control.

Investing in such a system isn’t just about responding to trends—it’s about future-proofing your home against everyday security risks. In a world where safety and simplicity go hand-in-hand, the question isn’t whether you can afford a video door phone—but whether you can afford not to have one.

Name:- Bijli ki Dukan Address — Ascent Retechno India Pvt LtdShop №04, 05, 06 & 07 AV Crystal, Near Navneet Hospital, Opp. Achole Talav, Nallasopara East, Palghar, Maharashtra — 401209. Phone no — +91 9004580251 Website — https://www.bijlikidukan.com/ Mail — info@bijlikidukan.com Facebook — https://www.facebook.com/people/Bijli-ki-Dukan/61564848986473/ Instagram — https://www.instagram.com/bijlikidukan

[photocut-ai]

Enhance Your Videos with PhotoCut's Video Enhancer

In today's digital world, high-quality videos are important for attracting your audience's attention, be it sharing social media content, creating professional films, or viewing old family memories. However, sometimes, your videos may not be up to the mark due to factors such as low lighting, poor sharpness, or older equipment. The good news is that PhotoCut's online video enhancer can easily enhance your videos in easy steps. In this article, we will see how to use PhotoCut’s video enhancer, what features they have, and answer some frequently asked questions that will help make your videos their best.

Why Enhance Your Videos?

Videos form a significant part of communication, entertainment, and marketing. However, they need to be made attractive enough. Here's why:

1. Improve Video Quality for Social Media

Video content, whether on Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube, matters greatly in terms of quality. Video in high definition, with full rich colors, is going to be a video that will most likely engage an audience. Better videos have higher performance. If you’re using photos for your videos, you can expand them with PhotoCut’s Photo Extender to fit in the video.

2. Revitalize Old or Grainy Footage

We all have older videos, some were captured when camera technology was not at its best. PhotoCut's video enhancer can give that old video a modern look and feel, clear, sharp, and colorful.

3. Enhance Professional Filmmaking

For the filmmaker, maintaining good video quality is essential. With PhotoCut’s video enhancement tool, you can smoothen the footage to achieve a polished product without complicated video editing software.

4. Elevate Business Videos

Improved films have a lasting impact on companies trying to increase brand recognition. Whether you are using it for doing advertisements, presentations of products, or brand videos, clear, colorful photographs can bring more reputation and clients to your business.

How to Enhance Your Videos Using PhotoCut’s Video Enhancer?

Using a few clicks, you can improve your movie using PhotoCut's online video enhancer tool. AI technology is all that is required; no specific software, technical expertise, or prior experience is required. Here's how you can start:

Step 1: Upload Your Video

You must first submit the video that you wish to improve. Among the many widely used formats that PhotoCut supports are MP4, MOV, and WebM. To browse and choose your video file, click the "Upload" option, or drag and drop the movie from your device into the editing area.

Step 2: Let the Magic Happen

After uploading, PhotoCut's AI-powered video enhancer will automatically evaluate and improve the video. The video's brightness, clarity, noise reduction, and even color correction may all be identified by AI. The best part? This happens automatically, there’s no need for manual adjustments or complicated settings.

Step 3: Download and Share

You may now view the completed video once it has been enhanced. Now that you believe you have your video good enough, you could click "Download" to save it to your phone and upload it to YouTube, Instagram, TikTok, or use it in business.

Key Features of PhotoCut’s Video Enhancer

PhotoCut's video enhancer is built to solve all video quality issues. Here are the main features you can use to make your videos look their best:

1. One-Click AI Video Enhancement

The most important feature that PhotoCut's video enhancer offers is it is very user-friendly. The AI technology automatically finds the problems in your video and applies the needed adjustments to make it improve overall quality, all with just one click. This is great for those people who cannot set aside their time or skills to edit videos on their own.

2. Sharpening for Better Clarity

If your video footage is grainy or blurry, the sharpening feature of PhotoCut will assist. It clears and sharpens up the details, making it crisp and clearer to view. It is good, especially for older footage or for scenes that have not been captured very well since it restores their original visual quality.

3. Auto Video Color Correction

Probably, one of the common issues with the video is a lack of saturated and vivid colors. PhotoCut video enhancer adds automatic colorful depth to the video. Analyzing the video color composition and then changing the saturation and contrast to make more attention-grabbing colors is made possible by the tool. Enhancement can be like re-colorizing the palette, thus making the video look more refreshing and current.

4. Brighten Dark Videos

Low-light videos can often appear muddy or difficult to see, with shadows and dark areas blending. The video enhancer from PhotoCut will brighten dark videos with one click. The software adjusts exposure and reduces noise in low-light footage, which will make the footage clearer and more pleasant to watch. It is especially helpful in challenging lighting conditions.

PhotoCut can also help you change your eye color in images.

5. Noise Reduction

Sometimes, a low-light shooting or low-resolution camera may make your video contain some unwanted grain or noise. The enhancer in PhotoCut can help minimize such noise to provide a very clean and professional-looking video.

Meet All Your Video Enhancement Needs

The video enhancer in PhotoCut is multi-purpose and useful for both personal and professional purposes of video editing and production. Here's how you can make use of it:

1. Make Your Old Family Videos Clear

Most of us have home videos that are blurry, too dark, or of low resolution. PhotoCut's AI video enhancer breathes new life into these old memories, bringing clarity, brightness, and quality. You can now watch your family movies in crisp high definition!

2. Enhance Videos for Social Media

Good-quality, interesting videos are very much needed in social media to earn views and engagements. PhotoCut's video enhancer helps one change their social media content into high-resolution quality with good color, and visual appeal enhanced. Be it on Instagram, TikTok, or YouTube, the videos shall be professional. You can also make photo collages using PhotoCut for social media.

3. Improve Video Quality for Professional Filmmakers

The video enhancer tool of PhotoCut can be employed by filmmakers and content creators to upscale their footage quality. It ensures your films always achieve high standards visually, regardless of how bad the source material is. It works across all devices without problems and is supported by file formats that most users are accustomed to, which makes it the perfect tool for all professional purposes.

4. Boost Video Quality for Business Use

Videos can make great marketing and branding materials for business organizations. A promotional video, a product demo, a corporate presentation, or other related media could all benefit from a photo-cutting tool's video enhancement. It is all about enhancing brand recognition by getting high-quality and crystal-clear video.

Why Choose PhotoCut’s Video Enhancer?

There are thousands of video-enhancing tools on the web. So why should anyone consider using PhotoCut's video enhancement?

Ease of Use: The video enhancer by PhotoCut is extremely user-friendly. By using one-click AI enhancement, this tool can be operated even by a complete beginner without the need for technical training.

No Software Installation Required: No software needs to be downloaded and installed as this tool is an online platform where you can just upload your video and let AI magic work to improve the video that you then can download.

Multi-Device Compatible: This video enhancer provides a seamless experience on all devices, computers, tablets, and smartphones.

Works with All Major File Formats: PhotoCut perfectly integrates into your existing content since it supports all major video formats, such as MP4, MOV, and WebM.

Conclusion

With the photo enhancer video enhancing tool in PhotoCut, the quality of your videos is improved more effectively than ever. Be a content creator seeking to set your social media posts apart from the rest, a filmmaker looking to improve upcoming projects, or someone eager to give old family footage new life, PhotoCut is here to help. Fast, simple, and effective, PhotoCut doesn't require special software or technical skills.

You can use PhotoCut’s Buzz Cut Filter to see how you look with a Buzz Cut. Try it out!

FAQs

Q1. Which video enhancer is the best?

Ans. PhotoCut provides one of the best free video-enhancing tools accessible. It improves your video using AI instantly, so using it is an incredibly quick and hassle-free way to get premium-quality footage

Q2. How can I get free video editing?

Ans. It's easy to use PhotoCut's free video enhancer; just submit your video, let the AI do its magic, and then get the improved version. It doesn't require any of those complicated editing tools and is quick and simple.

Q3. How can I get free high-quality video conversion from a low-quality one?

Ans. You can sharpen, brighten, remove noise, and make the video sharper by using PhotoCut's video enhancer if it is a low-resolution or not clear video.

Q4. Can I fix a low-resolution video?

Ans. Yes! You can make your low-resolution video better using the AI Video Enhancer. This tool is useful for making blurred or pixelated videos look much better.

[wideeyedloner]

[fic] [spn | dean/cas ] near-fall

near-fall spn dean/cas 2600 words thank you so much to Nym for the alpha and houndoom for the beta!! <3 errors mine all mine

ao3 link

As Dean watches the popcorn bag spin on the microwave’s rotating plate, he nearly jumps from how old his reflection looks. Yeesh. The year of resisting the urge to throw himself on a pyre from grief has caught up to him. He looks at least fifty. He feels so much older.

Dean had been drinking too much, sleeping too little, and getting pretty careless on hunts, to be honest. Jack probably showed up just in time with Cas in tow before Dean had the chance to do something really stupid and get himself killed.

He still looks so wrung-out it could have been last month, last week, or last night that he had rushed Cas, gripping him tight, crying like a freaking girl. And now they’re just sitting around like all the rest of this shit never happened, getting drunk and watching crap like Betty White getting tackled into the mud, just for laughs. None of this would have been on his bingo card for 2021.

Wild.

The microwave beeps, so Dean takes the popcorn and a few Margiekugels back with him to the Dean Cave.

He sinks back onto the couch, returns the popcorn bowl to the coffee table and distributes the beers just in time to tune in as Cas explains to Sam, “Once the commanders were slain, their foot soldiers fled. So yes, there were… artistic liberties taken in writing the tale of David and Goliath.” Sam nods along, fully engrossed.

“That makes a lot of sense,” Sam agrees.

This gives Dean an idea for the next video. “Hey, remember that wrestling case a while back? Sure brought back memories.”

“Of you trying to suplex and leg lock me in high school? Yeah, those were great times.”

“Yeah, they were.” Dean reaches for the laptop and—jackpot.

“Seriously?” Sam sounds put-upon, like someone who for some reason didn’t enjoy being twisted into a pretzel as a child.

“Problem?” Dean quickly swallows his beer so he can stuff his mouth completely full of popcorn and chew obnoxiously while Sam watches in disgust.

“You’re going to show Cas a wrestling clip. Knowing you, it’ll be the lip-synching country singer, the himbo, or the stripper.”

“How else is the man going to understand what it means to be a red-blooded American, Sam? It’d be unpatriotic not to show him.”

“Dude, Cas wasn’t technically born and isn’t a citizen of anywh—this is stupid. Cas, do you even want to watch wrestling?”

Cas, sitting placidly between them, beer balanced on his knee, responds, “I wouldn’t be opposed.”

That settles it. “I promise, Sammy. This is a good match.”

They watch the video, passing around the popcorn bowl, commenting on the grainy quality, the wrestlers’ entrances, their athleticism, the color commentary. The Undertaker chases Shawn Michaels inside and outside the cell, beating him bloody and prompting Cas to question what kind of grudge this demon had against the stripper. Dean does his best to answer Cas’ questions about the leadup to the match and pro wrestling in general. Sam, already on his phone to text with Eileen, helpfully supplies additional information.

Dean grabs them more beers toward the end, and comes back to Michaels knocking The Undertaker flat with his signature move, only for The Undertaker to rise back up in his own impressive signature style. Grinning, Dean looks over at Cas in the flickering light from the TV. The match continues in reverse miniature in Cas’ pupils, his pink lips parted and wet with beer. The air in Dean’s lungs turns to lead and drops into his gut.

Beyond Cas, he notices Sam turn to face him, eyebrows raised questioningly. Dean shakes his head no, all good, whips his unfocused eyes back to the match, and tells himself to get a fucking grip.

