#'I would NEVER want to be carved up like a turkey so my organs go to addicts and people who neglect their health'

[silvermoon424]

I just actively chose to not get involved in Discourse with stupid people online and I'm being SO brave about it!!!

[eruverse]

Finally after 638682 years I have published a new fic!! I want to write more short fics/ficlets as they suit my writing style more.

Pairing: Mongolia/Turkey

Rating: T

Summary: And yet it's this simple and fleeting moment that draws the heart true.

The pipe is an unmatched beauty of interwoven pattern, carved in utmost care by what was undoubtedly one of the best artisans of their age. Mongolia runs his fingers over every dip and rise of it, admiring the ways in which the humble ivory base is elevated to excellence. Turkey peers at him with obvious interest as he leans against the parapet of a rooftop overlooking the city, smiling contentedly as if a generous ruler toward his beloved subject.

“Do you like the pipe? I will give it to you.”

Mongolia raises one eyebrow and fights the urge to sigh at his cheekiness. “Yeah, no. How expensive is this precisely? Where did you acquire it from? This must be a very valuable antique.”

Turkey shrugs elegantly. “How would I know. It was already in my possession. Either it was gifted to me by one of my very many guests and allies, or it was one of the war spoils. I had a lot from my neighbors, as you undoubtedly know.”

Curious, Mongolia inspects the pipe again to glean any semblance of historical background from it. His mind is drawing up a blank. “How about that. Perhaps Persia.”

Turkey chuckles. “Mayhaps. I delivered his ass to him so many times, after all. Now now, he’s not important. Where is the tobacco you gave me?”

Mongolia presses the jar into his waiting hand; with how careless Turkey could be with his possessions, he is in fact protecting it so the wooden container wouldn’t fall on its butt and chip itself. All the more so because he handcrafted it himself; he invented the unique design, chose the best wood and cut it, carved it with simple but tasteful patterns, and painted it to perfection. With all of Turkey’s carelessness with inanimate objects, however, he is never unappreciative about any gift; he cherishes the thoughtful attention as much as the value in the material itself. That Mongolia likes the pleasure in Turkey’s face is the reason why he gifts him many of his handicrafts. 

Turkey unfastens the jar to scoop some of the tobacco up, and fills the pipe still held in Mongolia’s careful hand with it. That, and Turkey’s expectant gaze tells Mongolia that he means for him to have the smoke. He starts: “Oh.”

Turkey raises one eyebrow at that (though he can’t do it the way Mongolia does). “What is it? Have you stopped smoking for good?”

Mongolia doesn’t even take the time to think. “I’ve cut it by a lot, but never fully stopped.” He went from being a chain smoker who burnt through two to three packs a day to just one or two cigarettes when he feels really, really stressed, which isn’t actually that common an occurrence. In fact Mongolia smokes more often around friends instead; it is a means for social bonding for him just like a bowl of vodka and a playful wrestling. The same pattern would often apply whenever Turkey visits him, where they would enjoy exotic brands of tobacco together. Never rushing, always relishing.

Sharing a pipe, however, is new. 

“This is most perfect for savoring, after all.” Turkey drawls, and Mongolia agrees. He tamps down into the bowl to flatten the leaves, prompting Mongolia to give it a test go after he is done. When all is good, Turkey produces a match and lights it with deft fingers; the first blazing burn between them quickly dies into a soft glow, almost too weak perhaps — and yet it’s this simple and fleeting moment that draws the heart true. These light touches to be relished in and nurtured, just like the finest carving from the hands of the most skilled artist. 

The first heady smoke in his mouth feels just like a deep kiss; his tobacco in Turkey’s pipe, mingling and working harmoniously together. He has half a mind to inhale it straight to his lungs, but it burns so good for him not to savor it right on his tongue and palate. He passes the pipe to Turkey after he’s enjoyed his round, only to closely watch the man’s enticing lips close around the mouthpiece and draw in a new kiss. He wonders then what kind of tobacco Turkey usually smokes at home, how it would taste. He gets just a hint of it every now and then whenever they have their way with each other, but Turkey is a man who only smokes leisurely and not as an addict. And perhaps, like him also, he prefers to smoke with others. 

They continue to nurture that gentle ember between them. At one particular moment Mongolia would draw the smoke further up his lungs as he gazes closely into Turkey’s captivating eyes, and Turkey would plant a small kiss on the pipe’s mouthpiece while he slips one leg under Mongolia’s. They would speak and laugh about all kinds of nothing inbetween, but never with the ember set aside unattended. And never would it die out; Mongolia and Turkey would lean closer into each other as the sun dips further and the sky of Ulaanbaatar grows dim, with their soft ember glowing brighter and ever hotter. It has grown from a weak spark that passes between them and into an all-encompassing fire that soars up from their bellies. 

The last of dried leaves finally turned into ash as the daylight leaves the city. 

Turkey sets the pipe aside without looking as his eyes have settled on Mongolia’s, easy but feverish. Mongolia, too, can only think of the man before him and the heat blossoming between them. 

He smirks. “So, what now?”

Turkey steps closer into his embrace, wrapping one arm around Mongolia’s thick waist. Mongolia is tempted to pinch his ass at that, but instead settles at pressing their hips flush and crossing one leg over Turkey’s.

Turkey whispers before capturing Mongolia’s lips in a searing kiss: “As always, we can’t be full just with appetizers.”

[professormembranexreader]

Yandere!Membrane x Fem!Reader pt. 2 (Angst & Gore)

RECAP

——————————————————

Membrane kinda stalked you, memorized your entire resume, smelled the smelly smell on the resume that was smelly, and is now going to be your boss but you don't know the bad stuff

Membrane's POV:

It was her first day at work. Being honest, it caught me off guard when I saw (Y/N) at the entrance waiting for me. 'Oh, right. She has no clue where she's going.'

"Good morning, sir!" She smiled. Her joy was infectious; I couldn't help but crack a small grin under my collar.

"Good morning to you as well, (Y/N). How do you feel about your first day?" I started off casual. There was no way I was going to let her think I was 'weird' or 'murderous'. No, that would never do. I need her to be my secretary. I need her to be in my life. I need her to love me.

She spoke up, interrupting me and my thoughts. "Well, sir, I'm kinda scared. I don't know anything regarding what you expect me to do. I don't know how to do most of the things here either. Much less any of the people I'll be working with..."

I held her face with my hand. "Don't worry, (Y/N). I'll help you. Siempre." She looked at me, confused. I realized I got too close.

I cleared my throat, promptly removing my hand. "I'm sorry, (Y/N), that was highly unprofessional of me. Please pay no mind to that." She looked up at me, confused, but shrugged it off.

"Uh, whatever you say, sir." I unlocked the entrance to the facility and motioned for her to follow me. The loud thud of boots followed by the clicking of heels (can be short heel and prob will be) echoed through the vacant halls. None of the lights were turned on yet, leaving her to closely follow behind. I could faintly feel her breath on my back. I grinned as I lead the way to my office. She was going to be mine. All mine.

Along the way, I explained the basics of what she'd be doing. Organizing files, managing my schedule, et cetera. She nodded occasionally, and tried to make small talk... it didn't work too well for her. Luckily though, I had managed to save the conversation by asking her about her life. I already knew most of the information she told me, but there were a few things that surprised me.

Finally we were there. I helped her get familiar with her desk, showing her how to navigate the software, when it suddenly came time for work.

"Oh, it seems that we are out of time. Just page me if you need anything. Hasta luego, querida." I rushed down to my lab and started to gather notebooks. I needed to plan for my next invention. I rushed back up, avoiding the rush of workers who assembled the most demanded products. She winked at me as I entered the room.

She was seated near my office, separated by just a wall. I installed a one-way mirror so I could always watch her. It was covered by a tapestry which could easily be pushed aside. I had nothing to truly do, so I spent time watching her. Her hair was so pretty. Dios, I'd love to inhale the scent of her hairspray. I've stolen a few bottles, but they have nothing to truly cling to.

While I wished to be closer, this could do until I take her for myself. Of course it didn't take but a few days for plans to change.

I kept staring at her, smiling under my collar, but it soon started to turn into a frown. One of my most bothersome employees, Carter (sorry to both this and all other Carters), walked up to (Y/N)'s desk. I've been looking for an excuse to fire him for so long, but it seemed as though he knew my game. He always made sure to avoid the punishment.

But there was no way he would worm his way out this time. He leaned over her desk, talking. She seemed a bit uncomfortable, but he didn't seem to notice. He reached his hand over to her face and my blood boiled. It took every ounce of his self control to not punch through the glass and choke him then and there.

I stood up and walked closer to the one-way mirror. He sat on the desk and gave her a slip of paper. She blushed and told him something. He got off the desk and took her hand, kissing it before walking off.

I threw down the tapestry, covering the glass once more. I clenched my fists and started to grind my teeth. There was no way I would let him get away with that. I stewed in my anger until the time came for the work day to end.

(Y/N) knocked on my door before gently opening it. "Professor?" All anger was repressed when I saw (Y/N)'s face.

"Yes, (Y/N)?" A calming baritone voice resounded through the room. (Y/N) smiled and asked if I would walk her home. I nodded. There was no way I would ever let her go home completely alone from this point on. I took her hand and led her out of the office. A faint pink dusted her cheeks but she made no comment.

We walked down the city streets, looking at food and clothes through the windows. We talked about simpler things... simpler times...

Soon, we were at her apartment. It wasn't much, but to (Y/N) it was home. She won't have to worry about this disgusting hut when she's with me. I made no comment, but simply watched as she left my side.

"Thank you, Professor. Goodnight!" I saw her go inside before returning to my own home.

My sleep was restless that night. I tossed and turned relentlessly. Not even the thought of (Y/N) bending to my will, fully submitting to me helped. My mind was plagued with the thought of Carter (lmao forgot his name already and had to go look). The thought of him touching her, talking to her, looking at her! It filled me with indescribable emotions I couldn't quite name. I needed to rid myself of this. I needed to get rid of the problem.

I needed to get rid of him.

The next morning was roughly the same. I saw (Y/N) walk in and my heart fluttered. The hours dragged on before I decided to call him into my office.

"(Y/N), send Carter Hughes (sorry to all Carter Hughes' out there) to my office." She nodded and quickly paged him up. I waited in my office, gathering my self control to not rip him to shreds. If he wasn't here, he couldn't bother (Y/N). He couldn't bother (Y/N).

He walked into my office. He looked smug. I grimaced under my collar. "I think we both know why you're here, Mr. Hughes." His smile grew even larger.

"No, I'm not quite sure." This little weasel.

"Mr. Hughes, you are being fired from our company." I stated blankly.

"You have no reason to." He grinned. I wanted this to be simple-hacking off a small branch with an axe. But it seems that I'm cutting down the whole limb.

I planted my hands on the desk in front of me, raising my voice. "You have been harassing your coworkers and have been absent from almost all your work. With your record, it's surprising you stayed here this long." I handed him a pink slip. His face paled. "I suggest you pack your things in the morning, Carter. It's getting late. Wouldn't want you to go home in the dark." He gulped and nodded. The night passed. I felt accomplished. He was finally gone. Finally.

The next work day, Carter passed by (Y/N)'s desk. He was carrying a small cardboard box. (Y/N) asked something, then Carter laughed. He said something in return, but I couldn't tell you the words, but it'd made (Y/N) blush. He winked at strode his way out of the room.

My mind was fixed on the thought of what happened. How could I be so foolish as to let the problem remain? The only solution was to nip it in the bud. The only solution was to end it before it could cause any more trouble. There is no way to let him keep his life. And I intend to fix that.

I scanned through the files for employee information. "Harrington, Henson, Hepburn, Hill, Hinton, Hiragina, Holon, ah! Hughes." I wrote down the address and started packing up.

I dropped my work down on my desk at home. I grabbed some rope, chloroform, and put a fake license plate on my car just in case. I drove down to his apartment with a smile on my face. The problem will finally be gone. I creeped inside and found his bedroom. He really should lock his door—then again, he won't have to worry about that now. I put my hand against his throat, covering his mouth and nose with a chloroform soaked bandage. With the combined effort, he was unconscious in less than a minute. I flung him over my shoulder and threw him into the trunk. The sadistic grin never left my face.

I pulled up to my driveway, grabbed the bounty I'd brought home, and carried it down to my lab.

I didn't have long before he woke up, so I put restraints as my top priority. I set him down on my strongest operating table and cuffed his arms and legs to it. I began to quickly gather my tools.

Gore Warning Time (=◉ ◡ ◉=)

I filled the needle with Pancuronium, a muscle paralyzer. His eyes widened as he fought further against the restraints. I couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. It's just so useless. I set the needle down and stuck a tube down his throat. Hooking that tube to one of of the various machines in my lab, I turned to him.

"Take it easy!" I shrugged as I turned away, "I'd say to take a breath and relax, but it seems that you won't have a choice."

He fought against the restraints vigorously. A worthless action, really. I hooked him up to the ECMO in my lab. Now he'll truly experience what happens to anyone who talks to my (Y/N).

After that, the wait was over. I placed the needle into his skin as the chemical was slowly inserted. I smiled as his shaking body stopped fighting.

My scalpel found itself close against the man's skin. I pressed it lightly against him; beads of crimson came bubbling up to the surface.

