#You sometimes get a pre-print version so keep that in mind

[chomelton76]

How You Can Spot Fake Louis Vuitton In 2021

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This has made my eyes considerably extra astute than a median Jack. With such a vision, I can frankly say that the enhancing quality and rising recognition of handbags keeps astonishing me as nicely as my purse . Where you obtain your bag can also be an indicator as as to whether or not it's a faux. If you'll find a way to shop in individual then Louis Vuitton bags could be purchased at Louis Vuitton stores and boutiques. For those who choose to buy online, check out the official website for a choice of luggage in the latest styles. If you do, this is an indicator that the bag in query is not actual. The Neverfull has the option to add a shoulder strap, nevertheless, that is not a standard accent. The Neverfull comes with two straps that can be carried over the arm. Fake versions could have a shoulder strap connected or as an accessory. By using the same designs, options and supplies as the Louis Vuitton model, we are capable of provide every of our prospects with an opulent purse at a fraction of the fee. With so many skillfully made fakes available on the market, it can be exhausting to inform a fake Louis Vuitton purse from the true deal. However, you might be able to spot a fake by taking a look at features just like the stamps and the pattern on the bag. For instance, a real Louis Vuitton purse ought to always embrace a stamp pressed directly into the leather-based that says “Louis Vuitton” and states the place the bag was made. If the stamp is missing or the logo doesn’t match these on genuine Louis Vuitton bags, it’s probably a pretend. You can also check the date code positioned near the opening of the bag. When it comes to purchasing a fake low-cost Louis Vuitton bag, there might be each good and unhealthy information. The good news is that you can easily find several replicas for each bag of this brand. On the other hand, the bad information is that not each fake you see is of good high quality. Look for the incorrect method up LV’s on the back of the bag. Since Louis Vuitton uses one continuous strip of leather to make baggage, the LV logos should appear proper side up on the front facet of the bag and the incorrect means up on the backside of the bag. If the bag was not made from 1 steady strip or if the LV logos are right side up on either side of the bag, then it's doubtless a fake. Note that if the brand is hidden or cut off any where it's probably a knockoff. The other designs on a Louis Vuitton bag could be reduce off at some places, however the LV brand is not going to be cut off on an authentic bag. I'm from bell gardens & Ive been coming to this pawn store for 10 years.

[samedmunds]

My litany thoughts on 1999 cult classic strategy video game Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri

Alpha Centauri is a game of the early Civilization variety from the EA golden age and ranks very highly in my top ten. While you probably heard of it if you were playing video games around the turn of the century, I've found members of my age cohort to be tragically unfamiliar with this masterpiece.

Alpha Centauri is an unofficial sequel to Civilization II, a game where the only way to way to win is either completely eliminate all competitors to the last city or, rather more easily, send a spaceship loaded with colonists to the title star system. Shortly after leaving home, the ship loses contact with Earth, which would make sense to a player of Civilization II where the bonuses to science and trade from democracies evaporate when technology ends, upon which point all the AIs revolt and become militant fundamentalist theocracies and climate change rapidly destroys the planet, leaving the player with an endgame that is literally 1984. Either way, when the already strained ship arrives at the Alpha Centauri system an unknown partisan assassinates the captain of the UNS Unity and the population fractures into seven opposing factions before firing the colony pods and exploring an inconveniently hostile planet.

The player starts here, in typical Civ fashion: a scout, settler, and absolutely no technology to speak of. That isn't to say you are a bunch of primitives, all your units start out with some approximation to modern guns and judging by the amazing quotes and wonder videos your society is well beyond the 21st century--more on the story later. The gameplay is incredibly well-balanced in spite of its age and quirks (with the exception of the freight-train progression of Yang). Rapid early expansion as the bountiful Peacekeepers may leave you at serious risk to the relentlessly martial Spartans, who are in turn threatened by the uber-specialized technocratic University--but be careful to underestimate the backwards Lord's Believers, their probe teams will just as quickly rob you of your gains. The Morganites can afford to sparsely defend their home if they're willing to pay off their aggressors, but they'll struggle expand over great swaths of territory without irking civil unrest drone riots from corruption. Meanwhile the Gaian Acolytes can harness the permanently-dangerous mindworms to great effect from the beginning of the game. Yang just... builds. And keeps building, and next thing you know he's conquered the Peacekeepers and turned Miriam into nothing more than a puppet and where are all these cruise missiles are coming from?

In short, the strategic design of this game is nothing less than a work of art, but that isn't to say it doesn't have its anachronisms. The User Interface has taken its inspiration from early versions of Microsoft Word and it rapidly pays off to know the hotkeys. The wonder videos are resolution locked and can sometimes cause problems depending on your display configuration. The unit creation system is simultaneously wonderful and horrendous. It allows me to create special long-range nerve gas bombers that eradicate cities shortly before orbitally-dropping specially-trained garrisons to quash all resistance. On the other hand, if you do not accept the cumbersome slew of computer-generated options, keeping your new weapons systems up to date with your latest technology (especially when playing as Zakharov) rapidly becomes a chore.

That said, there are a variety of features in the game that I think deserve to make a reappearance in the Civ Games. The pick-your-government system is incredibly balanced and fun to roleplay. You can't get away with crimes against humanity when solar storms hit in Civilization VI, nor can you weaponise climate change to flood your rivals cities, or strategically terraform to alter weather patterns and deny your neighbors arable land. At the bare minimum, we should be given the option to nerve staple rebelling cities when our control runs out!

All that said, there is also the story to contend with. One is at first tempted to think that a 4x strategy game with a marked emphasis on replayability would necessarily have a tacked-on story, if one at all. After all, the point is for the player to create it through their actions, not have it spoonfed to them. The majority of what you learn about your world that isn't printed in numbers and small pictures on the mapscreen is through blurbs that accompany each discovered technology or new building. The aforementioned wonders even have their adorable early-CG renderings, sometimes mixed in with some experimental film footage. There are occasional interludes that describe the mindworms and machinations of Planet, but the bulk of the wordage comes from epigrams of the faction leaders and the occasional bit of Nietzsche or Plato. It's so good that I can't help but stop and listen to CEO Nbwadibuke Morgan ramble on about supply chain economics or Sister Miriam's apocalyptic warnings every single time. Take some examples.

Proper care and education for our children remains a cornerstone of our entire colonization effort. Children not only shape our future; they determine in many ways our present. Men and women work harder knowing their children are safe and close at hand, and never forget that, with children present, parents will defend their home to the death!

--Col. Corazon Santiago, "Planet: A Survivalist's Guide"

Or perhaps, a more on the nose one:

"The Academician's private residences shall remain off-limits to the Genetic Inspectors. We possess no retroviral capability, we are not researching retroviral engineering, and we shall not allow this Council to violate faction privileges in the name of this ridiculous witch hunt!

--Fedor Petrov, Vice Provost for University Affairs Accompanies the Retroviral Engineering technology

The game often doesn't directly tell you what Retroviral engineering is, nor does it labor to explain just what having someone nerve stapled means, or the precise function of the Recycling Tanks, but through its quotation it beautifully circumlocutes the world you are shaping--and being shaped by. It really never pulls any of its punches, even if its just on Organic Superlube--great stuff--and I still catch muself quoting it regularly.

Ursula LeGuin once wrote

"Science fiction is often described, and even defined, as extrapolative. The science fiction writer is supposed to take a trend or phenomenon of the here-and-now, purify and intensify it for dramatic effect, and extend it into the future. 'If this goes on, this is what will happen.' [...] This may explain why many people who read science fiction describe it as 'escapist,' but when questioned further, admit they do not read it because 'it's so depressing.'"

Alpha Centauri is absolutely extrapolative fiction and very firmly rooted in the 1990s and I love it. It was released in the Aaron Sorkin TV, pre-9/11 days where the word Internet was more often than not followed by the words, "is like an information superhighway" and it absolutely no efforts are made to cover it up. The main factions are a cross-section of the New Millenium's hopes and anxieties. A New Russia that went a very different path before Putin took over, a cheerful clan of ruthless Western capitalists hellbent on putting Morganvision on every network set, a group of vaguely Scottish free-love peaceniks hellbent on defending the most-of-the-time incredibly hostile environment. There's the Second-Amendment preaching Spartans or the optimistically-influential UN which, judging by its naming scheme for its bases, seems to dedicate entire cities to bureaucratic agencies. The All-American Christian fundamentalists don't entirely butt heads with the frighteningly powerful Human-Hive (if your country calls their cities names like "Huddling of the People" and "Paradise Swarming" you might not be the good guys). The expansion also brings in more dynamic characters like the Information Wants to be Free! data angels Brian Reynolds very clearly came up with after watching Swordfish and Hackers back to back or the Nautilus Pirates who have no right to be as fun as they are.

The visions of the future are at once both anachronistic and prophetic; while elements may come off as cheese, I see it as a sort of window to the past, a way to examine what was once (and sometimes still is) on our mind. All in all, I give Sid Meier's Alpha Centauri 4 out of 5 stars and a definite all-time favorite, warts and all. You can pick it and its expansion up for $6 on Gog.com and play it through a built-in emulator that works for most systems. If you're willing to brave a dated interface and an older-fashioned gameplay style, I would definitely recommend it.

[writing-with-olive]

Figuring out what a scene edit is going to look like specifically (especially for scene rewrites)

When it comes to individual scenes, there’s a number of routes you can take with editing. Some involve smaller changes - rewriting pieces here and there to help patch up characterization issues or awkward flow. Others involve completely rewriting the scene to account for larger changes made elsewhere in the story. 

The first steps in my method involve looking at my outline; figuring out what the scene’s coming before and after, and what it needs to accomplish. Oftentimes I’ll have written out notes regarding more scene-specific details I need to pay attention to, so I review those.

Then comes what I like to call the pre-edit. This is where I go through the scene as it appeared in my first draft and mark it up with notes to refer to when I’m editing the scene. Common notes include: 

Cut - for anything ranging from paragraphs to sentences to even an entire page

Clean up - basically if there’s paragraphs that are just hard to read, I’ll keep in mind for the rewrite that I need to make that section a little more streamlined. Sometimes it’s awkward wording or weird grammar, other times it’s meandering paragraphs or places where I just loop back around and around the same ideas multiple times.

NO - this is usually accompanied by something a bit more specific, but it’s usually if something is blatantly wrong in the context it’s being used, it’s melodramatic, or it’s out of character.

Show ___ - for anything I sort of glossed over in the first draft that needs to be dramatized. 

Keep - I usually reserve this for at most a sentence or two, but it’s for when I’ve got a visual or metaphor that I really like and think I can make work in the new version of my scene.

Voice - for places where a character speaks in a way they really shouldn’t, or if my narrative voice slipped into something weird.

Formatting - I often see places where I have weird sentences or I need to make paragraph breaks or I spelled something wrong. For the developmental edit, these aren’t of much consequence, but if I come across something, I’ll make a note of it and move on rather than blatantly ignore it (it just kinda feels weird to me). This is one of those notes where you could completely skip it for now and you’d be fine. 

While pre-editing the whole manuscript in one go (as opposed to flipping between rewriting scenes and doing pre-edits) could be faster, I find that it’s easier to do pre-edits with the context of my newly rewritten scenes. Also, breaking it into chunks means I view the scenes in a much more fluid nature. Aka, I can rearrange pieces of several individual scenes in and amongst each other far more easily. Experiment with what works best for you :)

Next step: rewrite the scene. Depending on how clean your drafts are, you may not have to do this. However, since I had a major learning curve over the course of writing my first draft, a lot of the writing comes off as amateurish enough that I’ve rewritten all (save for one) of my scenes, at least during my first pass. Rewriting means I’m a lot more inclined to really get into the character’s heads and write them more accurately, and I don’t have much of an excuse for not changing little things as I pass them. I find I can get much more substantial changes this way. Basically, for rewrites, have either a printed copy of your scene, or go split-screen and write the scene while constantly going over your pre-edit notes. 

For scenes that don’t need a complete overhaul, and that you don’t want to completely rewrite, go through the most troublesome parts and alter them as you see fit. What this looks like is pretty dependent on the nature of the scene, so I won’t be able to tell you specifically what to do, but the problems you discovered and made note of during pre-edits should be enough to guide you along.

[chilling-in-the-dark]

The Superfam as Yandere’s Part 1: Clark Kent

This is a yandere story; it mentions elements of obsession, possessiveness, death, murder, kidnapping, and physical abuse. If any of this is triggering for you, I understand, and you don’t have to read it.

*Suicide Warning*

As Always Feedback is Welcome

Clark always wondered about the hand print on his chest, his parents said it was a birthmark, but Clark always thought that it was more. Growing up, he’d find himself staring at it, wondering what it meant because it just had to mean something, it had to.

Once Clark found out about where he was from, suddenly it made a lot more sense. Jor-El had explained that on Krypton, it would be used to identify one’s life mate or to use earth terminology, a soulmate, the person whom he’d spend the rest of his life with. It’d be the first place that they’d touch him.

Not the first place he’d touch them mind you, Jor-El had made that distinction clear, on Krypton it wouldn’t have mattered much, but on earth, it would make all the difference. Humans didn’t have pre-determined mates; they wouldn’t have the same instant connection. Clark supposed he could live with that, he’d just have to build a relationship with them the human way.

At least until he’d pulled you from a burning building, many people over the years had placed their hands over his mark while flying, but it hadn’t felt like this before, searing pain followed by soothing coolness, and even if Jor-El hadn’t explained it to him, Clark would have known you were his on the spot.

Everything in him vibrated with the need to make you his, to claim you. On Krypton, this wouldn’t have been a problem; his mate would have felt the same, but here on earth, relationships had to be built. Once you were safely back on the ground, it took more strength than Clark thought he possessed to release you, and it took even more strength to keep from frying the EMT, who wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.

As you watched superman fly off, you had no idea how much your life was going to change, and how badly you’d wish it didn’t.

Clark had thought he’d have more control then what he did, as it turns out it was harder to fight his Kryptonian instincts than he’d realized. At first, he’d settled for watching you, his periscopic and x-ray vision making this an easy task. Some days when he was feeling extraordinarily brave, he’d sneak into your apartment and just be surrounded by your life.

While Clark was there, he’d decided to use his time to find out whatever he could about you; that way, when the two of you got married, he could have everything on the farm perfect. His mother would have been so happy to meet you, but she’d passed away last year and would never get the chance to.

Clark shook off the sadness that thought brought; he’d found his soulmate he needed everything to be absolutely perfect for your first meeting, but before that, he’d have to get rid of that waste of space you called a husband.

After the man died in what the police would rule a tragic accident, you’d start going to a grief counseling group, one that Clark would take full advantage in joining, the death of his mother was still a fresh wound, after all, this would be a way to kill two birds with one stone.

Clark had just started talking about how his parents met, his father was getting his degree in agriculture, and his mother had been going to law school because of her parents wishes. Some man in a fancy suit interrupted Clark to say, “You can get a degree in farming.” In the most condescending tone, Clark had ever heard.

Clark was about to say something when you chimed in, “You’re the kind of person who thinks you can plant corn in the same soil every year, and it’ll be perfectly fine, aren’t you? Well, jokes on you, there’s some legitimate science that goes into farming.” The group counselor got everything back on track after that, Clark finished his story about his parents

When the group was over, you’d came up to him and started talking, “I’m sorry about Robert he can be a real jerk sometimes, but he’s lost someone just like the rest of us. I shouldn’t have lost my temper with him honestly,” You said, rubbing the back of your neck nervously.

Clark remembered the man’s story. It had been just over a year ago when his little sister who’d been attending Central City University had called him really freaked out and said she was coming back to Metropolis but on her way she’d died in a tragic car accident. The girl’s body had been so charred that they could only identify her by a necklace her brother had given her.

Clark thought it sounded similar to the story of how Barry brought his wife home, just a much more gruesome version, really all Flash had done was liberate the girl from years of unnecessary struggle. What really was the point in getting her doctorate when the young little thing wasn’t going to be able to use it anyways. Berry had been taking excellent care of her; she was even about to give birth to their first child soon. Clark still thought it was a bit too early for that, Berry’s wife had yet had time to properly adjust to married life, but who was he to judge.

What did it matter anyway when her brother had given Clark the perfect point to insert himself into your life? Over the next year, the two of you got to know each other better, and Clark couldn’t be happier, at least he thought so until one day when you’d kissed him.

The rain had suddenly just started pouring down, and the two of you were hiding under an awning of a local café, giggling like mad, and then you grabbed onto his tie and pulled him down to your level. When you pressed your lips against his, Clarks heart soared. Clark wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you right up against him with strength you didn’t know he possessed. You smiled against his lips, happy for the first time since your husband died. If only you knew where this would end.

Three months later, he pulled you onto a rooftop, removed his glasses, and jumped off the edge. “Clark,” you’d screamed as you started running over to where he ledge, only to have him land in front of you. “You’re,” You gulped.

“Superman,” Clark said finishing your sentence. You ran like hell, you cared for Clark, and you were grateful to superman, who was well apparently also Clark, but you couldn’t lose anyone else like you had your husband. So, you decided to lose Clark now, while he was still alive, and your heart would only ache because of a breakup and not a funeral.

You cried yourself to sleep that night.

You woke up in a strange place to the sound of a rooster crowing, you felt your heart in your throat, and then Clark walked in and started acting like you’d been married for years and refusing to acknowledge when you’d tried talking sense into him.

You’d learned to play along, but he’d never truly broke you, and years later, a few days before Jon was five, you ran as fast and far as you could. Part of you felt guilty for leaving Jon behind, but he was just like his father; you could see it already.

You knew you couldn’t run forever, so somehow, you’d ended up standing in front of the hall of Justice waiting for the league. It was a dumb plan, who would even know if they’d believe you, but they couldn’t approve of Clark kidnaping a woman and forcing her to have a kid.

You’d been relieved when batman brought you back into the members-only part of the hall, they believed you or were at least taking your allegations seriously. You didn’t realize what a mistake it would be to go to Clark’s friends until Bruce stabbed you in the neck with a tranquilizer.

You wanted to cry when you woke up tied to a support beam in the Kent farms storm cellar. You’d been so close to freedom, why did you think that the Justice League didn’t know about you.

Clark came down into the cellar later that night with dinner in tow, and when he asked you why you ran away, you spit in his face, you were done playing the docile little housewife. For years you’d bent to this man’s will even having a child you didn’t want, well no more.

Clark didn’t bring you food for three days after that, and in those days, the only reason Clark came down was to let you use the bucket in the corner he’d been calling your bathroom, still you’d held firm. You’d lost track of time, but after nearly two years had passed in that damn cellar, you spotted it hiding in the corner.

A rusty knife lay buried under buckets of what was probably the lead paint Clark had used to make sure Jon couldn’t see in here. You’d been fraying your ropes against the beam since Clark had brought you breakfast, and once it was a hair away from braking, you waited until you were sure Clark wasn’t coming back for a while.

Once you were sure, Clark wasn’t going to come back; you snapped your rope and ran over to the knife. No matter how heavy the blade felt in your hand, you were under no illusions of being able to take down superman. If you couldn’t have your freedom by running away, you’d take it another way, you thought as you closed your eyes and pressed the blade to your throat.

When Clark came back to the cellar with your dinner, he couldn’t believe what he saw, his soulmate was lifelessly laying on the floor surrounded by her own blood.

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[welllpthisishappening]

Welllp This Is...Holiday Fic, Version 3.0

Hello, internet! It is December, and that means it is also time to regain our festive feelings through holiday-type fic. Of which I have written just...an absurd amount of. So, before we start slamming on some more keys with inevitable cliches and kissing (and the list of prompts I’m going to post later and maybe start writing tomorrow) here is a wholly self-indulgent, self-promotional list of the copious number of holiday stories I’ve written. Under the cut, because honestly it’s ridiculous. 

Multi Chapters

To Make the Season Bright Rating: M Words: 49,683 Chapters: 5

It's just one weekend. At Christmas. In New York. With everyone there. With Killian there. It's fine. Emma doesn't mind – he's always there and she wants him to be there and it'll be good. Great, even. Festive. She's looking forward to it. She just hopes she doesn't do something stupid. Like shout feelings in his face. That probably wouldn't be very festive.

The Gift Receipt Rating: M Words: 46,244 Chapters: 5

It genuinely makes sense in her head. After all, Mary Margaret is being Mary Margaret and Emma just needs five seconds to herself and for her friends to get off her back and saying she can’t talk to Killian Jones because she and Killian Jones once went on a very bad date is the perfect excuse. It’s also not true, but whatever. It works. Until Emma needs to bring someone home for Christmas. To get the entire town off her back. So, she comes up with another plan and another lie and pretending to get back together with a guy she was never actually with will make their inevitable break-up incredibly easy. It makes sense. Seriously. That is, of course, until Killian agrees and there’s far too much pie and radio hits of the 70s and opinions on animated Christmas classics. It gets a little more complicated after that.

Older Now, But Not Done Hoping Rating: T Words: 25,577 Chapters: 3

Killian Jones has lost his festive spirit. It's been forcibly removed by corporate America and private developers and how much alcohol the customers at his bar drink every night. Although, he supposes, that means he's making a profit, but that also feels a little Scrooge-esque and he doesn't have time for visits from ghosts. Because he's suddenly got a whole schedule in front of him, written out and planned by his roommate. To reclaim their mutual and collective festivity. Together. Oh, and he's in love with her. At Christmas. And all the time, really. This is going to be great.

It’s the Thought That Counts Rating: M Words: 27, 178 Chapters: 3

It was, in theory, a good idea. It was, in theory, an absolutely fantastic idea. Because there was still, sometimes, a crisis or two in Storybrooke and nothing would be more chaotic than trying to find a Christmas present on Main Street, while also trying to keep said Christmas present a secret. Ordering gifts on the internet makes sense. It's just a few clicks and online sales and the presents will be there in plenty of time for Christmas to be perfect. Emma and Killian are positive. Except then the presents don't show up and it's Christmas Eve and plan B isn't so much a plan as it is just a bit of pre-holiday desperation and the entire town knows what they're up to.

One Shots

The Best Laid Plains Rating: T Words: 4,040

Emma knows what she wants. And she remembers what the qualifications are. She just needs some help with them. Or: She and Killian once decided they'd only get married if one of them came out with an outlandish proposal.

Following the Recipe Rating: T Words: 3,802

Emma can't bake cookies. That doesn't stop her from engaging in cookie-baking competitions. At Christmas. And Killian is more than happy to help.

Grounded Rating: T Words: 6,064

Being stuck at the airport is the worst at normal times. At Christmas, it's at least ten-thousand times worse. Unless you manage to make friends with the vaguely attractive, frustratingly charming guy sitting next to you in the terminal.

Carol of the [Wedding] Bells Rating: T Words: 7,926

Going to Vegas with your friends for Christmas? Totally normal. Getting married to one of your friends while in Vegas at Christmas? Might take a bit more explaining. Especially when neither one of you can remember it.

More Than You Could Ever Know Rating: T Words: 5,040

It’s the perfect plan. So, she told the new guy at work that she was already married and couldn’t date him. Fine, no big deal. Emma has someone more than wiling to pretend to be her husband and a friend more than willing to do her pre-party hair. She’s certain everything will work out. The very last thing she expects is for Killian to be jealous. Because she might have picked the wrong Jones brother to play doting husband.

Once Again As in Olden Days Rating: T Words: 6,462

She’s absolutely freezing cold. It’s a dumb metaphor, one that only serves to make Emma even more pissed off than she already is. Because two hours ago it was summer. But a few more hours before that, she was also locked in a tower guarded by a fire-breathing dragon. And now she’s outside. With her kid. And a pirate that isn’t hers, explicitly, but keeps staring at her like he wouldn’t mind if he was. So maybe it’s not the worst. Maybe she’ll be able to get warm eventually.