Kane makes his much-anticipated debut, incapacitating The Undertaker and allowing a bloodied Michaels to win the match. A victory for the Heartbreak Kid.

Dean’s still feeling kind of sappy from thinking about having Cas back, mixed with whatever the hell was going on earlier. Anyone could see that Cas is a handsome man, in good shape, and a great catch. Dean’s head is just screwy tonight. Gotta be the beer or something. He’s also got this antsy feeling he used to get after watching wrestling, like he’s going to go into the city to dropkick and shooting star press everyone in sight.

“I knew you would pick the stripper,” Sam teases.

“He was a great wrestler!”

“Yet he was outmatched by this ‘Undertaker’ and required third-party assistance,” Cas observes. Dean can always count on him for support.

—-

Another round of Margiekugels later, they’re in the gym downstairs, layering gym mats. Even with the central air keeping it a crisp sixty-eight degrees, they feel warm, so they’ve shed their outer layers and boots.

“This is, like, the best part of watching wrestling,” Dean tells Cas.

“Maiming yourself,” Sam stage whispers, still lifting a mat into place.

“I’m still unconvinced we’re in any condition for athletics at the moment,” Cas says. “My…tolerance isn’t what it was.” Because all men mourn their lost ability to consume an entire liquor store.

Sam nods like he knows what that’s like. “Nothing too crazy, okay? My back also isn’t what it used to be, and I’d kind of like to live my life without a permanent spinal injury.”

So they take turns demonstrating to and with Cas some maneuvers they’d tried in their youth, including downtempo Sweet Chin Music, the People’s Elbow, the Sharpshooter. Most pro wrestlers retire by their age, so it’s no surprise that the bodies of two elder hunters and an ex-angel (all lacking the appropriate conditioning) are creaky and bad at it. Each new move is punctuated with a “watch it!” or “I don’t bend like that” or “I didn’t survive all that shit to die in some dumb accident like Lawrence of Arabia.”

They’re laughing and sweating their asses off on the floor when Sam winces and says, “Ow, yeah, that’s my cue.” He sways to his feet, scoops up his hoodie and his boots in one hand, and holds his beer up over his shoulder with the other. “Night. Try not to die.”

Now that it’s just him and Cas, Dean suddenly feels something like discomfort, which is ridiculous. It’s only Cas. “Beer break,” He says, probably too loudly. It’s a little warmer than he likes by now, but still gives him something to do and provides an excuse to look away from Cas.

When he turns back, Cas is looking right at him with those fierce fucking blue eyes. Dean’s sure Cas can see everything that’s been going on in him tonight and can make better sense of it than Dean himself can. It makes him want to curl up, turn away, so he can’t see. But he also wants to meet whatever danger he perceives in Cas’ gaze head-on.

So he steps back onto the mats and says, “Ready?”

The late hour, drinking, and earlier gymnastics have them heavy-limbed and tired already, so they end up grappling. They can’t get too serious about it with the way the mats are laid out, but Cas rapidly gains an advantage. The guy is strong and surprisingly quick, and knocks the breath right out of Dean with a bear hug takedown.

Cas tries to free his arms from beneath Dean’s body to pin him, so Dean quickly rolls them, covering Cas and beginning the count. Cas, the fucker, almost instantly wriggles free and is on Dean again. The mat under his back has been sliding askew onto the concrete floor and he feels the world tilting as he jerks under Cas, trying to steer them both back toward the rest of the mats. Cas is stubborn as shit and knows it, smirking down at Dean while he struggles.

Dean is determined to wipe that smug expression off his face. “You gotta do better’n that—“

He braces his left side and shoves, intending to reverse their positions, but only manages to push his body, sternum to groin, into Cas. The movement makes goosebumps rise all over Dean’s skin.

The central air clicks on, humming quietly overhead. Cas is flushed and sweaty above him, and Dean can feel the warmth of his body through their clothes. His breathing is heavy and every exhale stirs the damp hair not stuck to his skin. His eyes are vibrant as they search Dean’s face.

Unbidden, his body tries to shove again, but it’s a weak effort, and both of them know it. His stomach does moonsaults, over and over.

Jesus. They’ve been this close before, he’s sure of it, on hunts. Crammed together like toothpicks in a box, in motel rooms, in Baby, in diner booths. He’s fought beside Cas before, fought him before, been aware of his breathing next to him, looked him in the eye. But this—whatever it is—has never been so strong.

It’s always been there, part of their friendship but playing at a lower volume than whatever else was going on when they were dying or about to die or the only things preventing catastrophe. Not something that demanded attention. But in the three months since Cas has been back, the volume has turned up with every glance, every word exchanged, every casual touch. Dean just can’t make out what the damn song is.

His body aches all over and his mind is hazy and he knows he should stop this—but he hears himself say, “You gotta—make sure you cover me for a three-count, like we talked about.”

Cas’ eyes narrow, and he slowly lowers his whole body closer, closer, until his chest is pressed to Dean’s, pinning him firmly to the mat. Cas’ right arm has Dean’s left restrained near their heads, and the other hand has Dean’s wrist. His deep breaths are hot next to Dean's ear and he smells of butter and hops.

Cas’ body should be offset for the cover. Dean should probably say something, but his mouth is dry, could maybe use more beer. Cas’ left knee is sinking into the mat between Dean’s legs, and he can feel the heat of his thigh cradled between his own. And—

There’s Cas’ dick, right at the crease of Dean’s hip. It’s hard, muted by Dean’s jeans but unmistakable. Okay, it happens. It’s happened to Dean on occasion on hunts, from fear or just from blood circulation—no biggie. Dean certainly won’t hold that against him (ha)—not when he’s sporting an erection of his own, fully pressed against Cas’ thigh.

But Dean’s body feels like it’s all nerves, alight all at once, flaring where their skin touches. And he swears he’s not trying to but his body squirms within Cas’ firm hold and under his solid weight and manages to rub himself against Cas, and Cas against his thigh. His cock gives a throb at the sensation, making Dean grit his teeth hard, and Cas stutters out a groan.

“Dean,” Cas rumbles into his ear. “the pinfall.”

The—right. He crawls his hand away from Cas’ loose grip and out to the side, feeling a little hysterical, and begins the count.

Smack. “One.” Somehow, they’ve managed to jostle their bodies and he’s trying not to take it personally but the friction feels amazing. Cas clearly agrees, tightening his grip on Dean’s shoulder. Dean bites down on the inside of his lip when he feels Cas’ mouth part against his neck. What the actual fuck.

Smack. “Two.” He hits the mat harder this time, because he’s nothing if not a hedonist, making sure he rocks both their bodies, and Jesus, was that Cas’ tongue? The wheezing sound the sensation forces out of Dean is completely pathetic. 

And there’s a thump-thump-thump as Sam tries—and fails—to wobble stealthily down the stairs. A moment later, he rounds the corner and enters the gym with both eyes on his phone in landscape mode in one hand and the index finger of the other hand to his lips. A look of horror blooms on his face as Cas and Dean stare back up at him silently from the crooked mat on the floor.

“Oh god, I thought you’d still be—“ He shoves his phone in the front pocket of his hoodie and makes a hasty U-turn to trip back up the steps so his voice and footfalls speedily recede upstairs. “I’m so sorry!”

That breaks the tension of—this, and Cas and Dean both begin chuckling. Cas leans up on his elbows to look at Dean fondly, a small smile curving his lips. Dean pats Cas’ arm, fingers traveling along his delts. Man, he has great arms. Dean would ask for Cas’ workout routine if he didn’t know that a) Cas doesn’t exercise and b) he has no intention of exercising at all, ever.

“Imagine if he’d actually walked in on whatever he thinks he saw,” Dean snorts. Lots of people—Sam included—have made comments about them over the years, but it’s not like that. It might be for Cas, but Dean’s always been a ladies’ man, a Don Juan, a confirmed bachelor.

Cas goes still. “Imagine that,” he says stiffly, no longer laughing.

Just like that, it becomes immensely uncomfortable, like the atmospheric equivalent of getting thrown sixteen feet off a steel cage and onto the announcer’s table. Dean swears sometimes that Cas must still possess an angelic aura, because even though he physically takes up the normal amount of space, the guy can project moods and intensity like no natural-born human Dean’s ever met.

Cas sits up and stands. Dean sits up with him, following his body heat. Cas’ jaw is set the way it gets when he’s pissed but his expression is otherwise carefully neutral. Dean wants to ask him what’s going on, what happened, but he doesn’t do heart-to-hearts. If Cas wanted emotional intelligence, he picked the wrong best friend.

Cas is a mess. His hair’s pointing everywhere, he’s sweaty, his face is flushed, his clothes are rumpled, and he has an obvious erection tenting his pajama pants. Fuck, it looks like he’s been fooling around. He wants to reach out and fix the guy’s hair, straighten his clothes. Cas takes a moment to adjust himself while staring at the doorway before addressing Dean.

“Thank you. For the lesson on professional wrestling.” Then he walks out, leaving his flannel, boots and beer behind.

The cooling sweat makes Dean's hair stand on end. He sits with his own frustrated erection, buzz fading into a persistent throb in his head, uneasy ache in his chest from whatever tonight has become.

He has half a mind to follow Cas—for what? For those sky blue eyes to bore into Dean again when Dean demands what this shit is between them? For that grumbling voice to deliver an explanation for what happened just now, for his sudden weird behavior?

Yeah, like because they're both such forthcoming guys.

Dean tries to rake a hand through his hair, but that hand is trembling, so he lets it drop. He must have screwed something up here, but doesn’t know what he did. His mind chases answers he doesn’t have and his stomach churns with the certainty that he and Cas are on opposite banks of a new rift in their friendship, both analyzing the fissure. Difference is, it’s like Cas still sees with a thousand eyes, and Dean just has the two.

He has no answers. It makes Dean feel like the dumbest heel alive.

He falls back onto the mat with a loud smack.

[writermuses]

Lale heard her phone chime and knew it was a text from Raleigh, but it hadn't crossed her mind that he might see the name in her phone: Hayatımın Aşkı. To Lily, it would've looked no different than a person's name in her phone. To Lale, it exposed just how stagnant she had been since she'd run away. She didn't know when she started to silently cry again, but she had to wipe off the screen as she scrolled passed each album; adroitly curated with titles and dates. "There's a lot. I saved everything I could."

There wasn't much she spent extra money on, but her cloud storage was one. She never wanted to lose the pictures and knew how easy that would be with physical pictures or videos saved solely to her phone or computer. "I can share them in order one by one. Then, you can ask me all the questions, or I can just share them all at once? Which would you prefer?" While she waited for his decision she opened the oldest album, "I only had a prepaid phone when I took some of these. The quality isn't so great. It gets better after a few months though, before Lily was born." She'd been given a spare older iPhone from a program helping young mothers and a coworker had helped her pay for the plan until she'd landed her job. There were many people along the way that helped her for Lily's sake, usually older and from her job.

The fist album were pictures of the sonogram scans, a grainy audio of the Lily's heartbeat that she'd used the doctor's phone to leave as a voicemail, then recorded the voicemail to her new phone. Lale didn't do it for herself, she'd always had Raleigh in mind; even if she didn't know when she'd pluck up the courage to tell him. There were only a few of her pregnant, and the vast majority of that first album were of little Lily screaming and kicking and filthy; and beautiful. Ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes, all theirs. "The books said that babies don't smile until they're a month and a half or older, but she smiled all the time immediately." Lale could still remember crying her eyes out the first time she'd seen that smile, his smile, and when she'd reached for her prepaid phone to call him it was dead and once she'd charged it she'd used all the minutes just to get to the hospital. So she continued waiting for the right time, which never came.

