#ahs jonathon

[britishraptor]

Friend: *finally convinced into listening to the Magnus Archives*

Me: It’s a mystery podcast, and there’s foreshadowing and hints everywhere! Pay close attention!

Friend: …so I’m thinking there’s symbolism in the packing peanuts in this episode…

Me:….okay so, when I said everywhere, I wasn’t being literal. Maybe come up another layer of meaning please

[scrimbly-mc-scrombly-iii]

oh to be the main character in a gothic novel, who ventures to the old castle on the hill at the edge of the village i’ve decided to visit. rumors cloud the place, but i am not swayed. there i am greeted by the man feared by the villagers for his odd demeanor, his fascination with the morbid, his oddly sharp teeth and timeless appearance. after a few weeks, they fear the worst. i become a town legend, the foolish traveler who tragically meet his doom at the hands of the classical horror antagonist. but no. i am simply living a life of rather isolated luxury, spending my time with my lovely vampire boyfriend, learning all the knowledge he has gathered over the centuries, and basking in his supernatural allure and ethereal beauty. one day i will join him, become one of those cold creatures of the night, and we shall live on in legends, dark tales around a campfire, and also in our own everlasting love.

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nikolai gives John some tender lovin'. (It's the third date, alright? Price isn't a slut, stop lookin' at him like that...) CW: traces of comphet baggage, anal sex, some tears. Price POV.

As Nik pushed into him and his body flexed around the pain-pleasure threshold of being forced so very open, Price wondered whether this is what all his former female partners had felt like under him, their hips held in two strong hands, their rump raised, and then he figured that could be a homophobic thought process; he'd read something about that online when he'd been preparing for, you know... Everything. Thinkin' of things like the 'woman and the man'. You couldn't talk like the-- ah, oh.

He gripped the blankets and pressed his face forward as Nik pressed deeper. Could you be homophobic with a prick balls deep inside your arse? That really-- oh, oh, that felt good. Something inside him bloomed with pleasure. That was the only way he could describe it; a slow, outward spread of warmth and god fucking shit ahh he could barely breathe.

"John, Jonathon... Mmm." Nik muttered something in Russian. Sounded like a cuss, Price figured. Maybe 'fuck'? But Nik had explained to him that in Russian 'fuck' was always in the verb form... to fuck.

"Ahh!" That had come out of him. Nik had pushed back in to the hilt, finding that spot again. Price arched his back when Nik pressed down a little, and was rewarded in the next thrust by an even deeper throb of pleasure that coiled up his spine to choke out a low moan.

"Feels good, so good, you're so... so hot, fuck. John, John..."

Nik sounded besotted. Almost completely gone was the smooth-talking specialist Price had spent years talking to over coms. His hands circled on Price's thighs, up to his hips, he leaned down and pressed kisses to Price's neck and back; lingering, hungry. The heaviness of his body made Price feel small and vulnerable. Not in a bad way, mind. Not like he was cornered and down to his last mag, but like he was being... he was being... Fuck, Price didn't have an analogy. He'd never...

"Beautiful boy... Perfect boy."

Ah. "Fuck, Nik," Price whispered, muffled by the duvet. Nik was still measuring his pace, but it was consistent now, fucking... And it was the tenderest fuck Price had ever-- no one had ever called him--

The duvet was wet and Price lifted his head, sniffing, rubbing the tears away on his forearm. It was good. This was fucking mindblowingly good. Why was he crying?

Nik must have heard it, because in the next moment Price was empty. It was comically obscene how open his body felt when Nik's was gone. A firm hand pressed his hip, and for a moment Price stubbornly resisted - part shame at his sobbing like a virgin sixteen year old in her boyfriend's bedroom, part demand to have Nik's dick firmly back in place - but he relinquished when Nik insisted.

There was no judgement on that chiseled face when Nik saw. Impossibly tender fingers brushed the smear of wet on Price's cheek, even as those dark eyes examined Price's. In search of pain, Price figured. He needed to explain... "Look, I... It's not..."

A finger pressed over his mouth, followed quickly by a pair of weathered lips that kissed him into silence. Nik guided him down into the bed and settled between his legs, the cool damp spot on the comforter against his back quickly forgot.

"This," Nik said as he drew away, pausing to press kisses against the scruff of Price's beard. "This is better."

A firm hand stroked down Price's thigh and then lifted it. Price latched onto the headboard above as his body opened around the fat crown of Nik's prick again, taking it in eagerly despite the snug clutch of his muscles.

Price made a note to privately thank his physio for bullying him into stretching and mobility work, because with his leg like this, at Nik's shoulder, and the other pushed outwards, he felt-- fuck, he felt exposed. Like Nik had him pinned, but he was safe. Those dark eyes were watching his, savouring every twitch and flicker...

Tender. It was tender. Not something Price had a lot of experience in.

The knot in Price's throat was back. His eyes prickled and he tried to blink them away, but the tears fell again.

"Ahh, John. It hurts?" Nik asked, shifting slowly down. He guided Pride's leg to his waist and dropped until their faces were mere inches apart.

"No, no... It's... Good. Just... A lot. Please." Price sounded strained even to his own ears, like someone had him in a chokehold. Nik wasn't moving, still deeply seated and waiting, his thick cock twitching and throbbing as he weighed up Price's expression. Price flushed redder under the scrutiny. He wasn't used to being under the microscope, not like this. "Please, Nik. More."

Nik smiled. That handsome, debonair grin that made Price's insides quake like jelly. He pulled back and for a gutwrenching moment Price thought he was being denied. But Nik only grabbed the bottle of lube and coated his cock again, before resting back between Price's thighs and taking him again.

"More it is," Nik said, rough and husky. His fingers threaded through Price's hair and pulled his head back, exposing his throat to a deep, possessive kiss. Submission. It felt like submission. Nik demanded and Price gave. His body relaxed, one hand fisted a handful of pillow while the other gripped Nik's shoulder blade like he had any kind of control over how Nik moved.

That grip turned to a claw as the pace picked up, and Price could head his own gasps and moans through the miasma of pleasure. Nik was still talking breathlessly, flitting between Russian and garbled English; he wanted Price to understand what his body was doing, how it felt to be gifted such.

Where Price had gone soft in the first few moments, he was now hard again. Every brush of Nik's belly sent sparks down his cock, lost in the building pressure of Nik's inside him. Price lifted his legs a little higher, spread his thighs and Nik responded by adjusting to push deeper still. Price was sure he had broken skin with his nails, but in that moment he had no control, his body had been consumed by Nikolai, his brain silent but for the insistent beg of "more, more, yeah".