Want Something That Will Last Forever Rating: T Words: 5,093

The weight in his jacket pocket is getting heavier. Burning a hole. A metaphorical one. Because a literal one would probably freak David out and David is already worried enough and Killian is a very good friend. Who is willing to help David plan his proposal to Mary Margaret. Even if it messes everything else up in the process.

A Fair, Even-Handed, Noble Adjustment of Things Rating: T Words: 9,267

Emma just wants to do something good. Give back. Maybe get a few bonus points. Metaphorically speaking. Not the last one. That defeats the purpose of all of this. But she can’t really think straight because he keeps humming and using nicknames and stealing all the flour. And she’d give up all the bonus points she’s, maybe, accumulated by, possibly, doing good if she could just remember what his name is. This is not going the way she planned. At all.

Heart to Heart and Hand in Hand Rating: T Words: 7,052

She was cold. She was tired. She did not want to be ice skating. She wasn’t really ice skating. She was just…kind of standing there – while getting yelled at by security guards and stared at by her boyfriend and they were being pushed off the ice. Not literally. And Emma knew she was being a Grinch or, maybe, just Max the Dog because she wasn’t in control enough to be a Grinch, but Killian wanted to go ice skating and well…fake it ‘til you make it festivity, right?

Kiss Her Once [For Me] Rating: T Words: 9,500

To say that the last year has been hectic would be the greatest understatement in the history of the modern world. Or, like, libel. In print, it’s libel. Because the last year has been filled with political promises and campaigns and far more press conferences than Emma realized were possible. And now, with Washington D.C. ahead of them, the only thing Emma really wants is to figure out how many boxes she’ll need to move all her stuff. That is, of course, until Killian finds her sitting in the middle of Regina’s hallway, a distinct lack of alcohol in her system, and the guarantee that he’s got a plan. For fun. Of the festive variety. It includes mistletoe.

Prompt: Santa!Con Rating: T Words: 2,444

Killian is very drunk. There are people dressed like Santa everywhere. And Emma isn't sure she heard the question correctly. She might be a little drunk too, honestly.

Prompt: Killian Wakes Up Without Any Blankets Rating: T Words: 2,444

He's freezing. Presumably because his wife — who he loves very much — has once again stolen all the blankets.

Tripping Over the Blue Line

A Few Days Off for Christmas Rating: T Words: 11,903

Matt's first Christmas at the brownstone means several things. Chinese food. Bad bread pudding. And unexpected guests.

A Chance of Snow Showers Rating: T Words: 3,372

Everything's a competition on this team. So no one is all that surprised when Killian agrees to race during family skate. Even with a baby strapped to his chest.

Dropping Gloves...In the Name of Festive Fashion Rating: T Words: 3,038

It’s probably one of the more ridiculous things any of them have ever done. It’s also one of the better ideas any of them has ever had – it’s festive and in the spirit and the fans will love it. And maybe it’s kind of fun because it ends with another win and some positive press before the break and Phillip’s jacket is really just…a work of fashion art.

All Knotted Up Rating: T Words: 2,188

He’s never actually done anything like this – brought a girl home for Christmas. No, not just a girl – Emma. Emma was coming to the brownstone for Christmas and the entire Vankald family would be there with traditions and bread pudding and there had to be gifts.

He needed to buy a gift. Or, at least, get a gift. And the list of people who wouldn’t laugh right in his face at the idea of Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers, freaking out about that was growing more and more slim by the minute.

We’ll Take a Cup [Defense] Of Kindness Rating: M Words: 19,204 Chapters: 2

It's one night. New Year's Eve. And a whole list of rules. Because Regina might have actually lost her mind. Or maybe that's just Emma. Because they've played a million games in two days, or it's at least felt that way, and planning an outdoor practice a few weeks before the Olympics seemed like a good idea at one point. Now it just seems insane. So she's going to wear this dress and kiss her boyfriend. A lot. He's good. Better than good. Great. The greatest. It's New Year's Day and, yeah, sure it's freezing, but Killian hasn't actually tried to push Scarlet on the Subway tracks yet so that seems like a step in the right direction. So he's a little distracted a few weeks before the Olympics, but that's fine. It's good. Or it'll be good. Eventually. Soon. In the meantime he's probably just going to kiss his girlfriend. A lot.

First Line Center Rating: T Words: 9,508 Chapters: 2

She hadn’t read the invitation. It hadn’t changed in years, after all - a set of rules and expectations for a New Year’s party that they were all going to break anyway because the most traditional thing about this team was flouting tradition. So, Emma had mostly ignored it. Until. A shout and Killian refusing to wear a tie and something crashing in her kitchen, one kid worried about another and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was missing something. There was a joke about fresh ice to be made, she was sure.

[definegodliness]

Petty and stiff-bourgeois

When the internet gets to me with people displaying next-level pettiness and stiff-bourgeois demeanour, I sink back in my chair to remember the pre-internet age. Not because those days were better, hell no, but because it was so much easier to put things into perspective. Nowadays, I’ve noticed that some of the eighteen-forties narratives posted would make me groan like a dog growls when a random person passes the window, soft and prolonged. It got that bad. So I had to find an antidote. And so I think of the times when a brand new national dictionary would come out. Because when a brand new national dictionary came out, you’d shortly after always get a sent in letter in the newspaper.

Now the newspaper and I go way back. I know I was a weird kid for reading them. But I always, and still do, loved the smell of inky paper. Some people like the smell of gasoline, this is my tic. Back in the day I loved its stern black and white aesthetics as well, and I do think newspapers ruined themselves by colour printing, just like churches ruined themselves by adding central heating. Churches should be cold. I’m not even religious, but there can be no discussion. How else will people feel small and humbled? Get your comfort at home, sinner. This place has been surrendered to the elements. The way God intended. Discomfort keeps you on your toes, and so newspapers should be large, printed in black and white, and without those convenient staples in the middle keeping it together, because the truth is large, clumsy, and uncomfortable. 

Truth should stain your fingers.

Those newspapers made me study Journalism, right around the time old media extinguished. During that time, one thing happened that to this day baffles me still. Imagine this: a class of say twenty-five aspiring journalists, asked if they’d rather be sold dry facts or opinions, and all but I preferred to be sold opinions. I argued that one needs the dry facts to shape an opinion, and they all looked at me as if they saw water burning. And I remember the vacant stares when I mentioned I actually liked doing the effort to shape my own opinion. I have rarely felt so alien and misunderstood in my life. What happened to ‘the fly on the wall’? I wondered. The teacher chuckled. 

He was glad ‘we’ still had a purist. 

So that day I decided New-Age Journalism wasn’t for me. And, despite the nostalgia, I gradually stopped reading newspapers, like the rest of the world. Knowing the type of people who’d write what I was consuming of course didn’t help. But in the end I simply stopped reading because the truth had turned convenient, small, biased, and comfortable to whatever your affiliation is. To get a snippet of reality, I had to buy at least four different opinion pushers, which I did, and then puzzle my way toward the golden mean. It became such a chore I found myself solely enjoying the funnies, and, of course, the sent in letters.

When the internet gets to me with people displaying next-level pettiness and stiff-bourgeois demeanour, I think of what once was the rarest and most hilarious breed of human. You see, every time a brand new national dictionary would come out, there’d be sent in letters of people complaining about a myriad of words that our youth and good town folk in all decency should never be allowed to read. Cuss words, of course, but also words as uninspiring and plastic as ‘penis’, ‘vagina’, and ‘bosom’. Not to mention ‘scrotum’, or ‘nipple’. They’d go apeshit over ‘apeshit’, and in displaying their fifty shades of rigid fanaticism they’d become so grim, so helplessly humourless, that of course the contents of their letters became hilarious. 

Boob is not a funny word per se, well, it’s kind of funny, but there is little more absurdistically enjoyable than the word ‘boob’ leaving the pen of a sourpuss in genuine disgust.

There are, and have always been, people so petty and stiff-bourgeois that they’d go through the lengths of buying the latest edition of a dictionary on the first day of publishing to then immediately dedicate hours of their time, locked up in the study to remain undisturbed, executing a self-imposed divine calling. Taking their trusty and angry red pencil to tag, count, and mercilessly comment upon commonly used words. Words sometimes distilled to their driest version, leaving no synonym at all to describe for instance a bodily feature. The entire endeavour demands such tenacity and dedication in maintaining that level of maddened outrage that you cannot convince me there isn’t a moment somewhere halfway the process they’re thinking:

“What am I doing?!”

The must consciously ans repetitively shush that voice of reason. Then, after all that, they manage to go even further. Let’s zoom out for a second to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. Someone who has just finished scouring the dictionary for words deemed immoral, utilising a standard that would put even the most dedicated puritan to shame, now sits behind their desks and takes the time to write an actual handwritten letter utilising their freshly and painstakingly gathered information. Enraged, I reckon, for the red lettered filth by their own hand written. And this is the frame of mind in which they probably read it over a couple of times, checking for spelling mistakes, therefore unable to see the undeniable irony of writing all these words they condemn so deeply, for people all over the country to read. This should be another chance to favour a moment of reflection. However, they are already in too deep, and now can only live with themselves thinking the end justifies the means.

Then there’s the moment when they walk downstairs proudly waving that letter, already in its envelope.

“Debra, I’m gonna tell ‘em!”

And Debra also doesn’t offer a voice of reason. Debra doesn’t even look up from her crossword puzzle and says:

“That’s nice, honey.”

And so they walk on. Toward the mailbox. With a letter of Don Quixote-like insanity that bears their full name and address as a sign of sacred dedication. And even then I reckon they still could be sobered up by the fresh air, experiencing a moment of clarity, actually seeing the ridiculousness of the entire situation. Another chance at self-reflection. And then still, lastly, there is still one moment of possible hesitation and contemplation left, the moment where they slide that letter into the mailbox’s slit and fate is finally out of their hands.

These people exist.

There are around eight decision making moments in this what is the shortest summary of necessary circumstances wherein the windmill chasing self-proclaimed virtuous crusader decides against better judgement. Eight decision making moments in an entire day of living dedicated to removing the word ‘nipple’ from the national dictionary’s latest edition. That was then. And this was when solely the utmost madly bigoted, self-righteous, and oblivious otherworldly specimen of human could seep through the filters of media consumption. Offered a platform for nothing other than editorial shits and giggles. 

Now these people have internet:

Write, post.

Two decision making moments. And when the internet gets to me with narratives belonging to the eighteen-forties, I think of all the like-minded martyrs who in the time of ancient media went through all those steps aforementioned, only to bail out at the very last second of actually dropping off that dumb-ass letter in the mailbox. I think of the time when seven chances at contemplation was enough to save us from a mind-numbing display of mental deterioration. I imagine how vast this stiff-bourgeois crowd gets with every fewer necessary step. When the threshold has been lowered to merely two moments of chanced contemplation and reasoning.

When I sink back in my chair and groan like a dog growls when a random person passes the window, I make myself remember that who we are dealing with are non-threatening, hilarious crazies. Red pencil wielding dictionary condemners who have been shaken free from the threshold of effort. And I think we all tend to forget that. We forget to laugh at them. Laugh at them with all our hearts, shaking our heads simultaneously. We forget we are witnessing rarities. And must not allow ourselves to be cursed into taking the windmill chasers riding under the flag of anonymity seriously. When we forget to laugh at human absurdity, we become part of the joke ourselves. So let’s go out and wield some ‘lol’s and ‘tears of joy’-emojis.

[amydancepants-peralta]

89, 91 or 98 please if you're taking prompts!! i can't decide !!!🥵🕊🕊

Me neither haha!  So ... here’s all three. 😅👶🏻💖

(89: “Mondays are your diaper days”, 91: “Oooh... someone’s got a tummy ache and 98: “I think we should have another.”)

i think our story needs more pages

There’s an unmissable smile of contentment on Jake Peralta’s face as he wipes down the last section of the kitchen bench, softly humming the theme song to Transformers while he rinses the washcloth under the tap.  (The original, of course - the remakes all have their merits but when it comes to theme songs, nothing beats the classic version, and that is the hill he will die on.)  

Not so long ago, a perfect day for him would have undoubtedly involved some sort of high-speed chase (or diffusing a hostage situation … or jumping from an exploding chopper with a knife between his teeth … he’s not fussy when it comes to the details, really) - but after spending the majority of today at their nephew Aaron’s third birthday party, he finds himself completely unable to hide the sheer joy that is thrumming through his veins.

He knows that he could attribute a certain portion of his great mood to the lasting effect of that second slice of ice-cream cake he’d had mere hours ago (or the light-up keyring he won during pass the parcel), but it all really came down all of the sweet moments in-between: standing in the shaded sun, surrounded by family, and watching as his son played with all of his cousins.  

It’s the kind of life that once upon a time would have seemed totally implausible, but now was absolutely his reality, and just the mere thought of a thousand more days like it put Jake on an all-time natural high.  

It has been fifteen months since the birth of their son, a child born of liquid fire that went by the name of Mac.  Fifteen months of diaper changes, screaming fits and mashed food everywhere.  And also; fifteen months of the softest of cuddles, impossibly tiny hands wrapping themselves around his fingers, and the deepest of brown eyes that took in everything imaginable.  He misses sleep (oh, how he misses real, uninterrupted SLEEP), but if that was the tradeoff for having a miniature version of him and Amy taking wobbly steps around their apartment, Jake would do it all again in a nanosecond.  

He had no idea how powerful the sound Dada would be, but the first time he heard it on his son’s lips, he straight-up cried.  And … maybe again when Mama followed shortly after.  Now, Mac’s vocabulary has expanded to five whole words (including Wowo, which both he and Amy are 90% certain stands for Aunty RoRo, and have agreed that it’s best for everyone if Charles just simply doesn’t know), and both parents couldn’t be prouder if they tried. 

There’s been an idea in the back of his mind for a few months now, one that has grown all the more after today’s festivities, and after pouring both he and his wife a half glass of wine each Jake makes his way over to the living room, still unable to wipe the smile off of his face when he takes in the scene in front of him.

Mac lay stretched out on the couch, his tiny duck printed pyjama shirt riding high and exposing his belly button as he rests his head on Amy’s lap.  Fast asleep, his eyes remain closed as Amy’s fingers run gently through his hair, his tiny chest rising and up down in even breaths.  It’s a sight Jake’s seen a hundred times before, but one that he never truly gets enough of, and after quietly placing the wine glasses on a nearby table he reaches out to tug Mac’s shirt a little lower.  

“I think someone’s got a tummy ache,” Amy whispers, mirroring Jake’s responding pout as he settles down on the couch, their sleeping son in between them.  “He only had the smallest taste of the cake .. but I guess when combined with the excitement of the day and all the dancing he did, the poor little guy is just completely wiped.”

(Mac’s ‘dancing’ was really just an unsteady yet adorable bouncing in place, both feet planted to the floor as his arms flail about to whatever music just happens to be playing, and the similarities between that and some of Amy’s dance moves have not gone unnoticed.)

Jake furrows his brow in response, instinctively reaching out to run a soothing hand over his son’s stomach.  “He’s all Mac’d out.”  He’d watched from the rear view mirror on the drive home as the gentle bumps of the road lulled Mac to sleep, his tiny curls squished along the edges of the carseat he was buckled into.  His (at times, endless) energy had been renewed by the time Amy had carried him up the stairs, the sneakers that Uncle Charles had given him making high-pitched squeaks as he’d run with tiny toddler steps around their apartment (the contents of which by now were entirely child-proof) for the rest of the afternoon.  

It was exhausting chasing after a toddler, but also strangely exhilarating, and watching Amy settle onto Mac’s play mat and help him with his building blocks as Jake had began to prepare dinner had just felt so right, it was hard to imagine what their afternoons used to be like pre-child.  

With his fingertip gently tracing the outline of one of the ducks on his son’s pyjama set, Jake watches as Amy uses her free hand to take a sip from her wine glass before speaking.

“I think we should have another.”  

His eyes squeeze shut as soon as he’s blurted it out, twisting his mouth into a wince.  There were a thousand different ways he could have phrased it (and lord knows he’s practised a few versions in the past few weeks), but nooo.  Great work as always, Peralta.

Amy’s head is cocked slightly to the side when he opens his eyes again, and she gestures vaguely at the glass.  “Another wine?  I’ve only just started this one.”

“Oh.  Ahh, no - sorry.  Ugh.  That was my terribly unsubtle way of saying that I’ve been thinking that maybe … we should try and have another baby.”

Raising her eyebrows, Amy’s hand stills amongst their son’s curly hair, and after a (thankfully brief) pause, she replies.  “You do?”

Jake can feel a soft smile begin to grow on his face, and he nods.  “Yeah, I do.”  Lifting his hand so that he can run his fingers ever so lightly along the bridge of Mac’s nose, he gives Amy a half shrug.  “I mean … I’ve watched you with your brothers over the years, and it’s just amazing the kind of bond all of you have.”  Mac’s eyelids begin to flutter, and Jake pulls his hand away before he accidentally wakes him.  “Even when you hate them with a passion, you still love them, and there’s just some things that you intrinsically know about each other without any prompting.  It’s the kind of closeness that can’t ever be replicated, and I would just really love to give Mac that kind of childhood.”

Amy smiles at the thought, giving Jake a tiny nod of encouragement to continue.

“I know that I had Gina a lot of the time, but at some point she would go home to her family, and then it was just me and my mom … and don’t get me wrong, that was great, but there were definitely times when I had wished that I could have had somebody to hang out with.  Especially when my mom started working two jobs and I saw her less and less.  TV and cake did an okay job raising me, but I do sometimes wonder … what if.”

With her nods growing bigger, Amy glances down at Mac.  “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been thinking the same thing.”

Jake’s heart skips a beat, and he leans forward slightly.  As much as he might want to try and expand their family, it all really came to do Amy, and how she felt about it.  He’s never pressured her into anything, and he certainly wasn’t about to start now.  “You have?”

“Yeah.  Been thinking about it a lot, actually.  My family was loud growing up, but it was also kind of great.”

They grin at each other over their son’s sleeping form.  Maybe, this was actually going to happen.  

Mac wriggles in his sleep, his sock-covered feet stretching out slightly and nudging against Jake’s thigh, and Jake lifts them up to rest on his lap as he shuffles a little closer to Amy.  “This morning, when I picked him up out of his crib, he just had the biggest, gummiest smile on his face, and then he hugged me like there was no tomorrow and I just … it’s only the best feeling and … well, you know.”

“I do.  That little Mama! that I heard this morning?  I wish I had recorded it, it sounded so sweet.  He’s just the cutest.”

“Exactly!”  Jake reaches his left hand out, resting it on the portion of Amy’s leg that hasn’t been occupied by their sleeping son.  “And honestly, I just keep getting this image in my head of a mini Amy walking around; with tiny little binders tucked under her arm and the same gorgeous eyes as her mother, learning so quickly whenever her big brother shows her how to do something.  Can’t you see it, Ames?”

Laughing, Amy shakes her head.  “She wouldn’t have binders, Jake” and he nods because obviously a toddler wouldn’t have a binder, but then she continues.  “She’d have a notepad.  Binders are serious business.  You gotta work your way up to them.”

“Right, of course.  My mistake, babe.”

Covering his hand with her own, Amy links slides her fingers in between Jake’s and rests them there.  “It does scare me a little, though.”

Picking up on the sudden softness of his wife’s voice, Jake looks over carefully.  “Having another baby?”

She nods, a tentative smile lifting the edges of her lips for a mere second before falling.  “Yeah.  I mean … it wasn’t exactly easy last time.  What if next time, it’s even harder?  Or it just … doesn’t work?”

Jake’s eyes fall back down to their son, this miniature version of both of them had wished so hard for.  Amy was right - it hadn’t been easy last time, and there honestly weren’t any guarantees that it was going to be any better the second time around.  It’s one of the main reasons why it had taken him so long to talk to her about it.  But as he feels her fingers gently shift against his own, Jake realises the most simplest of truths, and looks back up at his wife.

“I know that this is probably going to go against all of your instincts, but when it comes to this I think we just kind of need to let fate play it’s hand.  We can only try, you know?  If it doesn’t work, it doesn’t work.”  Shifting his weight, he rests his shoulder against hers.  “We’re a family, no matter what.  Whether there’s three of us, or four, or five.  We can get through anything, Ames.  If there is anything the past ten years have taught us, it’s that.”

The side of Amy’s head rests against his, and he feels her nod.  “I love you, Jake Peralta.”

Squeezing their fingers, Jake cranes his neck marginally to the left to leave a kiss against Amy’s hairline.  “I love you too, Ames.”

From below them, Mac rolls onto his side; one hand curling into Amy’s sweater, and both of them seperate slightly to watch him sleep.

Taking another tiny sip from her glass, Amy sighs happily.  “You know … if we do this, we’d really need to look into moving somewhere bigger.”  Her eyes wander over the room, eventually landing on a framed photo of the three of them that had been taken five months ago.  “Maybe even buying something, if we were really careful with our finances.”

Jake’s smile grows impossibly bigger, and briefly he wonders if he’s going to have sore cheeks tomorrow from all of it.  “Honestly?  That sounds kinda amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I mean …” Jake pauses, sliding his right hand along the back of his neck in a move that his wife has long since called ‘The Dropping of Peralta’s Guard’, feeling one side of his mouth slide up ever so slightly as he turns his attention back to Amy.  “I love this apartment, and living in the city, but … the only thing I’ve ever really owned is your heart.  And that beat up Mustang I had for a while there, but money-wise that was mainly on loan, so … yeah.  Just you.”  His hands raise quickly, showing his palms in surrender.  “Not that I own you or anything, because that’s ridiculous, I just meant that you totally own mine and that’s - mmff” the rest of his sentence is muffled, the press of Amy’s lips against his stealing the last fragments of thought, and by instinct his arms wrap tightly around her waist, as best as he can with Mac still resting on their laps.    

Amy’s smiling as she pulls away, her hand sliding down his cheek until she’s resting her thumb in the tiny dimple at the bottom that he’d always hated until the love of his life made it a favourite, and honestly, how she makes his heart flutter even after all this time is just pure magic.

“I know what you meant, babe, and I love you for saying it.  You absolutely own my heart … well, you and Mister Mac do, anyway.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”  

Sliding his right hand further up his wife’s back, Jake pulls in her for another kiss.  He would happily share the space with Mac, and any other children that they might end up having, for the rest of his life (and maybe a hundred or so more years after that).  Toying with the ends of her hair as they part, Jake’s shoulders rise in a tiny shrug.  “Honestly, falling in love with you is the best investment I’ve ever made.  But the thought of actually buying a house with you, and turning it into a home that our kids will grow up in?  A backyard filled with toys and swing sets and maybe even a cat or two?  It sounds like the greatest idea ever.”

“And maybe a park nearby, where we can teach our kids to ride a bike?”

“Plus a basketball hoop over the garage door - because their Dad can dunk, and he’s totally going to show them how.  Not to mention a study lined floor to ceiling with bookshelves, all of them filled to the brim.”

Amy’s eyes begin to glisten slightly, and she leans in to rest both of her hands on Jake’s forearm.  “Don’t forget the front porch for us to sit on when we’re older, rocking in our chairs and stealing all of the other kid’s frisbees when they land on our lawn.”

“Of course!  We’re going to be the COOLEST house in the neighbourhood, with the dopest Halloween decorations.  Acting purely as a distraction, naturally, while we carry out whatever version of the heist we’re up to by then.”

Raising her chin slightly, Amy’s eyes turn suddenly serious.  “Your mind is going to be blown when you realise what I already have planned for then, Peralta.”