"Let's get serious." I quickly sliced the skin from his clavicle to his pelvis. Blood surged up, trying to clot. Around the rib cage, another incision was made perpendicular to the first. The process was repeated on his abdomen. Blood began to drip down his sides. I smiled as I began to open his skin. It was like that of freshly killed game. Tissue that once clung together separated at the slightest touch.

I carved him as if he were a Thanksgiving turkey. His insides lay facing the ceiling lights. With an additional snap of my gloves, I poised my hands over his organs.

"Hmm, let's begin to look for where your god failed you."

꧁ᴛɪᴍᴇ sᴋɪᴘ꧂

"This, right here, is your left kidney. Whoops! There goes the last of yours. Let's see what else is here..."

"Ah, yes. Would you like to see your large intestine?" I had my hands full of his guts. "Or perhaps the predecessor?" The salmon-pink muscle was wound between my fingers. With a small tug, blood sprayed onto my uniform. I tossed the glob of guts aside and once again grabbed my scalpel.

"Let's see if you can stomach this." I cut open the lining, acid pouring out. A corrosive hisss echoed while the body digested itself.

I laughed. Not at the pun—that was terrible. I had been fantasizing about this moment ever since (Y/N) saw him. And like I planned, I crept further up his insides. I slowly broke rib from rib, going in depth with a medial explanation each time one was removed. If ribs don't grow back then he surely won't live to see the end of it.

"Here we are." I pushed my gloved hand into his chest. "No no no, this shouldn't be! You don't deserve this." My hand gently squeezed around the muscle. "I'll make sure to give this back to the owner." Red flushed the room. A low, continuous beep echoed through the walls.

It's done.

——-————————————————

I walked to (Y/N) as she headed out of her office at work. I held her shoulder, causing her to pivot on her foot, now facing me.

"Oh, uh... hi, Professor. Did you need me?"

"(Y/N), I'd like to show you some paperwork at home. I need it put into the system, but... I forgot to bring it with me." I took a deep breath. "The files are very complex, so I'd need to show you how to deal with them. Would you mind stopping by?" She quickly shook her head.

I smiled. "Then follow me." I opened the car door. With a few clicks, (Y/N) was in my car. She was in my car. I turned on the radio to fill the silence.

Glancing to my side, I saw (Y/N) staring out the window. Her hair gently swayed, bouncing with each hole the tires hit. She hummed along with the singer, softly singing the parts that she knew. Her words were breathy, almost afraid to be heard. But they were music to my ears. 'Focus, Miguel,' I thought.

The song continued to play as I drove home. When we got there, I unlocked the back door.

"Kids, go to your rooms!" My voice slightly echoed through the halls. I took (Y/N) by the hand. "Follow me."

I lead her to a wall. It was in the darkest corner of the living room. Hidden amongst the shadows was a copper plate.

"Ah, mierda." I took off my goggles and handed them to (Y/N). "¿Agarras mi gafas, por favor?"

She took them slowly, staring at me as the scanner checked my retinas. The door opened with a clunk.

I gestured towards the "After you." She took a few hesitant steps before looking to me for guidance. I chuckled before letting her lean on me. We descended down the staircase until we reached my lab.

She immediately went over to my bookshelf. I smiled as I locked the door behind us.

"(Y/N)." She whipped her hair around to face me.

"Yes, Professor?" I bit my lip. Hers were slightly parted, giving her face a blissful look.

"Come sit down." She did as I instructed. "Now, what I'm about to do may pinch." I held her down as I injected a small amount of morphine into her femoral artery. After a bit of struggle, she fell limp in my arms.

(Y/N)'s POV

I woke up to the sound of footsteps. I lifted my head and tried to look around. Why was I in a chair? And why can't I move my arms? My mind raced as I began to struggle against my restraints.

"Ah, finalmente estás despierta." An unmistakable baritone rang out. Was Membrane going to save me?

He came into view, goggles and lab coat off. His arms were prosthetics. Presumably steel or an alloy containing it. His eyes were chocolate with hazel flecks. But more importantly, his pupils were extremely dilated. I tried to call out for him, but all that came out was a muffled "mfph".

"No tan rápido, mi querida. Tú eres mía. Solamente mío." His cold "hand" traces my cheek. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes.

"MPMFPH!"

"Ah, tú quieres hablar. Pues, adelante." He ripped off whatever was covering my mouth. I gasped for air. The air tasted like latex and antiseptics. I looked up towards Professor.

"Did...did you do this to me, sir?" I stammered. His eyebrow arched as he placed a hand on his chin.

"Ah, inglés. Un momento." He cleared his throat. "Is this better, my (Y/N)?"

I couldn't believe it. "Answer the question!"

"Ay, mi amor, I had no choice. I couldn't risk anyone else getting close to you." His hands found themselves on my shoulders, slowly moving up to my neck.

"Get your hands off of me!" He quickly pulled back. He walked behind me, making it impossible for me to truly see him.

His once endearing laugh now plagued my ears. "My dear, sweet, (Y/N), don't be that way~! You and I are one now. You are mine. And I've brought you a present."

He walked past his desk, digging through his belongings. After a few moments, he returned.

"My dear (Y/N), May I present to you..." he reached behind his back and pulled out a bloodied jar. Looking carefully, there's... oh my god. Inside the jar was-

"Hughes' heart. He said it belonged to you, I figured he wouldn't mind if you reclaimed it." He smiled, teeth filling half his face as his merriment was finally shown. He set the jar down, took me out of the restraints, and held me in his arms. I was too numb to fight back. I sobbed into his chest.

Membrane wrapped his arms around my relatively small frame. "Shhhh. It's going to be okay. He would have wanted it this way."

"Okay."

[huntertales]

Part Four: Top Of The Food Chain. (Dog Dean Afternoon S09E05)

Episode Summary: While investigating two bizarre murders, Y/N and the boys realize there is an eyewitness to both gruesome deaths–a German Shepard. Anxious to find out what monsters they are dealing with, the three look up a spell that can help communicate with the dog. When Dean decides to be the one to perform the spell, he quickly realizes it comes with side effects no one saw coming. Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader  Word Count: 3,629.

Previous Part | Supernatural Rewrite Masterlist

It’s sort of funny how things seem to work out on their own. Chef Leo presumed you and the other man who discovered you only moments later were the only ones here. It took almost no effort at all to drag you both back into the kitchen. You laid on the floor and your friend tied up somewhere in the corner where Leo could keep an eye on him whenever he decided to come back into consciousness. He decided to dispose of the man later. Right now all he cared about was carving you open like a Thanksgiving turkey.

Years of culinary training and working in the restaurant industry taught Leo how to get creative when it came to cooking unusual animal organs. Most of them weren't half bad if he was being honest with himself. Where the trouble came up was trying to find them. What Leo couldn't get in the local shelter or in the scraps of the taxidermist was bought on another source. The internet was a marvelous place to find even the rarest of animal organs he couldn't locally source. However what Leo was about to do was a step he thought he would never take after discovering what he did. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Human flesh wasn't something a sane individual thought about taking a bite of. The thought of it alone should be revolting. But there was a slight morbid curiosity as to what it really tasted like. He heard a few reports from cannibals over the years of what long pig tasted like to them. Every answer was different. Some thought it was similar to beef, others claimed it was exactly like pork. More suggested it was tough and close to veal. Leo was about to find out for himself when he carved your heart out of your chest. Whatever it was going to be, he could get past the taste if it meant he was able to possess the abilities you were capable of. Healing powers? It could solve his problems and more. He could live on. Maybe he could become immortal.

A shift in the smell caused Leo to momentarily stop sharpening his knife and pause. He sniffed a few times only to grimace at the unpleasant stench. "Why does it smell like dog in here?" He asked himself. Turning around, he found the source in another stranger trying to disrupt his plans and yet another loaded gun pointed in his direction. "That smell's coming from you." 

Dean pulled the trigger without thinking twice about it when he had the man in his range, but not taking into conversation what Chef Leo had taken prior. Cheetahs were the fastest animals in the world. The liver he ate was enough to give him the momentum to lean out of fire and grab a meat cleaver that was near him. All though his aim was off, it was enough of a startling distraction for Leo to get the upper hand when Dean was momentarily caught off guard. The gun Dean was holding only seconds ago was knocked out of his hand as he found himself stumbling to his knees after Leo was able to punch him. The man was moving faster than the hunter was able to keep up with.

Leo grabbed a cord he found lying around and grabbed it. He quickly placed it around Dean's neck and pinned him against the pillar, momentarily cutting off his air supply. “All dogs should be leashed.” He mocked the hunter. 

Dean struggled to overpower Leo when he took the cord off his neck and used it to lie his hands behind his back. The older Winchester was able to see his brother had landed himself in the same predicament. But a sense of panic washed over him when he saw that you were across the kitchen lying on your backside and not moving a single inch. For a moment he thought you might already be dead. He could smell the blood in the air, making him fear the worst. 

“What did you do to them?” Dean questioned the man. “What did you do to my brother?

"Your brother? Huh. There's nothing special about him that I could tell, at least. But your friend? I gotta ask, what were your parents smoking when they had you?" Leo asked the man, cracking a smile when Dean answered with a deathly glare. "They're fine. They're just taking a little cat nap before dinner. I've never had human heart before. Heard it's a bit chewy. Good job I'm not a fussy eater."

Dean found something off about the man when we got close enough to him, a smell lingered off that didn't seem right. While Leo got back up to his feet and to sharpen his knife again, the older WInchester told the man about something he might not have known yet. "You're sick."

Leo chuckled to himself at the observation, “Been told that once or twice.”

"No, no. Not in the head. Well, you are that, too." Dean agreed with that part, considering the steps Leo had done in order to gather his unusual ingredients. "But I mean sick like cancer."

"Well, I guess dogs really can sniff it out." Leo muttered to himself. He set down the knife back to the counter and turned around to face the man once more, knowing it was useless to hide his secret from the one person who could simply smell it on him. "Stage four carcinoma." 

"Huh. So that's what you're doing." Dean said. He watched as Leo walked over to a shelf and began inspecting ingredients that might pair well with a human heart. It didn't stop the hunter from pressuring further into the reason behind why the drastic desire to feast on animal organs for their abilities. "What happened? Draw the short straw, decide to break bad?"

"See, when I was diagnosed, I was way past standard treatment. No one could save me." Leo told the story about his discoveries you stumbled upon earlier tonight and the trick to beating cancer, even for a short time. Dean used the opportunity to try and cut through the wires by rubbing them up and down the corner of the wall as Leo continued to stand with his backside to the man. "But then with the help of a Pawnee shaman and a zoo membership, I found a cure, albeit a temporary one. Cancer always comes back."

"You start experimenting with different organs, huh?" Dean took a wild guess at how all of this played out and ended with him here. "Traded in the single serving for a combo platter."

"Well, what can I say? Combination therapy works." Leo said. "I felt stronger, and the effects lasted longer."

"And if you smoke a few innocent people in the process, well, hell, at least you felt better." Dean pretended to agree with the man about his selfish decisions that cost the lives of two people. 

"Well, I didn't mean to kill anyone—at first. But if people got in my way, they became collateral damage." Leo tried to sound innocent, until his own narcissism crept through into his tone at the power he held over others. He’d been too blinded by his own selfishness to stay alive; he dismissed the consequences that might be inflicted on others to get what he wanted. And in that newley large head of his, all of it was perfectly fine at the end of it all if it meant he got what he wanted. "Guess you eat enough predators, you start to become one. You are what you eat, right?”

Leo chuckled to himself at the corny joke and went back to prepping the ingredients. Dean worked faster to try and cut himself free before something bad happened. He continued talking, trying to distract the man so he could make his escape. "And you really think the power you hold over people's lives can make up for what you lack in your own?"

Dean always had a knack for getting under people's skin by saying things exactly what they didn't want to hear. Leo was a selfish bastard who did anything to keep himself alive. The man dropped the knife he was using to the cutting board and turned around to face the hunter. A sour look crossed the chef's face, the kind Dean was all too familiar with. "So, dog boy, what do I need to eat to take you down, huh?"

Leo headed over to his personal stash of animal organs he kept conveniently in a cooler. He crouched down and began searching for the perfect ingredients to end the man’s life. "You don't want to do this." Dean warned him. 

“Oh, but I do want to do this. See, I’m gonna kill you and your brother, work up a nice appetite, and then I’m gonna eat your friend.” Leo said. He laughed quietly to himself when he saw Dean quickly look over at his brother and to you. “I mean, I don’t know what the hell she is, but with healing powers like that, who cares? He could cure me.” Leo examined a few more containers before finding the one that felt perfect. The label on the clear container read wolf heart. “Dog on sort-of dog.”

Dean worked even faster when the man took out the wolf’s heart and began the familiar chant to the spell. He managed to cut through the cord in record time and jumped back up to his feet, grabbing the cleaver that was thrown at him earlier. Dean attempted to attack the man when he was distracted, but Leo managed to dodge, causing the hunter to drop the knife to the ground. Dean roughly shoved the other man to the ground, sparing him a few seconds as he quickly looked around to see if he might be able to find another weapon. Only when he looked to the chef he realized the spell had worked quickly when the man bared sharp canine teeth. 

Dean didn’t waste a second bolting out of the kitchen and through the hall, trying to distance himself from the psychopath before he could get himself or anyone else hurt. He found himself back outside with seconds to figure out how to take Leo down for good. A thought crossed his mind when the back door swung open. 