The orgasm wound through his entire body, not simply centered in his crotch; a quick flash in the pan like he was used to after a quick fumble or hasty wank. It washed through every limb, made his toes curl, his spine arch; it choked the breath out of him and made him quake. Nik fucked him through it, the same, demanding, insistent pace that made Price cry out in desperation. Nik reached between them and milked every last drop from Price's prick in long, firm strokes.

Price felt wrung out, sprawled helplessly as Nik chased his own release. He called Price's name when he came and Price shivered with pleasure at the blooming warmth of cum inside him. Fuck, fuck… that was good. A passing thought fluttered through Price's mind that he was turning into a filthy old bastard as he aged, to enjoy such a thing so much, but it was a good filthy. The thought - any thoughts - vanished as Nik whispered sweet nothings, some dirtier than others. He stayed deep as his cock spent, kissing Price's neck and jaw, before finally releasing his hair to kiss his mouth.

When Nik drew away, their noses brushing, he looked... fucking stunning. Ruffled, cheeks flush, pupils blown so wide with adoration that his eyes were almost black. "You are a gift, Jonathon Price." There it was again.

Price swallowed the lump. "I..."

"Sssh, it's ok. Relax. No words needed."

Price expected Nik to get dressed and head home; it was late and they had to rise early tomorrow. Instead, Nik cleaned them both off with his shirt and curled around Price's back with a contented sigh. Price rested his head on Nik's bicep, staring at his open hand as the fingers of the other traced absentminded circles over his body, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

"You are so responsive," Nik said, his tone was soft but his voice was loud in the quiet.

"S'been a while," Price replied, trying and failing to restrain the shiver as Nik stroked the soft skin just beneath his arm. "Or... Never."

Nik hummed, clearly quite happy that he was the first to touch Price like this. He said nothing more and Price fell asleep under his gentle hands, perfectly okay with the fact that Nik might disappear quietly in the night. Every minute he was here was a new experience that Price would savour.

He didn't expect to wake up still swaddled in clingy Russian, nor the joint shower during which Nik rutted against him and made them both cum again before tenderly cleaning Price off. Not even the breakfast of eggs, bacon and strong coffee that Nik served, searching through the kitchenette in Price's flat like he lived there. As he placed the plate down, he kissed the back of Price's neck like a... like a lover.

It was like living in a dream. A haze of happiness.

Price was uncertain, treading the new ground like a baby fawn, but Nik was a patient man. More patient than most, and looked happy simply when Price accepted each small token of affection.

Price parted ways with Nik in the street, with a final kiss to the cheek and a cheeky grope of his rump. Filthy Russian. Not even Soap's knowing smirk at the bruise on his throat could take the spring out of Price's step that day.

[cult-of-the-eye]

MAG 83 woop woop!!

JONNY BOY

ooh first proper statement in a while

Wait he took some statements with him??

Georgie is actually so right. I love her so much. He really needed some good fucking advice in his life from someone he hasn't thought might've killed someone before

I COULD BE ON DRUGS HAHAAAAAA NO YOU SMALL LOSER BOY

Why did he even jump to that conclusion?? I wasn't thinking ah yes drugs and I don't think a normal person reacting to this situation would immediately jump to drugs maybe insanity yes but not drugs

Universal autistic experience, having someone you're close to say that they know you "get obsessive about stuff"

YES GEORGIE!!!!! SHES THE ONLY ONE NOT FUCKING ENABLING HIM!!! HE DOESNT NEED THE STATEMENTS

oh shit is this the start of him depending on the statements??

Oh shit I guess not being able to go back to his flat makes him homeless

Oh right someone dropped the statement through the letter box

SHIT SOMEONE DROPPED IT THROUGH THE LETTER BOX

SOMEONE KNOWS WHERE HE IS

AND IS GIVING HIM STATEMENTS???

Fucking Elias I bet, who else would it be??? he was like yah I know where Jon is but I'm not gonna tell you to daisy and he's creepy enough to fucking send statements through the mail so there

Ok I'm sorry what was my man doing in those four days??? Sitting there rocking and muttering to himself staring at a fucking piece of paper?? Hmm?? Not fucking sleeping???

Investigating MY ASS what INVESTIGATION do you plan to do holed up in your ex gfs house???

Ah fuck he needs it

When does it stop becoming paranoia and start becoming an addiction?

YEAH GEORGIE YOU SHOULDNT BE KEEN ON WEIRD STALKERS KNOWING YOUR ADDRESS YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY CORRECT AND THE ONLY SANE PERSON IN THIS WHOLE PODCAST (apart from Joshua Gillespie and Karolina gorka my loves)

AHHH HE DIDNT EVEN GET THROUGH HEAD HES JUST GOOD OLD JONATHAN SIMS NOW

He doesn't have any of that pomp and fancy pants titles anymore, it's just the fucking paranoia and realisation that it's not just a normal job, he can't ignore it anymore

It's funny how it finally sinks in how it's not just a normal job when he gets fired from it

Ok just did a quick google fanton isn't a real department store that's a good start

Haha yeah customer service people deserve medals

Omg of course the tma transcripts write Halloween as Hallowe'en that's so tma of them

Oh fuck stranger alert

Oh shit is that Nikola??? As in everyone on Tumblr talks about her Nikola???

Her condition?? Why does it sound like they're describing her as a fucking werewolf??

Ok this is fucking creepy I actually fucking despise mannequins I don't think I'm gonna enjoy these stranger statements

FUCK I HATE CLOWNS

AHHHHHHHHH

Ooh she's smart she goes in with 999 dialled love that for her

oh FUCK that shhh was terrifying

Oh god Lana was killed???

Blood in a single neat line across her lips???

Uckinf SHITBALLS

Jesus fucking christ

I BET HIS ASS MISSES THOSE "EXPERT" ASSISTANTS

FUCKING BREEKON AND HOPE???

Circuses, skin, not quite real - the STRANGER

It seems like now he sort of knows what's going on, he's catching on really quickly, he's categorising things and using what he knows which is good it's steps in a positive direction

I guess he doesn't want another axe table fiasco

The taxidermy shop oh yeah the guy who was like yeah this is paranormal and creepy as fuck but he's not committing tax fraud so it's fine loved that guy

Elias probably sent it

Oh shit he doesn't know Elias knows where he is

SHIT IT WAS HAND DELIVERED

God poor Georgie, she's housing his pitiful ex boyfriend who lost his weirdo job and is going insane and bringing the weirdness to her life

What was he looking into??? Like Not-Them stuff??

"I've got work to do." Fucking famous last words

Jonathon "workaholic" Sims strikes again

Although I guess it's not workaholic when it's threatening your whole life

I guess it's just...surviving

[vierss-herondale]

Hi, Do you know some clace high school fanfic?

I have a hard time finding

I love your recommendations🩷

Hi!!!