Her touch is just as electric as it was at the simple graze of their hands mere hours ago, fingertips on his skin sending his heart into overdrive because there is a fundamental truth alongside the hurt and the anger: he has missed her. Isn't that why this hurts so much? Isn't that why the idea of Lale not trusting him, her not wanting to build this life together, stings? He has more questions about that, too, but it is impossible to wrap his mind around the thought of what Lily has to endure the following day. "Okay," he says nodding as a shaky breath is exhaled through his lips. Just the media that started the day was exhausting enough on its own, but Raleigh feels like he has lived a whole day since this morning. If he had known the rest of it would be spent at the hospital, he would have worn something more comfortable than his stiff jeans and the dark blue oxford with its sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His jersey was shed sometime between the first time he stepped out from Lily's makeshift room and when he returned later.

With his thoughts racing, a lot of her words float over his head, but Raleigh finds himself nodding as if he has the capacity to take in any new information at the moment. "What?" He says, looking at her phone for only a moment before handing it over. "Of her? Yes." Shoulders straighten as he sits taller. "Can I--can I see them?" The fluorescent lights do nothing to ease the tears prickling his eyes, but Raleigh blinks hard, sniffling as his free hand comes to rest on his knee. "All of them. As many as you have. I still have the number you gave me earlier, but you should have mine." His number is the same, but Raleigh has had enough heartbreak for one day that he can't bring himself to ask if she still has it. He isn't sure which answer would be worse anyway. "Here." With his hand free, he slips his phone from his pocket and sends her saved number a text with his name.

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Today it was Hoseok’s turn with his Notes on Dis-ease, which means we got two members with Notes on this song, something I saw people theorize we’d get but everyone wasn’t quite certain about though it makes sense. And yet, even though we have two Notes, Hoseok’s is quite different from Jimin’s, though both are interesting in their own ways.

Compared to all the previous Notes that had the members sing part of the lyrics, Hoseok hummed for his, the melody everyone quickly recognized as the chorus. It was an interesting choice, especially since I’ve always found the step from finding a melody and creating a song out of it or around is very fascinating (I’d love to hear the members talk about it, and generally share more insight into their process but alas I doubt that’ll ever happen due to obvious reasons...). There’s also some stomping (?) in a few places as though underlining a particular moment or beat that adds dimension to the overall sound, especially since we didn’t have anything like it with previous Notes. Also, I love how even while humming Hoseok’s positivity/signature upbeat sound still shines through, which honestly has to be a skill only he possesses.

As for the video, it’s mostly in black and white with a couple of shots in color. Interesting to note is that the colors are quite pale/washed out, and the entire video itself has this old quality to it like it wasn’t filmed on a new DSLR but rather on something much older, or a filter was placed on it to give that illusion. It’s all filmed on a simple white background with Hoseok just playing around and taking a few notes (ha ha) on his notepad, meaning we are back to those. It could actually connect with the whole old film aesthetic, writing on a notepad instead of a phone like Taehyung. That, in a way, could be tying the visuals in with the song which is about this lack of ease (dis-ease) that we feel in this pandemic due to the uncertainty of it all and how time continues to pass nonetheless, though it might be a stretch to claim that’s what they were trying to portray through the use of an old camera, this grainy quality of a time long passed which reminds us of how much time has gone by, how now that we can’t participate in life the same way we used to, we are so painfully aware of time, of missing out on things, of how much things have changed. 

We’re stuck at home, stuck social distancing, stuck unsure of what will be and if normal will even ever be achieved again or how normal will look like, so we can’t use our shiny modern technology full of color, perfect pixels and certainty, but instead it’s the old camera with its flaws and washed out colors (perhaps representing the glimpses of hope we still have, that we hold on to, that offer at least a little ease) or simple black and white film, a visualization of uncertainty, of the passage of time.

There’s probably a much simpler explanation for it, or none at all and I’m just looking for meaning in a place where there is none, but hey, I tried and I guess that should count for something. After all art is meant to be engaged with.

(One thing I’m a little confused by is how no one has done Fly To My Room yet, and all the subunit members already had their turn, generally Seokjin being the only one left to go most likely with his Notes on Dynamite. I wonder why that song was skipped, or rather if it’ll really get skipped. Seokjin isn’t on the track so it wouldn’t make sense for him to be the one with the Notes on it. Very interesting and odd.)

Notes commentary masterlist.

[cafemizudashi]

Nostalgia Pt0: Anemoia, nostalgia for a time you’ve never known

It is always the same. I find myself in bed, late at night, lost in thought, checking something on the phone when suddenly it hits. In this case, I really should have seen it coming. The installing of old games, checking old equivalents of interests of mine... 

Specifically today, the trigger was Kowloon Walled City, City Pop, and old consoles such as the original GameBoy. 

Why these topics? Because I am interested in big cities, Japanese music, and videogames. But why these in particular? I was not alive during most of that time after all. Let us first check what all these topics are.

Kowloon Walled City by Atlasobscura

Kowloon was built naturally, it grew and grew up until 1993, when its demolition started. It offered many amenities for its residents, such as doctors, technicians, water sources... And although the Urban Hell  looks and the many drug, gang - triads -, gambling... problems, people often talk about it fondly. 

I do not have any connection to this place whatsoever. It perhaps may not even be the best example. But I find something about this strangely familiar.

Matsubara Miki, Best Collection by Spotify

City Pop on the other hand was created as an introduction of occidental culture into the 70s and 80s Japan. The music takes inspiration from funk, R&B, and soft rock among others, and you can tell by the funky bass, the techno piano, and the unique drums. Again the only connection I may be able to make is Spanish 80s ballads, which my parents used to play when they were my age.

Pokemon Gold by The Orion

Then for my latest example is the original GameBoy / GameBoy Color. These were released in 89 and 98 respectively. I was born in 1998, so I have not experienced them at all. I have no older siblings nor family who may have exposed it to me. I did start with the GameBoy Advanced later, but the feeling is different. 

I returned to them recently, even bought an original GameBoy second hand. And It definitely feels like I have experienced this before.

It turns out that, of course, the internet has a word for this feeling. According to The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows:

Anemoia - n. nostalgia for a time you’ve never known.

That is exactly how I feel about some of these. And I know I am not alone on this.

Very prevalent in my generation is the liking for things that have old qualities attached to them, even if they may not be.

One of these would be Lofi music. A style that aims to replicate the Low Fidelity aesthetic of older mediums such as VHS or cassettes. These are mostly recent, but perfectly exemplify it. And it is not as easy as creating some pixel art game, or some grainy sounding music.

My favourite is old songs but it's lofi remix. But there are other, more modern, lofi videos on YouTube.

Undertale does this to perfection. At least to me, when I first played it I felt as if I was playing an older title of my childhood.

The game was of course brand new, but everything from the art to the music had that aura. And it is strange that my generation has this love for old things. Such are the Vines compilations that still roam around the internet - even though Vine has been discontinued for years already. Or your family is asleep and you’re playing minecraft on a cool 2012 summer night. 

So it is not that farfetched that new pieces are created to scratch that itch.

Who knows, maybe as I grow older I will experience nostalgia for these things I am now exploring, a nostalgia towards a fake nostalgia. Like having the freedom to write a blog post at 3:30 in the morning - after my previous one was deleted completely, thanks Tumblr.

Nikon 35Ti by emulsive.org

But do try to give it a look. Perhaps if you are interested in cameras try researching about the 90s film cameras, and take some lofi on your way. Or if you are interested in music check some older synthesizers. You may not know what you have never experienced, perhaps you were 10 years late to experience it, that does not mean you have to miss it completely. 

[littleeyesofpallas]

Was chatting with a coworker the other day and two things crossed my mind...

that I've been at this weeb shit so long that I forget what I just sort of take for granted and what might not be commonly known little factoids, and

that VIZ's attempt at a monthly Shonen Jump magazine has been gone so long most people probably never saw them. (nevermind the old RAIJIN Graphic Novels that tried the same thing)

So, here's some fun little things you might not have known about manga if you've only ever read English publications and/or digital scans...

For one, there's the matter of print formatting... In general, Japan actually uses their own standards for print that tend to differ from those in the US; The JIS(Japanese Industrial Standards) series A and B. Magazines like the typical anthology format manga are printed in JIS B5, which is comparable to the US Letter standard, or the ISO A4.

This was the same format that RAIJIN Comics printed in as well, and although I don't have a copy of the old English Shonen Jump for reference, if memory serves they printed in the same format as well in an attempt to really sell that "authentic" manga feel. Sadly, I don't know that the effort or attention to detail was much appreciated. Neither published a volume comparable to a Japanese weekly or even monthly serial magazine, though --not by a long shot. But this might not be the most practical for comparrison, since there actually just isn't much of an English language equivalent format. (unless you count actual magazines that happen to include comic illustrations or miniscule comic strip segments)

Despite the mammoth size of a serial magazine, Japanese tankoban are actually smaller than the North American equivalent. But notably the Japanese small book format isn't just a matter of contending with nearest print standards... What I believe is the JIS B40(although I could be wrong) tends to be the standard print size of small books in general, not just manga, and it's a print size that is only marginally smaller than VIZ's standard size manga, but with the very particular benefit of being deliberately portable. The small difference in size is the difference between a Japanese manga fitting in my coat pocket where as the English equivalent can't.

(I realize I photographed a copy of Shonen ACE, and not Weekly JUMP, but I measured a copy of Weekly JUMP for the thickness and not the copy of ACE; the copy of JUMP was around 506pg, while the copy of ACE was 570pg. Those are both older though, and the most recent digital copy i have of Weekly JUMP actually had around 520pg)

And I don't think it's always addressed just what a difference there is, culturally, in how Japan approaches the print medium. It's kind of an old cliche by this point, and I don't know how accurate it's remained in the past decade or so, but the quintessential image passed around between comic nerds has always been the Japanese bullet train; A place packed with commuters all passing their transit time with isolated preoccupation with music and/or reading, with manga being the king of this time killing arena. And its not just about sheer popularity driven by interest, American comic vendors have long envied the sheer accessibility of manga in Japan.

Here in the U.S. we used to have a thriving newsstand retail scene for comic books, and a kind of similar ease of grab and go comic purchase, rather than the explicitly niche interest driven "direct market" model that has been slowly but surly strangling the comic market ever since. But in Japan serialized manga has remained in relatively quick, impulse friendly, arm's reach of readers on the go. And what lubricates that business model more than anything is price.

I still remember a time when VIZ dominated the English manga market by offering at $7.95(and am I crazy or am I remembering a time when it got down to $6.99?) but now'days it's settled on a low end of $9.99. You know how much the recent vol.29 of My Hero Academia goes for? ¥484. That's less than $4.50.

You know how much that big ass magazine with 500+ pages and 21 different series goes for? Do you think it's more or less than the little pocket-size tankoban? Did you guess something close to ¥290? That's less than $2.75. But how does something bigger in both page size and page count managed to sell for less???

There are a few secrets to that, but one is that the things are packed to the gills with ads. But that's the boring answer. The other feature contributing to keeping an accessible cost on weekly/monthly manga is something we don't think about much in the U.S.; it's the paper and print quality.

The nice little books are printed in what you might expect as far as starch white paper and clean black inks, but those big honkin' phone book(do people still know what phonebooks look like??) size magazines are printed on cheap recycled pulpy newpaper with typically rough print jobs. This is most noticeable in the quality of solid blacks, and when scanning the texture of "white" space.