“Yet another reason to have a second baby!  One on each team!”

One of Amy’s eyebrows raises coyly, and she whispers “That’s what you think” as she leans in for another kiss, shortened by the soft laughter that falls from Jake’s mouth.  

“I really do love you, Ames.  Pre-emptive plotting for my children to heist against me and all.”

She giggles, and Mac lets out a tiny grumble as he begins to wake.  Scooting his butt to the edge of the couch, Jake slides his hand along his son’s back, holding him warm against his chest and tightening his grip as Mac nuzzles into his neck, still half asleep.  “Okay, time to take this party animal to bed.  Say goodnight, mommy!”

Raising herself up until she’s kneeling into the couch cushions, Amy leans in to press a kiss against Mac’s cheek, replicating the action on Jake’s as she pulls away.  “Goodnight, my sweet prince.  And babe, I think a diaper change might be in order.”

Wrinkling his nose, Jake nods.  “Yeah, I agree.”

“Want me to do it?”

“Nah.  Mondays are your diaper days, Sundays are mine.  I’ve got this.  You sit back and relax, and have a look at our schedules for when we can book a babysitter so that we can … practice.”

Resting her weight back down on her heels, Amy sinks her teeth into her lower lip.  “You know I’m a big believer in practice makes perfect, Peralta.”

“Indeed I do, Santiago.”  Lifting up one of Mac’s arms to mimic a tiny wave, Jake heads slowly towards Mac’s bedroom, intent on getting him changed and into bed with minimal disruption.  

(There ends up only being one tiny meltdown, but it’s nothing that a combined goodnight hug from both Mommy and Daddy can’t fix.)

*

In fifteen years time, there will be a house in Brooklyn - just outside the city centre, so close enough for the daily commute - that has contained so much love within its four walls that it has long since seeped into its foundation.

There will be a doorframe near the kitchen, marked with a variety of ascending lines drawn in marker, catalogued by both name and year as they rise.  A myriad of photos and commendations will line the walls (in no particular order, a fact that is made very clear), and the memories of each captured moment will last long after the images have faded.  

It will be their home - the Peralta-Santiago fortress against the rest of the world - and although life will forever throw curve balls their way, if there’s anything their children know for sure it’s that as a family, they’re always going to be there for each other.  No matter what. 

(Also, that Wario cheats.) 

[thewincestgospel]

Do you have any gender-bent fics, either wincest, J2, or gen??? Thanks!! (This blog is awesome, it's super helpful, so thank you so much for it!)

But of course! There are so many though that I might have to do a part 2

Female Dean    

Another Way to Get to Know You  by IndridGrey   New city, new apartment, new job, new gender presentation.Dee Smith leaves the menswear at home, starts her new job at Sandover Iron & Bridge in a skirt and kitten heels, and finally, fucking finally gets called the right things.  Things are going great for a few weeks and even with the fear of being outed she's the happiest she's ever been.And then someone decides to pop their own kernel in an office microwave.(This covers the three weeks that the Winchesters are brainwashed into Smith and Wesson up to the end of It's a Terrible Life)             

 Dress to Impress  by  KillerOfHope Deanna and Sam are undercover as a married couple in a gated community where several strange murders have taken place while undercover, the two have a little roleplay in the bedroom as 'husband and wife' with Sam as the dom Hubby and Deanna being the ever submissive wife, taking every order he gives, referring to Sam at some point as 'sir'.                

Judgment That Will Never Come  by  xHelenxOfxSlash   “Yeah, I mind. Dee, you want me. We need to-” Sam started in his “caring and sharing voice.”

“We don’t need to do anything. Besides, who says I want you, huh?” Before She knew what was happening Deanna was flipped over onto her back again, Sam’s hands slipping under the waistband of her shorts and cupping the wetness there. She let out an embarrassing mewl, face coloring with shame and arousal     

Let's Get this Party Started  by   firesign10   16-year-old Sam gets invited to his first party and is totally awkward and feels uncool. Girl!Dean shows up and pretends to be his cool, older girlfriend in college and lets him feel her up in front of his envious peers.          

 A Most Unusual Realisation  by BronteLover       He took in the sight of Dean’s new mouth-wateringly luscious body, only dressed in white, lace underwear. The smooth, soft curve of her breasts were accentuated by the line of the bra, and her flat stomach led down into lace panties that left little to the imagination. He imagined ripping them off and plunging his cock inside the tight, wet heat they hid.                  

Orlando by ellerkay   While working a case in a small town in Massachusetts, Dean ends up with a very different body than the one he’s used to. He thinks it’s the most fun thing ever. Sam, on the other hand, is barely holding it together. He can’t stop thinking about Dean’s new shape, and it’s making it much harder than usual to keep his desire for Dean at bay. 

Sweet Sister  by  Anonymous   Sam has pined after Deanna for years.  Finally, they can't resist each other anymore.            

there's an opera out on the turnpike by cherryvanilla She's tried to fill the hole Sam’s left behind with saving other people. Tried to fill it with rock salt and matches and grave digging and shotguns. Tried to fill it with whiskey and beer and fucking and sucking. (Or, five times Deanna Winchester hooks up with someone who reminds her of her brother plus one time she sleeps with the real thing.)

 Thicker Than Water by Edwardina  Dean's got cramps, and Sam knows just what to do for him.  

Until it All Falls Down  by  Callisto   Jess burned, Dad died, Mom never really was, and Samuel never mattered. She figures if surviving all that doesn’t entitle Sam and her to each other for ever and ever, then Castiel in his heaven can sit on her middle finger and rotate.She once said that aloud, expecting a little shock and derision from the brother who’d prayed every day once upon a time. But all he said was ‘amen’ before he crowded her against a wall and kissed her.(Pre-series to season 6)     

 You're The One That I Still Miss by tebtosca     A curse sends Dean running to Stanford to hide out, but an unexpected life with Sam keeps him there.            

Female Sam

All Right, Mr. De Mille  by britomart_is  Sam's thighs are controversial. They're a matter of public debate.    

Beggars Would Ride  by   victoria_p (musesfool) He tells himself that the line he's crossing can be redrawn, slightly over the edge into fucked up, and isn't that where they've been living anyway since Mom died?                       

Bewitched Again by DickBaggins  Someone didn't read the fine print on the curse, and a month after Bewitched, Sam transforms into a super hot lady yet again. This time, Dean thinks he's better prepared. Thinks. 

Blues Won't Haunt You  by darkdecay   When John gets Dean severely injured on a hunt, Sam decides she's had enough. She gets Dean in the impala while their dad is out, grabs what she can, and gets herself and Dean as far away from John—and the life he wanted them to lead—as she can.                            

Dean's Bad Girl by Annabeth_Crestfallen_LeMorte  Not a lot of plot...basically some gender-swapped Wincest-y goodness.  SHAMELESS SMUT!  You've been warned.              

Don't Be Such a Girl, Sammy by  LoveThemWinchesters   Okay, yeah. Dean makes mistakes sometimes…some are worse than others. But maybe the end result isn’t so bad this time. 

Exit Sign in the Mirror by  keysmash   Sam lets things go pretty far before she bothers to tell him.              

Heaven is High and the Earth is Wide  by  lexicale  As wide open as the untamed west is, the Winchesters are always trapped between a rock and a hard place. Sam can't escape the trappings of her gender, and Dean is irrevocably in love with his sister.A western!AU with always-a-girl!Sam.            

The Hunt Gone Girl-Shaped  by Viridescence   Your typical monster-turns-Sam-into-a-girl fic. Or, how Dean DIDN'T get to play with Sam and his shiny new vibrator.      

I Am Sam By: Sorrel   It's hell being the girl. But Sam makes her own way, come hell or high water, and there's plenty of the former when she reunites with big brother Dean, and remembers all of the things she'd thought long forgotten.

The Old College Try by Anonymous   Sam's getting ready to graduate from high school and Dean's worried about Sam up and leaving him. So he starts plotting to get Sam pregnant.

Only Love Can Make A Home  by  KassandraScarlett   Soulless Sam seduces Dean and they begin sleeping together, and Dean does his best to hide the fact that he's in love with her. But then Sam gets her soul back and has no memories of what she did while soulless, until her wall breaks and her hallucinations remind her.                  

Samantha & Dean  by  Destiel_Cockles   AU where Sam is a girl and she wants nothing more than to be with Dean. She comes up with a plan to seduce him because she knows he wants her just as bad. 

A Supremely Black Tai Affair by setissma  The year she turns sixteen, Sam's Christmas list to her father has exactly three things on it: a house, a real Christmas tree, and the OED.

 The Thrift Store Tragedies by Blue_Jay  For hunters, being a woman is seen as a weakness. Samantha figures out quickly how to make it a weapon instead.                          

Underground Wires by eggnogged It’s hard enough being a teenage girl even without all the extra crap: they move around all the time, her family is as far removed from normal as it’s possible to get, and she’s in love with her older brother. Sam has no control on any of it, she’s just trying to stay afloat.

Both Dean and Sam are females

Bleeds for a Week and Doesn't Die by Nutkin   John Winchester has two daughters named Sam and Dean.

The Cursed Beaver by  Mayalaen   Sam and Dean find a cursed object that allows them to switch genders whenever they want.  

The Female Advantage by   DckBaggins   Dean's still feeling the full effects of a nasty little sex spell courtesy of a banging succubus, but she decides to lie about it to Sam; of course, her soulless sister sees right through her.  

For My Prayer Has Always Been Love by  The_Circadian  Back on the road after tragedy finds them again, Sam and Dean find themselves seemingly cursed by an unknown source. With little to go on, their previous plans to find their father are put on hold while they try to fix whatever has changed them into female versions of themselves.Despite the curse and his grief over the loss of Jess, the situation does nothing good for Sam's long running, hidden feelings for his brother. If anything it's harder and harder to deny how he feels.Takes place soon after the Season 1 Pilot.              

We Still Have Tonight   by ds9trekkie   Sam and Dean experience lovin' from a very different perspective. Witches, lesbian sex, and all the feels.          

[lentilblack3]

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[botslayer]

Octodad: Not-so-dark theory

From top to bottom, Octodad looks like a fairly innocent game, A simple story about an Octopus trying to survive in suburbia. But, through subtle hints and references, and inconsistencies with that premise, it is revealed that Octodad is no mere cephalopod. He is, in fact, something far more horrifying, on paper at least... What do I mean?

Octodad is not, in truth, an Octopus, He's a Cthulhi. For those not familiar with the works of H.P. Lovecraft, Cthulhi are also called "The Starspawn of Cthulhu" and "Xothians," and are a race that looks like Cthulhu who's true origins, as with everything in the Cthulhu mythos, are debatable and vague as sin, the only things known for a fact are that they look like Cthulhu (Or, in their first appearance, like Octopi), worship him, followed him from their home dimension/universe into ours, and then perished en masse while what remained of them went into a death-like sleep, same as Cthulhu.

Now, Star Spawn aren't often seen in the works of Lovecraft, but they do have a sliver of popularity in the fandom. Not as big (in the popularity sense) as Deep Ones, but not as unknown as the humble Penguins of Leng. Now, again, it's worth noting that common interpretations of Star Spawn are basically baby Cthulhus, just tiny versions of their dark and malevolent master, but to start with, they were described as "a land race of beings shaped like octopi and probably corresponding to the fabulous pre-human spawn of Cthulhu," in the story "At the Mountains of Madness." 

Octodad highly RESEMBLES an octopus, but with some interesting tweaks. Namely: His eyes, two of his Tentacles, and something we'll talk about in just a minute. But let's talk about Octodad's anatomy when compared to another octopus, namely, the one in the "Wold of kelp" at the Aquarium.

Now, this is Octopus is a giant, climbable sculpture one might see at a water park, so in a technical sense, some liberties could have been taken with its anatomy, but it looks semi-accurate to real octopi, down to the slit-like pupils and the tentacles all being at roughly the same spot despite them spreading out for kids to climb on. Now, if you pay attention, a patron of the Aquarium will note that the "World of kelp" was something else before it was the world of kelp, though they THINK it was "Squids or something" before. Based on how the section played out, I have to believe the whole affair was either cephalopods in general given how many bases of just kelp they went over, or just Octopi because HOLY CRAP there are lots of octopi out there. Failing that, I don't think the statue was a squid to begin with, the eyes are far too forward on the head, what can be seen of the tentacles makes them all look the same, and most species of squid have circular pupils and irises, not slits/rectangles. 

Octodad, in contrast to the sculpture, has vertically ovular pupils, far rounder than the slits on the larger statue, on top of that, his eyes take up a slightly larger portion of his head. Then we take a look at Octodad's tentacles, namely the two that form his mustache. These two tentacles are set away from the other six in a way that makes no real anatomical sense for an octopus. Not to mention that the two are preposterously shorter than the others, it's less like another pair of tendrils and more like a strange growth coming out of the middle of his head. Moving on from that, there's also a certain disparity with his other limbs, his "arms" are shorter than his "legs" when he stands, however, when he enters water, his limbs, save for his mustache, are all of equal length, this strange effect carries over to when he's buck-ass naked, so no, he isn't just scrunching two up while he's in the suit... Speaking of naked octodad:

What the hell is that THING in the midst of his tentacles? It's a lighter color than the others, he's still using two tentacles per leg, one per arm, and his mustache is basically vestigial. Octodad's anatomy makes no fucking sense unless you consider the idea that he has some level of shapeshifting power... and wouldn't you know it, Cthulhi have just that. To what end is a little shakey, as with most things in the Lovecraft universe, but still.

Also worth noting is the church Octodad got married at, a Church dedicated, at least partly, to Cthulhu himself. Now, we only see one window with any kind of figure on it, Cthulhu, wereas the others are all decked out with a strange symbol, as are a few paintings lining the walls of it. These paintings may be of religious significance to the practitioners of this particular faith, but a lot of it looks like some minimalist "If you get it you get it" kind of stuff, and then one is literally a crayon drawing of a child with a smiling balloon. The last vaguely Lovecraftian thing in the church is the treasure chest Octodad gets his wife's ring from, all the coins within have a squid/cuttlefish-like creature printed on them, In the story "Shadow over Innsmouth," the people of a town called "Innsmouth" start breeding with fish people. They did it specifically for the undersea gold the fish people (called Deep Ones) give out for the service. Deep Ones worship multiple gods, cheif among them are their great parents, Mother Hydra and Father Dagon, though worship of Cthulhu isn't against their laws or anything. 

The game takes a break from the hints of Eldrich horror while the family is at home, though it is worth noting that we don't REALLY know where Octodad's children came from. Hell, the game makes a joke about it at the end, Tommy asks, plain as day, "If dad's an octopus... Then where did me and Stacy come from?" While his parents laugh the question off, it has a few possible answers: The two of them (Or just Tommy) are leftover from a failed relationship/marriage Scarlet was a part of before Octodad came in, the two (Or just Tommy) are adopted, or, in a manner not dissimilar to deep ones, Cthulhi may just be able to breed with humans in this universe. 

Now, I say Tommy may be adopted/Not Octodad's specifically because Stacy says something concerning in the "Deep sea" exhibit at the Aquarium. She apparently has dreams wherein a deep, dark spot in the ocean seems to call to her. This turns out to be a sea horse ranch. Cute as that is, dreams are a recurrent theme in Lovecraft's work, sometimes compelling people into the service of Great old ones like Gla'aki, for example. Or there was that one story when a guy met Yog-Sothoth, the omniscient and omnipresent god of the universe just because he dreamed that deeply. Also "The Dreamlands" are a place in Lovecraft's fiction. I could keep going down that rabbit hole, but I'm lazy and I think that point is made.

There is also another reference (Possibly) to "Shadow over Innsmouth" and "Dagon" with the character of Chef Fujimoto. Now, Fujimoto himself is not a reference to anything in particular, but his backstory has some Lovecrafty bits. Namely, Fujimoto was once a soldier (Dagon) who cut open a combatant. Instead of human guts, "Piles of fish" were inside. (Shadow over Innsmouth.) This one might be a little more of a stretch but remember that Fujimoto is OBSESSED with Octodad and believes very firmly that there are fish people everywhere. ("Why is everyone fish!?") There are several Lovecraftian stories where the character feels he is being pursued or is surrounded in some way. Call of Cthulhu ends with one of the characters feeling that the cult is gunning for him, partly because some dude looked at him funny, and Dagon ended with the main character fearing that a servent of Dagon was coming up his stairs after him, so he threw himself out a window. The crippling paranoia experienced by Fujimoto is another hint that SOMETHING Eldrich is happening in the universe of Octodad. 

Also worth noting is that a magazine entitled "Inquisitor" can be found at Gervason's, Octodad is on the cover, and they think he's an alien. Which begs the question: Why is it that most humans will let an obviously strange man do things without much concern at all? Hell, there are three lines present in both the main game and one of the extra shorts that imply EVERYONE sees something is wrong with Octodad. And I quote/paraphrase:

"I thought he was a lawyer?" "He's slimy enough to be one."

"Is it just me or did the captain look jigglier than usual?"

"Hmmm, I don't see a blurblerulb on the list." 

These lines imply on some level that people recognize SOMETHING is wrong or different with Octodad but they don't carry the thought far enough to do anything with it... Unless perhaps at a distance, hence that cover of “Inquisitor.” 

Another thing that tends to happen in Lovecraftian horror is the mind not making proper sense of things. For example: Canonically in the mythos, the image of Cthulhu mankind sees, humanoid body, octopus head, draconic wings, etc, is not what he really looks like, it's just our perception of Cthulhu because our minds aren't equipped to comprehend the real deal. Looking too long at just what we can see of Cthulhu will unravel your mind, causing both insanity and death if exposed even longer. I think that's part of Octodad's effect. When he's dressed, the humans around him perceive what their mind makes sense of. He's in a shirt and pants, therefore he is appropriately dressed as a human, therefore their minds SEE a human even if he's not QUITE right. We see, rather obviously, that he doesn't have human hands, he has tentacles with suckers, but Scarlet refers to it as a "Hand" still, this implies she and others see his appendages as hands or feet when he's disguised or doing something "Human enough." Only really undone if he's naked or does too many strange or seemingly malicious things like accidentally smack someone with a bag of doughnuts.

This is why you can get away with randomly dragging things across the floor, their minds are telling them something is a little off, but their ability to perceive might be telling them he's just got a medical condition or something. It's nothing to judge him for, he's just got a disability. 

So at the end of that trail, what are we left with? Octodad as a Xothian/Deep one hybrid? Does that fundamentally change the game's story? Does this mean Octodad is a dark horror from beyond? Does he secretly seek to kill and maim and destroy all the things we hold dear? Will he one day help awaken Cthulhu and usher in the new age of the great old ones? No. See, Octodad, despite his horrifying inspirations, is a benevolent creature. He "blubs with a love for all mankind" in the ending for Dadliest Catch. He still obviously loves and cares for his family, whether they know his secret or not. He's just an alien from another dimension... or at least he has ancestry from another dimension. 

Now, why is that? I've got two little ideas for that: It's an often found interpretation that most of the original writings of Lovecraft focus on the idea that "It is different, therefore it is bad." Xenophobia of an extremely high sort. Mind you, I often find this interpretation lacking, but we can probably discuss that later. I feel Octodad may be a natural extrapolation of the idea that it isn't bad because it's different, in fact, Octodad, despite keeping a secret, is an all-around "good" guy. Upstanding, moral, all that garbage, he just happens to be non-human.  Something supporting this being a running theme is the scene with the Snugglefish. For those who have yet to play Dadliest catch, a section of the game takes place when the power in part of the Aquarium goes partially out. During this event, Octodad and Stacy come upon a large sculpture of a creature called a “Snugglefish.” which is covered by the dark. We shine lights at the supposedly malevolent creature, complete with monstrous teeth and evil red eyes, partially with the intent to “Blind it” despite the fact that its obviously a statue. That whole section up to then is nothing but fumbling in the dark, looking at the strange and some might say “alien” life living in the deep ocean, you can also learn some stuff about them if you pay attention.  The whole thing ends when you fully light up the spots on the statue, revealing it to BE a Snuggle fish as opposed to some giant monster. As a result of revealing this, Stacy’s fears of it go right out and she feels she understands the creature better, as with most things, learning and understanding quiet one’s fears. when we learn what something is, we stop seeing it as an immediate threat is the take away from that section, I think, which is, again, I’d say, a call to Lovecraft's writings and his fear of that which was different and unknown and how it’s so easily thrown out with just a LITTLE understanding.

Another plausible explanation for Octodad’s kindness may be that Octodad is not a Star Spawn of Cthulhu, but of Kthanid. Kthanid is not an original creation of H.P. Lovecraft, but a bloke by the name of "Brian Lumley." Lumley's creation is the brother of Cthulhu, and is considered the main reason Cthulhu is sealed away these days. Kthanid is said to look almost exactly like Cthulhu but to have "Golden eyes that radiate peace." He's a loving, benevolent "Elder God" that wants the best for not just Humanity, but for all things. It would logically follow that if a creature dedicated itself to Kthanid, or was one of his spawn, it would be at least mostly as loving and kind. So, if Octodad, or "blurblerulb" if you prefer, was a purely hypothetical Kthani instead of Cthulhi, his disposition may well fit within the actual mythos.

So, what do y'all think? Does this theory hold water? Or does it sink harder than Cthulhu going back down for a nap?

[dibleopard-writes]

Make This Chaos Count

Fandom: The Island (2005) Characters: Bernard Merrick, Gandu Three Echo/Alpha, others Rating: Teen for language and brief violence Warnings: Terminal Illness, brief description of symptoms, murder, shooting, brief description of blood, infrequent strong language, CHARACTER DEATH, hospitals, mention of a car accident Additional tags: Angst, fluff and angst, cloning, pre-canon, canon compliant, technically

Word Count: 14,074 Also on Ao3 and Wattpad

Summary: Is it really stealing if you’re taking back something that was stolen from you in the first place? In the wake of his partner’s death, Bernard Merrick thinks not.

Watching the film isn’t really necessary since this is just the lead-up, but you should watch it anyway cause I’m carrying the fanbase on my back.

The study had an absent solemnity to it that Bernard Merrick wallowed in easily. He watched his own fingers tap against the red leather of the sofa. Tap. Tap. Tap. Along in perfect rhythm with the infernal ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

“Stop sulking,” said Steve, who had carefully selected a can of inexpensive beer from a cooler of vintage whiskeys. “Hey, at least I won't leave you a widower.”

Bernard glared at him. He had been hoping to leave the question of their marriage for another day. Still not legal, even after their decade of waiting. Hopefully they would get the opportunity soon enough. He had half a mind to march to the capital and write the bill himself. Steve never quite cared as much about that kind of thing. ‘I mean the tax thing would be nice but really it's just a piece of paper, right?’ He’d said so many times before, when there wasn't yet a deadline hanging over their heads. Bernard would nod, ‘Right’, and wonder if either of them were qualified to select wedding flowers. It was the small things.

“You know drinking will make it worse?” He unlocked his phone to the webpage he had found in the hospital lift. For the tenth time in three hours, his eyes glided over the concise little paragraphs, taking in none of them.

Steve rolled his eyes. “I'm drinking to cope, Bernie.”

“According to the NHS, less than fifty percent of people with cirrhosis live for five more years when they keep drinking.”

“Well then I'd better get all of my living done now, then, hadn't I?” He flopped down next to Bernard, threw one hand over his eyes. “And getting blackout drunk is first on my to-do list.”

Bernard sighed, knowing a losing battle when he saw one, and wrapped an arm around Steve. They still had time.