“Sorry.” Leo taunted the man. “Wolf trumps dog.” 

“Maybe.” Dean said. “But not a whole pack.” 

The good karma Dean had given to the dogs at the shetler was about to be returned in full. He whistled loud enough for the Colonel to come running only seconds later, along with all the others he freed earlier. When Leo realized the mutts were coming towards his direction, a panic set through him as he tried to find an escape. He tried to open the back door in which he came out with no success. The man was cornered with nowhere to go except to suffer the fate of his consequences. Dean watched on for a moment as the man was ripped apart by the mutts, his screams of pain fell on deaf ears. And when he knew for sure all of this was taken care of, Dean rushed back inside the restaurant, wanting to make sure you and his brother were all right. 

Dean tried not to panic when he saw the copious amount of dried blood on your neck and clothing with not a single scratch on your body. He crouched down to your level and tried to get you to wake up when he felt a pulse. You remained unconscious even when he cradled your head into his hands and moved you around slightly. 

“For the love of God, Y/N. Hey, sweetheart.” Dean could hear his voice tremor when you didn’t even flinch. He tried to somehow reach the angel that was quietly possessing your body, but all he got was nothing. You remained as you were. Dean began to softly slap your cheek to try and get you to come back around. “Hey. Come on.” He almost begged for you to snap out of it, not stopping until you opened your eyes. “Don’t make me lick your damn face.” 

Dean started shaking your entire body in a desperate attempt until he finally heard the sweet sound of you gasping for breath. You slowly opened your eyes as you started coming back into consciousness. A blurry sight of a worried Dean was the first thing you were greeted with. In true fashion, you weren’t sure what was going on, but the question that fell out of your mouth was about the well being of Sam when you didn’t see him. Dean couldn’t help the smile that crept on his lips as he helped you up from the ground and the both of you tended to his brother.

+ + + 

You always wanted to have a dog growing up. You even thought about getting one when you lived on your own, it might have made the loneliness a little easier. If the Colonel had somehow landed in your lap years ago before you started hunting you would have jumped on the chance to give him a good home. Dean's ability to read his mind had given him extra points for the attachment you had grown on him. But with the lifestyle you lead it would have been impossible. And you couldn't bear the thought of bringing him back to the pound. So, you thought of the next best thing. A couple of hippies who probably loved animals more than themselves.

“When you called us about adopting him, we couldn’t believe it.” Dylan made no effort to hide the smile on his face at the German Shepherd who was currently being overwhelmed with love from his wife, Olivia. 

“Aren’t you the sweetest?” She cooed at the dog.

“Ugh.” The Colonel grimaced as he tried to turn his head away from the lady. Dean chuckled to himself at the thoughts only he could hear. “Back off, tofu-breath.” 

“Oh, you must be starving.” Olivia said. “Lucky for you, I baked some vegan doggy cupcakes.” 

She jumped to her feet and went with her husband to the back of the kitchen to fetch those treats. You smiled to yourself at how happy they seemed. You looked down in the direction of the Colonel when you decided it was time for you and Dean to say your final goodbyes. All though you might not have been able to speak a single word to the mutt, there was a soft spot in your heart for him. It was those damn puppy dog eyes that won you over. 

“I’m gonna be pooping wheatgrass with these two.” The Colonel said.

“Look, I know they’re hippie freaks, but they’re gonna give you a good home—one that you deserve.” Dean reassured the dog about the future for him. He crouched down so he was at level with him to have one more proper conversation. In a way Dean felt bad himself for not being able to adopt the Colonel from the way you had grown attached to him. He would be lying if he said the mutt didn’t grow on him, too. “Wish we could take you on the road with us, but it’s no life for a dog.”

“Don’t sweat it. I get carsick anyway.” The Colonel responded. He would grow comfortable in his new home with time. You crouched down to the ground with Dean to say your final goodbyes to the dog as well. Before you could even get a word out, you were bombarded with dog kisses that were slobbery and wet. You let out a genuine laugh at how much the Colonel's licks tickled your skin. "I'm gonna miss her the most. No offense, buddy.” 

“None taken.” Dean said. He watched for a moment as you seemed happy in that moment, the smile on your face was enough for him to feel some sort of peace he hadn't felt in weeks. Even if in the back of his mind it would eventually fade once all of you hit the road. 

“I should probably mention this, but I barfed in your backseat.” The Colonel felt the need to slip in some last minute information as you momentarily distracted Dean from the way you were coddling the dog as if he were a small child. “I was afraid to tell you earlier.” 

“You…” Dean’s first reaction was to get angry at hearing the surprise that was waiting for him.

“Come on.” The Colonel managed to speak first when Dean trailed off. He felt the need to remind him of the bonding moment you were having. “Don’t ruin the moment.” 

Dean brushed it off with a chuckle. “I’m gonna miss you, buddy.” 

“I’ll miss you, too.” The Colonel offered his paw for Dean to shake as their final farewell. Along with one more thing. “And by the way, as an honorary dog, there’s something you should know. Dogs aren’t really man’s best friend.” 

“What are you talking about?” Dean asked. 

“I know it sounds like a conspiracy theory, but the real reason we were put here was to…” The Colonel was about to give the man a piece of information that would change his life forever, but all that Dean heard next was a series of barks. None of which he understood. 

“Put here to do what?” Dean asked the dog, suddenly needing to find out the answer. All the Colonel could do was bark in some kind of attempt to communicate with him. But it fell on your untrained ears. “Oh, you gotta be kidding me. Oh, now the spell wears off?!”

Dean let out a frustrated sigh at how things seemed to always work out. Part of him was glad that things would finally get back to normal, but there would always be another part that wondered what kind of information he would never know. Both of you said your final farewells to the Colonel before heading out to the parked Impala where Sam had been waiting for you. 

“How’d it go?” Sam asked.

“Well, bad news is that I’m gonna miss the flea bag. Good news is it looks like the spell is finally wearing off.” Dean informed his brother, catching him up to speed with what the both of you knew. You faintly listened to the conversation as you crossed your arms over your chest and glanced back over to the bakery. A look crossed your face that worried Dean. “You okay? The stetson man got you pretty good.”

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I just…I can’t stop thinking about what he said.” You chuckled to yourself at strange words you remembered him speaking to you before everything went black. You had told the boys when everything settled down. They had brushed it off as nothing, but for some reason you were still thinking about it. The entire situation didn’t make sense. 

“Oh, come on, sweetheart.” Dean said. “Guy was out of his freaking gourd.”

“Yeah, but, I mean, why would he ask that?” You asked the boys, as if they had some sort of explanation to Leo’s strange behavior. “Why did he want to know what I was?” 

“Who the hell knows? He was all jacked up on juice, you know? He was possessed by something he couldn’t control. It was…It was just a matter of time before it completely took over.” Dean tried to find an explanation that would put this conversation to bed once and for all. You didn’t seem all that convinced from the way you kept staring at him. “You can’t reason with crazy, right?” 

You let out a faint sigh. “I don’t know.” 

“Well, I do.” Dean said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Trust me, Y/N. You got nothing to worry about.” 

At the moment all you could do was take Dean's words at face value. You knew in the back of your mind that he was right. You were ordinary as the next person on the street. But you found yourself wondering one particular thing. How did you get covered in blood? Sam was perfectly fine without a scratch, and so was Dean. All of you were okay. Your fingers subconsciously scratched the side of your neck, the same spot you swore you remembered feeling claws dig into the skin and rip open. All that remained was smoothness, not a single scar. Maybe your head was still scrambled from the trials. That was the only thing that made sense to you. 

You loaded yourself up into the backseat of the Impala as the boys took their respectful spots like always. A comfortable routine that helped somewhat put your mind at ease. While Dean turned on the car and got ready to drive off, you found yourself smelling something that was slightly off. You sniffed the air a few more times as you grimaced at the foul smell that was almost coming out of nowhere.

“What’s that smell?” You asked. “It smells like…”

“Vomit?” Dean wondered. You nodded your head as you tried to find the source in the darkness of the night as he kept on driving. “The Colonel got sick. Watch your step.” 

"Oh, God. Ew." You grumbled to yourself. You quickly rolled down the window to let the fresh breeze of the night clear some of the foul smell and help ease your mind. You let out a quiet sigh as you turned your head to watch as the bakery got smaller in the distance. If one positive thing came from this case, it was knowing you had placed a dog in a safe home. "Good thing that mutt is cute." 

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[thenovelartist]

Second Chances, Chapter 15

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Christmas was right around the corner. Christmas itself wasn’t was Adrien feared. No. That was easy. It was the chaos the holidays wracked on his schedule that he dreaded. He also dreaded the fact that Marinette, being as immensely competent as she was, meant he now had the ability to attend holiday parties.

Unfortunately.

A knock sounded on his door, and Emma was up like a shot. “Marinette’s here. Marinette’s here!”

Adrien chuckled as he answered the door. “Hi.”

She gave him a bright and cheery grin. “Hi.”

“You look lovely,” he said, taking in her curled hair and red dress as she walked inside.

“Thanks. You aren’t the only one with a holiday party to attend. Speaking of which,” she said looking down at Emma. “I think you need a dress. Am I right?”

Emma gasped as Marinette pulled a gift from her ever-present large, red bag and handed it to her. She eagerly took the gift with a squeal, immediately sitting on the ground to open it.

Adrien watched with a grin as Emma tore through the paper, then opened the gift box to reveal a dress with a black top and fluffy, multicolored skirt.

Emma gasped and squealed and hugged it close.

“What do you say, Emma?” Adrien reminded.

“Thank you, Marinette!” she cried, wrapping her arms around Marinette’s neck.

“You’re welcome,” Marinette said, returning the hug before pulling away. “Now, let’s go get ready, shall we?”

“Okay!” Emma whipped around and bounded up the stairs.

Marinette and Adrien chuckled as they watched her scamper to her room.

“Thank you again for doing this, Marinette,” Adrien said. “I really appreciate it. And Emma will have a good time for sure.”

“You’re welcome. It will be a blast, I know it. Alya and Nino are coming as well, so it’s going to be a lot of fun. My parents will love her and she’ll love them.”

“Marinette! Marinette!” Emma cried from the top of the stairs. “Come on!”

“Coming Emma.” With that, she headed up the stairs.

Adrien followed her up. After all, he had to get ready as well. Though, he was certain that the party he had to attend wouldn’t be half as much fun as the party Marinette had organized.

Before he could turn off to his room, Marinette stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Really quick, I was wondering if it was okay to curl her hair? I thought it would be really cute in curls and ribbons, but I’m not going to use a curling wand if you say no.”

Adrien paused for a second. “Yeah. That’s fine. Thanks for asking.”

She flashed him a smile. “Okay.” And just like that she was off.

Adrien took his time getting ready, making sure he was impeccable in his tuxedo. When he was certain that not a hair was out of place, he walked to his office, doing last minute paperwork as he waited for the call from his father saying the limousine was here.

Instead, the doorbell rang. Adrien got quite a surprise upon seeing his father at the door.

But his heart sank when he saw more paperwork.

“Trust me, I dreaded giving you this unfortunate gift.”

“At this rate, I’m going to have to hire an assistant of my own.”

“Can you make it through the holidays?”

“Hopefully?”

“Because I don’t want to put any more stress on you or Nathalie in terms of hiring.”

“Don’t you have a manager for that?”

“Apparently, after our little meeting, he decided to look for work elsewhere. I only just received his two weeks.”

“You cut him early?”

“No use in having him roll over into the new year.”

Adrien couldn’t help but agree with that.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Adrien turned to see Emma bounding down the stairs. Her curled hair bounced with each step and her skirt fluttered like the wings of a butterfly. “Look at the dress Marinette made me!” She paused with a gasp. “Grandfather! Look at my dress! Marinette made it just like the dress in the picture you gave me.”

It took a moment to recall that design, but Adrien  soon remembered which one she was talking about. Emma’s favorite dress.

Gabriel narrowed his eyes as he stared down at the dress. “Yes, she did.”

“And look at your hair,” Adrien added. “She made it all curly.”

“She said I had to sit really still,” Emma said with a sudden seriousness. “Otherwise, she wouldn’t make my hair curly.”

“But you did so well,” Marinette said, appearing by the door. “And you look like a princess.”

With a grin, Emma started bouncing again. “Just like you.”

Marinette’s eyes sparkled with a gentle fondness that made her seem twice as precious.

“You did quite a nice job on Emma’s dress, Mrs. Kurtzburg,” Gabriel said. “I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. It was such a nice design that I wondered why it didn’t make it to a collection?”

“It didn’t fit with the rest of the pieces,” he answered simply. “But I always did like the design. Nice to see that you rendered it so well.”

Marinette just blushed. “Thank you, sir.”

“Can I get a picture?” Adrien asked.

Marinette stepped back and let Adrien take a couple photos of Emma. But Marinette was soon pulled in front of the camera, and the girls happily posed for shots.

“Daddy-daughter shots next,” Marinette said, leaping up to take the phone from Adrien’s hand before he could react. Still, he happily posed with Emma for several shots before dragging his father into the fray.

He smiled for one picture and called it good.

“Marinette, why don’t you pose with Emma and Adrien?” Gabriel said, his hand extended for the phone.

She hesitantly put the phone in his hand and stood beside Adrien holding Emma for the shot.