I’m so sorry for taking so long to get back to you, you probably sent the ask during my break from tumblr I’m so sorry! 🥹🥹

Yes! I can give you a few recommendations!

First, I must say that you can find most of my favorite Clace fanfics and Oneshots on my blog under the tag: Clace Fanfic Recommendation of the Week

Now on to what you asked for:

Title: Battle of the Bands

Author: simplymoshingintomordor

Summary: Jace is an arrogant, spotlight-hogging lead guitarist and Jonathan Morgenstern's best friend. The trouble is, Jon's sister - Clary - can't stand him, and the feeling's mutual. But when the boys enter the Battle of the Bands contest and all but move in with the Morgensterns, the two of them are forced to see a lot more of each other than they would like.

Others: Rated: Fiction T - English - Humor/Romance - [Clary F., Jace W.] Jonathon M./Sebastian V. - Chapters: 41 - Words: 187,944 - Status: Complete 

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: The Nine Consequences of One Night and a Door

Author:  ddpjclaf

Summary: The teenaged daughter and son of sworn rivals meet with a bang one drunken night against the bathroom door. Now everyone must come to terms with the 9 consequences of one night, a girl, a boy, and a door. OOC AH/AU Lemonade. Vulgar language. Mature.

Others: Rated: Fiction M - English - Angst/Romance - Jace W., Clary F. - Chapters: 34 - Words: 340,066 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: Turbulence

Author:  ddpjclaf

Summary: *RE-POST* While dealing with a loss, Clary befriends her new neighbor's troubled foster-son. Can their friendship help them let go of the pain or will their pasts intervene and rip them apart?

Others: Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Hurt/Comfort - Jace W., Clary F. - Chapters: 34 - Words: 210,843 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: Sharing kisses with a devil

Author: SereneCalamity

Summary: Clary hadn't been able to stop thinking about Isabelle's biker cousin. She didn't realize he felt the same. Biker AU. Clace. Twoshot.

Others: Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama - Clary F., Jace W. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 5,630 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: I See Fire

Author: SereneCalamity

Summary: In the end, she knew that it was going to come down to a choice. Him or her family. Werewolf AU. Clace. Twoshot.

Others: Rated: Fiction T - English - Supernatural/Drama - Clary F., Jace W. - Chapters: 2 - Words: 8,063 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: Bridge to You

Author: love-that-Lovelace 

Summary: "He knew she worked here, how dare he bring another girl here on what she supposed was a date. To mock her? Show off how much he was over and done with her? She swallowed back the lump that was forming in her throat. Do not cry. Do not cry..." Clace One-shot!

Others: Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Clary F., Jace W. - Words: 5,619 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: Touchy

Author: BennieWaffles

Summary: Jace had anger issues because of a not so fun childhood. The only way he can really be calm is if he's with her. One-shot. Rated M. OOC. Clace. AH. AU.

Others: Rated: Fiction M - English - Romance/Drama - [Clary F., Jace W.] - Words: 2,655 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

Title: Signs

Author: BennieWaffles

Summary: They see each other at the bus stop everyday. He has wireless earbuds. She thinks he's deaf. Cute, short one-shot. Rated K. OOC. Clace. AH. AU.

Others: Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance/Friendship - Clary F., Jace W. - Words: 954 - Status: Complete

Site: Fanfiction.net

I’m sorry that’s all I have on my list right now but I promise that I’ll try to go back to posting the weekly recommendations, I’m so glad you like them 🥹🫶🏻

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, pt. 3.15 - The End

This is the last installment in this story--we have made it to the end. Thank you for coming this far with me. Previously on Terrarium Lights: Gail works through some of her own grief (Alternate Epilogue >>here)

Of course, Gail did not forget her promise. Once Michael settled in—and heard the story of the past few weeks several times over, and read her journal and the notes she and the lad had made, and walked the length of the coast with Gail—they headed to the lighthouse.

After some polite chin-wagging, Mrs. Seward put up a sign saying she'd be back to the café after a break, and ushered them towards the lighthouse. She saw what Gail was carrying and smiled approvingly. As they went, she explained that he was in a room in the stairwell there. It was brighter and airier than the rooms in the house, she said, and he had often stayed there before, so they felt it was more appropriate. Besides, easier access for the doctor to not have to go through either the café or the rest of their house.

The doctor was not in at the moment, but Mrs. Seward was pleased to report that, according to him, Jonathon was recovering splendidly—which Gail was pleased to hear.

"But… I'm afraid the worst we feared was true," Mrs. Seward said, whispering almost as they approached the steps. "He doesn't quite remember things. He seems to have kept impressions—he knows that he knew us, but he doesn't… quite… well, remember us. And he doesn't see very well anymore."

"Ah," Gail said. So it was as Jonathon had thought.

"We're sorry to hear that," Michael said softly.

"Still," Mrs. Seward said, drawing herself up with her hand on the doorhandle. "Our boy came back. And we are ever so grateful for that."

If either Gail or Michael saw a hint of tears in her eyes, they did not comment.

The room was, indeed, quite nice. It was small and cool, but large enough that it felt cozy instead of claustrophobic; the long, wide window on the wall let in a stream of sunlight, and looked out trees and, through them, the sea. When the window was open, Gail imagined that it smelled and felt quite fresh.

Jonathon was sitting on the bed, placed just under the window and piled with the surplus of blankets and pillows Gail had noticed upon entering. He looked different. "Solid" was the first word that came to mind. It amused Gail somewhat that she half-expected his eyes to be blank and colorless as he stared with a different kind of vacancy toward the window. Overall, he seemed to have more color in him. His cheeks had more warmth to them, his lips looked less dry, and his eyes were a rich brown. Perhaps he looked different because he was in a cleaner shirt and waistcoat, and there was no blood or injury to be seen.

When the door opened, he turned his head towards them.

"Hello, Jonathon," Mrs. Seward said. "You have some visitors. They’re friends of ours from church. You don't know them, but Mrs. Goffrey has been praying for you while you were sick."

"Oh," he said, his hands fiddling with the blankets. "That's very kind."

"My pleasure," Gail said with a chuckle. She shifted the weight of her gift in her arms. Honestly, she should have asked Michael to carry it.

He tilted his head at her voice.

"I'm afraid I was traveling just now, through the weeks that all the goings' on took place," Michael said, "so I’ve only started on my prayers recently. But I have heard a lot about you."

"Ah." His face squinted in an embarrassed smile. "Thank you, I think."

"I'll be back at the café if you need anything," Mrs. Seward said, looking back through the lighthouse door towards the rickety and ungeared wagon pulling up around the bend. "And you two are familiar with the area. Just pop in and say good-bye before heading out."

Gail nodded.

"So." Gail started, suddenly unsure of how to start a conversation with so familiar a stranger. “How… how have you been?”