Months later, in that same room, papers lay on every available surface as well as many supposedly unavailable surfaces. At his desk, Bernard had a sizable stack of documents balanced on his lap and was holding a file in one hand, typing and scrolling with the other. So far his computer had coped with keeping fifty-seven tabs open with only minimal lag. Most were various healthcare websites, some for hospitals nearby, others for the most successful hospitals, and the rest for the best options in their price range. Tinny hold-music was playing from underneath one of several empty mugs; the last few days had seen him drink coffee and tea indiscriminately and, in one memorable instance, simultaneously.

“Man!” There was a crash as several thick hardbacks fell from their perch on the stair banisters outside. Steve’s hand emerged around the door, one foot poised over the paper-covered floor. “You say I’m a slob! What do you call this?”

“Try not to move anything; I've got it all where I want it.”

Steve poked his head around the door, still balancing on one foot, to give him an unconvinced look. “Is this still the same thing as last time?”

Bernard could only meet his eyes for a split second. “What else would it be?”

“Bernie, you can’t keep using your sick days to go looking for something that doesn’t exist. What if you actually get sick?”

“I wouldn’t be as sick as you,” replied Bernard, typing more aggressively than strictly necessary.

“Low blow, man.”

“Listen, I think I’ve found a few that could work.” The printer by the door thunked and juddered before deliberately whirring out webpages in glorious black and white. “There’s a research group in Italy working on artificially grown organs, and a firm in Japan that’s trying mechanical versions. Also, I have a hospital on the line about donation and three more to call by five o’clock.”

Steve took the pages and flicked through them half-heartedly. Bernard couldn’t see him from behind the door but he heard the sigh. He’d been hearing that sigh with increasing regularity. It signalled something in the area of pity, which rankled him more than he liked to admit. He wasn’t the one who had been falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon; he wasn’t the one who became nauseous every other meal; he was not the one with an expiry date hanging over his head. If anyone was worthy of pity, it was Steve, and Bernard refused to subject him to that indignity.

“You know they won’t give me a transplant when I’m still drinking?” said Steve. He did know. He hated it. “Ethics, and all.”

“Then stop drinking, for God’s sake!”

“Bit late for that, don’t you think?” And he could hear the smile in Steve’s voice, the dry humour. “The withdrawal would probably kill me before the liver.”

A sigh of his own, signalling something in the area of anger.

“Look, just– I’ll find something. I’ll find something. I promise you.”

“Promise yourself; you seem to need it more than me,” Steve put the pages on top of the printer, voice somber. His hands were shaking. “Just don’t run yourself into the ground, okay? I need you.”

Bernard nodded, unseen, “Of course.”

Steve’s footsteps retreated in time with the hold music. Bernard stared at his screen, at the file in his hand, at the forest of paper around him, seeing only the potential futures in his head.

“Steve?” He called.

“Yeah?”

“Could I take a genetic sample from you? Just in case?”

“Anything for you, Bernie.”

...

    It was snowing. Bernard Merrick was dressed for the weather in the loosest sense: a long coat, a scarf, but with business shoes and no hat. The frigid air nipped at his ears and the snow soaked through his trousers as he knelt in front of the freshly turned earth, which was only just beginning to turn white. 

Steve Gandu had not been a religious man; there was no church, no service, no stone angel, just a funeral, a wake with a noticeable lack of alcohol, and Bernard paying vigil until the sun set or he collapsed from cold, whichever came first. Who did you pray to, he wondered, when neither of you believed much in an afterlife but you liked the idea of someone keeping him safe, now that he was out of reach?

    It was a strange thought to have, and unproductive. He let it become numb and fall away from sensation as his fingers had.

    The last few months had been bad. He’d been bad. Steve had been coping as well as he could, but was also bad when it came down to it. His eyes had lost their life before the rest of him, the whites yellowing as they became more and more drowsy. Sometimes he’d wake up confused, or blood would end up in places blood shouldn’t be, and Bernard would find him with a can of something foul scrounged from who-knows-where. Those were bad days. 

On bad days Bernard would find himself gravitating towards the study even after he’d promised to leave alone the ‘mad scientist pipe dreams’, as Steve occasionally referred to them. Not all of them were mad. Every now and then there was a spark of brilliance among the paragraphs of otherwise uncreative research papers. He’d pursue the thread until he found the end, which was usually before anything left the realm of theory, a brick wall few were willing to take a sledgehammer to. Ethics, funding, feasibility. All seemed negligible in the early hours of the morning, but apparently biochemistry did not occur before dawn.

Steve would look at him sadly, once he would return to bed, eyes red from screen strain. Bernard would smile at him, and they would both be too tired to do anything about it but sleep.

There was no one left to smile sadly at him anymore. No one to sigh dramatically when he brought up a new idea he’d found, or make snarky comments about death and inevitability and karma. It was just Bernard Merrick and the snow.

The house was empty which meant he could slam as many doors as he wanted. Papers flew as he swept into the study with a crash. They didn’t matter, they hadn’t helped him. Disorder could reign among them until he screwed them up and set them alight in the garden. It could all burn.

His snow-sodden shoes made the print underfoot bleed. Memory stick, wallet, change of clothes. That was all that mattered. Car keys, they mattered too. Only the things he needed to get out and not come back, at least for a night. Toothbrush? Yes, and toothpaste. Nothing else.

Articles were stuck to his shoes as he left the house, door locked only due to a chance remembering in the fervour. He noticed the papers only once he was in the car and threw them into the passenger seat. 

Where to go? Simple enough: work. They did good things at work, things he could use. He would stay in his office. He would find an answer among all of the meaninglessness around him. He would make things better. He would fix everything. He would. He would.

...

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this was entirely natural. It’s practically indistinguishable from the real thing. Bravo, Dr Merrick.”

A small crowd had gathered around the plexiglass container. Visually, the contents was unremarkable, if visceral: a wet, reddish mass that was ever-so-slightly pulsing where blood-filled tubes pierced the surface. Beyond the visual, it was the culmination of the department’s collective careers, brought to fruition by Merrick’s own contributions.

Months of work, years for some, and now they had a liver.

“Thank you, Dr Wilson, your feedback is greatly appreciated.”

It was a liver. A real, organic liver grown entirely in the labs.

Grinning, someone slapped him on the back. “You know, Merrick, I think this makes up for all that time off. I bet this’ll be on the other side of clinical trials before the year is out.”

“Just need to consolidate all the data,” added another, “And we’ll breeze through peer review.”

Before all this, he’d expected livers to be bigger, somehow.

“Saving lives, Merrick, this is what it’s all about. This is why you join the industry!”

Adrenaline-fueled conversation filled the room, most of it only half directed at him. His reflection in the plexiglass stared back at him, tight-lipped. Behind the reflection, the liver glistened. It had been made with the genetic material of some poor sod who still had years to live. They’d stopped drinking, presumably, to make the whole venture worth the investment.

The liver wouldn’t bring back Steve. It would save a life – and many more by its legacy – but it couldn’t bring back Steve. It was just one liver, and that wasn’t enough anymore.

“Merrick.”

Trial eighty-one looked up at him with beady eyes; its distinctive black-spotted ear flicked disinterestedly. Only a day old, and it appeared identical to the photos of the original mouse, which had died of old age around the time that trial thirty-seven had woken prematurely and drowned, still half-formed.

“Merrick.”

Trial eighty-one had so far avoided the pitfalls of its predecessors. It had taken sixty attempts to make the switch from accelerated aging, and another twenty to iron out the kinks in developing a physically mature specimen from the initial stem cells. Maybe this time he had succeeded.

“Merrick!”

He blinked. “What?”

“I was being serious yesterday, we need to watch ourselves or we’ll get–” Merrick’s supervisor reached the desk, moving through the jungle of pipes and cables. “Is that–?”

“That,” said Merrick, not taking his eyes off trial eighty-one, “Is our first mature clone to survive twenty-four hours out of the growth-support system.”

“Oh my god. Merrick–”

“I know, I know, but I think we’ve done it.”

“You’ve done it.”

“Well, yes, but it’s on behalf of the company, of course. This is our research.”

“No, no. You don’t– Merrick, the boss needs to talk to you about this. We’ve had people– This is a major thing – way beyond the scope of the project – and we can’t just–” She gestured at the mouse, “Do that. Not– not here.”

“You seem to be overlooking the fact that I just did,” smirked Merrick. His supervisor dug her hands into her face.

“Listen, just– the boss needs to talk to you. Now.”

“Of course. I think I’m just about finished here,” he replied, gently scooping up trial eighty-one and putting it in a small enclosure.

“Yeah, I think so too. You’d better be up there ASAP.”

His new lab was in an unassuming building in the outskirts of the city – the industrial sort of outskirts, filled with warehouses and trainyards all in various states of rust. The main entrance looked more like a side-door, painted in flaking blue, opened from the inside with a crash bar designed for fire exits. In the corridor, the plaster was flaking off the walls, coating the exposed pipes in pale dust. The few rooms he had been allotted for his exile, however, had been repainted and retiled upon his arrival. It still wasn’t the old labs, but it was clean, it was big enough, and it was his.

There had been an ultimatum: he could no longer work towards human cloning while openly under the company’s employ. Covertly, however, with reduced funding and a team only of those who volunteered for a supposed career suicide, he could continue. He would owe the company money for their investment, but their name would be kept from any research papers and, by extension, any controversy.

The deal was fine by Merrick. At least, it would be if some of the supposed volunteers were actually trustworthy. He could have sworn that one of them was reporting on him to someone a phone call away. Another was far too eager to know the ins-and-outs of the process. Merrick kept his office locked.

A small menagerie of animals had come and gone by the time he felt ready to take on the endgame. The success rates were climbing, and their equipment was no longer as foreign as it had been – not to mention bigger.

It was after hours. Everyone else had left and Merrick was staring at the completed designs for the final growth-support system. 

Could he do it? 

Obviously, he could do it, but could he do it with so many suspicious eyes on him? Was it safe to make this final step in the lab, which had less-than-stellar security? What would happen if the spy reported to an ethical committee? Or if his work was stolen and misappropriated? What would happen to the clone, if anyone knew about it?

Finding out was not worth the risk, he decided; he would have to find another way.

He took the design sheet, downloaded the digital backup, and put a coil of tubing in the boot of his car. None of it would be missed, and now he needed it in his own hands – his hands alone.

...

It took two months to gradually assemble everything in his basement, and in that time he finally got used to being alone in the house. He’d never been superstitious, but he couldn’t help but shiver every time he had heard the boiler knock on the walls or passed the cold spot halfway down the basement stairs. There were two new locks on the door and he hadn’t opened the curtains in the front room since he had begun to work on the project at home.

In the lab, the construction of the new growth-support system was months behind, interrupted by small, hard to find mishaps that threw the entire system out of balance. Two loose bolts one day, a punctured tube another. Poor luck, said one scientist. A sign, said another. Merrick simply tapped the desk irritably and said that there had better not be any bad luck tomorrow. Often, there was. Funny how things happened like that.

He had requested a new genetic sample for the lab’s first test, claimed the one he was originally planning to use had been damaged in the freezing process. Now, in the safety of his basement, he carefully placed Steve’s sample into the analyser. The computer whirred for a few minutes and he watched, drinking the fifth coffee of the day, forcing his hands not to shake from caffeine or otherwise. Readings flicked onto the screen. The sample was safe. It would work. Just another month, and he could hear Steve’s voice again.

A few taps of a keyboard, and the arduous process of creating the first human clone began. He pulled up a chair, his eyes not leaving the system until he fell asleep hours later, still sitting upright in front of the foundations of a human skeleton.

...

The clone was not Steve. Perhaps that should have been predictable.

It did not have his memories, it did not have his wit, it did not have his rough-around-the-edges smile or his world-weary optimism. But it did have his eyes, and, once it learnt to speak, it had his voice, albeit stilted as his never was. It was a newborn in Steve’s body, with Steve’s brain if not his mind.

It was not Steve. It was a facsimile. However, it was Steve enough to put the thrill of success through Merrick’s nerves. The clone was a second iteration of Steve, similar but different. Manufactured. Gandu Two Alpha.

Good enough. He would always be good enough.

After the initial birth, as it were, after fluid splashed across the floor, soaking his shoes and the air was filled with gasping and begging and “breathe, breathe, breathe,” after choked sobs in two voices had abated, after eyes had opened, clouded with unfamiliarity, after Merrick felt the blow of being a stranger to those eyes, after he locked the pain away with viscous practicality and helped dry everything down, after all of that, he left the basement. The deed was done. It was alive.

That night he cried himself to sleep, back in the bed they had shared for the first time since Steve’s death, and the clone remained alone downstairs.

Eventually, he collected himself. The morning was spent teaching the clone to walk and then helping it up the stairs into the kitchen. There was no conversation, only Merrick’s monosyllabic encouragement and the clone’s attempt to catch the eyes that looked anywhere but its face.

In the days following, when Merrick wasn’t at work, he was guiding the clone – someone had thought of another term, a euphemism, but that was what it was: a clone – through human experience. The messy basics, initially, hygiene and eating and drinking, but then speech, abstract ideas, self-sufficiency. He set boundaries but allowed free roam around the house, not that he could have done much to stop it. Alcohol had long been banished from the house, so he needn’t worry about that, and he had long forgotten to pay the cable fee, so there were few opportunities for the clone to see something Merrick wasn’t ready to explain. The basement was locked again, cleaned and relegated to the back of his mind.

A finger gently prodded Merrick in the sternum, eyes questioning, brow furrowed with the intent seriousness of a three-year-old with a mission. 

“Yes, this is me, Bernard.” 

“Bernard,” confirmed the clone’s achingly familiar voice, “Me.” 

“No, no, you’re you, I’m me.” Merrick took the unnaturally soft hand in his own and pointed it at the clone. 

“Me?” Repeated the clone. 

“Yes.” 

The clone smiled, somehow managing to make it too wide, even if Steve had always smiled more than Bernard. It was strange that Merrick was more aware of those little details now than he had been when the real thing had still been right in front of him.

“Bernard?” The clone’s hand hadn’t moved from where Merrick had put it.

Merrick pointed to himself. “I’m Bernard. That’s my name.”

A nod of understanding, clarity, then, “My name?”

The clone wasn’t completely dopey, not anymore; it knew what it was asking. Perhaps last week it would have been a case of parroting, but now the clone was beginning to attach meaning to words. It took a few tries, sometimes from different approaches, but slowly things were clicking into place and comprehension was dawning.

Still, the gaze was fixed on Merrick. Still, Merrick found it difficult to meet.

“Bernard.” Not a question. Deliberately so. “My name?” A demand, skewing strangely into an English accent, imitating Merrick’s own tone.

What was its name?

He had named it on the documents, but the thought had been fleeting in his mind, where he mostly thought of it as ‘it’ or ‘the clone’ or, if he was feeling particularly morose, ‘not him’. The name was comfortingly clinical, distant and inhuman. He could shorten it to just ‘Gandu’ but that was a step too close to calling the thing ‘Steve’. If he couldn’t look it in the eye, he couldn’t call it by his name.

“Your name is Gandu Two Alpha,” he said, ignoring the way it felt strangely final, as if this, of all moments, was the one he couldn’t turn back from.

“Gan-du Doo– Gand-u… Two Alv– Gon–” The clone stopped with a huff, frown morphing into one of frustration. Apparently ‘Gandu Two Alpha’ was more of a mouthful than ‘Bernard’. Who’d have thought?

“Me,” decided the clone.

    ...

By the time the lab’s version (which had been completely dismantled and reassembled in an effort to fix several loose connections, twice) was ready for its first trial, Gandu Two Alpha had mastered basic speech and was gradually learning to spell. If it tried, it could probably work its mouth around its name, but it seemed content with writing ‘me’ instead, and if Merrick hadn’t wanted to push Steve’s name onto the thing, there was no one meaningful to judge.

Work, however useless it was becoming, was still taking up half of Merrick’s day. From what he could tell, the clone spent most of that time pottering around, inspecting inconsequential little details. Merrick had hidden all of the photos of Steve in a box under his bed, but it was only a matter of time before the clone got curious enough to venture there. Already, it had blindly reorganised the bookshelf in the front room, presumably by spending hours taking each book out, scrutinising every aspect of it, and then forgetting where it had originally been and putting it back at random. At least it hadn’t moved everything around in the kitchen.

Every now and then, Merrick would catch himself smiling as he watched the clone stumble through life. It was still painful to see that face with none of Steve behind it, but he found himself growing used to the differences and the clone had a captivating innocence to him– it– that was more endearing than Merrick wanted to admit. The smile that the clone often gave him when Merrick came back at lunch was not Steve’s smile by any stretch, but it was earnest and the fact that Merrick was the cause of that smile somehow made it better.

The clone had all of its own little eccentricities: an accent that was a strange mesh of the one its mouth was adapted to and the one it heard Merrick use; a fascination with water (Merrick had once come home to all of the taps running and the clone staring into the bath); and an insatiable sweet tooth that earned Merrick a wild grin anytime he made jam on toast. It was easy to forget that the clone was ever intended to be Steve, and that somehow made it easier to be around him– it. They had a strange little harmony between them that hummed beneath the heartbreak and the stilted navigation of conversation.

It was nice, and Merrick learned to accept that it was.

One evening, they were sitting at the kitchen table playing Scrabble – Merrick had decided to put the clone’s memory and spelling skills to the test – when there was a knock at the door. The clone jumped, skewing the tile he was placing. He realigned it with deliberate precision, eyes darting between the board, Merrick, and the hallway.

“Over,” he read.

Merrick smiled, rising, “Good, v is quite high scoring. I’ll be back; I just need to see who this is. Stay here, okay? Don’t follow me.”

“Okay. Is it work?”

“Usually I go to work, not the other way around,” Merrick replied, dryly. The clone tried to smile, but the anxiety of the unfamiliar made it flicker. The door knocked again, more loudly.

One of Merrick’s peers from work was behind the door when it opened. “You’re a hard man to get hold of, Dr Merrick. You keep your phone on silent or what?” He didn’t, he just let the calls ring through. They were never worth his time.

“Ambrose, what brings you here?”

“Oh, nothing much, just that some of the guys were working overtime and got the system up and running,” he grinned. Ambrose was a relatively young man, the kind instilled with that insufferable swagger that made Merrick want to put him on admin duty for a month. “We need a sample, preferably before the thing falls apart again.”

“And you came to me at eight o’clock in the evening because…?”

“Well, we need your go-ahead before we can make any decisions about this sort of thing, y’know? You are the one in charge. And you still haven’t got back to me with that new sample you were talking about months ago. After the first one got... damaged...?”

Ambrose’s eyes were fixed on something beyond Merrick’s shoulder. Urging himself not to sigh too heavily, he turned around to see the clone standing in the kitchen doorway.

“Good morning,” called the clone.

Ambrose swallowed, nodding. “Evening.” Then he looked back at Merrick. “Is that–”

“No.”

“I thought he was de–”

“No.”

Ambrose grinned in a way that Merrick didn’t like. This was the problem with normal humans: they always had an ulterior motive. At least Two Alpha was always genuine or, failing that, a terrible liar. This time Merrick did sigh. “You’d better come in.”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate, his attention fixed on the clone, who smiled nervously back and asked, “What’s your name?”

“Oscar. Oscar Ambrose. What about you?”

“What about me?” Their voices moved into the kitchen as Merrick worked on relocking the door.

“What’s your name?”

In his mind’s eye, Merrick could see the frown on Two Alpha’s face as he worked on recalling it. The last lock clicked into place.

“Gandu Two Alpha.”

Ambrose shot Merrick a disbelieving look as he entered. “Dr Merrick–!”

Merrick glared at him and played his turn on the Scrabble board. Resolute. Two Alpha mouthed the spelling to himself, expression somewhere between indignance and admiration. It was a long word by his standards and Merrick had so far been playing five letters maximum.

“Work on your turn. Ambrose and I need to talk upstairs. Stay here. Really, this time.”

“I did stay here; I didn’t leave the kitchen.”

Cheeky brat. Merrick rolled his eyes, unable to maintain his stern facade. Ambrose was still staring, so he dragged him up to the study by an arm. 

As soon as the door was closed, Ambrose was talking. “‘Two Alpha’? What sort of name is that? Is he actually an agnate, you really did it? Wait–” He stopped dead, processing something. “Are you the reason the system keeps breaking? You want the tech all for yourself!”

Merrick thrust the desk chair across the room. “Sit.”

Ambrose’s legs gave way as he sat. Behind his back, Merrick’s own hands were shaking. “None of what you’ve seen or heard today will leave this house, understand?”

A skeptical narrowing of eyes. That damn arrogance, even as the man was slumped in Merrick’s shadow. As if there weren’t an innocent life at risk, sitting downstairs and playing Scrabble, unaware of what damage loose lips could do to his entire way of life. Irreverent bastard.

He lunged forward, pinning Ambrose’s wrists to the armrests. “I said: do you understand?”

Ambrose nodded unconvincingly and then winced when Merrick leaned into his hands. Merrick spat, “Yes, I sabotaged the system. No, it was not to hoard it. None of you can be trusted, not with him, so I did it myself. I needed you to be delayed.”

“So he’s your…”

“His genetic donor was my partner, yes, not that that’s any of your business.”

“And… Sorry, I can’t get over that name–”

“It’s better than Human Trial One.”

Ambrose gave a conceding nod, “Point taken.” Then, “Hey, could you ease off a bit? I can’t feel my fingers.” Merrick pushed into him, perhaps taking too much pleasure in the way he folded at the pressure, before moving to lean against the desk. Hissing, Ambrose tried to rub the pain out of his wrists. “God, you don’t do things by halves, do you?”

Merrick glared.

“Okay, okay, whatever, water under the bridge, doesn’t matter, but– do you know what this means? It works! You’ve made a human agnate! Have you– have you done any testing? Like, genetic analysis? Is he one-for-one identical?”

The main negative to having someone in your house, Merrick decided, is that you couldn’t walk out. “I haven’t taken any samples. Cognition has been my main focus, if not his survival. He seems accurate enough, physically. He has no memories, though, and he’s had to learn everything practically from scratch.”

“Sucks. Bet you were hoping for a carbon copy, memories and all, huh? Hang on, have you…” 

Merrick could see the way his mind had turned and was unimpressed. Let him wade through the embarrassment, Merrick wouldn’t fish him out. “Have I what?”

“...Kissed him?” Ambrose’s shoulders were hiked up to his ears. Idiot.

“Mentally, he is a child, Ambrose, get your mind out of the gutter.”

“Sorry, sorry. Had to ask, though, didn’t I?”

“No, you didn’t.”

Ambrose sighed as if Merrick was the insufferable one. “Look, I think we’re overlooking just how massive this is. If we could make this on a mass scale, we could– I don’t know. This is the kind of thing that very wealthy people would pay a lot of money for.”

“Millions of dollars for… an organ transplant?”

“Millions of dollars for an organ transplant with a wait-time of days, maximum, practically zero chance of the body rejecting it, and it would be up to the client to decide whether or not they should get a transplant – no lifestyle changes necessary just to tick boxes. That’s millions of dollars for twenty more years of life. Maybe more! If I were the kind of person who had a billion just lying around…”

Steve hadn’t had a million, let alone a billion dollars collecting dust in a drawer somewhere. If he had – if either of them had – would it have made a difference?

“Hell,” continued Ambrose, “at that point immortality is within reach. Imagine that, Merrick! Once the surgical world catches up, you could just keep going forever!”

“And we just keep harvesting from the agnates,” His voice was far more somber than he intended it to be.

“Yeah, I mean, if you think about it, the net result is positive. In terms of life, that is. If you count them as real people, which– which I wouldn’t, legally. Not if we wanted to sell anything.”