After Gabriel captured the image, he handed the phone back to Adrien. “Now, as enjoyable as that was, we should be going.”

Adrien set Emma down. “All right. I believe those two have their own dinner part to make it to.”

Marinette nodded. “Her car seat,” she quickly realized.

“Yes,” he said, already heading to the garage. “Let me grab it.”

Adrien pulled the seat from his car, passing it off to Marinette on the porch before locking the front door. She wished him a goodnight, and he bid her the same, watching as she headed to her car with Emma bouncing excitedly behind her.

Adrien opened the limousine door for his father to reveal Nathalie sitting in the back, tablet in hand. “You two certainly took a while,” she commented as she set the tablet aside.

“Yes,” Gabriel said, taking a seat beside her and placing a hand on her knee in an affectionate gesture. “Emma was dressed up for the evening and Adrien took some pictures.”

Adrien slipped inside the limousine, shutting the door behind him before taking out his phone to show Nathalie.

She accepted the phone, her smile appearing immediately. “She looks fit to be seen at one of your events.”

“That she does,” Gabriel agreed, which filled Adrien with quite a bit of pride.

“I particularly like this one of all three of you.”

“I’d like it on my wall.”

“Canvas or photograph.”

“Canvas, framed.”

“Done. I have the perfect spot in mind.”

“I’ll not question your judgement.”

Adrien grinned at the exchange, his eyes falling to Nathalie’s hand on which sat the engagement ring. None of the five diamonds the ring held could be over a carat, yet the ring was undoubtedly impressive. It wasn’t showy or gaudy and one might have passed over the ring at a glance, yet the detail there was striking. He thought it fit Nathalie very well.

Though his father never answered him on where he got such a ring.

“Clearly there were plans for the evening if Emma and Mrs. Kurtzburg were dressed up,” Nathalie commented, handing the phone back to Adrien.

He replaced his phone back in his pocket. “Marinette organized a bit of a dinner party at her parents’ house. Alya and Nino were going as well.”

“That certainly sounds like an enjoyable evening.”

Adrien nodded his agreement. Honestly, he wished he could be there instead of at this event. Whatever it entailed, it was guaranteed to be far more entertaining than the party he was headed off to. After all, he would much rather enjoy the company of Marinette than Lila Rossi.

And he tried not to dwell on how severe of an understatement that was.

Emma held Marinette’s hand as they entered the apartment above the bakery. “This is where I live.”

Emma looked around just as Maman came into view. “Why you must be Emma,” Maman said, coming up to greet her and kneeling down to her level.

“Emma, this is my Maman, Mrs. Cheng.”

Emma shyly waved hello.

That’s when her papa rounded the corner. He waved. “Hi, Emma.”

“And that’s my papa,” Marinette pointed out. “Mr. Dupain.”

Emma now hid behind Marinette’s leg.

“No reason to be shy,” Maman coaxed. “I heard you like baking with Marinette.”

Emma looked out from behind Marinette’s skirt and nodded.

“I like baking, too. So much that I bake every day.”

Slowly, Maman managed to pull Emma from her shell with talk of pastries and cookies, which morphed into Emma sharing all the times that she and Marinette had baked together.

Her papa eventually got in on the conversation, and soon they were talking about ‘so many cupcakes you could fill a mansion’ which left Emma in awe.

The knock at the door was undoubtably Alya and Nino, whom Marinette let in.

“Auntie Alya!” Emma cried before running into Alya’s arms.

“And Uncle Nino,” Alya reminded.

“High five, little dudette.”

Emma planted a hand against Nino’s.

In no time at all, Emma pulled everyone into the story of how she and Marinette had made a gingerbread house for the holidays. One that had fallen apart and they’d had to rebuild. Emma told them how Elves had traveled all the way from the North Pole because her house was so amazing, but they accidently broke it and were so embarrassed that they ran away.

But that’s because Marinette didn’t have the heart to tell her she caught Adrien eating the roof one evening.

A timer rang from the kitchen. “That’s the turkey,” Papa said, heading to the kitchen to take it from the oven.

“We’ll need to let it rest a bit before carving,” Maman called after him.

“Then that will give us just enough time for a picture,” Alya said, standing from the table and grabbing her camera. “You didn’t think I wasn’t going to take some photos, right?”

So, after a handful of pictures were taken, Alya set up a tripod with the intend of lining everyone up on the couch and taking a group shot. It took a handful of tries, but eventually, they captured a really good one.

“And one more for my phone,” Alya said, propping her phone on a stand.

By that time, the turkey was ready for carving. Emma was curious as she watched Papa cut slices from the bird, standing on her tiptoes in hopes of looking over the counter.

Instead, her papa stopped and hoisted little Emma up on his shoulders. Marinette relished the squeal of happiness the little girl made. Her maman took over carving duty, and Marinette felt nostalgic at the scene, watching her papa hold Emma’s little legs while Emma looked over his head to watch maman cut perfect slices off a turkey. It was like watching her childhood. She remembered when she was still small enough to sit on her papa’s shoulders while he cooked. It was one of her favorite memoires, and she was so glad to share it with Emma.

“Marinette.”

She nearly jumped from her skin at Alya’s voice suddenly beside her.

Alya looked at her with a smug smile. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” Marinette dismissed maybe a bit too quickly.

“Yeah? Are you sure it doesn’t have anything to do with a little girl you would secretly love to adopt?”

It was a shock to her core. She was doing it again, just like she was in the fabric shop. Emma had become such a large part of her life, and she was beginning to treat her like a daughter. But she was not her mother. Nor would she ever be. And it would be best if she could remember that fact.

The buzz in his pocket called his attention and served as a distraction from the evening. He pulled it out to check it just in case it was regarding Emma. Which, in a sense, it was. He smiled at the picture Alya sent him of Emma, Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Marinette’s parents all dressed up and sitting on a couch for the photo. It was precious, and Adrien couldn’t pull his eyes away. However, he eventually caught sight of the caption.

Hope you’re enjoying yourself! Love, your future family ;)

Adrien had to pause at that, his heart beating an unsteady rhythm.

He’d never been so thankful for a distraction, even if it came in the form of Mr. Rossi.

“I hear a congratulation is in order.”

Gabriel gave the man a practiced smile. “Yes, thank you.”

Mr. Rossi hummed, looking over to where Nathalie was standing conversing with another investor while the man’s wife was gushing over Nathalie’s ring. “She’s pleasing enough, I suppose. But I never would have guessed you would have been trapped down by a gold digger.”

Adrien’s jaw nearly fell to the floor. Luckily, he’d practiced his poker face enough to prevent that from happening.

“And just what are you insinuating, sir?” Gabriel ground out.

“Come now, Gabriel,” Mr. Rossi said. “I’ve watched many a man fall for a woman who wants only his money or status. I never would have guessed you would have been one.”

“I’m not.”

Mr. Rossi scoffed. “Gabriel, you do realize that out of all the women you could have chosen, you picked a secretary? Not just any secretary, but one that works for you in your company? Do you know how that looks to the public?”

“If the public believes that I’m marrying her for my personal pleasure, it would behoove them to pull their heads from the gutter.”

“Just something to think about.”

“Trust me,” Gabriel growled. “I will.”

At least Mr. Rossi could take the hint, departing to find someone else to converse with.

“Adrien, how substantial of a loss would it be if Mr. Rossi was suddenly dropped from our board of investors.”

“You will do no such thing.”

Gabriel and Adrien turned to Nathalie.

“I will not stand for him insulting you,” Gabriel countered.

“Let the press talk,” she dismissed. “I knew full well what I was getting into when I agreed to your proposal. It is a bit scandalous for the gossip columns, but considering that nothing unseemly has occurred between us, I see no reason to worry nor hide lest we want people to speculate that as a confirmation.”

Gabriel’s frown deepened, and so did Adrien’s. “Yes, but you shouldn’t have to live with that, Nathalie,” Adrien said.

She simply shrugged. “Cost of fame. Far worth the price, in my opinion.”

It was barely noticeable, but Gabriel’s posture relaxed. “I still won’t stand for it.”

“I know,” she said, reaching up to straighten his bow tie and pat it down in a comforting gesture considering his father was always picture perfect. “But you cannot drop Mr. Rossi. The money is minimal compared to the damage of reputation that will surely happen for each of you. Therefore, whether he is a fool or not, you will keep him on the board out of your best interest.”

Gabriel still looked none too happy about it.

The rest of the night went by smoothly with plenty of people offering their congratulations for Gabriel and Nathalie. Nothing was set in stone yet, but that would be worried about after the chaos of the holiday had passed.

The night finally came to a close, and Adrien was excited to get home and get some sleep. The biggest and last holiday party was over, meaning he got to spend time in piles of paperwork and evenings with Emma.

And maybe Marinette.

She’d been staying longer than necessary as of late, eating dinner with them more often than not, asking him about his day, helping clean up dishes, and occasionally watching a movie with them. Adrien felt spoiled by her presence, and Emma was hardly objecting.

The limousine stopped in front of Nathalie’s apartment. His father, ever the gentleman, helped her out of the car.

Adrien couldn’t help but spy on the two of them, watching smiles be exchanged before his father leaned down to give Nathalie a chaste kiss good night. He’d never seen Nathalie glow like that, but it was a good look on her.

When his father returned, Adrien pulled out his phone to show him the photo Alya had sent him.

“I forgot to show you. Emma had a good time, apparently.”

Gabriel stared at the photo for a while. “I’m going to assume that man beside Alya is her fiancée?”

“Yes. Nino.”

Gabriel nodded. “They make a nice-looking couple.”

Adrien grinned at that.

“And then those are Marinette’s parents I’m going to assume? She looks very much like her mother.”

“I met them once. They’re very nice.”

“Acceptable for in-laws?”

Adrien’s gaze hit the floor as his cheeks warmed.

His father chuckled as he returned the phone to him. “I will be interested to meet them sometime in the future.”

“Far future,” Adrien corrected, taking his phone back.

The spark in his father’s eye was unsettling. “We’ll see.”

Adrien awkwardly rubbed his neck.

“By the way,” his father continued. “I finally had the chance to look over Mrs. Kurtzburg’s portfolio.”

Adrien quirked a curious brow. “And?”

“Had those positions not been filled, I would have insisted she be hired. However, I won’t offer her a job as of yet because I would not want to steal your only capable nanny from you.”

Adrien wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

It wasn’t long before they stopped in front of Adrien’s house. His eyes immediately went to the red bug—Tikki, for good luck, Marinette had once told him­­—in the driveway.

“I think you should go relieve your babysitter for the night.”

“I think she’ll appreciate that. Good night, Father.”

“Good night, Adrien.”

Once he was inside, he found Marinette asleep on the couch, Emma curled up beside her, the television on yet blank. Adrien grinned fondly at the scene. He had told Marinette that Emma could stay up late this once because of the occasion, but he was glad she was asleep by this time.

He walked over to pull Emma, now in her pajamas, off Marinette’s chest and held the little girl against his own. He took her up to her room, tucked her under the covers with Plagg, then kissed her forehead. “Sweet dreams, Emma,” he whispered before tip-toeing from the room and back down stairs.

Where Marinette was still asleep.

He lightly shook her shoulder. “Marinette.”

She frowned, scrunching her eyelids and turning over to block him out.

He grinned. “Marinette,” he tried again, shaking her a little harder. “Wake up.”

Her brow furrowed again in frustration before he eyes blinked open. “Hmm?”

“I’m home.”

“Oh,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, we were watching a movie. I don’t remember the ending.”

Adrien chuckled. “I don’t think Emma does, either. Thank you for watching her tonight, by the way.”

“We had a fun time,” Marinette said, sitting up. “My parents loved her.”

“I’m glad.”

“They want her over to help in the bakery sometime.”

“Well, you know where her car seat is.”

A soft smile graced her lips. “They may never give her back.”

“As long as she’s happy, I’m happy.”

Marinette chuckled. “I guess I should head out.”

“If you need a moment to wake up—”

“If I stay on the couch, I’m going to fall asleep again.”

With a chuckle, Adrien reached down to grab Marinette’s hands, helping her stand from the couch.

And not letting go.

“You have a really comfortable couch, just so you know.”

He grinned, though it was strained by the fact she was still standing so close. “Clearly, considering you’ve fallen asleep on it twice.”

She gave him a soft smile. “Did you have a good time at the party?”

“More or less.”

She hummed.

“There’s one investor that got on my father’s last nerve this evening.”

Marinette cringed.

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” He then leaned close and grinned. “Now go home and get some sleep.”

She chuckled sleepily. “Okay. Okay. I hear you.”

He was disappointed when he had to let go of her hands, but she patted his chest in her sleepy haze in an affectionate manner that he wasn’t sure she was even fully aware of. It sent his heart rate soaring.

She walked over to the door, grabbed her purse, and slipped on her shoes.

“Drive safely,” he said once he managed to pull himself together a bit.

“I will.”

“And text me when you get home.”

“I promise.”

“Sleep well, Marinette.”

“You too, Adrien.”

“But only when you get home.”

She chuckled, her laughter tired but her eyes twinkling. “Okay.”

“I’ll see you Monday.”

“Monday.”

With that, she stepped out into the chilly night to her car. She glanced back at him with a smile that was a lovely mix of sweet and sleepy, and he couldn’t help but let a similar one grow on his own face. She gave him one last wave before getting into her car and driving off into the night.