"Truthfully, I'm not sure." Jonathon went back to rubbing his fingers along the hem of the blanket. "I don't have much to compare things to. But… I think the weather has been nice. I know Mrs. Seward has been dealing with a personal loss, but they haven't told me much. Apparently I was asleep for several weeks, but… I assume you must know that already."

"I had an inkling," Gail said with a chuckle.

She glanced around the room, looking for a suitable spot. The best place was perhaps the dresser beside his bed. The only thing on it was a framed picture of Jonathon, standing posed with… someone. He looked vaguely familiar.

"We have a present for you," Michael said. "Something my wife made for you."

"Oh." He blinked. "I… you didn't have to."

"No worries," Gail said brightly. "It’s something of a hobby of mine. Is it alright if I set it on the dresser by your bed?"

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's a terrarium," she said, coming closer.

"I… I'm not sure what that is," he admitted.

"Well, usually, they're made in glass jars and the like, and a little scene is made with rocks and moss and various other things. Like a little mini garden, but of moss. But I made this one a little different." Gail set it down on the bed beside him, the weight of it making the mattress bounce a bit, and gave him a chance to explore it. "We made this one wider and more open, and in what was supposed to be a clay garden pot. It broke a few years back—though don't worry, no edges anymore, we made sure to sand them all down—so it's solid and won't fall over easy if you bump it."

“Technically, it’s not really a terrarium anymore,” Michael inserted helpfully. “But we made it using similar principles, and neither of us could remember what the other type is called. Mossarium didn’t sound quite right.”

Gail chuckled. “We tried to make it more for feel and texture than looks, so that’s another reason why we made it bigger. Easier to put your hand in, if you want.”

He felt it gingerly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the clay, stopping at a sudden protuberance.

"That's a little lamp we attached to it," she said. "It gives off more warmth than light, and it should be easy enough to find and turn on if you need it. Michael helped me rig it. A friend of mine gave me the idea," she added more softly.

"Oh." Jonathon's forehead was creased as he fingered his way down to the moss. "That feels nice," he said, smiling slightly and gently pressing his hand down on it. He picked up one of the smooth stones lying in the moss and fingered it, rubbing his thumb along the irregular notches and blunt edges.

"There are some stones for extra feeling and texture," Gail said. "And the moss will flower in summer. It has a lovely smell."

"I… I don't know how well I can take care of it," he said, slowly setting the stone down as if he were afraid to break it. "Will that be a problem?"

Gail lifted it and slid it onto the dresser beside his table, bending down to plug the little lamp into the cogstow beside his bed. "Don't worry about that," she said, her head still done by the dresser.

"It doesn't need much water," Michael explained. He put a spray bottle in Samuel's hands and gave it a light tug, the gears clicking slightly as the water built up pressure and shot out. "A few sprays every few weeks should be quite enough. We're not sure how it will work with the lamp, but I suppose we'll see. We can repair and reconfigure things as needed, but I think it should be decently waterproofed."

"That's… it's all very thoughtful of you both," he said, in a tone of gratitude that bordered on distress. "Thank you."

"Our pleasure," Gail said, straightening up and dusting her hands off. "We like to help when we can."

"You seem like kind people," he said, still holding the spray bottle, "and we don't even know each other." He held the bottle in both hands, frowning down at it. "Do we…? I… I can't quite tell… but… somehow I feel like I've heard your voice before." He tilted his head towards Gail, not quite turning all the way.

"After a fashion," Gail replied with a chuckle. "We have met before, though it makes sense you wouldn't remember me."

"Ah. I'm sorry. It’s… it’s something I’m hoping to work through."

"No worries," Gail said. "But recovering is a difficult process, I'm sure you could use some time to get back on your feet. Speaking of which, we didn't want to stay too long today, but we plan on visiting again—just so long as you wouldn't mind. We can help tell you things about the area, or read to you, or do whatever you might like. Try and help you adjust or else just keep you company."

He smiled brightly. "I think I'd like that. It's… it's good to hear more voices."

"We'll come by soon, then," Michael said, patting the lad on his shoulder.

As they made their good-byes and prepared to leave, Gail turned again to the framed photo that was now beside the terrarium.

It was of two lads, one of them Jonathon, in front of a building that Gail recognized as belonging to the academy. They each had an arm around the others' shoulder, and were smiling. The lad on the left wore a big smile, as natural as if that's what his face was born to do, while Jonathon’s half-smile was bashful and unsure.

It clicked. It was odd, seeing Samuel in a much more normal setting, and in a more normal color palette—or at least as far as Gail could tell, considering the obvious limitations of photography. She wondered if it had been able to capture color, how he would look. What color his hair and eyes would be, when he was alive. She smiled at the picture and set it down gently.

She was glad that, in a way, he would still be around to look out for his friend.

---The End---

Previous

Last

[sl-newsie]

Behind Masks (Dr. Jonathon Crane x OC) Ch. 4: Test Subject

“I’ve come to collect you for individual counseling.” Crane goes to grab my arm and I flinch away to stand in a fighting stance. “Very well, no armed escort is necessary as long as you play nice. You’re capable of walking cooperatively, right?”

I ignore his jeering tone and wave goodbye to Ivy and Nigma before walking down through another hallway. This one’s lit up better than the others and is much less noisy.

“You know where you’re going, Prentiss,” Crane observes from behind. “Care to explain why? You’ve never been inside Arkham before.”

“I may or may not have memorized the blueprints.”

Silence takes over. If I’m correct the interrogation- oh, old habits. The safe space room should be another three doors down and 5 to the left. It certainly is because the door I stop in front of is the one Crane unlocks when he catches up. The mirror attached to the wall outside leads me to believe it's used for police interrogations. The room I’m nudged into is smaller than all the others. Only a matching mirror, a simple desk, and two chairs take up space.

I don’t like it. Being on the other end of therapy. Back in Metropolis the facilities there are much more open and modernized. This place looks as if it’s going to swallow me whole and never let me see the light of day. And I’m supposed to be stuck in here with Crane for a whole hour?

“Take a seat please,” Crane instructs as he himself sits at the table and writes down more notes. “The date is October 2nd, the time is 11am Eastern Time. Therapy is now in session, Calico Prentiss.”

“Still waiting on that lawyer.”

“I see you still show reluctance to your situation,” Crane says simply. “How are you getting along with the other inmates?”

I bite my lip and stay strong to keep my gaze from dropping. “I’ll admit the company here is far better than what I had in Metropolis.”

“Interesting.” Crane’s icy blue eyes flash with hidden excitement. “And how has my, ah, treatment been acting?”

He’s going to be so disappointed. I’ll admit I’m still a bit skeptical of the toxin’s effects; however I can’t carry out the rest of my life limiting myself because I’m afraid to fail. 