At some point, Merrick realised, he had begun to think of Two Alpha as a ‘he’. Somewhere else – before or after, he didn’t know – he had begun to care for him as an individual. Perhaps it was latent love for Steve, or perhaps it was an independent affection for someone who was slowly learning who they were as he guided them along. Either way, something in the back of his mind reared at the idea of Two Alpha being killed for parts. 

If Two Alpha had existed before Steve had died… 

Part of Merrick wanted to say that he wouldn’t have sacrificed him, that he’d have kept both for as long as possible and accepted Steve’s death when it came. The rest knew that he wouldn’t have given himself the chance to care for him – Two Alpha would have been on the operating table before he knew how to cry for help.

Sometimes Merrick hated himself.

“And we could do it on that scale?” It was hardly a question.

“You’re the one to ask.”

“We could.” He ignored the sound of the kitchen tap being turned on and off, on and off. “If we had enough money to do so.”

“Well that, my friend, is where you’re lucky I was the one to find out.” Lucky was a strong word. Merrick didn’t feel very lucky. Oblivious to it all, Ambrose continued, energised and far too loud for the time of evening, “I’ve got some sway with one of the banks, and if we proposed the project to, say, the Department of Defense, I’m sure they’d be more than willing to make an investment. I can handle all of the marketing, networking, whatever, you’d just have to get the science going.”

“You’re saying we start a new company – not research-based – to sell organs grown in…” He wanted to say sentient beings, or humans, but already he could tell that it was a dangerous train of thought, “Agnates?”

“I doubt the boss wants us to do it with his funding. Breaking off is the only way to go.” It was a valid point and Merrick had already been one bad day away from walking out and never returning, but starting an entirely new business venture had never been on the table – he was a scientist, not a businessman.

“Why should I agree to this?”

“Why not?! Millions, Dr Merrick, why would you turn that down?”

“Agnates are hardly cheap on the production end, not to mention upkeep.”

“They’ll pay for themselves, you know they will. What’s your problem with this? Your real problem.”

The real problem? As if he would spill his emotional turmoil to the kid with the supposed business skills. No. Merrick lied, “I feel you’re underestimating exactly how much time, money, and resources this will take.”

“And I feel you’re underestimating how worth it it will be.”

Sighing, Merrick took off his glasses and began to clean them, using the distraction to sort his thoughts.

Two Alpha had never left the house. He would never need to know exactly what Merrick was doing if he agreed to this plan. Merrick could create hundreds of agnates and keep Two Alpha safe for himself, all the while he would be saving lives like Steve’s from preventable deaths. If he just didn’t talk to them, if he didn’t stimulate their individual development beyond the physical, didn’t allow them to be much more than walking organs, they wouldn’t really be people. Not like Two Alpha. They would just be insurance policies, clean and clinical.

He put his glasses back on. They were smudged.

“Fine. I’m in.” Ambrose’s grin returned and Merrick wondered if he’d regret putting this much trust in the man. “But we’re doing this my way. I don’t want any surprises, understand?”

“Of course, Dr Merrick.” He held out a hand. “I think this is the start of something incredible.”

Merrick shook it. “I want you in my office tomorrow morning; we need to plan this properly.”

Ambrose was already moving back downstairs, “Nine AM, sharp, Dr Merrick.”

“Make that eleven.” God knew he wouldn’t be able to cope with the man so early in the day. He unlocked the front door and waved Ambrose out.

“You won’t regret this!”

“Make sure of it.”

With the door finally closed, Merrick could acknowledge the headache worming its way into his eye sockets. He needed to sleep this off.

“Is he gone?” asked Two Alpha, standing by the kitchen door, just barely behind the threshold. His weight was shifting from foot to foot anxiously. 

“Yes. I trust you haven’t run the taps dry?”

“No,” the clone smiled, “There’s still water in them, look!”

Merrick put a glass under the tap as Two Alpha demonstrated, nodding seriously. “Very good. And did you play your turn?”

“Yup, error. I had a bunch of R’s.”

He drained half of the glass and stared at the board. “Do you want to continue? It’s getting late.” 

Two Alpha seemed to disagree with that assessment, but he also seemed to have hit his energy limit for the day because his objection was broken by a yawn. “Maybe,” he conceded. “What was Oscar Ambrose doing here?”

They left the Scrabble untidied on the table, climbing the stairs to the guest room that Two Alpha now occupied. 

“He just wanted to talk to me about work, nothing to concern yourself over.”

“He seemed nice.”

If only you knew the things he is planning, Merrick thought, before saying, “I suppose he did.”

Two Alpha nodded, content in his first assessment of any human beyond Merrick. “Goodnight, Bernard.”

“Goodnight.”

...

    In far less time than was reasonable, Ambrose had wrangled the lab’s growth system and plans out of the company’s possession – easy, he claimed, when they had refused to have their name on any of it – and into the asset pool of the newly christened Merrick Biotech. Soon enough, they had enough investors to buy land in a barren part of the Arizona desert, specifically an abandoned missile facility complete with underground silos and outdated wiring.

    “The missiles were Titan II’s, you know?” said Ambrose, unlocking the facility for the first time. “They were going to be replaced, that’s why they were decommissioned, but the replacements were never produced.”

    “Fascinating,” Merrick lied. He had never been to Arizona before, but the desert reminded him of Steve, beautiful in that rugged, slightly unforgiving sort of way. Even after only fifteen minutes of direct sunlight, he could feel his skin burning.

    They stayed in the nearby motel for days at a time, returning home for a few weeks at most before something else required their supervision. Two Alpha remained at the house, alone. Merrick found it more anxiety-inducing than he anticipated, unused to no longer being able to check in every few hours.

    One morning he came downstairs to see Two Alpha intently scribbling on printer paper, seemingly trying to cover the whole sheet in graphite.

    “You don’t always come back,” he said, not moving his gaze from the table.

    “Of course I do,” replied Merrick, surprised by the sullen attitude, “I’m here now, aren’t I? So I must have come back.”

    “But not always.” Two Alpha had the look on his face that betrayed his frustration when he couldn’t convey his thoughts properly. It used to be an almost permanent fixture but months later his communication had improved to the extent that Merrick struggled to remember the last time he saw it. “Sometimes you’re not here when I go to sleep or when it’s morning and I don’t know what to do. Sometimes you come back and it’s good and you don’t go for ages. But then you do go and you don’t come back.”

Merrick sat next to him, put an arm around him. “I’m sorry. Work has changed. It used to be nearby but now it’s far away, so I have to stay there for a few days every time. I try to stay here as much as I can, I promise.”

Two Alpha stopped scribbling, eyes distant with thought. “What’s promise?”

It was always jarring to find the little gaps in Two Alpha’s knowledge, the oversights and the things that seemed too obvious to miss. Each one would be filled, however, and Merrick took care to do it well.

“A promise is when you say something and you mean it. If you promise to do something, you should always try your very best to do it. Don’t make them lightly and don’t break them.”

“Do people break them anyway?”

“Yes, some people. That just means you shouldn’t trust them when they promise things. Especially big things.”

“Do you break promises?”

Yes, he thought, though his promise to Steve was not one he wanted to talk about. “I try not to,” he said instead, “But sometimes I get carried away and make promises that I could never hope to keep.”

“Big promises?”

“Yes, though I don’t think anyone expected me to actually fulfil them. Except myself, maybe.”

“And you promise to stay here as much as you can?”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been doing.”

Two Alpha refused to look him in the eye and returned to his paper. “... I’m not sure it’s enough.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t promise much more.”

An understanding nod. “The promise would be too big to keep.”

“Yes.”

Two Alpha processed the conversation and Merrick waited. Eventually, Two Alpha sighed and leaned into Merrick’s hold. “But you’ll come back eventually. You won’t always be gone.” Two statements, more self-reassurance than anything.

Merrick nodded. “I… May be able to get you a phone. So that you can talk to me when I’m far away.” It was a risk, of course, a hole in the protective wall of isolation that Merrick had erected around him, but it would put both of their minds at ease. He could try to put restrictions on it, to prevent internet access and unwanted calls. A curated library of apps would help keep him occupied while Merrick was alone. Yes, it was worth the risk.

“That would be good,” Two Alpha agreed.

    ...

The phone proved its worth but also highlighted Two Alpha’s loneliness. Previously, it had been relatively easy to forget that every hour Merrick spent away was another for Two Alpha to kill at home. On Merrick’s first day away after buying the phone, Two Alpha called almost hourly until Merrick had to tell him to ease off while he was working, after which the calls came every three hours on the dot.

On his second trip, three weeks later, Merrick was flicking through the channels in his motel room when the fourth call of the day came through.

“Hello?” Even after so many of these calls, his voice still raised as if there was any question as to who was on the other end. It felt silly. Distant.

“Hi, Bernard.”

Usually it was at this point that Two Alpha would choose an arbitrary conversation starter, anything from the weather to where paper came from. Instead, there was quiet. Merrick pulled the phone from his ear, checked the call was still working, then put it back and asked, “Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” came the voice, strained in the way voices were when their face was pressed into a pillow. “We don’t need to talk. I just…” There was a staticky sigh. “We can just be together like this.”

Something hurt beneath his collarbone and he pretended it had nothing to do with the creeping guilt rising in the back of his mind.

“Okay,” he replied, voice strained in the way voices were when emotion pressed into them. Strange how such abstract things had such physical symptoms.

Steve had liked these moments, the ones where the conversation had run dry and there was nothing but companionable silence. Nothing owed, no performance, no give and take, just being near someone you loved. That was what he lived for. He enjoyed the rest of it, sure, but this– this was what the it all amounted to. When he had explained this, half-asleep on Bernard’s shoulder,

Beyond Steve, however, Merrick found people’s presences grating. They were always watching too intently or not listening enough or putting far too much thought into the act of existing near him. It made him hyper-aware of every infuriating aspect of the situation, on guard and tiring. Steve made it easy to drift, semi-conscious, relaxed. With Two Alpha he had never been truly on edge, rather wary of his own tongue slipping, saying something that would break the translucent illusion he now lived in. As such, the silence of Two Alpha was comforting in a completely different way; no chance of error when there was uncomplicated quiet between them.

Merrick lay back and allowed himself the calm.

Construction was underway at the facility, installing new wiring and digging out new space. He didn’t pretend to know much of what any of it meant, why any of it was happening the way it was, but the schematics that he had been talked through seemed sound enough to his inexpert eye. Ideally, he’d be able to let the construction team do their work and stay home, but such projects were never without their hitches and Ambrose was never without his impatience.

“I know you have your hang-ups about this whole thing,” he had said that day, having dragged Merrick into an unpainted office, “But we need you to be here. Like, really be here. Whatever’s going on in that head of yours can’t take up so much of your attention; yesterday you signed off on a cement order that was ten times under what we need – if I hadn’t caught it this morning we’d be another week behind schedule.”

“You said I wouldn’t have to handle any of this.”

“Cross-checking numbers hardly needs a business degree, Merrick! Your head isn’t in the game. I’m here a week more than you per month. What’s your excuse?”

“Well, unlike you, I have responsibilities at home.”

“What? The agnate?”

Merrick had clenched his teeth and tried his hardest not to glare too venomously – the last thing he needed was to get over-defensive. That way lay exposing himself to a man who would not hesitate to attack such weakness in the name of the bigger picture. Ambrose took his terse silence as a confirmation.

“The agnate can manage by itself – it has so far. This is so much bigger than that, this needs you to put the effort in. What difference will it make to the agnate? You just won’t be around three goddamn weeks a month – who do you know with that sort of time off? It doesn’t happen! This is work, so treat it like work. Prioritise.”

“My private life is just that: private,” Merrick had replied, enunciating sharply, “You would do well to remind yourself of that, Oscar.” And then he had left, wondering if he regretted using Ambrose’s first name. In the end, he decided that he didn’t, which was the easiest problem to solve.

The entire conversation had been repeating in his head like a blinking indicator, only silenced once the underlying issue was confronted. It was true that his total working hours had tanked after leaving the company and it was true that he rarely had more than seventy-five percent of his brain focused within those hours, however there was an entire life hinging on his own and it did so far more directly than the abstract lives that Merrick Biotech could save.

Two Alpha hated being alone and Merrick was loath to extend that time anymore than he had. Already, Two Alpha was navigating more negative emotions than he had ever felt and Merrick could only guide him so well with an entire week of absence looming over both of them, let alone two. The dependence could be called unhealthy if not for Two Alpha’s age.

Still, the tension was undoing them both, the phone simply a loosened valve to release the pressure before something exploded. A coin-sized valve in the Hoover dam, more a weak spot for the pressure to crack than any real aid. Perhaps Two Alpha needed to learn to alleviate the tension by himself, reduce his dependence just enough that there wasn’t such a weight on Merrick’s shoulders.

But how to do it?

He would need to do some research – out of work hours – but he should let Two Alpha down slowly before he could let himself get caught up in radical solutions. Gradually easing him off calling so regularly would help. That was a simple enough step to take.

The phone told him that the call had lasted over ten minutes, most of which was dead air. Their silence hadn’t yet been broken. He sighed.

“Hey.” Thinking about it, he’d never addressed him as Two Alpha. Perhaps it was a bit too inhuman. But was now really the time to think of a more endearing name? “You know that I get charged per minute?”

“For what?” The voice was soft, the tension melted away. Merrick hated the way that his couldn’t do the same.

“For these calls.” Silence. “So– so I’m going to have to go now. We can talk tomorrow. Or not talk. Up to you.”

“Oh.” Soft again, but not in the same way. Damn it. “Okay.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Bernard. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, instinctively, though he didn’t quite know what for. In the moments it took for him to wonder, the line went dead.

...

Merrick stayed in Arizona for three days longer than he had originally planned, if only to get Ambrose off his back. Two Alpha had kept his calls to twice a day, morning and evening and kept both strictly within ten minutes. Merrick supposed that his words had gone deeper than intended and Two Alpha was hyper-aware of the time and money Merrick was using to talk to him. It was charming, in a bittersweet kind of way.

He was hoping that Two Alpha hadn’t noticed his extended stay, and as such he hadn’t brought it up. He would be back soon enough.

On the morning of his last day, the phone rang at eight o’clock exactly.

“Where are you?”

“I’m at work.”

“You can’t come back?” 

“Unless there’s an emergency,” he lied. Two Alpha had clung to his promise, used it to reason his way through Merrick’s absence. It felt cruel to exploit that trust, break the promise, but the semantics of whether or not he truly could have returned earlier saved him from complete self-hatred.

“No, no emergency. Is there an emergency with you?”

“No, why would there be?”

“I dunno.”

The rest of the conversation was subdued, though Two Alpha often tended to grow withdrawn in his loneliness until Merrick returned and he bounced back. Nothing abnormal. No reason to be concerned. None at all.

Hours later, when Merrick was digitising spreadsheets at something resembling a desk, the phone rang again. He frowned at it and picked it up with a speed he would never admit to being panicked.

“Mr Merrick?” asked an unfamiliar voice.

“Yes?”

“I’m calling from St Luke’s Hospital about a patient we’ve just received from a recent motor incident. You were the only emergency contact.”

“What?” he croaked.

“Unfortunately, the patient had no ID and was unable to provide a name. Are you able to come to the hospital at this time?”

No. No. It couldn’t be–

“I– I’m in Arizona, I can get there in– nine hours? Where did you find him?”

The matter-of-fact tone of the answer didn’t help calm him as the caller listed an address barely ten metres from his house. Already, the spreadsheets were abandoned in the wake of his strides to the nearest exit.

“What condition is he in?”

“I can’t tell you much without you here to confirm your identity and relation to the patient, but his prognosis is poor. What did you say his name is?”

Merrick hung up. That was not a question he would ever be able to answer, not to anyone other than Two Alpha himself. Even then…

No. Now was not the time.

He ran.

...

Since the 2007 American Transport Initiative, high-speed maglevs connected major cities down each coast and across the southern states, drastically reducing travel times on even cross-continental scales. Unfortunately, there was still a two hour drive to the Phoenix station – perhaps once the system was more established he could petition for another to be built in Tucson, the drive was easily the most grating experience of his life – a four hour trip along the Latitude Line, and another three hours of sporadic stop-starting up the Eastern Seaboard. His loose interpretation of the speed limit in Arizona cut thirty minutes off his prediction but the extended adrenaline high made the journey feel like aeons.

He was already hammering the open door button when the train hummed to a stop and squeezed through the moment the doors allowed him. No one batted an eye at the sight of yet another smartly dressed man rushing with no regard for those in his way and he wouldn’t have noticed if they had. The route to the hospital memorised on the journey, he was a gale force wind weaving between the crowds.

Merrick practically collided with the reception desk, making the receptionist jerk back in her rolling chair.

“I’m here for–” he gasped, caught his breath again, “For a man. Admitted about nine hours ago, no ID. I was called–”

The receptionist typed in the number he showed her once he fumbled his phone over the desk. “Well, the numbers match but we’ll need a proof of identity for you and also what relation you have to him.”

“I’m– I’m Bernard Merrick. I’m all he has, he has no family– except– except me. Please, I need to see him.”

“He has no name on the record, do you–”

“Where is he?”

“Just follow the blue line, he should be in room six. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Merrick just about managed, “Thank you,” before he was moving again. Blue line. The signs blurring past identified it as the route to the ICU but the blurring was in his head as much as his vision. All he could see was the line. It was all he needed to see.

There was a man standing outside room six. Merrick almost missed him in his determination to pass through the door, but he stepped in the way, placing a hand on Merrick’s shoulder. The hold was probably meant to have some compassion to it, but all he registered was the firmness keeping him from entering.

“Mr Merrick, I presume? Please, a word before you go in.”

There must have been something wild in his eyes when they met the man’s face, because the grip on his shoulder became tighter.

“I’m Dr Colby; I’ve been looking after the patient since his arrival in the department. He is… gravely wounded. Honestly, I’m amazed he’s lasted this long. When you go in there, please, be gentle. The state he’s in may be shocking to see, but you must stay calm, for his sake.” Colby caught his eyes as they darted to the door. “Breathe, Mr Merrick. And… prepare yourself – it is unlikely that he’ll recover.”

Blood was rushing through his ears but those final words rang through his mind clear as anything. They couldn’t be true, the doctor was just pessimistic; he’d seen too many deaths in his career, he was seeing a ghost where there wasn’t one. Two Alpha would make it through. 

Nevertheless. “I need to see him.”

“He has been somewhat aware of his surroundings, so he may be able to talk to you. The best we’ve got from him is what we believe to be his first name, Alf, right?”

Merrick nodded, no longer feeling tethered to reality.

“The worst injuries were elsewhere – his heart has been… erratic. Try to keep any conversation from working him up. Just be there for him, okay?”

Frustration bubbled up – I know, that’s what I’ve been trying to do – but it was distant, as if it hadn’t accompanied him all the way from Arizona. All he could do was croak, “Please.”

Colby nodded solemnly and opened the door. Behind was a small room made smaller by the abundance of machinery, most of it feeding back to the pale shape on the bed. Merrick moved in, suddenly slowed as if moving over sacred ground.

“Hey,” he said, softly, and the eyes opened and his own began to sting. Two Alpha’s eyes were bloodshot to the extreme that the whites of one had become rust-dark. They looked up at him drowsily.

“...Bernard?” His voice was raw, from disuse or pained screaming Merrick couldn’t tell. He took the hand that tried to lift itself off the bed, weighed by the IV line. The fingers were cold but they wrapped around his, fitting like Steves’ had, positioned like his didn’t. 

“Yes, it’s me. I’m here.” Merrick had taken Steve’s left hand, at the end, traced the ring there, covered the back of his hand with his own. Now, he was on Two Alpha’s right, and the hand was upturned, nothing to trace but those lines he didn’t know how to read. Life line. Heart line. Fate line. Illegible.

“Good… I was… worried about you.”

“Worried? Why should you be worried?”

“You didn’t come back. I know you said–” Two Alpha’s voice caught on its raw edges and on the shortness of breath. Perhaps it caught on something else, Merrick could hardly judge. “You said that you would always come back, if you could, and you couldn’t always because of work but– usually you’re back after seven days, sometimes it’s eight. So I waited and– you were away for ten days, no coming back, so I thought–” He sniffed, a thin tear track catching the light to become visible. “I know– I know it wasn’t– you were still on the phone. Looking back, I shouldn’t have worried ‘cause you were still answering, but– I thought maybe something had happened so I went out, the way you go when you leave. To find you.”

He was openly sobbing now, the monitors around him grumbling at the strain it put on his respiratory system. Merrick knew that if he turned his attention to himself, he would see the same sorrow and regret on his own face, but he didn’t, his focus purely on the man on the bed. The man who, if he was willing to admit it, did look terrifyingly delicate. 

It was only in comparison to the clinically white sheets that Two Alpha’s skin looked at all alive. There were bandages covering half of what was visible, bruises covering what remained. Every movement, down to blinking, was measured, pained, subdued. All except the crying.

“I don’t remember– I walked for a bit, I think, then–” He tried to screw his eyes shut as if to block out the sensations still wracking his body, but the bruising was too much to do more than furrow his brow.

“It’s okay,” said Merrick, beginning to stroke the hand with his thumb. “It’s okay. I’m here now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I should have kept you informed, that’s my fault.”

Two Alpha simply opened his eyes to look at him grimly. There was a depth, a weight to him now that there hadn’t been and Merrick desperately wished to relieve him of it. He met his gaze, unflinching, and let it hurt.

After a while, Two Alpha whispered, barely audible over the machines, “What’s going to happen to me?”

Merrick wished he could offer some spiritual belief, some promise of heaven or of rest. He wished that his first thought in response hadn’t been death, that clinging to his hope of Two Alpha’s survival wasn’t as hollowly delusional as it suddenly felt. He wished that he had anything to say that wasn’t a lie.

“I don’t know.”

“I– I never thought about it. ‘Cause I can only remember being alive, and you being alive too. But, now that… There must have been a time when I wasn’t alive, right?” He watched, a warped half-pride at working it out in his eyes, as Merrick nodded. “So… I think that maybe it’ll happen again. ‘Cause I feel like I’m… running out.”

Merrick felt himself slump forwards, head on their hands, his breathing refusing to work normally. It couldn’t happen again. Was it inevitable? If he tried again, would he be forced to watch this face die again, inhabited by yet another person with his own quirks, his unique endearing traits, a new name? A different death; illness, injury, what else? How many cooling hands would he have to hold for daring to pursue a different, kinder fate?

“You’re okay,” he said into the sheets.

“It hurts.”

Pulling his head back up, he moved one hand to Two Alpha’s shoulder, holding as lightly as he could to avoid causing any further pain. “I know,” he said, “But I’m here now. I’m here as long as you need.”

A weak smile. “Thank you.”

As he returned the smile, he pushed all of his sincerity to the fore. “I love you.”

It wasn’t the same love he had for Steve, but it didn’t need to be, because this was Two Alpha and he was enough. Love was the thing tearing him down from the inside, no regard for dignity, undeniable. Two Alpha deserved to know. If Merrick didn’t love him, he’d have lived his entire life unloved.

“Thank you,” Two Alpha repeated, “I love you too.”

With that, tears finally fell, landing on Two Alpha’s arm. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“It’s okay,” he added, echoing Merrick’s speech the way he had when he was still learning. How long ago? A year? He was so painfully young… “You’re okay.”

All Merrick could do was repeat, “I’m sorry.” You deserved better.

“I think, maybe…” mumbled Two Alpha, eyes becoming drowsy, “Maybe it’ll just be like… those times on the phone. When we don’t talk… and we can’t see… but we’re together anyway. I’d like it, if it was like that.”

“Perhaps it will be.” The tears made his voice wet, but the words didn’t taste of cruel deception. It sounded like a good afterlife, for one invented by a clone with barely any life lived to speak of.