He shut the door and leaned against it, allowing his eyes to fall shut as he let go a heavy sigh. Heaven help him, it was getting harder to restrain himself. Especially if she does any more affectionate gestures like that. Especially when she shot him a smile in that way. Especially when her eyes twinkle because she’s laughing at something he said.

He loved her.

But she…

Was she ready?

Instead of thinking about the possible answer and getting his hopes up too high, he focused on changing out of his stuffy tux and into his pajamas. He got into bed, but he couldn’t turn off the light until the phone rang. He smiled when it finally did.

Goodnight, Adrien. Sweet dreams.

He smiled. As long as they had her in them, they would be.

[the3flamingos]

8 Things You Will Benefit From If You Do Before 8am Every Day

Life is busy. It can feel impossible to move toward your dreams. If you have a full-time job and kids, it's even harder. How do you move forward?

If you don't purposefully carve out time every day to progress and improve, without question, your time will get lost in the vacuum of our increasingly crowded lives. Before you know it, you'll be old and withered,  wondering where all that time went.

As Harold Hill has said,  "You pile up enough tomorrows, and you'll find you are left with nothing but a lot of empty yesterdays."

Rethinking your life and getting out of survival mode This article is intended to challenge you to rethink your entire approach to life. The purpose is to help you simplify, focus on what's meaningful, and live and work with intention. To live your life BY DESIGN.

When you orient your life around intentions, you can live every moment on your own terms. You are the designer of your destiny. You are responsible. You get to decide. You must decide, because if you don't, someone else will. Indecision is a bad decision.

With this short morning routine, your life will quickly change. It may seem like a long list. But it's really quite simple:

Wake up; get in the zone; get moving; put the right food in your body; get ready; get inspired; get perspective; and do something to move yourself forward.

Let's begin:

1. Get a healthy seven-plus hours of sleep Sleep is just as important as eating and drinking water. Despite this, millions of people do not sleep enough and experience insane problems as a result.

The National Sleep Foundation conducted surveys that revealed at least 40 million Americans suffer from sleep disorders, more than 70 kinds. In addition, more than 40 percent of adults experience daytime sleepiness severe enough to interfere with their activities at least a few days each month -- with 20 percent reporting problem sleepiness a few days a week or more.

On the flip side, getting a healthy amount of sleep is linked to increased memory, longer life, decreased inflammation, greater attention and focus, and lower stress. And much more--Google it.

The rest of this post is worthless if you don't make sleep a priority. What does it matter if you wake up at 5 a.m. if you went to bed three hours earlier? You won't last long.

2. Prayer and meditation to facilitate clarity and abundance After waking from a healthy and restful sleep session, prayer and meditation are crucial for orienting yourself toward the positive. What you focus on expands.

When you start your day grateful for everything you have been given, you start your day with an abundance mindset. When you think in terms of abundance, you stay open to limitless opportunity and possibility. And when you start with that clarity, you will attract the best the world has to offer and not get distracted.

3. Hard physical activity Despite endless evidence of the need for exercise, only one-third of American men and women between the ages of 25 and 64 engage in regular physical activity, according to the Centers for Disease Control's National Health Interview Survey.

If you want to be among the healthy, happy, and productive people in the world, get in the habit of regular exercise. Many people go immediately to the gym to get their bodies moving. I have lately found that doing yard work in the wee hours of the morning generates an intense flow of inspiration and clarity.

Whatever your preference, get your body moving. Exercise has been found to decrease anxiety, stress, and the chance of depression. It is also related to higher success in your career. If you don't care about your body, every other aspect of your life will suffer. Humans are holistic beings.

4. Consume 30 grams of protein Donald Layman, professor emeritus of nutrition at the University of Illinois, recommends consuming at least 30 grams of protein for breakfast. Similarly, Tim Ferriss, in his book The 4-Hour Body, recommends 30 grams of protein 30 minutes after waking up.

Protein-rich foods keep you full longer than other foods, because they take longer to leave the stomach. Also, protein keeps blood-sugar levels steady, which prevents spikes in hunger. Eating protein first decreases your white carbohydrate cravings. These are the types of carbs that get you fat. Think bagels, toast, and doughnuts.

Ferriss makes four recommendations for getting adequate protein in the morning: 1) Eat at least 40 percent of your breakfast calories as protein; 2) do it with two or three whole eggs (each egg has about six grams of protein); 3) if you don't like eggs, use something like turkey bacon, organic pork bacon or sausage, or cottage cheese; or 4) you could always do a protein shake with water. For people who avoid dairy, meat, and eggs, there are several plant-based proteins. Legumes, greens, nuts, and seeds all are rich in protein.

5. Take a cold shower Tony Robbins starts every morning by jumping into a 57-degree-Fahrenheit swimming pool. Why would he do such a thing?

Cold-water immersion radically facilitates physical and mental wellness. When practiced regularly, it provides long-lasting changes to your body's immune, lymphatic, circulatory, and digestive systems that improve the quality of your life. It can also increase weight loss, because it boosts your metabolism. A 2007 study found that routinely taking cold showers can help treat depression symptoms, often more effectively than medications. That's because cold water triggers a wave of mood-boosting neuro-chemicals that make you feel happy.

So jump in. Your heart will beat like crazy, and then, after like 20 seconds, you feel fine.

For me, a cold shower increases my willpower and boosts my creativity and inspiration. While standing with the water hitting my back, I practice slowing my breathing and calming down. After I've chilled out, I feel super happy and inspired. Plus, it's healthy to do something in the morning that kind of freaks you out. It gets you feeling alive and sets the tone for living outside your comfort zone.

6. Listen to or read uplifting content Ordinary people seek entertainment. Extraordinary people seek education and learning. It is common for the world's most successful people to read at least one book per week. They are constantly learning.

I can easily get through one audio book per week by listening during my commute to school and while walking on campus. Taking even 15 to 30 minutes every morning to read uplifting and instructive information changes you. It puts you in the zone to perform at your highest.

Over a long enough period of time, you will have read hundreds of books. You'll be knowledgeable on several topics. You'll think and see the world differently. You'll be able to make more connections between different topics.

7. Review your life vision Your goals should be written down -- short term and long term. Taking just a few minutes to read your life vision puts your day into perspective.

If you read your long-term goals every day, you will think about them every day. If you think about them every day, and spend your days working toward them, they'll manifest.

Achieving goals is a science. There's no confusion or ambiguity to it. If you follow a simple pattern, you can accomplish all of your goals, no matter how big they are.

A fundamental aspect of that is writing them down and reviewing them every single day.

8. Do at least one thing toward long-term goals Willpower is like a muscle, because it depletes when it is exercised. Similarly, our ability to make high-quality decisions becomes fatigued over the course of the day. The more decisions you make, the lower their quality  and the weaker your willpower.

Consequently, you need to do the hard stuff first thing in the morning. The important stuff. If you don't, it simply will not get done. By the end of your day, you'll be exhausted. You'll be fried. There will be a million reasons to just start tomorrow. And you will start tomorrow -- which is never.

So your mantra becomes: The worst comes first. Do that thing you've been needing to do. Then do it again tomorrow.

If you take just one step toward your big goals every day, you'll realise those goals weren't really far away.

[elfnerdherder]

The Fault in My Code: Ch. 6

You can reach Chapter 6 on Ao3 Here

Chapter 6: One Black, One Blue

           He stayed in the depths of the FBI HQ for the rest of the day as well as the next morning, up to his elbows in reading through the different patients Lecter took extensive notes on. Will would credit him this: he was organized. He kept clear, concise information in a slanted script, the details of a person more than whether or not they thought it right to laugh at a funeral. He examined their micro-expressions, the way they clasped their hands on their knees, the way their eyes cut to the side after a difficult question. Hannibal Lecter saw all.

           He wasn’t rescued from his work by a moment of eureka, but by his phone buzzing at his hip.

           “Graham here.”

           “It’s Alana.”

           He rubbed the bad eye, like she could somehow see it over the phone and through his ‘Cloud blue’ contacts.

           “How are you?”

           “How are you?” Alana asked. Her emphasis would have been mildly insulting if it was anyone but her.

           “Trying to read between the thin lines Lecter left,” said Will, thumbing through another patient’s file. There were two that stood out to him in stark relief against the shitty lights of the evidence locker, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of Occam’s Broom or because he’d found something substantial. “Why?”

           “Jack called.”

           “Are you my keeper?” Will snorted derisively.

           “Well, that’s why I told you. He asked me to be discreet, and I said I wouldn’t lie to you. Also, you’d know if I lied to you.”

           “I would,” Will agreed.

           “He said you stormed out of the police precinct because they asked you about Hobbs.”

           Will leaned back in his chair and peered up at the corkboard ceiling, rubbing his mouth to soften the words that he wanted to hurl out. He shouldn’t have cussed at the chief. His mind made leaps people couldn’t follow –always had. Jack was best at trying to reel him in so that he could understand, but someone from the Baltimore police wouldn’t see what he was saying unless he took the time to flower it up.

           “I took a walk,” he said at last. “I needed a walk.”

           “I’ve seen you talk about Hobbs before, Will. This wasn’t just about Hobbs, was it?” He knew what she was asking without having to clarify. Time did that to people, he supposed –you knew without knowing, heard without hearing. Then there was him, and he saw the little pieces most people left behind.

           “You were right, Alana. He’s a son-of-a-bitch,” Will admitted.

           “Did he get in your head?”

           “…It felt like ants crawling around my skull. He took one look, then another, and he saw as much as I saw.”

           “You saw, though?” Alana sounded surprised.

           “He said that if I wanted to get the scent of a killer, I only had to look in the mirror.” He had looked in the mirror. Several times. Too many times. He wanted to shatter the mirror in his hotel room the way Soul Stealer had.

           “How did you feel, hearing that?”

           “Psychoanalyzing me, Dr. Bloom?” he quipped, not quite kind but not unkind. Somewhere grey, somewhere in between.

           “Asking as a friend, Will. Three years, then you jumped in cold turkey to something you’d wanted to leave behind.”

           “…It felt like I never left. I sat in that room, and I looked at the evidence, and I saw it the same way I used to. The Soul Stealer and I have a lot in common.”

           “You also have crucial differences,” Alana pointed out. “Mostly your kindness-”

           “-Even Molly would laugh at that, Alana, Jesus-”

           “-and your ability to empathize and treat people as people rather than playthings,” she finished.

           Silence. Will chewed on the pen cap and jotted a note down, staring down at the notes in front of him. It was nice to know she could sense his unease at a distance, feel the way he was uncertain of his own mind. Years did that for them, made things soft with understanding rather than disquieted. She never treated him like a patient, although she was honest with him like one. There was a reason they stayed friends, even after their experiences together didn’t one day monumentally shift as her eyes became his. While he’d relished in the lack of change, Alana had decided to walk away.

           “I saw Dr. Gideon. He misses your home cooked meals.”

           “Are you going to make the rounds on all of the inmates I’ve spoken to there?” she asked.

           “I thought about it,” he replied thoughtfully. “He sounded almost fond of you.”

           “I spoke to him as a doctor rather than a psychopath, that’s why.” He could almost hear the sound of her struggling to say more, trying to weigh the words. “…If you’re not doing well-”

           “I’m alright,” he reassured her.

           “Are you? Dr. Chilton said you’ve visited with Dr. Lecter a few times now.”

           “He’s going to make this a show, but I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve to get him talking the way I need him to.” A pause. He wasn’t going to go into detail about the tricks up his sleeve. “I think it helps that he didn’t know me before.”

           “He’d be curious about you,” Alana admitted, and she didn’t sound happy about that.

           “He is,” Will agreed. “From my grief counseling to my two blue eyes and my promise ring. Like getting my skin peeled with a cheese grater.” Silence. “He knew we dated.”

           “Yes, I’d mentioned you before,” Alana said.

           “He said he recognized me by my smell. You smelled of me.”

           “He has always had a sharp nose,” Alana said. “He knew if I stayed over at your house instead of mine because of the smell of my shampoo, too.”

           “Huh.” Will fiddled with his pen, tossed it to the side. He wondered if Hannibal found comfort in the scent of his cologne, now that they were soulmates. He’d have asked, if asking didn’t sound so utterly stupid; if it didn’t imply he cared about the answer.

He grabbed the pen again and pocketed it since he’d chewed on the cap. He grabbed the two profiles and tucked them into his bag, then found his way out of the locker with a vague wave towards the agent at the desk by the door. He wondered if Lecter had ever tried to meet his eyes, then. Probably not. Will was pretty damn good at avoiding eyes.

           Not good enough, apparently.

           “How does Molly feel?”

           “Molly thinks I can help people,” he said, and he rubbed his stomach when it panged. Hannibal wanted to see him. He didn’t want to see Hannibal. A twenty-four hour period wasn’t enough for him to feel like he’d adequately washed away the feel of Lecter’s fingertips passing just under the hollow of his eyes.

           “You do help people. Just make sure one of those people is you, Will.”

           “I should take your one-liners and print them out on inspiration posters –you know the kind?”

           “And you should know that your snippy, deflective humor doesn’t fool me,” she retorted.

           “The best one I saw in high school was a cat hanging from a branch. It said, ‘hang in there,’” he continued shamelessly. He noted the deference a few desk jockeys gave him when they saw him, and he wondered what Jack had said to warrant such a behavior from them. Maybe he’d regaled them of tales of Will getting a read on them so acute that he could speak of their lives like he’d lived it personally. That would have rattled some of them up, if their lives had been less than exemplary.