“I’ve kept my head, Dr. Crane. There have been no new hallucinations or symptoms.”

My response takes a moment so set in. “I see.” 

Crane’s face shows no readable emotion; yet there’s no denying the aggravation itching under his skin. He goes to write more notes and I notice he’s holding the pen much tighter.

“You’re upset. Good.”

I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, victorious. There you have it, Dr. Crane. You can try to quiet me as much as you like but I won’t be the perfect patient you want me to be.

“My toxin hasn’t failed yet.” Now with a laid-back demeanor, Crane opens his briefcase and my mind races to the conclusion of what’s about to happen. “Maybe it’s time for a stronger dose-”

Bang bang!

A loud knock on the door startles both of us. It creaks open and a security guard pokes her head in.

“Dr. Crane, Rachel Dawes from the District Attorney’s Office is here to see you.”

The doctor takes a deep breath and regathers his thoughts. “Very well. We shall continue our session later, Prentiss.” He orders the guard to escort me back to my cell and leans in to whisper: “I suggest you keep quiet unless you want me to change your condition to a death sentence.”

Death. Something that used to bring back painful and guilty memories. Who knew that the loss of my parents would turn death into something so fascinating? The methods of death, the causes, the superstitions. Crane’s invitation of death might be the best thing that’s happened to me all day. 

In a fleeting moment I see a glimpse of a brown-haired woman in a black business suit turn around the corner. The D.A. lady!

“Help! Please! I’m not supposed to be here!” I grip the door and the guard tries to tug me away. My hope soars when I see the D.A. woman return with a confused look. “My name is Dr. Calico Prentiss from the Metropolis Hell’s Gate Psychiatric Institution! I am of sound mind and demand to speak to a lawyer- or at least just one person who’s not as corrupted as the rest of this insane city-!”

A cloth is shoved in my mouth and I feel something collide with my skull. I crumple to the ground and the guard gives a hard kick to my stomach for good measure. I stay like that for about 15 minutes and then hear familiar footsteps approaching. 

Crane kneels down and forces me against the wall, eyeing me with controlled anger.

“I don’t get mad often. But you seem to want to change that. For this I am going to subject you to special treatment.”

I’m pulled up to stand and Crane starts dragging me down the hall. Personal mortality is a personal understanding of one’s own mortality and acceptance of the fact that they are going to die. I now see that I will have to accept my death today. There’s no way I’m surviving after that stunt. 

“Special treatment? Like what? Electroshock therapy? Waterboarding? You know my worst fear is failure and that my parents are dead. What do I have to lose that death won’t deliver?”

The doctor tsks and waves a finger at me. “Oh, no. I’m not going to kill you. You could have had the same routine as the other inmates. But you couldn’t play the game, could you? Had to play the hero and try to tell the nice lawyer about the bad guy in the scary mask?" He acquires a vicious look in his eye. “No, I don’t think so.”

Crane forces me down several flights of stairs and I’m starting to lose track of where we are. I don’t remember this in the blueprints. Suddenly we stop and Crane uses a key to open a gate into another section of the building.

“Where are we?”

“In an abandoned wing of Arkham, where no one can hear you scream.” 

In the dark I see the gate close and hear the keys jiggling, locking me in. Before I can reach for something to defend myself, Crane flips on a dim, flickering light and locks in on me with a hungry gaze.

“You are my new lab rat, Calico Prentiss.”

So that’s it? I spend the rest of whatever time Crane gives me as a spare body for experiments. I should feel scared… But I’m not. 

“Knowing that your days are numbered gives your life a more powerful sense of meaning,” I say softly. “It sets a time limit to what we want to accomplish in life. If we didn’t have a limit on life we would never be motivated to do anything because life would go on forever.” The doctor’s perplexed expression shows I’ve caught his attention. “But my accomplishments have already been fulfilled, Dr. Jonathan Crane. I became a psychiatrist. I helped people. But in this sad, twisted world helping people only makes you a target.”

Grasping my nerves I step forward and accept my fate. “If my eventual death is to be for the use of science then so be it. But as Einstein said, time is relative. What might seem like a week to you seems like 10 years to me and visa versa. I’m more than capable of conjuring enough mental motivation to put up with whatever experiments you’ve got. Do your worst, Dr. Crane.”

My speech leaves the doctor wide-eyed as he keeps scanning me with curiosity. The first time he looked at me like that it felt unsettling, but now… Why do I feel encouraged to edge him on? It works because Crane’s advance has turned subtly gentle. 

“You are without a doubt one of the most unique patients I’ve discovered, even if you never were supposed to be one.” He holds out a hand as if he’s approaching a wild animal. “This doesn’t have to be as bad as you think. You need only cooperate and keep quiet. If you keep to that then I promise I won’t hurt you beyond my range of standards.”

Is he serious? He talks about being locked up and tested on as if it’s a simple business deal! 

“What exactly is your range of standards, Dr. Crane?”

He shrugs. “Being exposed to some toxins isn’t exactly the same as smelling a rose, dear. I can’t guarantee each dose will be merciful. But I will take precautions to prevent it, I assure you.”

This is seeming more and more like a discussion a surgeon has with their patient before undergoing surgery. If I didn’t know better I’d say he’s actually being… sympathetic. 

“And if I don’t cooperate then someone pays for the guards to look the other way and have someone bump me off?” Crane nods. I sigh heavily and consider my options. Compared to being beaten to a pulp in the street this doesn’t seem as brutal. And it’s in the name of science, which has never failed me before. “Very well. I will consent to your experiments, only if you let me back into group therapy. After each session I will return here.”

The doctor frowns. “Why return to group therapy? What guarantee do I have that you won’t tattle the second I let you back upstairs?”

“Because I am an ambivert, Dr. Crane. If you keep me locked down here with no other human contact then my mind will disorient and create inaccurate data for your tests. That, and I actually liked talking to Nigma and Ivy even if they’re not normal.”

“None of us here are normal, Dr. Prentiss,” Crane replies in a distant cold voice. 

I'm in way over my head. I never should have come to Gotham no matter how good the pay is. 

“However since you do make a fair point I will allow you 1 hour of group therapy each day.”

He budged. Is it just me or is Crane actually being nice? No, he just wants to dangle a carrot and make me play by the rules. Still, it’s a small win.

“Thank you, Dr. Crane.” 

“Try anything and I’ll arrange for you to live in constant terror for the rest of your life,” he responds in a laid-back tone and pats my shoulder before walking over and locking the gate behind him.

It’s no deal with the devil, yet why do I feel as if I’ve just signed my own death certificate?

[mummyukhumpyboy]

“Up” says mommy patting the padding of baby Jonathon’s custom build nappy changing table. It is stocked with customer made cloth nappies, and plastic pants that stretch over perfectly creating Jonathon’s crotch and bottom into the perfect beach ball.