(I tried to take individual photos of different series chapters to show off the fact that the paper is differently colored... but my phone's camera seems to be smart enough to auto balance that kind of thing when there's no other context to anchor it to. (It doesn't help that it's night and my lights have a harsh yellowing glow to them.) but on th left you can still kind of see the different paper colors; this particular issue alternated every 3 chapters between pink-ish, green/gray, a kind of off-white/gray, and sepia, but I've also seen blue-ish, oranges, and a different shade of yellow different from the sepia-ish one.)

Back in ye olden days when it came to fan scanlations, more slapdash teams and projects would often stumble over levels in photoshop (too much black and the pulpy paper texture shows up as grainy shadows, but too far white and the edges of lineart get crunchy and ugly) but those who had more robust readership and a regular streamlined flow of work, we'd actually go in and touch up the solid blacks and whites by hand. We'd also redraw art to erase overlaid text so the type setters could lay the new English in over top.

(Weekly Jump: Left, Bleach tankoban: Right)

They do however keep a few coveted color pages in better quality paper and ink. In contrast, the standard quality tankoban actually don't include color pages at all, and just print what had been color pages in grayscale. There are also all kind of irregularities between publishers and special editions and such, but on the most basic level this difference in quality both keeps serial prices down, while also incentivizing tankoban purchase.

In the U.S. we might still have the draw of an ad-free reading experience in our TPB, but the print quality between a biweekly issue and a TPB are basically the same. Incidentally, even though manga are generally drafted at a much larger scale than even the serial magazine proportions anyway, the scaled down size of the tankoban also serves to sharpen the image. When put side by side the nice clean tankoban print looks noticeably better than the serial.

Now'days the English scanlation scene seems to be conducted almost entirely through ripped digital releases (at least as far as I can tell with popular, regular weekly titles) which is great for quality, frankly, but it does kind of lack the charm and personal touch of a band of amateurs finding round about solutions to a convoluted bootlegging pipeline. But obviously I'm a little biased.

[edit]: Oops i posted this without really ending it in any sensible ro conclusive way... I feel like ive lost sight of the point since i first drafted this but I guess its mostly just me pining after if we could just get super cheap, disposable quality, bulk manga in that classic Japanese magazine model to work here in the states. I already tend to sell manga in big runs, even at $9.99+, and frequently I'll have customers put volumes back, or clearly want the next volume but just can't afford it and wait to come back. If I could sell these customers more volumes, and more importantly more titles, at the same price, I would love to. I would love to see these things fly off the shelves. I would love to see people keeping up with multiple series. I would love to see someone look at a 44vol long series and actually feel like that's a number of volumes they can afford.

[scenics]

Hi, I hope you are having a great day/night over there. If you don't mind me asking, aside from getting the most HD video/movie file, how do you make your gifs looking sharp and smooth on your phone? I have this problem where my gifs will looks gorgeous when you view it on desktop but looks like absolute garbage of grainy mess on phone (particularly when I crop too much of to make a 540x400 set) whereas I see a lot of gifs from other well-known known giffer- including yours (the Megan Fox set that you posted just now is out of this world)- looks fine and stunning even on phone. I have all the correct setting (sharpening, saving etc) but still I bump into this problem. Would you please give me an advice on what should I improve? Thank you so much ❤️ ❤️

It is very important that u get the most HD file possible, that is how my gifs are so crisp and HD it’s the work of the file itself. The best HD file u can get is anything above 7gb. 10gb or 15gb are the best of the best, I’d only recommend huge file sizes if you intend to crop and zoom details a lot. Those small 1gb or 2gb files with tons of seeders are very bad quality for gifs. Also MP4 files bad!

Don’t ever gif movies from youtube clips even if they’re “HD” They’re not at all, and I only use youtube if i’m giffing a trailer and i’m desperate.

My sharpening settings are like almost every other film giffer on here. Smart sharpen at 500px at 0.3px, remove gaussian blur and i reduce noise set to 0.

For cropping, I don’t recommend over-cropping unless you have very big files (20gb). My tip is to never go too below (in proportion to the dimension of the movie) when you’re cropping before resizing. Keep to the edges and then resize it’ll look better that way. For movies, I often try to emphasize framing and color. Don’t crop more than 50% of the gif. For example, my megan fox gif is very hd since i did not crop the top/bottom off i kept most of it. If i’d cropped more if would’ve stretched and been less HD

Coloring is a big part of making a gif HD too! If it’s too gray, it’s grainy and lots of movie scenes are gray. If you force too much color with oversaturation or changing the gif to a completely different color (which is more common in kpop or those rainbow sets), it will break up.

Too much exposure, curves, or brightness can cause pixelation too. They enhance, but can also emphasize flaws in the gif.

If the file I downloaded is not good even in a big size, I add a limited amount of grain/noise in a duplicated layer. Notice that on HQ gifs, the gifs have a natural grain to them since that’s how movies are reformatted for 4K HD. Grain helps with color distribution and quality a lot. You’ll notice that on older movies or TV shows they’ll have more grain (easiest to see on Netflix where old shows have been restored). For adding noise, I never add more than 1% (it looks too grainy after that) and amount changes with how i color and the colors of the gif. Adding noise diverts from the square pixels (obscuring them) and mimics the grain of very high quality files.

[dumbwaystodeviate]

Morning. Is it possible to do something like 60 deviating cus he found old fotos of Allen and realise he don't have any fotos of when he were "young"?

This idea actually squeezed me heart so hard! I love it so much.

Birthday parties were a bizarre tradition. It was December 2nd 2044, a whole six years after the revolution. In that time, Sixty had been repaired after being shot in the head, integrated into the SWAT team and become a core member that was respected and relied upon. What he hadn’t done was taken the option to become a deviant. Still, it was accepted as a “Sixty-ism” by everyone and after the first year, nobody had pressed him to take up the patch or to break the wall by himself.

The whole of the SWAT team was there, along with an assortment of other people Allen liked to associate with. For whatever reason, humans celebrated birthdays each year but they put special emphasis on each decade. Which was why Sixty had been dragged to some community hall that had been hired out to celebrate Allen’s 50th birthday. Or, as Reed had put it, “leave behind the naughty forty and embrace the shifty fifty.”

Walking into the hall, Sixty looked around. Over the years, he had become familiar with most of the people there, even Allen’s mum had become a regular character in his life. Still, it was a little overwhelming to have so many people crowded into one area, Sixty clutched at the faded red wall in his mind like a safety blanket. He’d brought the required gift, a bottle of good quality wine and a practical back rest for Allen’s office chair. While he didn’t complain as such about it, the stifled sighs, groans and holding of his back gave away his unfortunate predicament. Though good lumbar support might just solve that.

A roar went up and Sixty’s analysis program kicked in, identifying everyone in the room, assessing threat levels and stress levels. On the whole, everyone looked to be in good spirits.

“But Mum!” Allen’s voice cut through the chatter and more laughter echoed through the room. There was a screen at one end of the hall which was now showing a series of pictures, grainy with age. It didn’t even take a full analysis from Sixty to know that the tubby child in nothing but a nappy and drinking messily from a carton of milk was none other than Allen as a toddler. Slowly, the picture faded to show a slightly older Allen dressed like a bumblebee - probably for Halloween. The pictures kept playing, Allen was sinking lower and lower in his chair, cheeks red but lips tugged into a wide smile. If he continued to sit like that, his back was going to be sore. Sixty took that as incentive to gift him his presents.

“Happy womb evacuation day,” Sixty said stiffly and held out the gift bag. Perhaps his research had been wrong when he’d looked up novel ways of wishing someone a happy birthday, he hadn’t wanted to be run of the mill. If the spluttering was anything to go by, he might have made a faux pas. Clinging to the red wall, Sixty reassured himself that it was okay.

“Thanks, Sixty,” Allen took the bag and stood up to give him a hug. “You going to join in with this parade of humiliation. The teenage years are just coming up.”

On his other side, his Mum simply beamed and patted the chair, encouraging them to sit. Social protocols dictated that Sixty join them so he did. The pictures were accompanied by a soundtrack of reactions from the captive audience. More laughter at the ‘goth’ phase, some “aaaw’-ing from the picture of Allen crashed out and fast asleep from his Academy days and a whole host of other pictures of his successes and moments worth remembering through the years. One thing was painfully obvious, the changes and development, an arc of a life that Sixty had the privilege of witnessing only a fraction of.

The more recent pictures were some that he remembered being taken. There were even a few he was in or had taken himself. Not having to pay so much attention, Sixty could get lost in his own thoughts. His mind turned to the anniversary of his own activation day. Over the years, it had never been a big event, only a couple of people even knew about it. Truth be told, it wasn’t a day he thought back to fondly and he rubbed at his forehead thanks to the memory.

“You okay?” Allen nudged him, looking over in concern. He had been one of the few to make his activation day commemoration a pleasant experience. Each year, there was either a new tie or a special coin on his desk along with a subtle card. On those days,there was also a mysterious flask of thirium in a new flavour in the fridge with Sixty’s name on it.

“I am fine.” It was the truth. Sixty was fine. At the same time, he couldn’t help but think that he’d just turned six. Thinking back at the pictures of Allen in the first six years of his life, he’d changed so much. And there were so many pictures. In contrast, there was barely any of Sixty except maybe as an accidental background figure in other people’s celebrations. “There is a lot of photographic evidence of your life.”

He didn’t expect a nod and a contemplative look from Allen. That never boded well and sure enough, the next moment, a phone was in Allen’s hand, pointed at them.

“Say cheese,” he grinned and Sixty stared at the camera as a pair of wet lips pressed a kiss to his cheek. The shutter went off and blinded him momentarily. “Mum, stick this on the end of the slideshow, would you?”

Blinking again, Sixty cleared the overload from his optical sensors and stared at Allen. As faded as his old red wall was, it felt especially flimsy.

“What was that about?”

“Wanted a picture of me with my best friend. Perhaps it’s one you might want to include in your own slideshow when the time comes.” He pinged the picture over to Sixty.

The whole of Sixty’s HUD was taken up by the photo, he analysed it over and over again. On each pass, the red wall faded even further until it was just a mirage, something he himself imagined to be in place out of habit. There was no wall there, the coding worn down with time, eroded by conflicting data.

“It might even be the first picture I use.” He offered Allen a tentative smile. “The last few minutes of being a machine before growing into a deviant.”

The blinding grin Allen offered him was brighter than the flash of any camera. Even as one went off from beside them, Allen’s Mum cooing over it. The next moment, it was up on the screen and both Sixty and Allen glanced at the picture and blushed. It might have been to best friends grinning at each other but it just as well could have been two people realising they were in love.

[anewworldorderseries]

A New World Order (BB x NB AU) - Chapter 1

Author’s Note: Hello! I have updated both the prologue and this chapter to reflect the changes to the story I’ve decided to make. The biggest difference is Isabel (my BB mc) IS a vampire because this is now set after book 3. This also makes some changes to the canon epilogue because the secret about vampires is still going to come out involuntarily instead of by choice. Also both Jax and Lily are still alive and will be present in future chapters and Isabel isn’t married or living with Adrian yet (that will be after the events of this series are done). 

Also, for the first few chapters (including the prologue) I’ll be posting them both on here and on my main blog @adrianadmirer . But, eventually, I’ll only be posting them on here so if you’re following me there and not on here and want to stay updated, be sure to do so!

I’m still working on chapter 2 but I hope to finish it some time in the near future. I just want this all to be good quality so, it won’t always be quick releases between chapters. I will be writing one-shots of Bloodbound and other fanfic on my main blog so, you can read those when I post them in the meantime.

Characters: Isabel Martinez (BB MC), Adrian Raines, Kamilah Sayeed, Phoebe Laskaris, Cal Lowell, Zelenia Laskaris (NB MC), Nik Ryder (briefly)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: When the Order of Dawn rises from the shadows once more, it lifts the veil of secrecy that’s protected the vampires in New York and puts them and humans in danger. 