           “At the risk of sounding cliché, I’m going to ask if you’re hanging in there,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice.

           “…I am,” he replied, and at the scent of freshly mowed grass, he inhaled deeply. The day was already promising to be hot; he needed an air conditioner and a new eye.

           “Are you feeling pretty stable?”

           “Enough for a few horses and a mule,” he promised.

-

           In his dreams, he lay in a field of poppies. Someone caressed his skin like a lover, and he choked on the razor’s edge of the mirror shattering over him.

-

           Crawford’s call woke him early morning, and he picked up with bleary, watering eyes.

           “I got something,” Jack said.

           “Something good?” Will sat up, grabbing the shirt he’d discarded on the other half of the bed. He ignored the pillow he’d been holding close to his chest, a poor man’s comfort. He wasn’t sure if he’d been reaching for Molly or Hannibal in his sleep.

           “By the tree with the killer’s coke can, we found a design. Could have been kids, but I doubt it. I’m sending the image now, and I’ve got Katz on the way since it looks Chinese in nature.”

           “There’s a racial stereotype in there somewhere,” Will said, putting the phone on speakerphone. When the image came up, he studied it, tilting his head one way, then the other. “Doesn’t look like a swiss army knife made that.”

           “My thoughts exactly. Do you recognize it?”

           “It’s a Mahjong tile, isn’t it?” Will didn’t play Mahjong, but he did have a Molly who most certainly did. The name of her games were Sudoku, Mahjong, Spider Solitaire, and Minesweeper. The bored housewife’s evening ritual while the news droned and the husband napped in the recliner.

           “I don’t think the killer was playing Mahjong as he waited,” Jack said dryly. “Meet me down here.”

           Will grabbed the two files he’d taken with him from the evidence locker, and he got ready as quickly as he was able. It’d taken more time than normal to wear his body down to sleep the night before, his feet pounding the conveyer belt of the treadmill for too long. Hannibal stayed awake, even as he tried to close his eyes. Whatever his thoughts, they were his own, but the feelings in regards to them were enough to keep Will in a state of a half-sleep, not quite resting but not quite awake.

           Beverly, Zeller, and Price were in the lab when he got there, and their conversation scuttled to a stop when he came in. He nodded to Jack, poised over a small cut of bark from the tree, and hesitated on the opposite side of the table. The arches of his feet ached from a lack of support, and he shifted from foot to foot, looking down at the wood then up to them expectantly.

           “It’s the symbol for the Red Dragon Mahjong tile,” Beverly said. She looked as tired as he felt.

           “Cuts are identical to the blade used to carve up both of the victims,” Zeller added. He was a young counterpart to the older, small man beside him that lifted up a finger, as if to contradict.

           “You know, I played Mahjong growing up with my grandmother,” he revealed. “That symbol also can be used as a gesture of ‘got it’ or ‘that’s the mark’ in other games.”

           “He found his vantage point long before he attacked, then,” Will said, glancing to Crawford. “That’s how he found it again.”

           “Any luck on the profiles from Lecter’s files?” Jack asked.

           “Two stand out to me, but we need to find them, first,” Will said. It’d been a hell of a job weeding through so many, but he’d done it. He pulled the files out and tossed them onto the table for everyone to see. “Tobias Budge, Baltimore resident with a one-sided soulmate now deceased by the name of Franklyn.”

           “Deceased?”

           “Franklyn was the one side of the soulmate,” Will said. His fingers twitched with the need to touch his eye, to check that the contact was straight. “Lecter said look for the eyes that match too well, and it’s common in dynamics of one-sided couples that there’s an imbalance due to that, if a relationship begins at all. He’d struggled with delusions of grandeur and intrusive thoughts leading to use of anti-psychotics under Lecter’s care.”

           “Worth a shot,” Jack said with a nod.

           “Second is Francis Dolarhyde, a soulmate that longed for a soulmate. He never admitted to why or how he was without one, but his eyes are recorded as the same color despite being listed as having a soulmate.”

           “Soulmates can have the same color of eyes,” Zeller said. He had two blue eyes, not for the reason he was defending Dolarhyde’s possession of two brown. Will looked to his lips and compressed his own tightly, shrugging.

           “It’s uncommon in the states, but not at all impossible,” he agreed. “He had a psychosomatic lisp, and Soul Stealer more than likely has a speech impediment of some sort, if his teeth spread is anything to go on. He believes he’s deformed; at least, in every aspect of his mind he is.”

           “What are you thinking?” Jack asked.

           He tapped his fingers idly on the table, looking down to the bark. “I’m thinking, ‘he doesn’t just like this sign.’”

           “It means more to him?”

           “A clever way for him to mark his place,” Zeller said with a shrug. Will ignored him.

           “I’m thinking, ‘he could have used anything, from a rock to a cloth piece to a simple gash for marking his space in which he watched the beginning of the end of Mrs. Hess’ and Mrs. Panter’s lives. He did this sign, and he did it with the same knife he cut the victims up with.’”

           “There’s more to it?” Jack pressed.

           “Maybe culturally? No, maybe…maybe socially, spiritually. Maybe he likes the sign, maybe it’s a symbol for more to him.”

           “We’ll try and track down both men for questioning, see where we get,” Jack said.

           After, when Price had pulled Zeller away to inspect the diatoms in a particular sample of water they’d found from another crime scene, Beverly got him coffee from the break room before he left, an offering.

           “I’m seeing someone,” she declared as Will relished in the taste of true awakening. He peeked at her eyes, one black and one blue, then focused on her hairline.

           “Avoiding his eyes, just in case?”

           “I was going to ask you about that, since you’re here and you’re not going to send me a bill after,” she replied with a laugh.

           “I might.”

           “His name’s Saul, and he’s great. No soulmate, no nothing.”

           “‘No soulmate, no nothing,’” he echoed.

           “It’s been about six months, and nothing’s changed. I’m not expecting it to, but…you and Molly. You’re great together, and you’re not soulmates. I know it’s not so cut-and-dry. There’s a reason there’s a science behind it, not some fate and Jesus-inspired mumbo jumbo,” she said, and there was a self-conscious twitch as she started to reach towards her discolored eye. She stopped herself, and Will wished she’d have finished the motion so that he could see what she’d have done.

           “Our experiences shape us, Beverly,” he said. “You can connect with someone without your DNA deciding to connect, too.”

           “It doesn’t make it less special.” She was trying to convince herself, not him.

           “It won’t feel like before,” he warned her. “Even if the one before wasn’t a soulmate, it wouldn’t have felt like before. Relationships are…unique. I speak easier with you than I do with Zeller.”

           “That’s because you walk into Zeller’s lab and stir the shit,” she said with a laugh.

           “I’ve known him just as long as you, and you don’t mind when I point something out that you missed.”

           “I’m smart, but I’m also smart enough to know when I’m not the smartest in the room.”

           “Bottom line,” he continued, a little flustered at the compliment, “don’t stop dating him. If you’re happy, and he’s happy, don’t hold off on the hope that one day your chemical makeup sees someone it wants to bond with –not because hope is wrong, but because you don’t need that to connect to people. Theories state that the first initial soulmate bonding occurred between people that struggled to connect on a mental level with their peers through speech and circumstances in early civilizations. It was a way to ensure that they survived.”

           Beverly stewed on his words as he sipped his coffee. There was a gentle lull in his stomach that told him that while he worked, Hannibal slept.

           “I don’t want to wake up one day and see that his eyes change, and it’s not me anymore,” she finally confessed. “I like this one, Will.”

           “It’s an active choice to be with a soulmate,” he said firmly. His eyes burned. “No matter your urges, no matter what you feel, you choose them in the aftermath, when the rush subsides. We’re advanced enough that we have that option. We’d be stupid to waste free agency on something cosmic like fate.”

           “Only you’d crap on the idea of the cosmos knowing better than us,” Beverly said with a snicker. It comforted her, though. She could rest easy knowing that if Saul left for a soulmate, it was because he was a jackass and not because God hated her.

-

           One cup of FBI coffee wasn’t enough. He found the nearest coffee place that wasn’t a Starbucks and seated himself outside, picking apart a plain bagel with cheese. He’d wanted the chonga bagel, but plain was all they had, and Molly wasn’t around to tease him for bemoaning that fact. A fair was coming to town, and the poster just across the street boasted a married couple with five people, all soulmates with one another, papers to confirm that each of their eyes held distinct pigments of the other four. He thought to laugh about it, but it wasn’t funny. People like the sister-wives shows made bank off of the idea that you could connect with so many people –why choose one when you could have all?

           He’d been consulted on a case, once, about a polyamorous relationship. The issue hadn’t been the polyamory, but the fact that one woman in the relationship didn’t realize she was part of a polyamorous relationship until she decided to move in with her soulmate and found him living with four other women, eyes mismatched beyond belief until DNA tests were complete. Autopsy later revealed that he’d been poisoned, the killing blow from a rather potent drink she’d made him.

           On the stand, she confessed that some men just couldn’t hold their arsenic.

           He waited until he finished his drink –chai tea with hazelnut, if he was being honest –then found his way to the institution, the front of his shirt damp from the rental car spewing air conditioner fluid onto his lap when he’d turned it on. He’d calmly turned the air conditioning off and drove with the windows down, instead.

           “He just woke up and had breakfast,” Barney told him, leading him to maximum. Will thought to say, ‘I know,’ but he wasn’t stupid. According to Beverly, he was sometimes the smartest man in the room.

           Too bad he didn’t feel that way sitting down across from Lecter.

           The rest of maximum was quiet, the lull after breakfast when the medicine kicked in and the inmates were quiet. Will sat down, the ease that he felt utterly distasteful in the wake of who he was looking at. Hannibal sat at the desk, book in hand, and neither one spoke. Will shifted, crossed his leg, and decided to wait him out. Unlike before, when he’d all but thrown himself against the bars, he was relieved to find that the initial connection, after over a week of torment, was beginning to fade. His body was used to the intrusion. It was recognizing the second presence within its blood as familiar, friendly -God, what a thought that was.

           Lecter waited until he’d apparently finished his chapter before he asked, “Did your father have a soulmate, Will?”

           Will chewed on his lip, considered lying. Quid pro quo. He sighed and rubbed the ache between his brows. “Yes.”

           “What happened?”

           “Questions about mom? That’s a little ham-handed, don’t you think?” he asked.

           “What was ham-handed was Dr. Chilton attempting to wheedle information from me about our discussions here. Did you know that when I first arrived, he attempted the Thematic Apperception Test on me. He was just twitching for the MF13 to show up, and I laughed outright at him.”

           “I can assume you avoided any connotations to sex,” Will replied. “I know he’d claimed you avoided prison due to a Ganser Syndrome.”

           “My entire experience here has been ham-handed, as you can easily see. My question may be such to you, but I ask it with genuine interest.”

           “She left him.” The words were clipped, curt. Three words, but they splintered on the way out, made his gum bleed. At the tone of his voice, Hannibal snapped the book shut and set it down, crossing his leg as he leaned back against his chair.

           “Was he a drinker? Did he take a hand to you too many times –to her too many times? Soulmate violence is not impossible, as you said. The newspapers they allow me to read show articles, although they’re always painted with such vibrantly purple prose.”

           “He did the best he could.”

           “Why did she leave, Will?”

           “Isn’t that the question everyone wonders?” he managed after a beat. “Quid pro quo, Dr. Lecter. Tell me about Tobias Budge.”

           “Tobias Budge,” Hannibal mused, and he looked about the room, apparently deep in thought. “He was a musician, and he made strings for the Baltimore Symphony. He came into my office one day and complained of fantasies of placing the neck of a cello down a man’s throat so that he could play him.”

           “He had a partner by the name of Franklyn with a half-connection. Franklyn’s eye turned, Tobias’ didn’t.”

           “Yes, although I knew precisely why. Franklyn was neurotic, and he connected with the aspects of Tobias that were grounding, calm and assured. There was absolutely nothing about that man that Tobias Budge’s chemical makeup desired.”

           The meaningful look Hannibal gave Will made his skin tingle. He ignored the unspoken reference to his own chemical desires and focused on watching his shoulder.

           “Franklyn’s death was suicide, Tobias told me,” Hannibal continued when Will didn’t rise to his bait. “Although I’d always wondered if that was entirely true. He went through the motions of anti-psychotics, but did he take them? Or was it merely a front to put the people around him at a false sense of ease?”

           “He struggled for a connection, according to your notes. Someone that would hear his fantasies and not shy away from him in the aftermath of his desires.”

           “He did,” Hannibal agreed. “Why do you think your mother left without taking you?”

           “…I didn’t try and question it,” Will managed. Not a lie, but a painful truth.

           “Question it now, dear Will. She’d found a soulmate, fostered a life with him and in doing so created a life. You now know the pain of separating yourself from such a person, how it burns under your skin like a curling iron left on too long and grasped firmly in an unsuspecting hand, so use your intelligence and your infinitely mirrored mind and tell me what you think.”

           It was a compliment, but it didn’t feel quite as good as a compliment should. He studied the bolts keeping the table from becoming a weapon in Lecter’s cell, and he exhaled sharply. “Soulmates aren’t the end-all. Our society especially banks on their use as the best mode of finding a partner, but because some part of you connects doesn’t mean all of you will.”