Jonathon dutifully clambers up onto his special table, with a little puff through his strapped in pacifier. His legs forced apart my his padding, so carefully crafted my mommy. He’s wearing some short fleecy shorts that perfectly give glimpse of the yellow nursery printed pants that keeping his nappies firmly in place and crinkle consistent.

“Right baby, shall we look up at your gold stars chart - I think it is hump day!” It has been a month since baby’s last hump day, and boy was he ready for it. Baby started started arching his back and humping his bottom up and down in excitement. “Not yet baby!” Mommy said with a slap on his wayward crotch. “ we need to get you into your humpy nappies and plastic pants”

Mommy carefully selected a thick stack of crisp white nappies that were on display centrally just below baby’s gold star chart. Baby had been looking at them for weeks pining for the day he could make love to them. His bottom switched again and mommy once again slapped his crotch and told him he wouldn’t be getting any time with them if he couldn’t hold still. She set them down by his waist. “Ok Jonathon, shall we select which pants you’d like over them for the special occasion” mommy took three pairs of different pants out from the drawer below and presented them to baby. All different pattern and colours, baby eagerly pointed and grunted from behind his pacifier to pale pink once’s with ABC block on them. “Ah a clear winner then”. She fiddled around with a hook and some string, and the got to work removing Jonathon’s night time nappies in preparation for his humpy reward selection. “Ah here we go” tapping her nail on Jonathon’s chastity device. She removing it quickly and Jonathan immediately became excited. Mommy was quick to start laying her Jonathon’s reward nappies on, and my the time she was finished his bottom and crotch were perfectly round and ready for action. Mommy then did something strange and hung Jonathon’s chose plastic pants on the hook, that was hovering above Jonathon’s large crotch. “Ok, baby a little task for to complete, as you know, there’s is no reward without her humpy pants on, so you must use your bulging crotch to knock you pants down from the hook.” Jonathon looked confused but he understood the task at hand, mommy was always playing games with him. “You have a30 seconds to knock your pants down, if you fail you forfeit your right to hump this month” said mommy in a stern voice.

Jonathon looked at mommy, and back to his special pants. “1, 2, 3 go!” Said mommy, while she started a timer.

Jonathan determined to get his pants, got to work…

Part 2 coming soon

[thelaithlyworm]

for the writer's asks!

2. talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked you dead in the eyes and said “fuck your plan, here’s what we’re actually doing.”

7. tell us about the plot of the first fanfic you ever wrote

20. what is your favorite trope to write?

2. Hmmm. So once upon a time I was writing an original fic for NaNoWriMo, and my two leads had been switched at birth, and were now somewhere in their twenties with a Whole Mess of Political Intrigue about to boil up around them. Ah... part of it is up on ao3, under "Jonathon Lily"? I never finished it and I was a lot younger so I make no claims to quality. I had planned on having them meet in a casino in a riverboat and some kind of brawl spring up but ended up changing my plans, but I still wanted that introduction of the FL kind of sweaty and louche so I kept the scene and shifted the POV to her little university friend Matthew. Who was just there to be a pair of eyes and possibly a sprech-hund, no narrative significance to speak of, invented on the fly. The little top-knotted fucker ended up dominating my plot. Another minor character did the same thing, when I wondered if two unnamed girls put in separate incidents to fill out the scene might be the same person, and if so how, and ended up with an incredibly complicated backstory and a touching relationship arc with one of the antagonists. Argh. I'm. I'm a bit of a pantser, I guess. (Still a bit sad I never finished the story. Oh well.)

7. Ah, that would be "My Adventure, by Belladonna Baggins nee Took". I'd been re-reading The Hobbit, and the opening chapter says that Bilbo's mother was kinda cool but doesn't give details, so I wanted to give her something to do. In this case, she encounters a couple of Elves who wants to visit the Sea and escorts them, and a lot of it is fun and games but also they encounter trouble on the way and when they finally get to the Sea the Elves (who are very young), immediately drop everything to travel west. So it was one of those fluffy fics with an undercurrent of tragedy, and I had So Much Fun doing Tolkien-style poetry you have no idea. (Also, a straight journey from The Shire to the Sea is very short and simple, so I came up with an arduous explanation for why they took a massive detour by following rivers. I regret nothiiing.) I think... I mean there's the excuse plot of the journey, but the actual plot is that Bilbo's Mother was also once young and longed to see mountains.

20. Awkward intimacy, I think. Enemies stuck tending each other's wounds and sheltering from a storm. Friends who don't know how to say I love you in words but their every action resounds with it. Navigating secrets and old pain as kindly as one can...

Thank you for asking!

[goldenagenonsense]

Action Comics No. 1 [June 1938]

The OG. The first true-blood superhero. The big man himself, Superman. From what I’ve heard, any physical copy of this issue in good enough condition can be worth a couple million dollars. Can you imagine, something that once cost a dime worth more than most people’s annual income?? Bonkers.

Anywho, let’s get into it.

Have to admit, the thing that catches my eye here is that logo on his costume. The rest of it is the same timeless classic design everyone knows, but that logo... not gonna lie, it looks weird. Kind of a little flick-and-swish instead of the blocky print of more modern superman logos.

I suppose the other big question is, who the fuck are these dudes. Why is Superman smashing their car. Why are they in the middle of the desert in Arizona. All mysteries that will probably never be solved.

Moving on, we’re given Superman’s origin story: A distant planet was destroyed by old age, so a scientist placed his infant son within a hastily-designed spaceship and shot him off to Earth! When it landed, a passing motorist discovered the sleeping child and turned him over to... an orphanage? Huh. Huh.

Like, I do get that this is well before any comic books cared about things like ‘backstory’ and ‘civilian lives’ and whatnot, but I admit I’m so used to the whole ‘taken in by Martha and Jonathon Kent’ thing that him initially being an orphanage kid is downright bizarre. Like, could you even IMAGINE trying to pull that in a modern day comic? Impossible. But at the same time, so compelling... hmm...

The backstory continues with baby Clark’s impressive feats of strength - as a baby, he could lift a reclining chair with one arm. By maturity, he could easily: 

leap an eighth of a mile

hurdle over a twenty-story building

raise tremendous weights (pictured holding an I-bar over his head with one arm)

run faster than an express train

and “nothing less than an exploding shell could penetrate his skin”

I checked the stats for the train thing, and in 1938, the best in the line steam trains (in the US) had an average operating speed of 100 mph [160 km/h] and a top speed of 125 mph [200 km/h]. So I imagine that those are OG Clark’s ‘run’ and ‘sprint’ speeds as well.