A twitch of lips, probably intended to be a smile. “I’m glad you came back.”

“Me too.”

Then Two Alpha closed his eyes and his breathing slowed. The fingers in his hand slackened their grip. Merrick didn’t take in much after that, even as the flatline drilled through his skull and medics bustled around him. What did any of that matter, anyway?

The important thing was that face, tranquil despite the wounds, motionless again. The important thing was Two Alpha and the heavy silence between them. He half expected to hear the click of a phone disconnecting.

...

This time the aftermath had no storm to it. He didn’t march home, threatening to burn everything in sight. He didn’t go to work and start shouting at Ambrose – though he probably deserved it. No, instead he began to make a list of criteria for the new facility. If they were going to have half an army of walking organs biding their time underground, they would need to do it properly.

The plan as it stood was to teach the agnates hygiene, nutrition, exercise, but nothing that would constitute a normal education. Speech would be necessary, reading less so but perhaps convenient. They would simply need to keep themselves healthy until their time came. Minimising contact to just staff members was also outlined in the initial protocol, though it sat uncomfortably with Merrick. He had no better plan, however. If they could communicate with each other, they would eventually catch on that some disappeared and never returned.

It would be easier, he found himself thinking at least once a day, if they never woke up and could just remain in those gel sacs until they were needed. Unfortunately, all of the animal trials proved it impossible or at least too much effort to be a better option. Once the agnates reached the end of their growth cycle they would wake up regardless of whether they had been taken out, occasionally drowning if they weren’t removed quickly enough. And if they were kept unconscious from there, they would atrophy – brains never finalising their development quite right, muscles never developing, digestion system shutting down without ever being used properly. Unfit for transplant donation.

The investment required to keep them in any fit state was major either way, but at least there were fewer fatal risks when they were allowed consciousness. So, living beings. Care to be taken to do it right.

From his list, Merrick found a sense of purpose in monitoring the construction efforts, making sure everything was as it should be, compiling another list of potential scientists, maintenance workers, caterers, making sure there was enough accommodation in the area, streamlining the growth-support system, getting a small team of lawyers to handle NDAs.

Maybe there was a storm, but he had found the eye more quickly than last time – a numb haven where he could work until he collapsed, ignoring the chaos beyond.

“We need a test run,” Announced Ambrose, walking into the break room where Merrick was lamenting the lack of kettle.

“A test run?”

“Yeah, like your guy, just to make sure everything works. We’ll give it a better name though.” Though Merrick was the one who had garnered a reputation for being cold simply by virtue of his general demeanor, Ambrose could be downright cruel. Not that Merrick had discussed Two Alpha at any length; he wasn’t a masochist.

“And do you have a genetic sample ready?” He asked in lieu of dignifying his jab with a response.

“No, ‘cause I’m not familiar with collecting that kind of thing, but I was thinking we should clone me.”

Merrick simply looked at him, disbelief readable enough without any expression. When Ambrose failed to elaborate, he collected his mind enough to ask, “You?”

“Yeah. Me.” The poor man. His brain must have been damaged from inhaling fumes from the construction. Or perhaps there was unhealthy amounts of radon this far underground. That would need to be checked. “All great pioneers of science end up trying their stuff on themselves, it’s practically a rite of passage. Besides, I can’t sue myself if it all goes wrong, now can I?”

“The legal team still needs to finalise the consent forms…”

“We don’t need it if I own the company!”

“You don–”

“Sorry, if we own the company. Point still stands. Bet this is why all those scientists do it.”

Should Merrick really stand in the way of such a misled endeavour? It was one thing to clone a dead partner, it was another to clone a man who was still alive and in regular contact with the project. Still, it would be interesting, for data collection purposes. Far too much of their current plan was based on hypotheticals. On one hand hubris, on the other… 

“I’ve heard the physicists get on just fine without it,” he said.

Ambrose waved a hand dismissively. “Physicists.”

Merrick made a conscious effort not to put a hand to his eyes, turning instead to what passed as a kitchenette. “And what do you intend to do with your agnate?” 

How did people make tea without a kettle? Would he have to microwave a mug full of water? Was that even legal?

“Dunno, figure it’ll be an insurance policy like the rest. Maybe teach it how to do my paperwork.”

“I’m sure that will pay back the millions it will take to do it.”

“Investment, Merrick, I know you’ve heard of it.”

“And I’ve yet to see the benefit.”

“You’re taking jabs at me ‘cause nothing’s happened while I’m telling you to make something happen!”

He sighed, “If you really think it’ll be of benefit to us, be my guest. Just don’t make the decision lightly. If I find out that you thought of this five minutes ago–”

“You wound me, Dr Merrick, when have I been anything but thoughtful with this venture? This is a great idea – what do we have to lose? It’s the same thing we’ll be doing in a few months anyway, just contained so we can troubleshoot any issues. A prototype!”

This was not a battle that Ambrose was about to lose. Merrick hardly knew which side he was even on. Why not humour the man? 

“Give it a week so I can train the skeleton crew on the initialisation and get everything calibrated,” he said, giving up on tea and instead filling his mug with cold water, “Make sure you’ve thought it through. If you want to go ahead, I’ll get your sample on Thursday.”

“Great!” exclaimed Ambrose, already halfway out of the room, “You won’t regret this, Dr Merrick!”

“You keep on saying that,” Merrick mumbled to the empty doorway. Mug water wasn’t as nice as glass water, he decided, but that hardly mattered.

...

In the end Ambrose went through with it. He dubbed the endeavour ‘Project: Pelasgus’ in the files, though Merrick could think of several more accurate titles, ‘Narcissus’ for one. Was he in a position to pass such judgements? Perhaps not, but there was no one else around to do it and Ambrose was in severe need of someone to temper him.

A great chamber had been hollowed out near the base of one of the old silos, fitted with a surprisingly expensive drainage system and the equipment needed to keep up to twenty-five growth-support systems, only one of which had actually been installed. Merrick viewed the room with much the same strange discomfort as he did the version in his basement, which was probably rusting with neglect. It was the discomfort of an ugly yet unregretted truth and he didn’t like how much of his life now had that tint to it. Sometimes, among the haze of work and his general distaste for Ambrose, he wondered if he too considered the whole affair to be ugly. Then he would decide that Ambrose had no such depth to him and, if anything, thought it cool.

When, eventually, Pelasgus was up and walking, Ambrose holed him away in the large office that was by now his own small apartment. Apparently there had been a scene regarding the staff seeing the agnate’s naked body – more out of concern for himself than the agnate – but Merrick could not bring himself to watch the security footage back to scan for any other red flags. This was Ambrose’s agnate, Merrick had had his chance already.

Which wasn’t to say that he hadn’t been tempted to stick his foot in.

“Check this out.” A memory stick collided with his forehead as Ambrose entered, no knocking as always.

Merrick remained motionless at his desk. “What is it?”

“You need to watch it. I showed Pelasgus a mirror this morning.” He didn’t know how he could say that name so seriously; it was ridiculous. Ambrose picked the memory stick up from where it had fallen, removed the one already in Merrick’s computer, and plugged it in before any preventative measures could be taken.

“I was using that!”

“Hope you save regularly,” replied Ambrose, unrepentant, “This is more important, anyway.”

“I highly doubt that.”

“Just watch the damn video.”

The video began with a scene featuring Pelasgus having a simplistic conversation with two technicians that had probably been dragged in from the corridor, camera jerking about until the agnate was centred in the frame and Ambrose moved into view.

“Hey, Pelasgus, can you tell me these guys’ names?”

His response was a dubious look, as if the agnate knew it was a stupid question. Ambrose had probably introduced him to them ten minutes previously. 

“Clyde and Bill.”

“Which is which?” asked Ambrose, to the tune of an even more unimpressed glare.

“Clyde,” poking one, “Bill,” poking the other. Both technicians, wearing matching dusty coveralls and stony expressions, seemed to share the agnate’s attitude.

“Good. You two can go about your business.”

Clyde and Bill seemed all too happy to comply. How the agante had mastered complete disdain so early, Merrick didn’t know. It was almost impressive. Apparently these thinly veiled tests were a regular occurrence and consistently skewing beneath his capabilities.

“Now,” continued Ambrose, moving to uncover a mirror he had leaned against the wall, “Who’s this?”

“You,” said the agnate to his reflection. Then he paused, mind visibly working as he watched his reflection move with him.

Ambrose apparently grew impatient and stepped beside the agnate, grinning. “You.”

A frown creased the agnate’s face as he watched their two reflections, identical if not for their expressions and clothing.

“You look like me,” explained Ambrose as if the agnate hadn’t already worked it out.

“Why?”

“‘Cause I made you to. You’re a copy of me, a clone.” 

Merrick fought the urge to bat him around the head. No subtlety. He had mentally run through the scenario of Two Alpha finding evidence of Steve a hundred times, preparing for each a gentle way of responding to any range of reactions to the inevitable revelation of Two Alpha’s origins, and Ambrose had just barreled through it, no awareness of any of the variables Merrick had mapped a route around.

“A copy?”

“Damn right.”

“Why?” hissed the agnate, half in shocked confusion, half in indignant outrage.

“God, you sound like Merrick saying that–”

“I stand by that statement,” interjected the Ambrose watching over Merrick’s shoulder.

“I had lots of reasons. You’re just the first in a line of agnates that will revolutionise our ideas about illness and the human lifespan. Not to mention that it’s breaking scientific boundaries and starting a whole new industry!”

“How?”

“How what?”

“How does me looking like you change our ideas about illness and the human lifespan?”

At this point Ambrose seemed to spot the hole he had dug himself into. The chances of Pelasgus knowing the meaning of everything he was saying was unlikely, but there was no way that he would misunderstand what being an insurance policy entailed.

“Uh, well, there’s something to being able to create an adult human without the physical development of childhood…” Ambrose rambled as he walked back to the camera.

“What’s childhood?” Merrick had to stop himself from snorting. Ambrose was out of his depth, that much was clear.

The video cut out as he began, “You know what–”

Amused, Merrick looked up and saw that Ambrose’s ears had turned faintly pink.

“So you see, Pelasgus can differentiate between two different faces and identify that we look alike. It even seems to understand the general idea of cloning.”

“Perhaps you should provide some support with that,” Merrick said, as if there was any chance of it being a bad idea, “I can’t imagine that’s an easy pill to swallow.”

Ambrose waved a hand dismissively as he plucked out the memory stick. “It’ll be fine. Introduce the idea early and it’ll be normal. The rest’ll have to come to terms with it.”

“Will they? I was under the impression that we weren’t disclosing that to them.”

“What? You’re saying we should just lie?”

Sighing, Merrick pulled up the document he had been working on. Pelasgus was going to be a psychologist’s nightmare by the time Ambrose was through with him. He almost wanted to move him into his own office, but that was probably just the grief-echoes talking. Ambrose would turn it into a situation anyway, and Merrick was here as a scientist, not a caretaker.

“If your Project doesn’t see any issues arise because of this, we can consider telling the first generation. If.”

Grinning in the disconcerting way that he did, Ambrose strode backwards to the door. “You’re a pessimistic man, Dr Merrick,” he jeered before spinning into the corridor, exclaiming, “Self-recognition! Incredible!”

...

Conversation with Pelasgus would have been easy to avoid if Ambrose didn’t insist on keeping him in his office rather than in the purpose-built accommodation that would benefit from the prototype’s test run. At any given moment, Merrick was at most only half convinced that Project: Pelasgus was actually intended to be a true prototype and not a vanity project. Either way, Ambrose left them in the same room together far too often for Merrick’s liking.

The agnate had gradually accumulated a sort of static around his person that crackled every time Ambrose waltzed in. Existing in the same room as the two of them made Merrick exhausted and often left him with a pounding headache. Ambrose, of course, was too wrapped up in his fantasies of power and wealth to notice.

When he wasn’t there, suspicion was still thick in the air, which Merrick supposed was not helped by the small library of sci-fi and murder mystery films that was strewn about the TV. Although he had decided not to involve himself, he couldn’t bring himself to truly ignore the agnate. Initiating conversation felt a step too far, but throwing what he felt to be a comforting look in the agnate’s direction, or offering him coffee from Ambrose’s machine was fair game. If no-one did it, something would snap, so why not the only person in the godforsaken facility who didn’t look at him like either a freak of nature or a point of fascination.

Occasionally the agnate would say something and they’d talk until Ambrose returned and transformed the air into electricity. He’d often choose far heavier topics than Two Alpha had. Or at least topics that were heavy in context.

“Do people not like me because they don’t like Oscar or is it because I’m a copy of him and they don’t like that?”

“No consideration that they dislike you for your own merits?” Merrick asked, dryly. It was probably less than sympathetic but the agnate seemed to be on his wavelength about such things. The equally dry look he got in response affirmed this.

“How likely do you think that is? I don’t want to talk to them, but that’s because they already don’t like me. So do you think it’s because I’m a clone or because I’m Oscar’s clone?”

“Honestly? Given the people who work here and Oscar Ambrose’s general demeanor, it’s probably a bit of both.”

The agnate swore.

“Quite.”

...

At some point or another there was an incident in which Ambrose was mistaken for his agnate – or was it vice versa? – which had sent Ambrose into a somewhat vindictive frenzy, culminating in him commissioning an entirely new security system featuring RFID keys and a tech-filled bracelet that was quickly locked around the agnate’s wrist to prevent any further misidentifications. It would be amusing if not for the ire that was now constantly palpable between the two of them and the new glint in the agnate’s eyes. 

Apparently there had been an argument and Ambrose had started shouting.

“Do you even know what being an insurance policy means?!” a security officer had quoted when he offered to show Merrick the footage, finding it to be far more hilarious than it was. “It means you’re here for parts! I own you! The moment I get sick or injured, you’re done and I live on! Don’t start thinking you can go around being me. Don’t think you’re on my level. You hear?”

Subsequently, Merrick tried to keep himself away from the administration and management block, instead investigating a way to keep the commercial generations from ever even considering the possibility of their grim prospects. Evidently, the truth had a negative impact. Who knew?

...

Merrick was taking one of his unfortunately necessary brief visits to his own office when it happened. All he had in warning was a percussive commotion sounding from down the corridor, then Pelasgus was in his room, knocking the door as he passed it and appearing noticeably ruffled.

He stood up. “What–”

“Please,” gasped the agnate, “I don’t– I–”

The uncharacteristic desperation was written over his entire body, shaking and wide-eyed. Footsteps thundered on concrete and the agnate began to stumble forwards.

Merrick was halfway around his desk when the dark uniforms of the security team filled the doorway.

“Dr Merrick! Move away from the agnate, he’s dangerous!”

He froze as he spotted the firearms in their hands, the blood flecked on the agnate’s trousers. Slowly stepping backwards, he asked in a voice that thankfully didn’t shake, “What’s going on?”

“It killed Mr Ambrose, sir, we caught it on the cameras.”

The agnate step forwards again. “I–”

The reaction was instant. One, two, three shots. Merrick jerked back as the agnate toppled over. A member of security rushed over to usher him away from the rapidly pooling blood.

“Sir, are you okay?”

He nodded, still trying to process. It was hard to ignore the shape on the floor even as he was guided out of the room. Everything had happened in the space of a minute and now… 

“We’ll get someone in to clean up. You should find somewhere else to be.”

“How did this happen?” he asked.

“The agnate attacked him. Unarmed. Slammed his head against the desk, I think. Blood everywhere. We’re gonna cordon off the area until this is sorted.”

“Christ.” He needed a drink, though he didn’t own any alcohol. One of the maintenance workers would have something under the board, surely?

...

Death was one thing, seeing a man get shot was another. Nightmares plagued him. Faces in double, growing resentment, blood. The sensation of falling, over and over again. Two Alpha flatlining as he entered the room, moments too late. Pelasgus trying to retake control, fighting the man keeping him trapped. Ambrose dismissing and dismissing and dismissing.

Merrick found himself unable to sleep, spending his increasing waking hours reorganising the accommodation sector. Isolation was evidently asking for trouble, so the agnates would need regular contact. He couldn’t exactly hire people for them to talk to, so they would need to talk to each other in order to build proper social networks. But then how would staff be able to take them out of the active population for donation without arousing suspicion? How could he keep them from trying to find a way out? How, how, how?

In the end he hired a writing team to fabricate a world-ending event that had turned everything outside the compound into a dangerous hellscape unfit for living things. A Contamination. One that hadn’t reached a single small haven in the middle of the ocean, where a chosen few would be sent to repopulate humanity in the outside world. He didn’t want competition inciting violence within the group, so the method of selection would be presented as truly random, a lottery.

This all necessitated bringing in a further team to imprint artificial memories: the life before the Contamination, which they could hope for on the Island and make the staff’s memories of real life seem unextraordinary; and the devastation that the Contamination caused.

It was all quite elegant, in the end. Everything was explained neatly. The agnates would keep themselves contained, not needing to trust the word of the staff since they had memories of exactly what they were being told about. Perhaps this was the sort of lie that Ambrose had wanted to avoid, but Ambrose was dead by his own stupidity, so Merrick could continue as he wanted to.

He ordered the construction of new exercise facilities, various forms of entertainment, and a rudimentary educational curriculum all to keep them occupied so that they wouldn’t be bored into unpredictable behaviour. A techie had suggested that they get the clones to do some of the manual labour involved in maintaining the growth-support systems and hydroponic farms, which filled in the impression of ‘work’ given by the false memories and Merrick’s staff having obvious jobs.

Yes, all very elegant.

Now all that remained to be done was the agnates themselves.

...

The first generation was called Alpha.

Merrick watched as the first batch of samples got loaded into the system. Most of them were high-ranking officers in the Defense Department. A few were from notoriously flagrant billionaires. One was the only remaining genetic material from Steve.

He wouldn’t interact with Gandu Three Alpha out of course, he had learnt that lesson. Three Alpha would just be another face in the crowd, making friends, finding himself, living. But Merrick would be able to see his face, hear his voice. Steve and Two Alpha would live on through him. He would never be able to talk to them again, but he wouldn’t forget their face. It would be a silent phone call, staring at a photo across the room.

That was all he needed.

[singingunderthecurtain]

Secret Santa [Pt. 1]

Author: julietsoddeye AU: coworker Genre: fluff | light comedy | office romance Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader Word Count: 1,578

Plot: #exodecembercollab18 Prompt #4: Your office Secret Santa gives you something you certainly weren’t expecting. You’re positive when you found out who he is, you’re gonna punch him in the face.

A/N: This is a collab work with @thesammtimes for @exo-writers-net #exodecembercollab18 event! You can find Samm’s work [here] READ IT YALL!

For this year’s Christmas potluck, you all decided to do it in your boss’ house instead of the same old boring office. Junmyeon volunteered to host this year since his bachelor pad is big enough to house all twelve of you in the team.

The house even has a patio and a pool. But it was too cold tonight so you stayed indoors.

Gosh, how much is this man’s salary? It must feel great to have this much space. You thought as you and Chanyeol look around the place to check every room you can.

“Any plans for the holiday?”

Chanyeol nonchalantly asks as he takes selfies in front of Junmyeon’s different kinds of Star Wars figure set collection. You just dumbly follow him around with nothing to do. You’ve been working for the company for two years already but Chanyeol is the only one you’re most comfortable with.

Kyungsoo is nice, but he mostly keeps to himself. And he sometimes glares you down like you murdered his dogs or something when he doesn’t wear his glasses, so you’re kind of afraid of him.

Joy and Irene were really nice girls, but they were also too beautiful that you can’t relate with them on any level and they intimidate you and constantly blind you with their grace.

Jongin too, the Adonis of the office. You don’t dare interact with him unless he initiates it. Some girls from different office floor visit your department for no reason just to get a glimpse of him, that’s totally not creepy at all...

Sure, you’re civil towards everyone, even the ever annoying Baekhyun, but you and Chanyeol are like two peas in a pod, he is your work best friend. You two are kind of the weirdos, but everyone at the office is nice to you.

“Nah,”

You paused, letting out a single puff from your lips.

“My parents forgot that they have a daughter again.”

“Why?”

He asks, snapping another photo now holding a Yoda figurine. Wow, the resemblance is quite uncanny…

“Well, they planned a whole trip until the New Year’s without me again, so…”

“Wow, two Christmases in a row?”

You cross your arms in front of your chest, pout growing bigger.

“Hey, kids it’s time to open presents!”

Junmyeon’s head suddenly pops out by the door frame, his smile was so huge with his cheeks flushed you can tell he has had a few drinks already.

As you reach the living room, you see everyone has their gifts already. Two decorated paper bags sitting prettily on the space of the couch you and Chanyeol previously occupied.

“Should the latecomers open their gifts first?”

Baekhyun blurts out when he saw the three of you emerging from Junmyeon’s home office.

“Ladies first.”

“Fine.”

You grumbled as you snatch the paper bag that has your name on it from Chanyeol.

You’re not exactly excited to know what’s inside the bag. You’re lucky if you got picked by any of the girls in your team because usually, only girls put effort into exchange gifts like these.

Hell, even Chanyeol and Junmyeon asked for your opinion on what to give their giftees. You have to find out what people liked for the three of you.

Slowly pulling out wrapping tissue papers one by one, the first thing you saw was a white envelope. Inside was a basic as hell Christmas card with even more basic greetings printed on it.

“You might need this. Sincerely, your Secret Santa.”

You read the card.

What you pull out next made you lose color on your face.

“Oh my gosh…”

Junmyeon tipsily giggles as he slaps his mouth shut, trying to stop himself from losing control of his laughter.

“IS THAT BAKING FOR DUMM—”

“SHUT UP, BYUN BAEKHYUN!!!”

You screamed, countering Baekhyun even before he finished what he was going to say as if it’ll save you from the already impending embarrassment.

Memories of last year’s charity bake sale came flooding back to your mind.

It wasn’t your fault you have suddenly been bombarded with emergency work a week prior the Office event for your company’s chosen beneficiary!!!

“Is this from you, Baekhyun?! Are you my secret Santa?!?!”

You accused, he’s the only one you know who was brazen enough to do this to you or to anyone at that! Baekhyun is known to pull pranks around the office, he probably thought about this stupid gift even before he found out who his giftee was.

Most of your coworkers are silently snickering at you and the Baking For Dummies book in your hand. Some, aka Junmyeon, Baekhyun and even freaking Park Chanyeol are straight up laughing shamelessly out loud.

It wasn’t your fault that you literally ran out of time and wasn’t able to ACTUALLY bake something for the charity drive! You opted to buy pre-made plain cupcakes at the store and just decorated the sweet treats yourself.

Everyone was so impressed by the cupcakes you brought until ONE freaking customer pointed out that the cupcakes taste exactly like the ones they always buy from Walmart.

Everyone found out your purchase and you were the butt of every joke for a few solid months. Baekhyun especially didn’t let you hear the end of it!

God! It was awful. Your actual baking skills and pride were hurt.

You tried bringing different cookies to work, but they never believed you made them yourself.

Even Chanyeol ride in on the joke. So much for a best friend!

“No, it wasn’t from me!”

Baekhyun continues to laugh, his cocktail spilling all over Junmyeon’s carpet.

“I don’t believe you!!!”

“Trust me, I would brag about it if it was from me.”

And you believe him. He would totally gloat about him pulling this stint. He is a proud mischievous little devil.

“Chanyeol?!?!”

It’s now your best friend’s turn to be blamed.

“I literally showed you the person I got the moment we get to pick the names!”

You turn to Junmyeon this time.

“You know who I got!!!”

Before you can even accuse your boss, he already has his hands up in the air as if he’s surrendering to something.

“I swear I will punch the shit out of whoever gave me this!”

“That was already three chances, next gift!!!”

Irene exclaims!