@endlesshero1122 , @kinda-iconic , @lovemychoices , @desiree-0816 , @bloodboundismylife , @embarrassingsmartphonegame , @voseho , @something-in-red , @mrsmatsuo , @galaxyside-0 , @jlpplays1 , @brightpinkpeppercorn , @tabithacarlisle , @shelley-parah , @ladykateofhousebeaumont , @ella-raines , @furiouscloddonutpeanut , @itlivesinpixelberry , @fluffy-cat-whisper , @strangelycami , @heatherfilliez , @edgaluten , @parrotdrama

Manhattan, New York, USA 

Watching the still darkened streets of the city through the windows of her new apartment, Isabel smiled as she sipped her scalding cup of coffee. It was a necessity for waking up at this early in the morning despite being a vampire and needing less sleep in general. This was one of many changes that came with her recent promotion to VP of Operations and even though she already had a week under her belt, her nerves still threatened to drown her. Ever since Adrian first broke the news that she had been chosen by the board, she still had doubts about her abilities. 

She had been with the company barely over a year now and at almost 24 she was still the youngest executive at Raines’ Corps. But, somehow six out of nine old mostly white men thought her limited experience was better than the three other candidates in the running. Adrian in fact had nothing to do with the process expect signing off the board’s choice. 

Letting out a sigh, the sound of her phone going off pulled herself out of her head the self-critical thoughts that clouded it. 

A crease formed between her brows as her gaze latched onto the shiny new device on the kitchen counter. She set her coffee mug on the table and picked it up, frowning as a sense of foreboding coiled in her veins when a video popped up all by itself. 

Had her phone been hacked?

The dread grew as she remembered the last time this had occurred. It had been awhile but, being a Bloodkeeper meant being unable to forget much. Back then, it had brought death and destruction. Swallowing, Isabel tapped on the small white triangle and after a minute of loading, it began to play. 

At first, the screen was staticky like from the old TV her parents still kept in the attic. The black and white dots cleared to reveal grainy security footage that made a chill run up her spine. The familiar pink and red surroundings of Serafine’s club were easily discernible. Isabel’s eyes widened in horror as her intuition worked its magic. That night in Paris soon after Gaius’s return. 

“No.”

Much to her dismay, the familiar images of the raid from months earlier appeared. First, the empty VIP room that they had just vacated. Then the Order of the Dawn stormed in and Jax and Seraphine running inside, the first of their group to do so. Isabel then saw Adrian run in before she followed a minute later. 

She already knew what came next but, she couldn’t make the video stop no matter how hard she tried. She was forced to watch his chilling massacre of the Order soldiers, ripping their hearts out one by one and her desperate pleas for him to stop. The video continued until the footage finally cut right before she had gotten through to Adrian. 

Isabel barely had time to process the footage when the much clearer image of an older brunette woman appeared. A loud gasp sounded as she recognized her as Derek’s aunt. His family had always given off a strange vibe, being oddly secretive and around all the time. Then, her gaze homed in on the tiny gold pin engraved with the Order’s emblem fastened to one of the white lapels. 

Her mouth went dry and she almost dropped her phone as she realized that the two were connected and that they were back. 

"Good morning my fellow Americans. I am Phoebe Laskaris,” the woman stated, her voice as hard as steel. “You know me as President of Laskaris Industries, the proud leader in the safe and reliable source of fossil fuel energy around the world."

Isabel’s impression of her hadn't changed since the last time they had seen each other. She was too pristine and a bit abrasive and had always made her feel like she wasn't good enough for Derek's highbrow family. Both she and his father had even blamed her for his abuse of her. Only Phoebe's daughter, who Isabel had befriended during their relationship expressed any concern for her until she abruptly stopped talking to her. 

The plastered on smile disappeared on the woman's face and her expression hardened. 

"But, today I come to you as the co-leader with my brother Alaric of a different organization--The Order of the Dawn. We are a society that is dedicated to the protection of the public from the darkness that has lived among us since the Mayflower landed at Plymouth rock. It is time that you become enlightened aware of the truth that our government is trying to hide. The occult, monsters of the night including vampires are real and every bit as cruel and ruthless as the legends have stated. They have even climbed to the top of our society to bend us to their will in secret. You have just seen the video of what these wretched creatures have committed against our people. Since ancient times they have gotten away with murder and bloodshed. But, their reign of terror ends now. Because the Order of the Dawn is here to stop it--to keep you safe. We just need your support. Together, we can take our country and the world back. This is only the beginning, there will be more to come so that you will know the truth once and for all. Goodbye for now, and may there be peace and order soon."

Isabel sat there paralyzed as the screen cut to black, immediately understanding what this all meant. The Order had come back stronger than before with a plan to eradicate all vampires, and Derek’s family including his own father and aunt were leading the charge. She wondered why she hadn’t run into any of them during the raid in Mydiea but quickly dismissed it since it didn’t matter. 

What did was that her past was threatening what she had now, the best thing that had ever happened to her. Her worst fears were coming true. 

Running over to the living room where the TV was, Isabel fumbled with the remote and switching through the news channels, they all showed the video with panicked headlines about vampires overtaking New York City. She felt herself become slightly nauseous with anxiety as the remote clattered to the ground. 

The one thing that had guaranteed their safety for decades had in fifteen minutes been ripped away. 

It seemed that everyone got the video at the same time and the news would make sure that those who didn’t saw its contents. She hastily turned off the TV and dashed into her bedroom to get ready. She had to be there immediately now that they suddenly had a dangerous crisis on their hands. Isabel threw on the first outfit that came to mind and headed into the bathroom. 

She brushed her teeth and ran a hairbrush through her thick mane just enough to get the tangles out before throwing it into a bun. It was just enough to be presentable. She didn’t even bother putting on any makeup, tossing the products into a small bag instead to take with her for if she needed it later. Right now, it only kept her from being where she wanted and needed to be. 

Taking one brief look in the mirror, she sighed. Her suit and blouse were still covered in wrinkles and her face and hair made her look as distressed as she felt. But, this would have to do for now. Slipping on her shoes, she grabbed her things and rushed out the door. A minute later she was in the elevator. 

While it made it’s way down, she sent a quick text to Adrian letting him know that she was on her way. As soon as it reached the lobby she dashed out and exited the building. 

She swallowed, her stomach tightening as she saw the crowds of people swarming the streets, panicked shouts and screams filling the air. Chaos and fear had already begun to set in and she felt painful anguish for the city she had become completely enamored with. It had already gone through so much when it was destroyed by Gaius while his humanity was still shut off. Now, it was having to go through yet another upheaval that threatened to be even worse.

Passing through Times Square, she stopped suddenly, her face frozen in sickening shock. 

The Order had hacked into every billboard, Adrian’s annihilation of their soldiers and Phoebe’s chilling message on full display on the large screens in an endless loop. Her already increased heartbeat now skyrocketed as anger and panic surged through her. She increased her pace to a full sprint, but was careful not to go inhumanely fast. 

Eventually, when she finally saw the silver skyscraper within view, she was hit with a swarm of reporters. Slowing down, she pursed her lips. Patience was never something she had much of, especially when she was in a hurry. 

“Ms. Martinez, did you know about this?” one of them asked her, sticking the microphone in her face. “Do you still have confidence in Mr. Raines?”

Isabel plastered on her best smile as she took a step back. “I have no comment at this time.”

She thanked God her parents made her take speech and debate as one of her many extracurriculars in high school. as she deftly evaded giving them a substantive answer. As she made an effort to step around the man, another recording device entered her personal space causing her annoyance to turn into full aggravation. 

She bit down on her tongue as unpleasant thoughts raced through her mind for a minute. 

“Is what was in the video true? Are you working for a vampire?”

Closing her eyes, she forced herself to take a deep breath. Now was not the time to let her fire out and make this worse. She would have to resort to tactics she only brought out for men who she couldn’t call out for being misogynistic in business meetings.

Turning to the gaggle of people with cameras behind her she told them in a commanding tone, “I cannot tell you anything or answer your questions right now but, I’m sure there will be an official statement sometime soon. For now, that is all I and the company will say on the matter.”

With that, she spun on her heels and weaved through the reporters and the public still trying desperately to get more out of her. But, she was able to outmaneuver them and make it into the building. 

But, there was little relief and she let out a small groan. It was every bit as frenzied inside as it was out. Only a handful of the couple hundred employees had known who Adrian truly was. The rest had found out twenty minutes earlier, just like the rest of the country. Unlike her abrupt introduction, there was no gradual process or a hand to guide their way through. Instead, they were thrown into the very deep end and that meant fear and bedlam. 

She ignored the bombardment of questions and exclamations from her co-workers as she made her way to the elevator. Digging into her purse, she found her key card and inserted it. The doors opened a few seconds later and she stepped inside the empty space. 

As she traveled up to the executive floor, Isabel’s scattered thoughts drifted to Adrian. He had to have gotten the video at the same time as everyone else did. She knew that he wouldn’t handle this well. He already hated himself for what happened ever since that night and since then he was working tirelessly to put that darkness away for good. He even helped her overcome her own in the opera house. 

This attack also put the company in jeopardy since investors and clients needed to trust him and now that was in danger of disappearing. He would take all the blame and self-punishment for the risk his employees faced. All of this meant that he was probably devastated and in need of her now more than ever.

Pulling out her phone, she became concerned when she saw that he hadn’t answered her text. Even in the most hectic times, he always made sure to respond. He was either not there or sitting in his self-destructive thoughts and both scenarios were equally troubling.  

Swallowing, the doors finally reopened onto the executive level and she hopped out, her long strides allowing her to quickly reach the closed door to his office. She pounded on the door harder than what was necessary.

“Adrian? It’s me.”

Hearing no response, she pressed her ear to the ornate wood and discovered that he was in there, the muffled sounds easily audible to her acute hearing. He just didn’t want to let her inside. 

It was one of the habits he had that frustrated her to no end. The times he needed people the most was when he stubbornly wanted to be by himself. But, she couldn’t let him drown in his sorrows alone and quickly decided to take matters into her own hands. 

Luckily, she had recently learned a new psychic power of hers. Concentrating on the metal knob she willed it to move. Ten seconds later, she heard the lock click. Sighing with relief, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. However, she didn’t get very far, abruptly stopping just a few feet from the door frame. 

Adrian sat at the giant desk, his head buried into his hands. This was the image of a man whose previous wrongdoings had all come back to haunt him at once. Hard. She had seen him at many low points since fate had brought them together. This though stood out among them as one of the worst. 

Leaving her purse by the doorway, she rushed to his side in mere seconds. Hearing her light footsteps, he brought his head up to look at her. Her heart broke when she noticed the pink staining his eys and the glistening wet tears that traversed down his cheeks. 

“Oh Adrian...” she murmured, engulfing him in a tight embrace. 

His strong arms locked onto her torso, clinging to her in despair. 

“This is my fault,” he lamented. “All of it. And now people are in danger, including everyone here. All because of me.”

“Hey.” She gently brought his face down to hers. “No, it’s not. You weren’t yourself then. And we all suspected that The Order would come back, maybe even stronger without Xenocrates.”

He shook his head adamantly. “No, it is my doing Isabel. If I...if I hadn’t lost control that day...they wouldn’t be able to use that...use me as a means of terror. And now our people all over the world are in danger. Everything we’ve worked towards...us trying to live in peace, creating a better world. It's all gone.”