We conclude the backstory page with a note that early on, Clark decided to turn his titanic strength into channels that would benefit mankind. Thus: Superman! Champion of the oppressed, the physical marvel who has sworn to devote his existence to helping those in need!

Also, oh my god, it has a blurb about the ‘scientific explanation’ for Clark Kent’s amazing strength.

Like, is this still nonsense? Yes, but I mean. Technically, it’s nonsense with some science to it. I kind of like it - it’s impressive, but not fantastical.

We finally move on to the action: Superman, racing through the night, a blond woman bound and gagged under his arm. When he reaches the governor’s house, he leaves her sitting under a tree, telling her to make herself comfortable, since he doesn’t have the time to.

Superman knocks on a door, and someone (an aide? a butler? IDK man) answers. The doorman demands to know why Superman is knocking at such a late hour. Superman states that he has to see the governor - it’s a matter of life and death! The doorman closes the door and says to come back in the morning. Superman refuses, smashing his way in and saying he’ll see him now.

The doorman is shaken, stating (fairly) that this is illegal entry, and he’ll have Supes arrested. Supes again demands to be taken to the governor. When the doorman refuses, Superman just picks the guy up and holds him overhead while marching up the stairs, ignoring the man’s cries for help.

A new obstacle appears - for some reason, the governor’s sleeping room is locked AND made of steel. The doorman is smug as he tells Superman that he won’t get away with this outrage, and that there’s absolutely no way this door can be knocked down-

Ah, cinematic poetry. Gotta love it.

The governor, woken by the chaos, turns on his bedside lamp while demanding to know what’s happening. Superman, holding a rolled up paper, tells the governor that Evelyn Curry is to be electrocuted in fifteen minutes for murder. However, he has a written confession that’s proof of her innocence!

The butler (aha! Finally, confirmation!) pulls out a gun, convinced Superman is a madman threatening the governor. He tells Supes to reach for the ceiling; Supes tells him to put ‘that toy’ away. The butler warns Superman he’ll shoot, and then proceeds to do so - to no effect, as the bullet ricochets off of Superman. Superman steps forward to take away the gun, stating it’s no time for horseplay, then returns his focus to the governor.

As the timer counts down to nine minutes left, Superman tells the governor that only he is capable of saving the innocent woman. The governor asks for the papers, and then makes a call to the penitentiary. The next panel briefly hops over to the execution room, where Miss Curry takes massive relief in the news that the governor has pardoned her. She had told them she was innocent!

(I wonder - if the governor had refused, would Clark have rushed to break the woman out himself? I would think he would, but it would probably be breaking the law a bit more than he already has with the whole ‘breaking and entering’ thing happening here.)

When we return to the governor’s house, Superman has already disappeared. However, he did leave behind a note stating that the real murderess would be found bound and gagged on the lawn of his estate.

We have a brief time skip to the next morning, when Clark Kent is leaving for his job as a reporter for the local newspaper. His neighbor is reading the morning paper, telling Clark all about how the Curry girl was found innocent. When Clark asks to read it himself, he’s inwardly relieved to find he’s not mentioned anywhere.

However, things aren’t that simple. At the same time, over in the governor’s private chamber, he’s meeting with several other important people, telling them all about how the man who had broken in was definitely not human! The only relief to be found was that said man seemed to be on the side of law and order.

When Clark enters the Daily Star - wait, what? Alright, I know it’s literally inconsequential, but that’s still an interesting difference between then and now. I wonder when that was changed and why?

Anyway! Clark is called into his boss’ office; the boss asks him to sit, then wants to know if Clark has ever heard of ‘Superman.’ When Clark expresses his shock/confusion, the boss clarifies - reports have been streaming in about a fellow with gigantic strength called Superman, and he’s making it Clark’s ongoing assignment to cover these reports.

Clark, with a totally not shit-eating grin, states confidently that if he can’t find out anything about Superman, then no one can!

Like look. Listen. That is the face of a man who has just been gifted the perfect alibi/cover for all his nonsense, and is barely keeping himself from cackling in delight. You know he’s internally rubbing his hands together in glee.

As Clark leaves the boss’ office, one of his co-workers lets him know that a tip was phoned in - a wife-beating on 211 Court Ave! Leaving aside the fact that said tipster should have probably been calling the police, Clark accepts the tip and hurries off.

[Insert from friends:

[Tyler] I mean historically domestic violence was treated differently to today, maybe it made sense to call the newspaper back then?

Wikipedia seems to be suggesting that while the cops would stop a wife beater by that time, there was a low chance of arrest, so maybe a newspaper article makes sense as a longer term punishment if the cops won’t help?

[Solem] I'd assume that the police were called first, and that it's someone from the police calling the paper -- dunno if they still do this, but it used to be that newspapers got bulletins like that so they could add the crimes to the public record and write up the police blotter. Hence why it was the perfect incognito place for Clark to work and keep his ear to the ground for trouble.]

When he arrives at the scene, he’s already changed into his costume and demands the man to stop. The man is holding a belt and standing over his wife, who is lying on the ground, covering her face, but stops to turn and demand to know what Superman wants, and to not get tough. Superman grabs him by the throat and lifts him up, saying that tough is a mild way to put the treatment the man is about to get. He then throws the man at the nearby wall, stating that he’s not fighting a woman now!

It seems that Supes is holding back, because the wall is undamaged, and the man is still conscious, choosing to attack Supes with a knife. However, the man has even less luck than the butler on that front - the knife breaks on Superman’s skin, leaving the man no recourse but to recoil in fear, and then faint.

Superman hears police sirens and quickly changes back into his civilian clothes, thinking of how bad it’d be if they searched him. By the time the officer steps in through the busted door, Clark Kent is kneeling over the unconscious man. The officer demands to know what Clark is doing there; Clark replies that he arrived to find the place like this, and that it seems that Superman had dropped in for a visit. [Also, gotta love that ‘tho’ is used in this panel.]

Another time skip, and we’re back in the office. This time, however, we see Clark awkwardly asking Lois out on a date, and her deigning to give him a break for once. Good to know that Lois hasn’t changed one bit in the past 80-something years.

That night, Lois and Clark are dancing together at some kind of... I guess restaurant? A party or event? There are tables for dining, but there’s also couples dancing, so like. It’s probably some kind of event, but I couldn’t tell you more than that. Clark asks why Lois always avoids him at the office. Lois tells him she’s been writing sob stories all day, and doesn’t want to dish out another.

[Insert from friends:

[Delci] You watch a lot of old black and white movies and this is shown all the time, dancing was a very big thing back then, like the only time to really socialize lol. Basically a club, eat, dance and listen to live entertainment.]

Over at one of the tables, three guys are chatting about her. Green suit thinks she’s nice looking and decides to cut in. Blue suit is cautious, worried that her escort [Clark] won’t like it. Green suit says it doesn’t matter, he’ll just punch Clark’s face in. Yellow suit is just excited to be here.