           “You resist our connection,” Hannibal practically purred. “With every other aspect of yourself.”

           “We are always growing and adapting. We’re shaped by our experiences. What connected two people in a bad situation that they endured together isn’t necessarily qualified to keep them together when they are faced with new challenges and new opportunities.

“They may have connected because they both wished to be out of a small town with small ideals, but ten years down the road they looked at one another, and while my father may have still seen the woman he first connected to, she’d endured something completely different in those ten years and couldn’t reconcile her feelings with the man in front of her. She may have felt the urge to love him, to want to be near him, but she was not in love with him.”

           Will peered over at Hannibal’s drawings, studying the architecture of a new building. The lines were romantic, the shading that of a sun shining directly over the arches. He wondered where Lecter had traveled to in order to see that. He wondered if the mother he never knew had traveled there, too.

           “How utterly unromantic of you,” Hannibal finally said, amused. “I’m sure you were quite the catch in the dating world when you talked like that. However did you meet your partner?”

           “The FBI found a symbol on a tree that was used as a vantage point to overlook Mrs. Hess’s backyard. They're going to check for such a symbol at the Panter's home as well. Will you look at it?”

           Hannibal stood and strolled to the bars. When Will went to the drop box, he tsk’d.

           “No, no, no, Dr. Graham. We are establishing trust, we are reconciling ourselves with our chemical bond; the last thing you should do is deliberately find ways to avoid me,” he chided. “You can’t be sure my eagerness to help will remain if you make it so poignantly clear you wish to avoid my touch.”

           “I do wish to avoid your touch,” Will said irritably, but he found himself walking towards Hannibal all the same. He passed the paper through the bars, and Hannibal accepted it, fingertips brushing the back of his hand gently. The feeling sent sparks along his skin, and he took a shaky step back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. A traitorous thought whispered that if that’s how good a mere brush of skin felt, how wonderful would it be to kiss him?

           To fuck him?

           “Thank you,” Hannibal murmured. He held the paper up and studied it, and if he saw anything of note, he gave nothing away.

           “I thought the symbol meant more to him. It’s a Mahjong tile,” Will explained.

           “Maybe he just likes Mahjong,” Hannibal said with the suggestion of a smile on his lips. It took a second for Will to realize he was teasing.

           “It’s the Red Dragon Mahjong tile,” Will added.

           That did give Lecter pause. He turned the photo this way, then that way; he strolled along his cell to lay it down on the table, smoothing it out. Will noted the forced calm, the relaxed appearance when in truth he felt Lecter’s emotions coiled deep in his belly, wound tightly and ready to spring. He had something. He knew something.

           “Do you suppose he is of Chinese descent?” Hannibal asked. Lie, a lie. Will moved closer to the bars, the hiss of a retort sharp on his lips.

           “You’ve got to be-” He blinked, and Hannibal stood just before him as well, like he sensed Will’s ability to hear his paltry attempt at redirection. His head dipped down, and Will rocked forward, the smallest of whispers separating them. He was a half second away from a bad decision.

           "Yes?" Hannibal prompted.

           “Don’t lie to me,” he murmured, eyes on Hannibal’s lips.

           “Was it a lie?”

           “You know something about the Red Dragon,” he said. His voice was low, gravelly. Hannibal leaned forward, and Will leaned back; his heart screamed to fucking kiss him already. His head kept his feet firmly in place.

           “Do I?”

           “Tell me, Hannibal.” He tilted his head slightly, much the way he’d watched Lecter do. “I’m playing your game. Give me something.”

           “Do you suppose the Red Dragon is something more than just that tile with a simple character? He could not have etched a real dragon in any short amount of time.”

           “Symbolic to a red dragon, not this one in particular,” Will whispered. That close, Lecter’s skin smelled like sweet sin and generic soap. Lecter leaned away, and Will found himself leaning in, wanting to trace his tongue over it.

           “Do you think he believes he’s killing these women, or do you think he’s changing them?” When Will’s heart panged, Lecter nodded slowly. “Yes, you think so, too. A change, not a death.”

           “They’re becoming something more,” he said. “He’s becoming something more.”

           “A Great, Red Dragon,” Hannibal uttered with hushed reverence. “One of terrible strength, of tremendous awe and power.”

           Will had what he needed; now it was time to go. He didn’t, though –couldn’t. His eyes flicked up to Hannibal’s mismatched pair, and his breath caught. In the light of maximum, their hunger was stark, grasping. His feet were frozen in place, unheeding of the fact he had something, something, and he’d been able to trick Hannibal Lecter to get it.

           It didn’t feel like he’d tricked anyone, though; it felt like he’d walked into a trap.

           “If I kiss you now, would you ask me for more?” Hannibal wondered. The timbre of his voice was low, pitched with unmasked desire. Will shuddered at the sound of it.

           Hannibal reached and grasped his chin, tilting his head up. A rush of endorphins made thought sluggish, a drugged feeling of bliss at the contact, the sensation of everything being just right. He was trapped, but as the seconds ticked on the watch at his wrist, he wondered if he could call it trapped when he was exactly where he wanted to be. They moved closer. If Hannibal tried to kiss him, he’d fucking let him.

           Rescue came from the sound of the maximum security doors opening with a sharp, commanding thud of deadbolts turning. Will leapt away from Lecter, skin burning, and he tried to compose himself, hands fumbling at the rumbled shirt that reeked of Freon. Across the way from him, Hannibal Lecter stayed pressed to the bars, his eyes tracking each movement Will made with a hunger.

           “…Run along now, Dr. Graham,” he said quietly. “Before I make you stay.”

[ladystylestores]

An Ancient Valley Lost to ‘Progress’

In his push for economic development, Turkey’s president has flooded the archaeological gem of Hasankeyf and displaced thousands of families.

July 5, 2020

HASANKEYF, Turkey — There was something exceptional about Hasankeyf that made visitors fall in love with the town on first sight.

Graced with mosques and shrines, it lay nestled beneath great sandstone cliffs on the banks of the River Tigris. Gardens were filled with figs and pomegranates, and vine-covered teahouses hung over the water.

The golden cliffs, honeycombed with caves, are thought to have been used in Neolithic times. An ancient fortress marked what was once the edge of the Roman Empire. The ruins of a medieval bridge recalled when the town was a wealthy trading center on the Silk Road.

Now it is all lost forever, submerged beneath the rising waters of the Ilisu Dam, the latest of President Recep Tayyip Erdogan’s megaprojects, which flooded 100 miles of the upper Tigris River and its tributaries, including the once-stunning valley.

I visited the area repeatedly with the photographer Mauricio Lima for half a year to witness the disappearance of the valley unfold in slow motion. The steadily expanding reservoir displaced more than 70,000 anguished inhabitants. Unexplored archaeological riches were swallowed up along with farms and homes.

The waters have rendered Hasankeyf an irretrievable relic of the bygone civilizations that had been similarly drawn to the beauty of the valley, carved over millenniums by one of the Middle East’s greatest rivers.

When Mr. Erdogan turned on the first turbine of the hydroelectric dam, celebrating the project’s completion in May, the president had his eye on more immediate concerns, but also on future glories, promising that it would bring peace and prosperity to southeastern Turkey.

“The wind of peace, brotherhood and prosperity that will blow from the Ilisu Dam will be felt in these lands for centuries,” he told the ceremony via video link. The dam would contribute billions to the economy and irrigate thousands of hectares of farmland, he said.

Government officials have emphasized that hydropower offered their greenest option when they decided to push ahead with the dam a dozen years ago, allowing Turkey to reduce its dependence on imported coal and gas.

But many who lost their homes and livelihoods say they were never really consulted. They are bitter and traumatized. Environmentalists and archaeologists, in Turkey and abroad, are angry and frustrated, too, at the loss of the valley and its treasures.

Their efforts to save Hasankeyf collapsed in the face of Mr. Erdogan’s increasing authoritarianism. International law, lagging behind the shifting attitudes around climate change and the value of protecting the environment, was inadequate for safeguarding the cultural heritage, they say.

Zeynep Ahunbay, a conservation architect, campaigned for more than a decade to save Hasankeyf, not only for its archaeological gems but also for the value of its ancient natural setting.

“You see this valley, it is so impressive,” Ms. Ahunbay said, describing what it was like to round the hillside and see Hasankeyf come into view. “You see this river cutting the rock and it goes down and down, and in the end you have the citadel of Hasankeyf. It is really marvelous, and nature and man have formed this place.”

“To disturb or change the natural process of the river is also criminal,” she said. “You lose the beauty, you lose history, you lose nature. You are a loser all the time.”

When Mr. Erdogan first announced his determination to build the dam, he championed it not only for the energy it would provide Turkey’s expanding economy but also for the development it would bring to the impoverished and insurgency-riven southeast.

The dam is part of the massive Southeastern Anatolia Project irrigation plan that was begun in the 1980s.

When the plan was first conceived in the 1950s there was little thought of its impact on the environment or on those who would be forced to leave. But as Turkey developed democratically, opponents of the dam began organizing.

International activist organizations became involved, too, challenging international investors over concerns about the environmental impact, the loss of cultural heritage and the damage to communities downstream in Iraq and Syria.

Ms. Ahunbay did not oppose the dam itself, but campaigned to preserve Hasankeyf and resisted a plan to move the ancient monuments to higher ground and to entomb one in concrete.

As president of the International Council on Monuments and Sites, an international professional association that works to protect cultural heritage sites, she and a group of colleagues took the case to the European Court of Human Rights. They lost in the end because none of the plaintiffs were residents of Hasankeyf.

The protest campaigns had early success in 2009, pushing several European partners to withdraw financing mainly because Turkey did not meet the requirements of social impact assessments.

But Mr. Erdogan was undeterred. He ordered Turkish banks to step in and finance the project instead.

Money seemed no object. The government built two new towns to relocate those displaced, and new highways and bridges to skirt the reservoir. Turkish companies, closely allied to Mr. Erdogan’s government, won the building contracts.

The project had become a moneymaking exercise, a local bureaucrat said, asking that he not be identified by name for fear of reprisals from the government.

“They spent a horrendous amount of money,” said Emin Bulut, a local journalist and activist, who said the bill ran to trillions of lira. “They could have fixed all the problems of the south with that.”

In 2012, government officials arrived to begin evaluating property that would be submerged to compensate those who would be displaced. But the money became a source of resentment, dividing the community, and even families, and raising accusations of corruption. The arguments broke apart any unified opposition to the dam.

“We surrendered when they came to measure the houses,” said Birsen Argun, 44, who together with her husband ran the Hasbahce Hotel, the only hotel in Hasankeyf, set in a garden of pomegranate and walnut trees along the river. “We brought it upon ourselves.”

Her husband tried to persuade his brothers to refuse the money and fight for a bigger payment in the courts but they accepted the payout. People withdrew the money from accounts without telling others, she added.

Many of those who did try to organize a protest movement grew up in Hasankeyf, and were even born in the cave homes of the citadel, like Arif Ayhan, 44, who started out selling old coins to tourists and then became a rug dealer.

Politics split the campaign, he said, especially when supporters of the outlawed Kurdish movement, the Kurdistan Workers’ Party, joined the rallies against the dam, chanting slogans and enraging the police.

“This is why we failed,” he said. “We live in the most beautiful place in the world but we could not appreciate the value of this place.”

After years of warnings, the end came suddenly. Last August, the government closed the dam gates and released waters from a reservoir upriver. Families scrambled to move out of villages, abandoning homesteads, selling off livestock and even hastily building new houses and access roads on higher ground.

“We hoped the water would not come,” said Remziye Nas, mother of four, in the village of Bzere, where the water was lapping below her house. “We did not believe it would be flooded.”

In the small town of Temelli, perched above the dam, Hezni Aksu, 60, looked down from his terrace to where his family’s farmhouse and lands were among the first to go under water.

“This land was from our ancestors,” he said bitterly. His son was now an unemployed construction worker. “They made migrants of us.”

In Hasankeyf, under a heavy police presence, bulldozers demolished the old bazaar one weekend last November. As the ceiling caved in and dust fell inside his shop, something snapped inside Mehmet Ali Aslankilic. With a shout he set fire to his belongings in a lone, anguished protest.

“It was my uncle’s shop. I had been working there since I was a child,” he said afterward. “Burning my shop was the only way I could deal with this.”

A few doors down, Mehmet Nuri Aydin, 42, packed his woven rugs of long sheep’s wool into sacks. “We don’t want to go but we have to,” he said, adding that few shopkeepers could afford the rents in the new town.

There was no wider demonstration. Since a failed coup in 2016, Turkey has banned all protests, so the campaign to save Hasankeyf had long since petered out. Activists were even careful about what they posted on social media. Government officials kept photographers away.

With the bazaar demolished, families started to load furniture onto trucks and move to specially built homes in the new town. They gathered up the last pomegranates from the trees and piles of firewood, some even wrenching off doors and window frames from their old homes.

“Our hearts are burning,” said Celal Ozbey, a retired civil servant as his wife and sons carried out tables and bundles from the house. They had been assigned a house in the new town but he was not sure they would stay, or if economic life would revive. “Time will tell,” he said.

Fatime Salkan had refused to leave the low-pitched stone house that belonged to her parents, overlooking the 15th century El-Rizk mosque. Officials warned her to move but she was among several dozen single people who, under a quirk of Turkish law, was not considered eligible for a new home.