The amount of pessimism in his words startled her. It didn’t take much for his idealism to wear thin these days, a permanent scar from what they went through to defeat all their enemies. But, she hadn’t seen it this low since that one conversation they had in The Order’s headquarters. She had proved him wrong then, and it looked like she would have to do the same now.

“That’s what they want us to think,” she reassured him. “But it definitely isn’t. We just have to find a way to win over the public again, be more convincing than they are.”

He blinked at her dubiously. “Fear is hard to overcome Isabel. Especially if it turns into hate, history has proven that. After everything we’ve done to each other, there may be no peace with vampires in it. Maybe...maybe we were doomed from the start, ever since the sap left that damned tree.”

His voice shook with emotion and her already knit brows moved closer together. She opened her mouth to speak but, before she could do so a familiar voice entered the space. 

“Adrian, are you in here?” Kamilah asked, her commanding tone filling the room as she stepped inside. 

Her appearance was unusually unkempt and her eyes were enlarged, shooting around the room before they fixed on the two of them and a hint of recognition and greeting flashed. Upon seeing her, Isabel felt the need to be a little more professional and untangled herself from Adrian’s arms. She quickly found a chair to sit in beside him instead. 

“I’m assuming you’ve seen everything?” she asked. 

She received a weary nod. “Unfortunately. I can’t believe they managed to get it on those billboards.”

Adrian’s eyes widened in horror. Apparently, he hadn’t realized that. “What?”

Isabel bit her lip before confirming it. “They’ve got the video playing on a loop, every single one in Times Square. I saw it on my way here.”

“That’s not all,” Kamilah said. “They’ve also just released a list with the names of every branded vampire in the country. Including everyone on The Council and our clans.”

After Rheya’s defeat, a new version of the Council was created with three new leaders and some changes to make it more democratic and egalitarian. Every vampire in the city received their protection now. 

A new surge of anger coursed through Isabel as their situation went from bad to worse. “They really wanted to make sure everyone knew.” Then, a pang of guilt welled up in her as she thought back to the last few meetings. “I’m sorry I’ve been pushing so hard for you to come out in the open. If I had known that these would be the consequences...I wouldn’t have even suggested it. This should’ve never happened.”

“No, it shouldn’t have. But, don’t be sorry, you were right Isabel. I knew we couldn’t stay a secret forever, it was a matter of when not if. I didn’t think we’d be outed like this before we could do so ourselves. But what’s done is done. We can’t debrief 300 million people even if it were possible, it wouldn’t be right. All we can do now is figure out how to stop the Order and adjust to living out in the open.”

Adrian reiterated his sentiment from before Kamilah arrived. “Is that even possible? You’ve seen what they can do, especially now that they’re all mortals and the American public can be quick to hate with not a lot of rhetoric. They’re only going to get stronger and their arguments are right. We’ve done so much harm, Kamilah, it might be too late to change that now.”

His oldest friend quickly sported an incredulous expression which matched Isabel’s inner feelings. 

“Do you even hear yourself? Of course, we still can, we can at least try. And we have to try. If not for our people, then for them. Humanity. Because we all know that the Order won’t hesitate to kill as many mortals as it takes for our destruction. You and Isabel are the ones who taught me that Adrian, that they’re worth fighting for. Our job should be to save them not hurt them.”

There was a pause as the weight of Kamilah’s words continued to flow through the room. 

Then, Isabel nodded, standing up as tense energy flowed through her. “I agree. It’ll be extremely difficult, but it’s not impossible. Nothing is. We just have to figure out how to play their game and then beat them at it. Turn the public against them. All we have to do is tell the truth, expose who they really are.”

At this, Adrian’s expression only became more troubled. “I don’t know. There’s no way anyone will have confidence in me after this. The whole country thinks I’m nothing but a monster.”

“I don’t,” she countered immediately. “Adrian, I was in the room when that happened, mere feet from you. I’m still here, believing in you. I know I won’t be the only one. People are more understanding than we give them credit for. They just need to feel like that’s okay.”

“But I--”

She couldn’t take it anymore, her brown eyes becoming ablaze. 

“Adrian Henry Raines, listen to me!” she yelled, the bluntness of it shocking him into silence. “If you don’t want to let people down, if you don’t want them to think that you’re a monster, then prove to them that you’re not. We can make a better world by being the ones to end the cycle that Rheya created. None of you have to be like her, or like Gaius or Xenocrates. They’re all dead. Take it from me, the person who came the closest to becoming her.”

Taking a deep breath, the fiery heat extinguished almost as fast as it started to burn. 

With a softer tone, she continued. “I know that the majority of people can still be reached if we put in the effort. Remember that one recruit we spared in the tomb? If he could be persuaded so can they, I promise you. But, the longer we sit here and do nothing, the closer The Order gets to winning them over.”

Her demeanor softened as addressed what he had told her before Kamilah arrived. “Because you forgot about hope, Adrian. The one thing that is stronger than fear. We still have it, but we won’t for long. Unless we do something, stand up for what is right.”

Both her and Kamilah’s gazes fell on him expectantly. After a minute, resolve slowly hardened on his face as their words sunk in. 

“Okay,” he told them with a nod. “Let’s fight, for them. Even if we don’t make it out ourselves.”

Isabel sighed with relief before it vanished as the gravity of their situation weighed them down once more. A sense of urgency began to flow through her once more.

Looking at the two of them, she asked, “What should our first moves be?”

Her mind began to conjure up possible remedies and tactics but, her insecurities about her work made her want to hear their opinions first.

“Well, for starters we’re definitely going to have to call an emergency Council meeting,” Kamilah told them. Then, a grimace appeared on her face. “We’ll have to talk to our own Clans too. If we are to stand a decent chance against the Order, they’ll not only have to be on the same page, but fight with us too when the time comes.”

Isabel traded an uneasy look with Adrian, both sharing her apprehension about this task. The new Clan system had tried them since it’s recreation. While the leaders were all friendly with one another having been hand-picked, the members within each continued to struggle with getting along. This new crisis would only make that worse.

Adrian expressed this sentiment out loud muttering, “I don’t like asking them to risk their lives for us, and it’ll take a lot of convincing for them to do so.”

“I know,” Kamilah sighed. “Arguing against their self-preservation has never been easy, even when there is this noble of a cause. However, it must be done. They have to join us or they’ll be in danger.”

Isabel followed along with this conversation etching the important details permanently into her memory. Until suddenly she became more than just a spectator. 

“As for managing things with the public, what do you suggest Isabel?” Adrian asked her. 

She looked at him with a start as it took a moment for it to register that they wanted her opinion, that this was her job now. When it did, she sat up straight as her mind worked on overdrive. 

“Well, reassuring all our employees is the most important thing,” she eventually replied. “I think a company-wide meeting is one of the first things we should do. I also recommend addressing the public with some kind of statement soon before The Order can release any more propaganda. The press nearly trampled me as I was on my here. They’re anxious for answers.” Then, she came up with an ambitious idea. “In fact, I recommend that we do a full press conference.”

He carefully considered her advice. “Hmm...why’s that?”

Even though she knew that he simply wanted to hear her reasoning it still unnerved her. Luckily she already had her answer. 

“Because they need to hear our side of the story unedited while their minds are still pliable. The best way to do that is to have the reporters come to us. If we do that, we control the narrative and there’s less chance of our words being misconstrued. Plus, we need to reach a large, countrywide audience and this will likely be broadcasted by both the local and national outlets.”

Kamilah nodded approvingly. “It’s bold Adrian, but that’s exactly what we need to be right now. I would have this be first and then your company meeting.”

“How come?” he questioned. 

“It will calm some of their fears and make them more comfortable being in the same room as you.”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips before it flattened. “That’s what we’ll do then.” His eyes flicked back to Isabel. “But, you should be the one giving it,” he told her. 

Her eyebrows rose off her forehead. “Me? But, wouldn’t they want to hear it directly from you?”

“Yes, and they will eventually. But, right now they’re scared and less likely to listen to what I have to say, to believe it. They need to be reassured first. You’re the perfect person to do that.”

It didn’t take long for her to catch on. “Because I wasn’t turned that long ago.”

“Exactly. You’re the person who can bridge the gap between us. If they see you, having confidence in me, that will go a long way.”

It made perfect sense to her immediately. Plus, PR was the department she was in charge of directly. “Okay. But before I do, I need a moment to freshen up.” She pointed to her haphazard appearance. “Right now this...does not inspire confidence.”

The comment caused Adrian's lips to twitch up in amusement. "Go ahead, you've got a key to upstairs. I'll call the other council members in the meantime."

"And I'd better check on things at Ahmenet," Kamilah said. "If I'm not back sooner, I'll be here for the meeting. Good luck Isabel."

“Thanks.”

With a final nod, the senior vampire slipped out of the office, Isabel following suit a minute afterward. 

A little less than thirty minutes later, she stood in the lobby of Raines' Corps, trying not to be blinded by the flashes of cameras in her face. Outside, she herself had installed a TV monitor showing a live video where a large crowd had gathered to hear the words. It was also being broadcast on every local and national news channel. A million butterflies fluttered aggressively in her stomach as she went over what she wanted to say in her head. 

Sighing, she flashed a composed smile, looking back at Adrian. He stood a few feet behind her and despite his stoic expression, she could see the anxiety behind it. Meeting her gaze, he gave her a reassuring look. Even though it wasn’t completely authentic it instantly melted her nerves away enough for her to look forward once more, ready to begin. 

Clearing her throat, she stated, "Hello everyone. I'm Isabel Martinez the new Vice President of Operations for Raines' Corps. I'm here to make a brief statement on behalf of the company and Mr. Raines himself about the Order of Dawn video and then I will open things up for some questions from you. Anything that we can answer we will, we want to be as transparent with you as possible regarding what has surfaced today. That includes confirming that the video of the nightclub is real and so is the existence of vampires. This also means that it's true Mr. Raines is one of them." Closing her eyes, she felt her fang descend before she opened them again. “And so am I.”

A cacophony of gasps and shocked whispers erupted from the reporters and she could see a similar reaction from the crowd outside through the special protective windows. It took a few minutes for her to get them under control again enough to speak.

"I know that a lot of you are shocked and frightened right now. I was too when I first discovered the truth, in a similar fashion to you more than a year ago. But, as someone who has worked closely with and befriended many Vampires since then, and then become one of them, I can assure you that there is more to us than what the Order of Dawn wants you to believe. It is true that over the course of history, our kind, including Mr. Raines have done some unspeakable things to humans. But, it's because of how we were taught to behave by the first generations of vampires. Since ancient times, they espoused that humans were the enemy and that there could never be peaceful relations between us. And for a long time, it went unquestioned. Yet, for the past century, this ideology has begun to change. We have begun to realize that there is a way for both worlds to live and thrive without hurting the other. Mr. Raines was one of the first to commit to this idea and since then the amount of vampires who want to cause harm has decreased significantly. And to be honest humans don't really have a right to judge, when they’ve been an equal participant in this bloody conflict since the beginning.”

She paused, her eyes briefly flicking down to the microphone in front of her. As she thought about the Order and what they'd done across the centuries, her blood began to boil with a simmering rage. 

“The truth is The Order of Dawn is no innocent victim. They may have started out with a desire to end the violence but for centuries they’ve become just as bad as vampires. I was there that night, you can see me in the video. So believe me when I tell you this: The Order is the one who started this by attacking the nightclub. They slaughtered both vampires and humans alike. They were just collateral damage to them. Adrian and the other vampires were defending themselves and the humans that were in there, including myself at that time.”

Looking back at him, she collected herself before saying, “Now, that doesn’t excuse his actions, the fact that he went overboard. He knows this and ever since that night, he’s hated himself for it. That person in the video is only a tiny part of who he is. He is still the caring man who is trying to help humanity all around the world. The person who’s helped our city recover from the attack a year ago. He wants you to be safe. A lot of them do. In fact, the very reason why this was kept from you was for your protection.”