You silently sulk in your seat as they all continue to laugh and be merry.

Out of nothing at all, when it was Kyungsoo’s chance to open his present, he cleared his throat before facing your direction.

“It was from me—”

He paused as he simply and directly declared.

“The book, it was from me.”

He continued. His big eyes staring right into your soul.

Seriously, right in front of your salad?

Everyone fell mute.

Everyone was both shocked and amused that the quiet, never really speak much unless really important or spoken to first, usually reserved and gentle Do Kyungsoo would pull something like this.

When you said you’re kind of afraid of him, well it’s different now.

You’re just straight up bitter. I guess Baekhyun is the better person now, huh?

How could he?

The audacity!

You don’t even speak much!

You don’t remember a day that you sat down and had a conversation with this man.

“Hey, you okay?”

Chanyeol raised a single brow at you as he shakes you awake from being idle.

You must have frozen down or turned into stone.

You wish you could turn into a stone so you can throw yourself at Kyungsoo.

Wait, NO! That’s nOT WHAT YOU MEANT!!!

“Do Kyungsoo-ssi, I am so offended…” _

“Ohooo, she’s offended. Kyungsoo what are you gonna do?”

Baekhyun incites, adding fuel to the fire.

“That is so rude.”

Joy whips up jokingly as well.

Everyone has some type of alcohol in their systems except for you. You are Chanyeol’s designated driver.

Maybe Kyungsoo as well, you haven’t really seen him drink anything other than water and the fruit bowl punch.

Maybe they spiked the fruit bowl punch, that’s why he’s so bold to go forward about the blunt gift.

“I’m good at baking, okay!”

“i’M gOod aT bAkiNg, oKaY!”

Baekhyun repeats after you in a playful mocking way and everyone laughs, including Chanyeol… ESPECIALLY CHANYEOL, WTH?

“Guess you didn’t see the back of the card.”

Kyungsoo purses his lips into a thin line.

Your boss snatches the Christmas card that came with the gift from you and flips it back, showing what looks like a chibi drawing version of him with a speech bubble.

“Would you help this dummy learn how to bake?”

Junmyeon reads and his face immediately turns smug.

“Ooooooh”

Both Irene and Joy said and gave the same smug look as Junmyeon.

“I wanted to give you something nice, like a necklace or something. But you might find it creepy so I asked Jongin what to get you and he suggested that.”

Kyungsoo pointed at Jongin who in turns scratched the back of his head and gave you an apologizing smile.

“I always knew you’re great at baking, cuz I haven’t found those cinnamon roll sugar cookies you brought last time anywhere—”

He explained some more and you were out of words.

“And I wanted to learn how to make them, so…”

Completely speechless.

“She has no plans for the holiday...”

Chanyeol answered for you with a shrug. Making you turn to give him the look.

“It’s a date then.”

Everyone howls happily, wolf whistles and teasings left and right.

Aikie Masterlist | Michiko Masterlist | FIC RECS | FIC REC SIDEBLOG

[thekidultlife]

Jihoon | We Got Married AU | Ep 1

Ep 1 | Ep 2 |

Genre: Fluff, Comedy???? (i’m srsly not a funny person)

(A/N: So wtf is this? It’s a fic based on the show We Got Married and god it was so hard to replicate variety shows.I’m not sure if this is still how the show goes since the last I watched was from 2009 and I just started recently on Season 4 sooo....I’m not used to this kind of writing but it calls for it. I’m not even sure if you guys would like this but oh well here ya go) lmao the fluff version of oppaya hahahaha

Tell us if you like us to add another episode or if you like it!

MC01: Ah, who’s going to be the new couple?

MC02: They haven’t actually revealed anything to us! I hope one or both of them are idols.

MC03: (laughs) You just like idols! I’m sure you’d want to see NCT Dream’s Jaemin!

MC01: Yah! Jaemin-ssi is still too young to get married!

MC04: Just watch the video! It’s starting!

(cue to a clip SEVENTEEN performing Clap and Thank You)

MC02: Omo! It’s Seventeen! One of them is going to join?

MC03: Oh! Seventeen! Who is it? Who’s going to get married?

02011 VLIVE

(the camera is focused on Woozi in his work studio, in his usual black hoodie)

WOOZI: Ah, good! Everyone’s here. Hello! (smiles a bit as he runs his fingers through his hair) Why did I suddenly wanted to do a VLive? (grins and giggles a bit; his dimples showing) Well, I have big news and I want our Carats to know first (pauses a bit) I’m not sure if Carats would like it but…(smirks) I do hope you’ll support me.

acctuser01: omo tell us tell us

acctuser02: ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ i’m scared

acctuser03: ㄱㄱㄱㄱㄱㄱㄱㄱㄱ

acctuser04: oppa~ we’ll still support you! <3

WOOZI: (finishes reading the comments and laughs) alright, alright. Everyone calm down (clears throat) Well you see, I’m extending my invitations to everyone since I just got married.

MC02: Ah, it’s Woozi-ssi! Woozi-ssi!

Interview

WOOZI: Hello, I’m Seventeen’s Woozi. I’m 27 years old, and an idol and a music producer. I um… I never experienced any sort of relationship before (smiles embarrassingly). I never even had close female friends…so that’s why I thought I should try gaining some experience through this.

MC03: Really? I guess he’s the shy type of guy.

MC02: I’ve actually met him once and yeah, he’s really a shy person!

(A new clip plays with your girl group performing on stage)

MC04: Oh! It’s y/gg!

MC02: I’m betting on Y/N.

MC01: I agree with you! I heard they’re great friends.

MC04: Really? Well, maybe because they’re both producers

(At the backstage of Show Champion, as your girl group waits for your cue to start pre-recording)

Y/N: Ah, I almost forgot to tell you. I’m going to get married.

(everyone stops and stares at you)

Leanne: Wait, seriously? (looks panicked) Why did you only tell us now? Does the CEO know? Who is it?

Y/N: (grins) Don’t worry, they already know.

Hazel: (raises brows) Aigoo…don’t listen to her! She’s just tricking us!

Leanne: If this is all a joke, I swear!

Christel: I’m the flower girl! My dress is ready!

Y/N: (laughs) This isn’t a joke, ok? (laughs more) I’m not tricking you!

Hanna: Did you tell your parents already? (sighs exasperatedly) Y/N, don’t stress me like this!

Y/N: (can’t stop laughing and crouches on the floor) Wait, this is so funny! But I swear this is all true!

Leanne: Ah! You’re just playing with us!

Hazel: Yeah! You just told me the other day that you didn’t want a boyfriend!

Y/N: No, no! I’m serious! I’m getting married!

Hanna: AH! I get it! You’re going to enter that show, right?

Leanne: OMO You’re right!!

Hazel: Ah! Good point Hanna!

Y/N: (starts laughing again)

MC02: TOLD YOU IT WAS Y/N!

MC03: She’s the type of girl who kind of ends up alone, huh?

MC01: She’s the independent type. You know, like those scary girls in dramas (everyone laughs)

MC02: The “I don’t need a man” type! She strikes me as that girl!

MC04: But it’s funny how her members won’t believe her!

Y/N: Anyway, I want to ask you guys for some tips how—

Hanna: Take a peek while he’s dressing!

Christel: Take a peek while he’s taking a shower!

Hazel: Tell us if he has abs!

Y/N: (gives an annoyed look as you look at your three members) Get out.

MC03: ‘Take a peek while he’s showering’! (laughs)

Y/N: Alright, I’m serious here. Help me for a bit, ok? (everyone nods)

Leanne: Marriage is a big commitment. You have to take care of him well. I hope for all the best and that you’ll be happy with him. I’m sure our fans will still support us even after your marry him.

Y/N: (sighs) Leanne, I told you. I’m going to enter that show. This is just a virtual marriage.

Leanne: (laughs loudly) AH! I’m so slow! Wait! (laughs more) I’m sorry! I can’t believe this!

Y/N: Moving on…

Hanna: (shrugs) I dunno. You’re pretty set in becoming a good wife. You can cook, you can clean…somehow…(voice became hesitant) Don’t worry, you’re good to go!

Hazel: (gives you a thumbs up) Yes, we believe in you! Good luck, Y/N!

Y/N: I’m starting to feel afraid.

Interview

Y/N: Hi, I’m Y/N from Y/GG and I’m 25 years old. I’m an idol but I also produce songs. I wanted to join because I was beginning to get concerned with my future (laughs). You see, I’m the kind of person who doesn’t really think about marriage and dating a lot, and I tend to be very career-focused. So there is a huge possibility that I might end up alone (laughs again) so before I get to that, I want to experience what it’s like to have a family and see if I can handle married life.

MC01: Ohhh! She’s such a hard working person!

MC03: Yeah…! It’s rare to see girls like her nowadays!

MC04: You’re right. My daughter at home keeps on doodling her crush’s name on her notebook! Aigoo! Younghee be like Y/N-unnie! (laughs)

09:14 PM

MBC Building

Kiss the Radio Recording

It was late in the evening when your group had finished the radio broadcast scheduled for tonight. It was a long day—starting from a show recording in the morning, a fansigning in the afternoon and a radio guesting in the evening—it had worn you out but not to the extent of days where you had five to six events scheduled. Yet unlike your other members, you were not going home yet.

As soon as you went out from the recording booth, a staff member had given you a pretty silver envelope where the logo of the show you just joined was printed. The other members—Leanne, Hanna, Hazel and Christel—all gathered behind you to take a peek on what was inside.

Mission #1

Meet your husband at the MBC Lobby at 10PM

Your heartbeat immediately raced. You had completely forgotten about it as the day went on and now that it was time to meet the person who you were going to be married to, you suddenly felt your knees weaken. Beginning to question your decisions, you wanted to runaway but you knew you couldn’t.

“I think it’s from Monsta X,” Hanna remarked with a very assured tone as she followed all of you towards the waiting room.

“Monsta X? I dunno…the show can be very random sometimes,” you said skeptically as you played with the envelope.

“It might be Seventeen!” Leanne squealed but you simply sighed.

“I’d rather not get my hopes up. I already told the staff everything they needed to know,” you replied to them; setting the envelope on the dresser and looked at yourself on the mirror. “But I hope I look presentable though.”

9:26 PM

Pledis Building

The cold air hit his cheeks immediately as Woozi walked out of the building’s back door and to the company van. He was used to climbing into the car with twelve other people but right now, he was only with Seventeen’s leader S.Coups, and members Hoshi, Seungkwan and Mingyu ( and two other managers as well) who were insistent enough for Woozi to let them come.

“Who are you guys betting on?” S.Coups asked once the van started moving, being the leader of not only Seventeen, but also of mischief, though Woozi had to snort in annoyance.

“My bet is either on Twice or Y/GG or Red Velvet!” Mingyu announced yet everyone immediately voiced out their disapproval.

“Our Woozi can’t marry any of those girls! They’re too pretty!” Hoshi remarked and was about to add more when Woozi hit his arm forcefully.

“No, no. But Mingyu is right on Y/GG! It may be Y/GG or Pristin! It’s easier for the company too!” Seungkwan said and most of them actually acknowledged his thoughts.

“Oh just be quiet!” Woozi spat at them with a scathing glare and with that everyone became quiet; feeling the nervousness Woozi was emanating inside the car.

As soon as the van pulled out in front of the MBC Building, Woozi in a navy blue button up shirt and skinny jeans, went out and walked towards the lobby in a fast pace, without even waiting for the others. His mind was preoccupied with the thoughts of who his wife was going to be and was beginning to pray to the gods that it was someone he knew so he wouldn’t feel too awkward.

With your members, you strode out of the elevator while talking but before all of you walked into the main part of the lobby, you stopped them.

“Alright,” you sighed your apprehension out and continued. “I’m going there alone. So please don’t follow me,” you instructed them.

Though there were several whines of protests from Christel and Hazel, they immediately went off somewhere (probably to the café) while you, on the other hand, trotted into the main lobby confidently; hiding your nervousness expertly.

As soon as you saw the lobby with its large silver columns, marbled tiles, dim lighting and the few scattered modern armchairs, your eyes searched for someone who might remotely be your husband. Glancing from left to right and to several spots which you suspected he might be, you failed to find anyone.

You checked your watch to be sure that it was already ten in the evening and you were right—it was fifteen minutes past ten and there was still no sign for the person you were going to meet. Your eyes darted to the several red boxy armchairs near the glass walls to find a perfect spot to wait yet instead, what you spotted was a familiar figure.

Walking towards the area, you tapped a shoulder and greeted.

“Woozi-oppa, it’s nice to see you here!”

Woozi was looking at you with wide eyes and an ajar mouth that you immediately got confused.

“Is…is there something wrong?” You asked him as you sat on the chair beside him. Your presence next to him seemed to have snapped him out from his shock and shook his head as an answer.

“No, I’m fine! I’m just waiting for someone. You?” he asked as you looked down on your watch.

“Actually, I’m waiting for someone too and he’s awfully late,” you remarked with a slight annoyance in your voice.

“I feel you. I’ve been waiting here for a while too!” Woozi replied as he sank back down to his armchair. “By the way, how’s the album going?”

You sighed tiredly as you thought of what to answer. “Same old, same old. The progress is slow and I’m getting irritated by the day.”

Woozi chuckled as he felt irony of the situation. “It’s that feeling you get when you just want to smash the piano on the computer screen.”

“You don’t know how much I wanted to do that yesterday! God!” You groaned and continued, “By the way oppa, I have a question concerning the bass lines.”

“Yeah? Do you need help in placing them correctly?”

The two of you then continued to talk about music theory and composition that you two had forgotten that you were actually being filmed.

MC04: (laughing so hard, clutching his stomach) These two forgot about the mission! They forgot the mission! This can’t be real!

MC02: (laughing too) Someone better stop those two now!

“Ok, so like the syncopation is—”

“Excuse me.”

Woozi, slightly irked by the disruption, was just beginning to teach you how to place proper syncopation on songs when a staff member had walked towards you and tapped both of your shoulders.

“Sorry to interrupt but the show is…”

The voice of the PD was drowned out by your sudden realization that you were in the middle of shooting a show.

Shit. I forgot.

But of course, you can’t say that in front of the cameras.

“But my wife still hasn’t arrived and it’s almost eleven!” Woozi was complaining to the staff member when you finally paid attention and there it had hit you.

“Your wife is Y/N.”

Fuck. This isn’t a joke right?

Wait. Wait. Wait. Ok.

Woozi is my husband? Lee Jihoon is my husband?

Fuck.

…

Both you and Woozi stared at each other in astonishment until one of you had burst in hollering laughter. You stood from your seat and paced back and forth as you laughed your embarrassment out as he hit the armrest of the chair repeatedly, laughing as well.

“Seriously! I can’t believe this!” Woozi exclaimed as he buried his face on the armrest as he winced at how breathless he became; though giggles still kept on coming. “Everything’s…ruined!”

You on the other hand was crouching on the ground, hiding your face away from everyone as you whined. “I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!”

Hiding behind the receptionist’s desk were S.Coups, Mingyu, Seungkwan and Hoshi together with your group members Leanne and Hanna. They were laughing so hard that they were all sitting on the ground, covering their mouths—trying to hide the fact that they were eavesdropping on your conversation.

“This is fucking gold!” S.Coups exclaimed as he tried to steady himself by holding on the desk. “I swear…!”

“I wish the others were here!” Seungkwan said as he clutched on his stomach. “God…I can’t believe this…Woozi-hyung is…”

“Y/N is so embarrassing. Oh my god, I don’t want to watch anymore!” Hanna remarked yet instead of leaving like she said, she stayed behind the desk with the others as they tried to settle their laughter.

“They look like lost children,” Mingyu grinned sheepishly at them.

MC02: They look like they’re peeping at their wedding night (laughs)

MC01: This is seriously funny, you know!

MC03: I like those two already! (laughs)

MC01: I’ve never seen anyone forget they were in a show!

MC02: But you can already see that they’re a good match. They’re not awkward while talking at all!

MC04: And they’re very comfortable with one another!

MC02: That’s right! Naturally, it would be hard for new couples because they still don’t know anything about the other!

MC03: That’s because they’re already friends before they got married, so it isn’t awkward at all!

After a few minutes of rest, both you and Woozi finally recovered from the previous situation and stood face to face with a bashful expressions. You could see that his ears were still tainted pink as an amused smirk was plastered on face.

“Omo this is weird…let’s do it again, okay?” Woozi started as a chuckle escaped his lips. “Hi, I’m Seventeen’s Woozi or you can call me Jihoon, if you want. I’ll be your husband, so please take care of me.”

He held out his hand for you to shake, yet instead of taking it normally, you just couldn’t help but laugh as you shook his hand.

“I’m so sorry...I wanted this to be proper but this is really funny,” you remarked; thinking of how he didn’t really need to introduce himself since you already knew who he was. “Alright, I guess it’s my turn. I’m Y/GG’s Y/N. I’ll be your wife from now on, oppa so…I guess…let’s live happily?”

“Why do you sound unsure? Don’t you want us to live happily?” Woozi teased you and laughed more when you suddenly looked panicked.

“No! I didn’t mean it like that! I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to say!” You defended yet began giggling yourself; completely infected by your husband’s contagious laughter. “Omo I don’t know anymore!”

Interview

WOOZI: (begins chuckling as he remembered what happened) I don’t know, I don’t know. (shakes head) When Y/N came up to me, I assumed that she was going to be my wife so I was really surprised that it was her (doing those weird hand gestures he usually does while talking). But when she began talking about producing songs, I thought ‘Nah, I guess she isn’t’, so I quickly dismissed the idea. So when PD-nim came to tell us about it, I just couldn’t help but laugh. I guess I was right in the end (grins).

Y/N: (serious) I wish I could just bury myself twenty feet deep underground (sighs and laughs wryly). God, that was so embarrassing (shakes head) It never really crossed my mind that Woozi-oppa would be my husband so I didn’t assume that he will be when I talked to him. I was just planning to kill time while waiting…gosh, can I just forget what happened? (you hid your face with your hands)

“So…um…what do we do?” You asked Woozi who seemed as lost as you and sighed in hopelessness.

“We’re the worst people to be in this show,” he remarked and you agreed immediately. You both were never the most romantic people out there and to be in a show about romance was one of the worst position you both could be.

You scratched the back of your head as an idea popped into your head. “How about we go to that café you always go to and we can discuss things there?”

Woozi tossed the idea to and fro in his head and finally agreed to go; understanding that there really is a need for discussion.

“Let’s go then,” he said as he held out an arm for you to hold in which you gladly reciprocated.

MC01: I think it’s important to talk about what both wants in this stage, right?

Interview

Q: So far, what did you feel when you learned that Seventeen’s Woozi was going to be your husband?

Y/N: (grins) Surprised. (leans head to the side) I didn’t really want to expect anything and then become disappointed in the end, so I didn’t think of oppa would be my husband. If I do and then someone else would turn up, then I’ll be disappointed and that’s not fair.

Q: So you’re happy that he did turn up as your husband?

Y/N: (smiles mysteriously and shrugs)

Interview

Q: So, what do you think of your new wife?

WOOZI: (smiles giddily) I’m happy. (runs a hand through his hair) Well, that’s…that’s because we’ve known each other before and I’m not too pressured to break the awkwardness. (thinks for a while) She’s…Y/N’s…someone who I think matches well with me…I don’t think it would be hard for us to get along. In fact, we get along quiet well. I don’t mind if she’s going to be my wife.

END OF EP 1

-Hyeri

[wonderblog775]

Corsair K95 Software

I have the K95 Platinum and was not being detected with iCue. I disconnected the keyboard and held the ESC while plugging back in and it was detected. Apparently this is a hard reset. I had went through the other typical fixes without success. I had uninstalled and reinstalled older and newer versions of the software. CORSAIR iCUE software enables vivid dynamic lighting control, sophisticated macro programming and full-system lighting synchronization across compatible CORSAIR peripherals, coolers, fans and more. The CORSAIR K95 RGB PLATINUM XT Mechanical Gaming Keyboard immerses your desktop in dynamic RGB lighting with per-key illumination. And, while the Corsair K95 RGB Platinum is an attractive keyboard with a ton of features – Corsair’s ‘iCUE’ software is still a pain to use. Design Corsair K95 RGB Platinum at Best Buy for. When looking at the Corsair K100 and K95 RGB Platinum XT, there is a clear winner. After testing both keyboards out, I can definitively say the K100 RGB is leaps and bounds better than its predecessor. How to: Connect the CORSAIR K83 Wireless Keyboard to an Android TV How to: Set Up Stream Deck integration for K95 RGB PLATINUM XT, K95 RGB PLATINUM, and K55 RGB Best practices for cleaning keyboards.

0 downloads·Added on: May 14, 2021·Manufacturer: Corsair

CORSAIR iCUE is an ambitious undertaking that, when complete, will provide you with more monitoring, lighting, and fan control capabilities than ever before. We’re excited to ask you to join us in these early access stages to help us create the best software possible.

To install this package please do the following:

- Make sure that all system requirements are met. - Save the downloadable package on an accessible location (such as your desktop). - Locate and double-click on the newly-downloaded file. - Allow Windows to run the file (if necessary). - Read EULA (End User License Agreement) and agree to proceed with the installation process. - Follow the on-screen instructions. - Close the wizard and perform a system reboot to allow changes to take effect.

About Keyboard Packages:

Install the proper keyboard software and your system will be able to recognize the device and use all available features. This will also make it possible for owners to configure additional hotkeys. In case additional keyboard accessories are connected, this step can also improve the bundle's overall stability and compatibility, as well as performance. Therefore, if you wish to install this release, simply make sure that your computer OS is supported, save the package, extract it if necessary, run the available setup, and follow the on-screen instructions for a complete installation. Bear in mind that, even though other platforms might be compatible, we do not recommend applying this software version on configurations running under OSes other than the specified ones. That being said, if you consider applying the present version, download and install the package. Also check with our website whenever you can, in order to stay up to speed with latest releases.

It is highly recommended to always use the most recent driver version available. Try to set a system restore point before installing a device driver. This will help if you installed an incorrect or mismatched driver. Problems can arise when your hardware device is too old or not supported any longer.

COMPATIBLE WITH:

Windows 7 Windows 7 64 bit Windows 8 Windows 8 64 bit Windows 8.1 Windows 8.1 64 bit Windows 10 Windows 10 64 bit

file size:

768.2 MB

CATEGORY:

Keyboard & Mouse

For

Dedicated macro and media controls.

Responsive, smooth keys.

Attractive aluminum build.

Easy yet customized utility.

16.8 million color options.

Military-grade aluminum frame.

32-Bit Arm Cortex Processor

8MB Profile Storage

Great RGB lighting.

Comfortable wrist rest.

Low actuation force.

Cherry MX Speed switches

Against

Quite expensive

No audio-pass through

Complicated software

Rubber palm rest gets grungy sometimes

Need to customize another OS before using Linux.

Limited switches options.

If you’re a fan of Corsair, you have never heard something bad about their masterpieces, including keyboards, and the K95 RGB Platinum is no exception. I know it’s no denying that it is pretty expensive, but it feels right at home, having a few more requested features.

Corsair Keyboard K95 Software

In The Box, you will get…

Corsair K95 PLATINUM Bundle Picture

Corsair K95 RGB PLATINUM keyboard

Extra textured keys (F,D,E,R,Q, 2x W, A, S, D)

Keycap remover

Detachable wrist rest

A couple of manuals

Price to Value Ratio

Corsair is not only responsible for bringing RGB keyboards into the mainstream. Its K95 Platinum can take your gaming experience to a new level; you will love its integrated light bar.

Now, consider the high $170.26 (£140.58, AU181.67) price tag that this elegance brings with; I know it’s a ton of money for a gaming keyboard. And, the sad part is – Corsair’s ‘iCUE’ software is still a pain to use.