“They told me to leave many times,” she told me last November. “If an engineer comes, I will say I am going to swim.”

She watched from her terrace in December when Dutch engineers lifted the last of the medieval monuments, the 1,700-ton El-Rizk mosque with its intricately carved portal, onto wheels and transported it across the river.

They deposited it on a man-made hill beside the new town, where the government has assembled various salvaged monuments and built a modern replica of the medieval bridge. They look out of place on the bare hillside, which will be made into a new archaeological park.

Archaeologists insist that monuments ideally should be preserved in their place, but concede that if there is no other option, it is better to save them somehow. For the purists, though, the new Hasankeyf is artificial and charmless.

“The real history is down there and we are drowning it,” said Zulku Emer, 41, a master craftsman who was laying a cobbled street beside the new park. “That’s the Turkish way. We ruin something and then try and live in it.”

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[filosofablogger]

Good Monday morning, friends!  Welcome … please overlook the mess … I was lazy this weekend and the house is a bit shaggy around the edges.  I do have a special treat for you though, so grab a cuppa and since it is Monday morning, the lead-in to a brand new week, let’s find something to make us laugh, shall we?

Apparently Allison Barron’s father was not too keen on the idea of her marrying her boyfriend, Levi Bliss.  Poor Bliss had gone to a lot of trouble to set the scene for his bended-knee proposal, having conspired with relatives to set up letters spelling “Marry Me?” on the side of a large hill alongside a highway.  As he and Allison drove down the highway, the lettering came into view, and Levi pulled over to ‘pop the question’.  He was on bended knee in front of his beloved when on top of the hill, out popped her father holding a sign that read: SAY NO

Turns out it was all in good fun.

“We immediately both started laughing. My sister was behind us so we turned to her and was like, ‘Is this real?’ He was like laughing and smiling — he was proud of his sign. It was very my dad, in like a great way — he’s awesome. Always with the dad jokes and he finds them hilarious. We love it.”

Levi’s mum was none too happy about it, though, and was said to be a bit angry.  I suspect, with her son marrying into the Barron family of jokesters, she better learn to lighten up a bit.

Do you guys remember last year in July when I wrote a Jolly Monday post that featured ‘avocado art’?  I was just amazed at the intricacy with which the artist, Jan Campbell, was able to carve the delicate avocados.  And it was just a little sad to know that her artwork had a shelf-life measured in hours, for avocados begin to go bad the minute their insides are exposed to air … just like … bananas!  Well now I have found yet another artiste, one whose medium is … yep, you guessed it … bananas!

Meet Stephan Brusche, an artist in Rotterdam, the Netherlands, who has been drawing on and carving bananas for nearly 7 years now.  I’ll let Stephan tell you a bit about how he got his start in banana art …

“I wanted to test out Instagram filters when I was at the office. There wasn’t nice scenery or anything fun to draw or take a picture of, but I did have a banana from lunch. So I figured, what if I drew a little happy face on it? I discovered it’s actually pretty pleasant to draw on a banana with a ballpoint pen. The texture of the peel and the pen is really smooth. The next day I thought, let’s do another face. And then I thought, let’s see what else I can come up with to draw on the banana. From that point on I started experimenting and I never stopped.”

And here are just a few of my favourites …

Chiquita featured Stephan on its website last year.  Check it out for some cool links!

The Detroit Zoo is trying out a new promotion, but somehow … I just don’t really think it’s going to go over too well.  According to NBC News …

Free buckets of 5 pounds of animal manure, dubbed Detroit Zoo Poo, will be handed out on April 14 as part of the zoo’s GreenFest celebration. The event precedes Earth Day and will showcase how the zoo recycles waste.

Buckets will be available to the first 1,000 visitors to the zoo’s anaerobic digester educational display.

The digester converts 500 tons of animal manure and other organic waste each year into methane-rich gas to help power the zoo’s animal hospital. Nutrient-rich fertilizer is a byproduct. The zoo notes the compost “is great for putting in your garden.”

Um … thanks, guys, but maybe not this year …

Imagine waking up one morning, only to find out that you’re dead. Such was the fate of poor Constantin Reliu who learned in January that he is dead – at least officially, though Mr. Reliu continues to breathe, eat, and all the other things we think of as being consistent with life.

In 1992, unable to find work in his native Romania, Mr. Reliu went to Turkey where he found work as a cook.  His wife opted to remain in Romania, and when he returned for a visit in 1995, he found she had been unfaithful to him.  Still, he hung around for a few years, but in 1999 decided to return to Turkey.  Last December, Turkish authorities discovered that his visa was long expired and deported him back to Romania.  And that is when his troubles really began.

Upon landing at Bucharest airport, he was informed by border officials that he had been officially declared dead and underwent six hours of questioning and tests. They measured the distance between his eyes to see if it corresponded to an old passport photograph; they asked him questions about his home town, such as where the town hall was; they checked his fingerprints.  Finally, he managed to convince the immigration authorities and he was allowed to leave.  But now to obtain new papers … not so fast, Mr. Reliu!

It turns out that his wife had him declared dead in 2016, and it is much easier to have a death certificate issued than to have it overturned!  After months of trying to get the death certificate declared null and void, last week Mr. Reliu exhausted his last avenue and was told in no uncertain terms that he must remain dead. A court in the northeastern city of Vaslui refused to overturn his death certificate because his request was filed “too late”, and the court said the decision is final.

“I am a living ghost. I am officially dead, although I’m alive. I have no income and because I am listed as dead, I can’t do anything. I think I am going to cry.”

His wife is now living in Italy, but no word from her on this mess.

Wait a minute!!!  Isn’t Jolly Monday supposed to be … well … JOLLY?  That was a sad, sad story!  Try again, Filosofa, and this time make us laugh, or at least smile!!!

Since the late 19th century, canines, aka dogs, have figured prominently in police work.  They have served in a protective capacity, but also as drug-sniffing dogs, bomb-sniffing dogs, and let us not forget the most noble, Search & Rescue dogs.  Man’s best friend.  But felines … cats, aka moggies … have been ignored by police and military.

Last week, the Troy, Michigan, police department hired their first ever cat!  They interviewed 5 kittens from the Michigan Humane Society, and finally made their selection, though it will be a few weeks before the cat is able to begin her new position.  The kitty remains, as yet, nameless, and the department plans to hold a contest among the schoolchildren in Troy, with the child who submits the winning entry being rewarded with a pizza party!  Isn’t this a great way to promote police-community relations?

And now down to the nitty gritty … what is the job description?  Well, I believe there will be some undercover work, for the police department spokesperson seemed a bit reluctant to provide too many details.  But what she did say was that the kitty would be involved with community outreach, helping bring attention to the needs of the Michigan Humane Society, and will also be in charge of the department’s Twitter feed.  Hmmmm … the Significant Seven always give me that old excuse about not having opposable thumbs whenever I try to get them to do something useful, like write this blog!

And now, folks, since I seem to be having a problem with my sense of humour this morning, I think it’s time for Jolly Monday to wind down with a few cartoons, then ♫ Heigh Ho, Heigh Ho, It’s Off To Work You Go … ♫  Please, dear friends, share those lovely smiles with others today … make somebody feel just a little bit more loved.  Have a great week and keep safe!  Love ‘n hugs from Filosofa!

Maybe someday.

  Jolly You-Know-What Day … Good Monday morning, friends!  Welcome … please overlook the mess … I was lazy this weekend and the house is a bit shaggy around the edges. 

[21stcenturymen]

That Vegetarian Was Mean to Me!

RATING: Teen

We’ve all either heard or said at some point: “Vegetarians are so judgmental! What assholes!” Okay, you got ‘em. All vegetarians are assholes. But come on, who hasn’t been an asshole at some point. And are all of them? Really?

With the exception of Nazis,* there has never been a group of people on earth who are made up entirely of assholes, and even then, there were a few who were just afraid and along for the ride (tacitly asshole). But I digress.

Are there asshole vegetarians who shove their beliefs down other people’s throats? Yes. Of course there are. But have you ever talked to a Mormon? A Jehovah’s Witness? A vacuum salesperson? There’s a zealot in every crowd. Labelling an entire community based on your experience(s) with a few of them is willfully ignorant. Remember how we men like to use the #notallmen hashtag?

But are vegetarians onto something? One popular argument against vegetarians goes something like this: “I don’t trust people who don’t eat meat! That’s just unnatural.” Okay, well, two things about that.

- Whether unnatural or not, it’s someone else’s choice that doesn’t impact your life, so cool your jets.

- Okay, we’ll pretend vegetarian and vegan diets are unnatural. Let’s look at how “natural” modern meat eating is, shall we? Remember when all the cows witnessed the arrival of humans and corralled themselves into tight stalls with food they can barely digest and shots of antibiotics just so we could waltz by and say, “That part looks tasty! I’m gonna carve off a hunk and prepare it with a nice dry rub…”

Except, that didn’t happen. Factory farming is woefully unnatural. And arguably, extremely unhealthy for us, not just the animals. I’d like to talk about why:

1. Cows didn’t exist before humans started breeding them for meat and dairy. Sorry, but they weren’t just hanging out being food and waiting for hungry humans to come along.

2. Even in the early days of ranching, there were no stalls. Animals still had the ability to roam and eat grass - something their body is far more capable of digesting than corn feed. Interesting side note: corn feed didn’t gain prominence until around the time of government corn subsidies (coincidence?) and anyone nominally older than that can tell you steak doesn’t taste the same now as it did then. Or, you could try some organic**, grass-fed beef and taste for yourself.

3. There is evidence that animals who live a fearful life secrete large quantities of hormones associated with anxiety. The meat produced by these animals is less healthy for humans to consume. The more meat we eat, the more fabricated the lives of these animals must be, out of necessity, and the more fearful their lives will be. “But they’re just cows! They don’t have feelings!” Yes. Yes they do. As do chickens. And turkeys. And all animals. The distinction between humans and other animals is in our brain capacity and opposable thumbs. But we all have amygdalae, and therefore - at the very least - fear. In short: any animal who’s full of fear is going to taste worse and may be more difficult to digest.

4. Yes, humans do have teeth and digestive tracts evolved to consume both plants and animals. And, there is evidence to support that we gained a boost in our intelligence from eating cooked meat and that certain blood types struggle to be healthy without it in their diet. But neither of those points of information dictate that we must eat factory-farmed meat at every meal. I’ve known a number of constantly anemic folks whose lives are much better with the occasional steak, but I’ve never seen them do what many men do and insist “If I don’t have red meat every day, I’m not a man!” Your colon wishes otherwise, my friend.

Remember: simply because you can do a thing, it does not automatically follow that you must do that thing.

5. There are a dozen documentaries (you can start with Food, Inc. if you like) and one Last Week Tonight episode about the horrible lives of the people who grow your meat. It’s not just the animals who suffer.

Our body’s ability to digest meat is not a mandate to do so. Over-farming, over-eating, and abusing animals through the misuse and destruction of the earth on which we must live is not natural. What’s the right, natural answer? Sadly, I don’t know that part. Humans are something of an anomaly on this planet and so finding the balance of how we protect it and yet sustain the Pandora’s Box of lifestyle expectations we have is a quandary, to be sure. But reducing how much meat we eat is a huge step.

Here’s some sample math. Plants = P, Animal = A, Farmland = F, and other resources (gas, hauling, etc) = X

The resources needed to feed a plant-eater can be looked at like this: F1 + P + X1 = impact 1

The resources needed to feed a meat-eater can be looked at like this: F2 + P4 + A + X5 = impact 2

I’m sure plenty of folks are looking at the second equation and saying, “Whoa, wait a minute! You didn’t keep the factorials constant in both equations! You should have just added the ‘A’!” I hear you, but that’s not true. It requires significantly more farmland to grow plants for animals to consume that we later eat than it does to just grow plants for humans. The sheer volume of plants is quadrupled because humans also eat plants, and animals grow for months to years before being consumed. The resources for plants are: workers*** to pull them, machines to harvest, trucks and other logistics, and then the cleaning and packaging. For meat, add in the entire meat industry, including waste disposal of the unusable parts, leather works, vast pharmaceutical resources, and more.

PURPOSE: Look. I’m not saying don’t eat meat at all. People make their choices and I’m sure we’re all doing our best to have as little impact on others as possible. But I do ask that you not reject reality just to excuse having meat at every meal. Have it at every meal, but be comfortable with what that means and how tremendously wasteful it is.

Back to the original thesis of this post: not all vegetarians are assholes. You react to people whose lifestyles or choices are different from yours for one of two reasons. 1. You fear them. 2. You’re secretly aware they’re right and it makes you feel badly about yourself. In either case, your skepticism about the choices of others is on you. Not them.

Or, alternatively, if you want to ignore everything else posited in this post, you could say the point is that there’s an asshole in every crowd. Remember to blame the asshole, not their belief systems. Apologies to Jehovah’s Witnesses and Mormons. I’m sure most of you are just swell.

Next Up: Period

*I would like to point out that I managed to go 24 posts without mentioning Nazis.

**”Organic” isn’t always automatically better, but there isn’t space for that breakdown here.

***Yes, I am fully aware of the awful treatment and living conditions of produce pickers. The issue here is that we need to be willing to put more resources into better food and better treatment and living conditions for everyone, not just latch onto whatever anti-vegetarian argument makes us feel good that day.