She took a sip of water before getting to the crux of her impromptu speech. Her hands curled around the sides of the podium, leaning in towards the crowd.

"Because this is what it all boils down to,” she stated. “Both sides have been fueled by fear and self-preservation for millennia and in response, have hurt each other. It can't go on this way. Which is why we're going to do everything in our power to find a better solution, one where we can live together in peace. And that starts with getting rid of the Order because until they're gone, there will be more violence. We're not expecting you to adjust to this revelation overnight, we know that this news will take time. But, we're hoping that while you do that this doesn't discourage you from your normal routines and we'll do everything we can to help you with that. We've just brought this city back to life after the events of last year and we want to guarantee that it remains safe and thriving for years to come. That will only happen if our two kinds can learn from one another and realize that we are so much better together than we ever were apart." 

As she said the last sentence she realized that everyone was completely silent, their attention squarely on them. They had listened. This meant her damage control strategy working, something that surprised her more than it should have. She also realized that because they weren't so afraid, now they would be receptive to Adrian as well. In fact, they probably needed to hear from him. He could explain the details of his world to them better than she could.  This caused a daring idea to suddenly fly into her head, one that he would certainly balk at. But, her intuition told her that this risk was worth taking. 

And so without his permission, she went with it. 

"Now, I will let Mr. Raines answer some of your questions about vampires.” She could imagine what his expression looked like, and she felt herself begin to sweat. “Like I said at the beginning, we're not going to disclose everything today but, hopefully, we can provide you with enough information to reassure you we are nothing to be afraid of."

She stepped to the side and finally looked back at him behind her. He stared at her with widened eyes, his complexion now a few shades paler than normal. 

"Look, I know I put you on the spot, but they need to hear from you. I know you can do this," she whispered reassuringly. "All you have to do is answer their questions in the same way you did for me."

After a brief hesitation, he gave her a nod and approached the podium, toying with the microphone. "Who wants to go first?"

A young man in the front raised his hand. "How long have vampires existed?" 

Adrian gave him a startled look before it faded into a smile. He obviously didn't expect them to be so benign. "Good question. My kind has been around since the 8th century BCE. Here in America, since the 1700s. Next?"

"How old are you?" A petite blonde asked next before her pale skin reddened. "Oh, was that rude? I'm sorry, I'm just curious!"

At this he had to bite back a laugh, the corners of his eyes creasing. "You're not being rude, that's the first question a lot of people ask. I'm 265."

The reporter's eyes widened. "Woah, that's...pretty old."

"To you yes. But for us vampires, I'm still pretty young. I know some who are thousands of years old."

“Seriously? Wow, that’s...amazing.”

Again, this comment took him aback, and he had to pause for a moment before his smile returned. “You know what? It is, I’ll be sure to pass that onto my friends. Thanks for the question.”

Soon, he had settled into a rhythm and visibly he started to relax.  

"Is it true that the sunlight harms them?"

He nodded. "Yes. However, there were a couple of really old vampires who could walk in the sun without repercussions, but they've all been killed over the years."

"Do you actually drink human blood?" 

"Yes, we'll die without it. But, we don't have to kill to get it. The amount that's necessary at one time is small enough that it can easily get replenished naturally. About the same as a small blood donation. In fact, here in New York, we have rules about this."

"What are they?" 

"Well, one is that we can't feed on anyone who doesn't give us permission. And you'd be surprised how many people let us. There have been some vampires who have broken these rules but, we've been able to discipline them."

An older man raised his hand next. "Does the government know about vampires?"

Isabel's breath caught. Tapping Adrian on the should he met her gaze. "You don't have to answer this one if you can't."

"I'm sure no one will mind if I do," he told her before looking at the crowd once more. "Yes," he announced. "In fact, several decades ago I and five other high profile vampires made a deal. Protection in exchange for secrecy. That's why most people haven't been informed until now. It was for the safety of everyone."

Then, the first reporter asked another question. “Gaius Augustine...the person responsible for the attack last year. Was he...one of you? A vampire?”

Adrian exchanged another look with Isabel. “What do you think? he whispered away from the mic. 

She swallowed, then told him, “Tell them the truth. They...deserve to know.”

He nodded and turned back to the crowd. “Yes, he was. At first, he...wasn’t so cruel. But, he was influenced to develop a personal hatred for humans, partially from what the Order has done. While most of us are nothing like him, he tried to manipulate his progeny, myself included, into believing the same for centuries. What you saw in the video was leftover from that. But, I don’t believe that and I’ve been working hard to move past what remains of his teachings. Even Gaius, before he was killed a couple months ago in opera house incident.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Does that mean Rheya Apostolus was one too?”

“Yes. She was the first vampire, turned by the sap of a special tree thousands of years ago.”

This seemed to satisfy him. Adrian answered several more questions as the topics shifted from fearful ones to curiosity about what was fact and what was fiction. In fact, they were similar to what Isabel wanted to know when she was first catapulted into all of this. They were slowly becoming fascinated instead of frightened. 

Eventually, she decided it was time to end the press conference while they were on a high note before the atmosphere could turn negative once more.  She could only imagine what The Order had up their sleeve next. 

Taking the helm once more she issued a closing statement. "Thank you so much for coming out and letting us tell our side of the story. I'm sure that as the days and weeks go by that we'll be able to provide more information and reassurance. We wish you didn't have to find out this way, but now that the information is out there, we hope that we can continue our mission of making a better world for everyone."

Stepping away from the podium, she stood with Adrian for a moment so that the press could get their photos before ushering them back outside. 

As soon as the last of the press left the lobby, Isabel let out an audible sigh of relief. "That went better than I thought it would."

When she met Adrian's intense stare, she found it tinged with adoration. "I know. How you captured their attention, how you pacified them...it was incredible."

She felt her face become scalding hot at the comment.

Biting her lip, she responded, "It wasn't that special. I just...told them the truth, that we're nothing to be afraid of. And my delivery was definitely not perfect, I counted at least ten mistakes." She fretted frustratingly, her nerves ticking back up again. She could never go without her constant self-critique for too long. "But, still...somehow it reached them anyway."

He responded with an incredulous scoff, his gaze softening at her while it filled with even more warmth than before. 

"Iz, I know you can't help it, but please don't sell yourself short," he expressed tenderly. 

He knew almost as well as she did where the self-doubt stemmed from and tried not to take any of her insecurities about herself or their relationship to heart which she was grateful for.

Taking her hand in his, he continued. "I've seen no one in the nearly three hundred years of being alive who can inspire people the same way you can. Winston Churchill would be envious of you."

At this, her eyebrows rose at his praise, especially with his mention of one of history's greatest orators. "You think I'm really that good?

"I know so. Isabel, I almost gave up today...I came so...so close. More than...I ever have," he stressed, taking her hand in his. "Just like every time before, you're the reason why I didn't. Every time I've come close to the edge, you're the one who's brought me back. Because you're right, hope is stronger than fear...and your words and you're ability to bring people together is why mine is still burning. And now, you've given millions of people that gift too."

She stood there speechless for a few minutes, his remarks stunning her, despite all the times he'd made similar statements before. 

When she regained the ability to think, all she could do was close the gap between them and press her lips to his. The kiss didn't have the feverish intensity they usually did, but it still left them both breathless. It was the kind that spoke of sweetness and security, a warm blanket that made Isabel feel like no matter what chaos they would go through, everything would turn out alright in the end. 

"Mmm," she murmured, reluctantly pulling back and bringing them back into the real world. "Thank you, I needed that."

He gave her a fake pout. "I'm sensing a but here."

Their biggest enemy filled her head once more, and another tense exhale escaped. 

"You're correct. The Order isn't going to destroy itself and we have a lot to do today, we can't celebrate this first accomplishment too much longer. Especially since we've only just begun to win them over. They're still terrified Adrian, I felt it on them even as they left. It's going to take weeks if not a few months for it to go away completely, and I'm sure whatever the Order does next will extend that timeline even longer."

"I really hate that you're right," he replied. 

Her smile returned briefly. "I know, so do I. I love you."

"I love you too."

Neither one of them made a move to let go, savoring this last minute or two of tranquility that they would have for a while. Then, Isabel's phone rang and she was forced to untangle herself from him to answer it. 

Fumbling with the expensive new device, she didn't even look at the Caller ID before answering. 

"Hello?"

"Isabel, thank god you're not busy," a male voice she knew well said. 

This caused her to gasp. "Cal, hi.”

The name made Adrian's brows rise with curiosity. It wasn't weird for him to call them since they had all befriended him a year earlier. He had done so countless times afterward. In fact, he even paid them a visit only a couple of months ago. However, the timing of this one gave them both pause. This had to be more than just to say hi. 

Swallowing she asked, "You sound tense, is something wrong?" 

She vaguely heard the sounds of a bar in the background. A very noisy one. 

"I...uh...yes," he replied. "We got the video of you guys here in New Orleans.”

She let out a groan. “I figured as much. How are they handling it down there?”

“Not great. They released a bunch of names of the families of vamps here. Everyone is freaking out, both supernatural and not. Which means things could turn ugly at any moment and my three Nighthunter friends are the only ones who are equipped to police it all."

Isabel's high spirits took a nosedive. It was worse there than it was in New York. Way worse. Looking around, she realized they couldn’t discuss things in the open like this. Not before they had a chance to address everyone. 

"Okay, stay on the line while I find somewhere more private and then I’ll put you on speaker," she told him.  

“Roger that.”

She took off towards the elevators, urging a now concerned Adrian to follow. The closest place she could think of was her new office which was located halfway up the building. Frantically getting inside she smashed the button to close the doors until they shut. 

"What did he--?" 

She turned to him with and briefly summed up with Cal told her

The implications hit him immediately and his face hardened. "They don't have the rules against killing humans like we do. If they can't get it under control...no one will be on our side.”

"I know. Which is why we can't have any of the employees eavesdropping on us. I guarantee they won't want to be employees anymore if they do."

After what felt like an eternity, the elevator finally stopped on the thirtieth floor and they quickly walked to her office. Stepping in, she locked the door behind them and finally put the phone on speaker. 

“Hey Cal, are you still there?”

“Yep.”

Then, they heard several voices in the background. But, there was less overall noise so, it was clear he had relocated as well. 

“Who’s there with you?” Adrian asked after saying hello. 

There was a brief pause. “Oh! Um, these are two of my Nighthunter friends. You know, the ones I’ve told you about. I told them that I knew you and they...want to talk to you. Since you are the people this cult has used to start all of this.”

“What do you need us to do? I’m assuming if your friends are hunters they don’t really trust us.”

“Correct,” a husky baritone remarked before telling them, “You better have some answers for us before this city turns into a freaking bloodbath!”

He was hushed by a bell-like voice. “Nik! We need their help and insulting them won’t help. Sorry about that, he doesn’t think of you New York vampires very highly. I, on the other hand, am reserving judgement for now.”

Isabel had stopped paying attention after the first few words, her mouth open in frozen shock. As soon as she heard the girl's voice, it triggered a wave of bittersweet memories all at once. She hadn't expected to hear it again for a long time, maybe ever.

Seeing her demeanor change, Adrian's brows furrowed. "What is it?"

"Z-zelenia? Is...that you?" she finally whispered, feeling numb from all the emotions suddenly coursing through her. 

She heard a sigh on the other end. "Hey Isabel. Things have certainly changed since I last saw you.”

The exchange left Adrian speechless and there was silence on the other end as well. 