Now, let’s talk about Corsair K95 RGB Platinum’s Design… starting from some basics!

Dimensions

Height – 1.3″ (3.4 cm)

Width – 18.3″ (46.5 cm)

Weight – 2.65 lbs (1.200 kg)

Depth – 6.6″ (16.8 cm)

Depth (with wrist rest) – 9.1″ (23.0 cm)

Yes, you’re right… This keyboard is big and follows a full-size design, so ensure you’ve enough space if used with its detachable wrist rest.

Are cable and connector detachable?

No, both cable and connector are non-detachable; the Corsair K95 RGB PLATINUM’s cable length is quite long – 7.2 ft (2.2 m) – with two USB plug ends, having two plugs means you can use the USB passthrough on the keyboard.

Other wireless compatibility;

Bluetooth – No

Bluetooth Multi-Device Pairing – No

Proprietary Receiver – unavailable

Battery – No Batteries

Corsair K95 RGB Platinum – Overall Look & Feel

To make your gaming life super-smooth and quick, the durable keycap, though it seem a bit cheap, is made out of ABS, following a better build quality, whereas the board is of a solid plastic base topped with a military-grade aluminum plate.

The reworking of Corsair’s predecessor, the K95 RGB Platinum keyboard, has a slight, comfortable layout with authentic Cherry MX Speed linear switches and six dedicated macro keys. Worry not; due to its low pre-travel distance, the switches feel quite responsive and quick!

Want to adjust the backlight brightness, switch between onboard profiles quickly or disable the Windows key? Let a trio of buttons let the magic work.

Meanwhile, its aluminum chassis is sturdy. The given reversible/detachable/magnetic wrist rest (a rougher texture on one side and a smooth micro-finish on the other) is also a good addition – great for both – on-desk and on-lap gaming.

Unfortunately, this wrist rest gets easily dusty, oily, crumby, oils, and all manner of detritus – so get ready for constant cleaning.

Talking about its ergonomics…

Board Design: Straight

Minimum Incline: 3°

Maximum Incline: 8°

Ergonomics are OK with an incline setting and open sideways so that it won’t meet the ground if you put too much pressure accidentally or un-accidentally.

Oh yes, how could this Corsair K95 RGB Platinum review be completed without mentioning my favorite thing – Backlighting – about the keyboard?

So…

Color: RGB

Backlit Keys: Yes

Effects: Yes

Color Mixing: OK

Programmable: Yes

Lighting, well, it has been upgraded with a new 19-zone light bar that runs along the top of the frame; you will love its eye-catchy if excessive touch and how the way colors wash across the Corsair’s logo.

You will all agree to the fact that the Corsair K95’s backlighting is quite amazing; each key is lit, even a strip of underglow as well. The good part is that you can control the brightness on the board.

Cables, Cables, Cables

Cable Length: 7.2 ft (2.2 m)

Detachable: No

Connector: Not Detachable

The Corsair K95 RGB PLATINUM’s cable is extended, ending with two USB plugs so that you can also use the USB passthrough on the keyboard.

Corsair has added an “X” arrangement of two cable channels, which can be molded underside; they’re not for routing the keyboard’s cable but keeping your headset wire out of the way.

Something more than just KEYING

Macro Programmable Keys: Yes

Dedicated Media Keys: Yes

USB Passthrough: Yes

Trackpad / Trackball: No

Windows Key Lock: Yes

Wheel: Yes

Numpad: Yes

Lock Indicator Caps, Scroll & Num lock: Yes

The Corsair K95 has a nice wheel to control volume with a dedicated Windows lock and media keys at the top right – so that your game doesn’t accidentally minimize instantly.

Let’s type with Corsair K95 RGB Platinum

Talking about its overall typing experience… It is excellent, thanks to its stable keys and the spacing between keys – this will help you avoid typos. The linear switches are quiet and easy to function.

On the other hand, the actuation point is quick to reach, so get ready for multiple mis-inputs.

The KEYSTROKES are;

Key Switches: Cherry MX Speed

Operating Force: 45 gf

Actuation Force: 42 gf

Feel: Linear

Pre and total Travel: 1.1 mm and 3.4 mm respectively

When it comes to speed, the K95 RGB Platinum keyboard follows in the footsteps of Corsair’s K70 RGB Rapidfire, featuring Cherry’s latest, highly responsive, linear MX Speed switches; press them lightly to actuate – just 1.2mm of movement and 45g of force will be required.

The keys will require less pressure and bottom-out faster, well suited for twitch shooters or those that require fast reflexes.

Software

Corsair K95 Software Driver

Software: iCUE

Profiles: 6+

Account Required: No

Cloud Sync: No

Onboard Memory: Yes

Macro Programming: Software and Onboard

The iCUE software is customizable, letting you have as many profiles, but you can only save only three on the onboard memory.

FAQ: Last, not least… How compatible is the Corsair K95 RGB Platinum?

Windows Full

Android No

macOS Partial

iOS No

iPadOS No

Linux Partial

Being fully compatible with Windows, some of its keys don’t work on macOS (the scroll lock, pause, print screen, and the G1-G6 macro buttons) and Linux (keys work, but the software, so you can’t customize your keyboard and the G1-G6 macro keys).

However, there’s an onboard memory, which can let you program them on macOS or Windows and use them on Linux.

Corsair K95 RGB Platinum Keyboard – Video Review

My Verdict

Even more than just standard and just six macro keys, the Corsair K95 RGB Platinum is the Rolls Royce of gaming keyboards – both in its styling and its price tag.

No other keyboard matches its classical, all-metal build quality, disco lighting, handy shortcut buttons; so if you can also stomach the price and being OK with its complex software, the Corsair K95 RGB Platinum is worth it. Dowload free games on mac.

If you’re also using Corsair K95 RGB Platinum, feel free to share your reflections or ping me with your favorite gaming keyboard in the comment section below.

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Kylo Smith

Kylo is a tech geek who loves technology and spends time writing about it. He is also an avid gamer, completing his studies in Information technology. He is a co-founder of Reviewsed.

[lesbiancarat]

Lol ah if I ever do cross line, slap this book anon with a fish lol

PREACH IT!!! facts, facts and once again facts were spoken. You have summed up that entire section brilliantly love! Dare I say, mic drop

Onto the merch and I saw! I was surprised in a good way to see them! Hybe must have heard us complaining lol but no, they can create nice merch! While not the svt color scheme,it is very much in line to what you can think of merch for the boys. Simple and cute I think! Very bright from the orange shades i remember seeing, granted I will admit the bag is very similar to the one they sold for txt's online fan concert as well(?) So idk if this is just their common purse style they have pre-made and will change it up via color scheme wise but nonetheless, we can see decent merch being made. I think we will see over time improvements, I could very much see hybe adopting the bts album inspired merch for svt (idk how long that lasted but I do recall seeing merch inspired by their love yourself album or their tear albums so I could see maybe hybe putting out merch related to a mini series of the YMMD era? Of course please do not take my words as facts. I sadly don't work for hybe xD but just an idea I could maybe see happening and I think that could be cool! These might be a bit more pricier because I remember those merch were like limited edition so they cost a bit more which funnily could be the going svt merch idea you gave! I think that would be fun like imagine a makeup purse or a small bag based off the old pastel title screen ahh that would be cute!) Now brings us the ahem, more obvious cash grabs. Now, I will say the only time I can recall this also happening with sm artist. I always remember seeing those bday limited edition merch being sold and this was usually small items like a necklace, key ring, etc. It wasn't a t-shirt or something wild so maybe this is where hybe got inspired? Idk if this will be for all hybe artist though, would be weird if it just for svt. Like I get it, more members means more money but like ??? Make it make sense. I do agree with you, if we do have a good balance of good quality merch and have the few not so great merch it can work out? Of course call out merch that isn't ok like the plastic water bottles (I doubt that helps because fans of bts did this and welp, the resold it like I said so I doubt bighit would listen but still, we should make our voices heard!) And oohhh gotchas! Yeah I haven't hear of the rings situation at all, am happy they didn't do it. I guess in a way, I could maybe see what pledis wanted to do? But why replicas? They could have just done a simple svt inspired ring, not the personal one the boys own jdjajdjajs

Oohhh touche, while I'm personally not a fan of streaming parties, I can see why companies do them and it is valid c:

Caratland, ah yes. I keep forgetting about it fjsdns. Are you planning on watching it? I'm sure we will see some new songs being performed and knowing the boys, they will find a creative way to mix things up haha.

Before I go, I must say I remember finishing hoshi xD bro I remember seeing this happen live while my twitter gc were all watching the kcon livestream and we were all losing our minds xD like the timeline was in chaos and laughing about how they could lose hoshi but also how very on brand it was so anon, a great way to become a fan lolol

(is the slapping with a fish a reference to something or just something you like to say? dhfjfh either way it makes me laugh!)

yeah it makes sense if they would have the same template/design for basic merch items like totes, shirts, hats and things like that and just changed the color or print design. honestly that doesn't bother me so long as the basic sort of merch is in addition to more unique merch items if that makes sense.

ooh old album inspired merch is an interesting idea! although honestly I'd just settle for reprints of the old albums themselves OTL idk if that's something hybe can do directly though since they're not the original manufacturers of the old albums. like I'm sure pledis could reprint the old albums if they really wanted to, but there may be legal issues to work out if they want to switch to hybe manufacturing them + selling them permanently on weverse shop. idk how easy or hard that is since I'm not a legal expert but that would be my guess! i still hope it happens some day though... finding old albums is hard TT

yeah i wouldn't be surprised if other companies have done birthday merch, it seems like the type of thing kpop companies in general would try to make money off of dhfkf. honestly the concept of birthday merch in general I'm just like... *sigh* yeah, ok. like i don't think it's immoral to profit off of it or anything but it's just an example of capitalism at its finest you know? at this point I'm just like, if you're going to make birthday merch at least go all in with the individual member customization instead of making it all plain black TT like I'm sure some ppl do like that kind of design and no judgement there. it's not inherently bad. but its all very... professional? corporate? not sure if those are the words I'm looking for dhfkf but like they could have incorporated a lot of personal elements like the cherry motif or let cheol dress up in his favorite clothes for the photoshoot and things like that you know? also the hand thing was just weird at the very least i hope they scrap that idea for the other members if they get bday merch TT and yeah I'll also be interested to hear if other hybe groups also get b-day merch...

I actually can't remember if the rings were "replicas" in the sense that they had the members names on them/were the exact design SVT members had. it may have been a "carat" version of the ring, in which case replica may not be the right word to use. but either way they were definitely marketed as being like... the equivalent of a seventeen ring if that makes sense? and that being the case even if wasn't the exact same design it still wouldn't have sat right with me, it just feels too close to home. i do remember thinking at the time that they could have made something like a bracelet or necklace that could be like a mirror to SVTs rings but still something distinctly different. like it could still show SVT and carats connection while not intruding on SVT members status and the work they put in to get that title... but i digress!

I'm almost certainly not gonna watch it live dhfjfh for one online concerts and fanmeetings just aren't worth the cost for me... maybe if it was $20 or less id spare the money but I'm not gonna pay $50 to watch a livestream at 3am DHFKFH. and even if i were considering it, I'm traveling on the 9th so i can't be up late to watch it live even if i wanted to. i know they have delayed times for replays but if it's not live then it's even less worth it to spend the money imo. so likely I'll just keep my eyes peeled for a pirated version after the fact dhfkf

it really was so chaotic... its interesting to hear sometimes the crazy ways ppl got into the fandom or were first exposed to SVT dhfjfh especially since my own stanning story is more sentimental(?) rather than funny

[nelvana]

In which some preparations are done around town

First: In which the human is transformed Next: In which the team completes their first mission Previous: In which an application is filled out

    The walk to Pokemon Square was not terribly long, but definitely the longest they had walked in the past couple days. However, it certainly wasn’t boring, they managed to keep a conversation going throughout the half-hour long trek, and the sights were gorgeous; at least in Nelvana’s opinion. Keahi had seen it enough times to grow accustomed to it. Finally, they saw a small dome house in the distance.

    “See, over there! That’s the house we’re going to buy for our team base!” Keahi exclaimed, pointing over at the stone building with zir wings.

    “Yeah, I see it!” Nelvana replied.

    “C’mon! It isn’t too far now!” Keahi said and hurried off towards the house.

    They arrived at the house in only a few minutes. It was a beige stone, dome-shaped house sitting on a pretty green lawn with a few flowers growing here and there. The house had a couple visible windows, actual windows and not holes, unlike in Keahi’s old room, and a thin chimney sat on the roof, signifying that there was a fireplace inside. A grey mailbox with a red flag stood at the end of the pathway leading up to the tall door. A sign with ‘For Sale! See Ludicolo for more details!’ written in bold letters was posted beside the mailbox at the front of the lawn.

    “This… is a really nice house!” Nelvana commented.

    “Yeah, it looks pretty cozy. We might want to renovate it if our team gets big enough, but for now it’ll do great!” Keahi agreed.

    “So… how do we, uh, buy it...?” Nelvana mumbled.

    “Oh, well it looks like we’ll have to find Ludicolo and talk to them about it,” Keahi answered, “c’mon, they’re probably in town!”

    The duo walked away from the house and across a small bridge that took them over a calm river. Pokemon Square was bustling and colorful, and Nelvana couldn’t decide how to react. Many unfamiliar pokemon were walking around, all chatting to each other in slightly raised voices. Keahi gave her an encouraging smile before heading into the fray.

    “Okay, I’ll give a more detailed tour later but here’s the short version,” Keahi began explaining, “right here is the Kecleon Shop, down over there is the Kangaskhan Storage, if you follow that path up north then it leads to Whiscash’s pond, and if you follow it south then it leads to the Makuhita Dojo. Over there is the Persian Bank, and down there is Spinda and Gulpin’s Café. Oh, and of course, if you take the path to the east, it leads to the Pelipper Post Office and the mission board.”

    “This is a pretty busy town,” Nelvana commented.

    “Eh, not really. There are some places that are bigger, at least so I’ve heard. This is the only one for miles, so I haven’t been to any other town before,” Keahi replied, “anyway, we should try and see if we can find Ludicolo so we can talk to him about the house.”

    “Couldn’t we send the application first?” Nelvana asked, holding up the letter in her left hand.

    “Yeah, but Ludicolo should be around here somewhere…” Keahi mumbled, “oh wait! I see Lombre, maybe he knows where Ludicolo is!” zie exclaimed suddenly and dragged zir friend off.

    They approached the grass-water-type pokemon, who was talking with a bellsprout. Luckily, they didn’t need to speak up since Lombre noticed them as they walked over.

    “Well well well! If it isn’t Keahi!” Lombre greeted, “what brings you to Pokemon Square?”

    “Hi Lombre! We’re actually looking to buy your cousin’s house, have you seen him around lately?” Keahi replied.

    “Ah, you just missed him actually. He got bored of waiting for someone to buy the house and left it in my care so he could go explore or whatever it is he’s running off to do,” Lombre explained with a chuckle, “you can still buy it if you want, I certainly have no use for it.”

    “Great! How much are you selling for?” Keahi asked.

    “You know what, I have no use for it, it’s a bit shabby, and I know you’re a good kid. You can take it for 5000 coins. Sound like a deal?” Lombre bargained.

    “Sold!” Keahi chirped and gave him the money, proud to have gotten the house at such a cheap price.

    “It’s nice doing business with you kid,” Lombre hummed, putting the money away in a small bag he was carrying and tossing Nelvana a key before turning to the bellsprout to continue their earlier conversation.

    “That was easier than I thought it would be,” Nelvana told Keahi.

    “Yeah!” Keahi agreed, “but I’m not complaining. A house for only 5000 coins is a very nice deal.”

    “So… Pelipper Office then?” Nelvana asked, already starting to edge in the direction that her friend had pointed out a few minutes earlier.

    “Yup!” Keahi said and they walked off on the east pathway.

    It was a short walk before they could see a large building that had an eerie resemblance to a pelipper with a tall sign covered in different shaped, sized and colored papers beside it. All of this stood on a cliff, and the crashing waves from down below could be heard from even up where Nelvana and Keahi were standing. Strong gusts of cool wind blew by, bringing the scent of the sea with it.

    “Woah…” Nelvana gasped, clearly in awe of the view.

    “Pretty, right?” Keahi hummed, “anyway, that’s the message board. Once we’re a team, that will be the main place we’ll get missions from. And, of course, that’s the Pelipper Post Office.”

    Nelvana nodded, and they headed inside. Indoors, there were a couple pelipper at the front desk, and behind them were many baskets, pre-made newspapers, and stacks of letters. An open window could be seen in the roof, presumably to allow the workers to easily fly in and out without needing to use the door each time.

    “Hello Pelipper!” Keahi greeted, and the pelipper to the left looked over at zim.

    “Oh, hi there Keahi, long time no see!” Pelipper said.

    “Does everyone know you by name?” Nelvana whispered.

    “Yeah, pretty much. It’s a small town and I’ve visited enough times,” Keahi whispered back before turning zir attention back to the water-flying-type. “We’re here to deliver a letter to the guild!”

    “You are, eh? Making a team I see?” Pelipper asked.

    “Yup! This is my partner, Nelvana,” Keahi introduced the cubone, who handed Pelipper the letter.

    “Good for you two! I’ll get that sent as soon as possible. We’re a bit busy right now so it might be a while, sorry ‘bout that,” Pelipper told them, “actually… if you don’t mind, we have an apprentice working here. I think sending your application would be good experience for them.”

    “Oh, we don’t mind! Right Nel?” Keahi said, and Nelvana nodded. “We can wait though if it’d be better to get them to do something else...” zie added.

    “No, don’t you worry about it! They’re only big enough to take a few letters at a time right now, and no one is heading out in that direction anyway. It’s actually an awful lot more convenient for us if he takes it. I was just checking if you were okay with it, this letter is pretty important, after all,” Pelipper explained.

    “They can take it,” Keahi agreed.

    “Good, I’m sure they’ll be happy to hear it,” Pelipper hummed, “hey Peaky! You’ve got a delivery to handle!” he called out.

    A young spearow fluttered in hastily only a few moments after being called for and sat on the desk.

    “Really?” Peaky chirped excitedly.

    “Yep, take this over to the guild,” Pelipper told them.

    “Okay! Thank you! Have a nice day!” Peaky said and flew off again with the letter firmly in their talons.

    “Heheheh… they’re such an enthusiastic kid. Learns fast too,” Pelipper chuckled warmly.

    “Yeah,” Keahi agreed, “well, we should get going now. Still lots to do today!” zie added.

    The pair left the building and headed back to the main area of Pokemon Square.

    “Okay, we should stop by our house first to see what furniture we should buy,” Keahi said.

    “This is going to be a lot of back and forth, isn’t it?” Nelvana asked, and Keahi nodded.

    They went back over to the house, now their house, and went inside. The interior gave off a warm and cozy look right away. An empty fireplace stood at the back of the one-roomed building and an oak wood shelf was posted not too far away. There were small window planters on each of the four windows, all facing inside, which were currently growing some violet petunias. The flooring was simply some light-colored tiles.

     “Alright! This is it!” Keahi exclaimed.

    “So… I don’t think I’ve ever decorated a house before...” Nelvana mumbled.

    “That’s okay! Neither have I, actually. I don’t think it’s too hard though,” Keahi said, looking around a bit. “We’ll need beds, that’s for sure. Do you like nests, or hammocks, or...?”

    “I’m indifferent. Whatever’s cheapest, I guess,” the cubone, who was now examining the flowers, replied.

    “Okay then… two nests… a, uh, maybe a table? Then some chairs…” Keahi walked around, mumbled to zirself as zie walked around. “Okay! I think I have an idea of what we should get! You ready to do some shopping?”

    Nelvana nodded, and off they went again. Keahi stopped a few feet away from the Kecleon Shop.

    “Tour time!” zie chirped, “alright, so this is the Kecleon Shop. The Kecleon brothers run it, yes, they both go by Kecleon, and they sell pretty much anything. Anything they don’t have, they can get for you within the day. It’s great. Apparently, they’re retired explorers and are really strong. Sometimes one of them will still visit a dungeon and sell some wares for any teams passing through,” zie explained.

    They approached the stand and were greeted by the cheerful brothers. They ended up ordering some galaxy-print accessories for the team, and they bought some blankets, pillows, a couple books Nelvana was eyeing, a bean bag couch, a fold-up table, and some general team supplies such as berries and seeds. After going back and forth to put everything in the house and organize things, it was time to head over to their next stop.

    “So, I’m thinking we should head to the Kangaskhan Storage to store our extra mission supplies,” Keahi said.

    “Sounds good to me,” Nelvana agreed.

    “Great! So, Kangaskhan Storage is pretty much the same as it sounds. Kangaskhan will store any items for you for free. We should be able to store most of our stuff at the house, but some extra team supplies should go here just in case,” zie explained as they walked over to the building.

    Storing things went quicker than the shopping, and Kangaskhan was super nice. It didn’t take long for Nelvana to learn that the normal-type liked calling people nicknames like “sweetie”, “hon”, and “dearie”. Keahi quickly dragged her friend over to their next stop, which Nelvana remembered as the bank.

    “This is the Persian Bank. Basically, the same as Kangaskhan Storage except with money,” the torchic told the cubone, “also Kangaskhan is nicer,” zie added.

    Nelvana giggled at the last comment but had to stifle it as they approached. They put in almost all their money except for a little extra that Keahi said was for “a treat”. She didn’t have to ask what the treat was going to be since right afterwards Keahi brought her to their last stop for awhile.

    “This is Spinda and Gulpin’s Café!” Keahi announced.

    “…café?” Nelvana asked.

    “Yeah, like a small and cozy restaurant,” Keahi explained, “they sell mostly drinks and sweets and sandwiches. Small treats like that,” zie added after realizing that zir friend was still confused.

    “Ah,” the cubone hummed.

    When they entered, they were immediately greeted with sweet scents and a warm atmosphere. A few customers looked up from their spots at some round tables, but otherwise the quiet chatter didn’t waver upon their arrival. Keahi lead Nelvana over to the front counter, where a spinda was bouncing in place.

    “Hello! Welcome to Spinda and Gulpin’s Café! What can I get for you two today?” Spinda greeted cheerfully.

    “Just two smoothies, thanks!” Keahi replied, “does pecha sound good to you?” zie added to Nelvana who nodded.

    “Okay! Two pecha smoothies coming right up!” Spinda exclaimed, “oh wait, did you two bring your own berries for the discount?”

    “Not today,” Keahi told them.

    “Discount?” Nelvana asked.

    “Oh yes! We have a discount here, where if you bring your own berries we’ll cut the price a bit!” Spinda explained.

    “It’s a pretty nice discount, if I do say so myself,” Keahi hummed.

    “Thank you!” Spinda chirped, continuously dancing in place.

    After a few moments, they were given their smoothies, which they promptly paid for. Keahi took a sip before even sitting down, and Nelvana followed suit.

    “These are really good!” Nelvana said.

    “Thank you!” Spinda chirped.

    “Thank you too!” Keahi replied, and the pair found an empty table to sit down at.

    “These are really good,” Nelvana repeated after they sat down.

    “I know, right? It’s just a nice place to grab a snack and relax for a bit,” Keahi agreed, drinking some more of zir drink from zir pale straw.

    “So… now what?” Nelvana asked.

    “Now? We relax for the day. We have to wait to be accepted before doing missions, so that gives us some time to refresh and relax before the work starts,” Keahi told her.

    “Sounds good,” Nelvana hummed, “I like the idea of relaxing today.”

    “Yeah,” Keahi agreed, “me too.”