"Wait, what? You two...already know each other?" Cal exclaimed. 

Isabel nodded even though Adrian was the only one who could see it. 

Meanwhile, she heard Zelenia exhale. 

"Yeah...it's...a long story," she said. 

She was right about that. Isabel had so many lingering questions about the way things ended between them, ones she couldn’t ask out loud. But, one thing was clear to her. While most of Derek’s family seemed to be involved with the Order’s new reign of terror, she felt certain that Zelenia wasn’t one of them. That she had finally rid herself of them.

Her intuition began to tug at her once more and she sensed that this was only just the beginning. That they would have to bring their two circles together and unite the vampire communities to defeat the Order and in the process, she would also get those answers she’s craved for so long. 

She thought she would be angry talking to her again and while she did feel hurt she also felt relief as well. Maybe even a twinge of happiness. It was her family that was the problem, not her. 

After a minute, she replied, “One that’s...apparently not finished yet.”

~*~

[flowritesstuff]

Blood Lust Chapter 3- Love Bites

Anthea told the driver to wait and settled back in her warm seat, switching on the live CCTV feed from the stranger’s room in the Diogenes club. It showed a flickering, grainy picture of the two men at first, but she quickly typed a few pass codes to raise the quality of the image she received to their full potential. The cameras were of course completely illegal, but Sherlock was hardly going to press charges against his own brother, and even if he did, there would be no proof it was Mycroft's doing- there never was. She kicked off her heels and tucked her feet up beside her on the seat, turned her attention to the two men on the screen and watched as Sherlock prepared himself for what was sure to be a dramatic entrance- lurking in the dark corners of a room was something he had clearly picked up from his older brother.

~

''Dr Watson, I presume.'' Sherlock stepped out of the shadowed doorway and smirked at the little twitch of surprise as the smaller man saw him and made an aborted reach for a service weapon he no longer carried. Underneath the dark coat he had wrapped tightly around his trembling shoulders it was clear that Sherlock wasn't well- thinner than usual, with yellowing skin and hollow cheeks, he looked every inch the stereotypical vampire, except for the slight signs of his nerves and desperation. His hands were tightly clenched on the fraying cuffs of his sleeves and he was shaking all over. It was clear that they had made the right choice with Doctor John Watson- all it took was a quick glance and it was clear he knew what was going on. Anthea relaxed back into her seat, confident in her choice, and watched the two men size each other up.

''Um. Yeah? You're Sherlock Holmes- I recognise you- from your website.'' As soon as the website was mentioned Sherlock stopped in his tracks and pulled himself up to his full height. His eyes grew brighter and more focused as he concentrated on the face of the man in front of him. The slight sneer that had marred his features cleared up and he became almost bashful- a new expression for the usually self assured detective.

''You read my website?''

''Uh, no- not normally,'' Sherlock face fell and the Doctor rushed to make amends. ''It's a bit strange. I just- the email said you were a detective? Your website has stuff on how to hide bodies.''

''How not to hide bodies. There's no point being boring about it.'' Slightly mollified, Sherlock relaxed a little,  moving from being taught and upright closer to his natural posture.

''Right. Um. So, they said you're a vampire? And I'm supposed to be your donor? How does that work then? You just- bite me? Are you alright? You don't look so good-Whoa!''

Watson leapt forward to grab him as Sherlock swayed towards the wall, catching his arm and pulling him over towards a chair. Once Sherlock was seated,  the doctor knelt in front of him and slowly reached for his wrist to take his pulse- but Sherlock pulled his arms back and tucked his hands up in his sleeves- shrinking away from the gentle touch.

''It's okay- I won't touch you if you don't want me to. But you nearly passed out. Can I get something for you to eat, drink? Meat, a nutrient shake, something like that?'' He looked deeper into Sherlock's eyes for a second before the detective glanced away. ''Are you high?''

''Probably. Doesn't usually last this long but I haven't eaten properly in a few days.'' Sherlock's head lolled to one side as he looked down at the man between his legs. His legs were twitching and he had pulled in on himself, hunching up and tucking as much of his long body as he could into the warm, dark folds of his coat.

His voice was clear but slower than Anthea knew it usually was, and his movements were more exaggerated than they should have been. She made a note in his file that he had found a new supplier.

''You haven't eaten? I suppose that's what I'm for. The lady- Anthea? She said I'm supposed to move in with you. You know your address?''

''She's a liar,'' Anthea smiled to herself, watching the little screen of her phone. She waited for him to tell her what he'd decided was her biggest flaw today, watching as the genius got distracted, another sign that his brain wasn't functioning as it should- he was usually focused intently on one thing at a time, not this flighty distracted mess of ideas and worries. ''She always says she won't tell and she does. She always does. Cause she belongs to him.'' He seemed to lose his train of thought, staring at John face- reaching out to touch but pulling his thin hand back at the last moment. John shook his head and stood up, pulling the thin figure with him and supporting him as he found his balance.

''You're too high for me to even ask you to explain. Come on. Your address?''

''221B Baker street.''

[jessejostark]

Jesse Jo Stark: ‘Some things are meant to be held onto, and some things are meant to be said and then just burned’

Singer-songwriter Jesse Jo Stark talks to Vivienne Hopley-Jones after her show at Cambridge Junction about authenticity, genre and growing into her body.

A grungy room in the back of the Cambridge Junction lined with bright, harsh ‘Hollywood’ bulbs reflects the juxtaposition of the woman who enters, shakes my hand and greets me with a sweet and grainy L.A. accent. While down-to-earth and grounded, the spectre of Hollywood lingers around her – she oozes a Californian glamour, all the more alluring in its muted form. “I’m classy as hell sometimes but I do it in my own way.”

In washed-out denim, a tie-dye zip up and UGG boots, Jesse Jo Stark exudes a raw authenticity – something she sees as equally important in the music she creates: “we're starving for something that's really authentic and not just like the mainstream that you'd hear on the radio.”

“We had no plan. I just called her and was like: I need to be held by a monster, in front of, like, a painted mural.”

Stark offers satisfaction to that starvation. She has a unique sound, which makes her hard to place in the industry: a position that she enjoys. “I get nervous when people ask me what my genre is because it's just so hard to pinpoint.”

In answer, or in order to avoid answering the generic genre question, Stark coined a term she feels is more representative of her music: “horrific hillbilly,” she chuckles – only half-joking. The term seems to epitomise the unusual blend of influences in Stark’s sound which comprises an aurally stimulating cocktail of rock-and-roll and country, overlaid with the singer’s gravelly melodic voice.

Her music is at once soft and electrifying, dichotomous qualities that seem to coexist in Stark herself: she is sweet and softly-spoken, generous with her attention. After her show she spends a half hour talking to a young girl and her mother who travelled overseas to see her perform – a story she recounts to her own mum over the phone later in the evening with pleasure. She compares her ‘ideal’ fanbase to that of artist Mazzy Star, “she’s got like this cult following, and it's not like it's massive but it’s important”. She’s interested to find a “weird little group” in the cities she visits and from the people she meets.

But there is also something electric about Stark’s person. She is loud and boisterous – boldly throwing her body about on stage, or clambering across the back of the sofa to order for everybody at dinner later in the evening.

“I've always loved, like, neon, leopard and punk-rock. Like all that stuff.” In the bus before the show she picks out an outfit for the evening. In a leopard print, low-cut jumpsuit, knee high white boots that she designed herself and a silver silk overcoat, Stark transforms into the stage version of herself. After the show, she switches into ‘boyfriend’ jeans and a white shirt for dinner. Her makeup is a slightly smudged reminder of her stage persona – a Bowie-esque transformation.

Stark rejects the idea that the character she becomes on stage and in her music videos is a mere fiction: “There’s definitely fantasy behind anything that I create; a world that I wish I was a part of. Like this un-dead afterlife. You know, specifically Fire of Love – like I wish that that could be my every day, but it's not.” But, “that’s truly how I feel on the inside.”

How much of herself does she hold back? “I try to not write too much of myself as I know I can be cryptic and I want my thoughts to belong to others as well”. She divides herself into the poet and the individual: writing for others or “purge” writing for herself. “Some things are meant to be held onto and some things are meant to be said and then just burned.”

Stark’s visuals and consistent aesthetic are centrifugal to her music. From a curated Instagram feed to the old-school Hollywood style of her album artwork, listening to Stark’s music involves enmeshing oneself in a rich, visual world.

Her music videos are particularly striking – often shot and filtered through a vintage-looking filter, they have a reminiscent quality that is reflective of Stark’s own nostalgia for decades gone by. Her most recent video to accompany the gravelly tune ‘Fire of Love’ was shot by Chuck Grant, L.A. photographer and sister of Lana Del Rey. “We had no plan. I just called her and was like: I need to be held by a monster, in front of, like, a painted mural.”

“There’s definitely fantasy behind anything that I create; a world that I wish I was a part of.”

This strong visual direction that Stark has seems as important to her as the music she creates. “You know some of my friends that are musicians – they have an idea and then they just want the director to take it and do it. But for me it's really a collaborative piece and I want to be involved with everything.”

Stark’s own creative direction is strong. “It’s like having a really sick dream – that’s so beautiful to have like a really cool dream, but to actually make it a movie or a three minute long video – it's even cooler, you know?” Perhaps this is in-part influenced by her other long-standing career – that of a designer, I suggest. “I don't know – I’ve never thought of it like that.”

Stark exudes confidence on and off stage. She describes herself as a “late bloomer” when it comes to self confidence, particularly body confidence. And now? “I’m comfortable naked.” Her voice finds a clarity and gravity. “I think that women's bodies are beautiful. I want to shine. It's not to get attention. It's not for a man. It's because I own my body, I work for my body, I'm in control of my body and it's really a beautiful thing.”

There’s something infectious about Stark’s confidence and her attitude to her body and physical appearance. Hearing a woman talk about growing into herself — growing to like herself – in such a humbling way is inspiring. The feeling manifests within me when I see her on stage, where she’s as fierce and bold and is entirely herself. “I feel more confident than I've ever felt – I never knew that day would come for me.”

“I feel more confident than I've ever felt – I never knew that day would come for me.”

Of her clothing in music videos such as Fire of Love stark explains, “The reason I’m in lingerie for the most part is because I feel like clothes do accentuate us, but we don't need much.” Yet Stark recognises “sadly the game is that people have more to say if you have less clothes on.” This seems a prescient comment about the position of female artists in the industry, who seem more open to judgement based upon their appearance than many male counterparts. Not just in the music industry, but outside of it: this image of women playing ‘the game’ is an important one.

The role of women in the music industry is something we continue to speak on extensively – the ramifications of which extend beyond the music world: “we feed off of the youth,” Stark notes emphatically. “Growing old for women is scary for some reason and I'm sure like it’ll freak me out at some point – my body's already changing.” But Stark has a distinctly positive outlook: “I'm really happy that I’m growing into my skin and I'm looking forward to being a really bad-ass older woman.” Again, there’s something infectious about her boisterous confidence and attitude.

Another thing that the singer-songwriter describes as “bad-ass” is being busy. Having supported the Vaccines earlier this year in the US before supporting Sunflower Bean for their current UK tour, Stark also balances her music career alongside her work for her parents’ brand Chrome Hearts. “I'm old school and I work for what I want”.

In the context of Cambridge, with the temptation to do everything, Stark’s advice resonates: “Don't do a million things and be bad at all of them.” Stark leaves you with the feeling not that you should do everything, but the belief you can do anything. Beyond that, she brims with life and vitality that exudes into the space surrounding her. “Our souls – I always wanted to be forever young, inside.”

Jesse Jo Stark's final UK show will be on December 3rd at the Shacklewell Arms in London.