Green suit marches over and demands Clark leave. Clark notes that this isn’t a robber’s dance, and green suit gets annoyed, asking if he’s trying to be ‘flip’ (which i guess is shorthand for ‘flippant’) and again tells him to get moving, quick. Lois demands to know if Clark is going to stand for this. Clark reluctantly plays into his weakling persona, asking her to give the guy one dance so they can leave quickly. 

She is having none of it, hands on her hips as she tells Clark that HE can dance with green suit, but she’s leaving now. Green suit is annoyed at her flippancy, and tells her he’ll dance with him and she’ll like it. Lois, done with this man’s shit, slaps him in the face. Clark gives a quiet cheer for her, then more loudly frets for her to stop.

Green suit probably caught the mutter, because he shoves a hand in Clark’s face and demands he fight (calling him a ‘weak livered pole-cat’ in the process, a fantastic insult); Clark demures and deflects.

Lois, already in her evening coat, is already heading out the door. Clark follows after her, asking her to wait. She doesn’t stop even after she gets into a taxi, telling him the reason she avoids him: because he’s a spineless, unbearable coward! (Yeowch.)

Back inside, green suit is pissed, rallying his friends to go after her and show her that she can’t make a fool of Butch Matson. Dude, I hate to tell you this, but she already did. Sucks to suck, man. :/

A few minutes later, Superman is on the scene, watching a familiar green car leave the roadhouse with three hoodlums inside. The car quickly catches up to the taxi, ramming into it and forcing it into a ditch. The suits pull her out of the taxi and force her into their car, while she demands they let her go. As they drive away, Butch complains that he let her boyfriend off easy. Blue suit states that they might meet again, and Butch replies that he hopes it’ll be soon.

As the car speeds forward, Superman stops in the road in front of it, hands on his hips. Blue suit(?) warns him of the guy ahead, while Butch just laughs and says that he’ll scare the guy a bit. Blue suit is worried about hitting him, though, especially as they approach and Superman doesn’t move. 

At the last moment, Superman leaps over the top of the car without touching it, then starts dashing in pursuit, freaking out blue suit. Blue suit tells Butch to step on the gas; Butch compares Supes to the Devil himself. Despite their speed, Superman catches up easily, and holds the car over his head. He dumps all the occupants out - Lois included, double whoops! - and then smashes the car into bits against a rock. Which is the cover scene! Just with different clothes for the ‘civilians’.

After the car is dealt with, Superman chases down Butch and leaps up with him to the top of a power pole, hanging the man by his suit jacket to one of the parallel planks. When Butch demands to be let down, Superman offers to cut him loose, which has Butch backtrack immediately.

Superman then approaches a shocked Lois, gently telling her that she doesn’t need to be afraid, that he won’t harm her. (Definitely thinking this is a whole angel/Bible reference with the whole ‘be not afraid’ bit.) He then picks her up in a bridal carry and rushes her back to the city outskirts, advising her not to print anything about what happened.

The next morning, Lois is raving about it to the editor, trying to convince him that she saw Superman. The editor is skeptical, asking a bit mockingly whether it wasn’t pink elephants she saw. This honestly just had me realize that when said editor put Clark on the whole ‘Superman’ thing, he probably was skeptical, and considering that it’s only been a day since said assignment, said editor probably is still skeptical of Superman’s existance.

Anyway, that little segment ends with Clark trying to apologize for the previous night, but Lois is having none of it, outright icing him out.

Clark soon enough recieves a new assignment - the front page is getting dull, to the point of headlining card games. Apparently, there’s a war going on in a small South American republic, ‘San Monte,’ and he’s sending Clark there as correspondant. He tells Clark to take along a camera and to try to send some good shots with his articles.

Instead of going to San Monte, Clark goes over to Washington DC. Which I can’t blame him for, since that’s definitely a scandal in the making far closer to home. Clark attends a session of Congress, watching from the gallery. After recieving confirmation on the identity of Senator Barrows, Clark discretely follows up post-session by snapping a picture of Barrows speaking to a shady character about meeting up that night at at his home. He then goes to the local paper to learn more about the shady man, and finds out his name is Alex Greer, the slickest lobbiest in Washington... and no one knows who backs him.

By the time 8:30 PM rolls around, Superman is clinging to the side of a skyscraper, multiple stories up, eavesdropping on their conversation. Which is hilarious for many, many reasons. Mostly because it’s now no fucking wonder he and Bruce are friends when they pull the exact same snooping nonsense.

Barrows reminds Greer that he’s supposed to be avoiding him in public. What would people think if they knew they knew each other? Greer tells him to stop sputtering, he had to see him. He has to know if the senator will succeed in pushing the bill through. Barrows confirms it will, well before its full implications are realized. Before anyone knows it, the country will be embroiled with Europe!

...wait. Wait wait, this is a bill about joining the war in Europe? No, this was before World War Two started! So what, is this trying to kick off a war? Or just getting economically bogged down with Europe in general? I admit I’m not sure, but in that context, yeah, this is definitely something to be concerned about.

Greer is pleased, stating that Barrows will be financially compensated for this. Barrows rhetorically asks whether Greer is getting taken care of as well. Supermna, listening in, thinks that he definitely will - though probably not in the way either of the two are thinking.

On leaving the building, Greer is confronted by Superman, who wants to know who’s backing him. Greer tries to deny the accusations, but Supes is having none of it, grabbing him by the hand and saying they’ll see whether he’ll talk. When Greer demands he let go of his hand, Supes just grabs him by the foot instead and takes off in a huge leap.

Master of malicious complaince, Clark is.

Greer panics about electrocution as they come in for a landing on some telephone wires. Superman assures him they won’t - birds sit on wires all the time, and they aren’t fried - at least, not unless they touch a pole and are grounded! Superman then leaps over a pole with an ‘oops!’ that’s all about fucking with this man.

Again, I am very quickly realizing how this man and Bruce ‘I dangle criminals over the edge of buildings’ Wayne are besties. It’s all about the subtle death threats with those two.

Superman points out the capitol, suggesting they pay it a visit. Greer is still demanding to be put down, but Clark just wants to admire the view from the top of the White House. He then wonders out loud whether they can make the jump all the way across to the building, ignoring Greer’s increasing panic in order to do so - and apparently misses.

...and this concludes issue 1, or at least the part about Superman. The end of that last panel gives a little ‘to be continued’ note, followed up by a panel reminding readers to not miss an issue so as to keep on reading about Superman. Man, what an adventure.

Have to admit, I was genuinely surprised by some of this. Like, I knew Superman didn’t start out with the thousand and five powers he has in modern comics, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so... grounded? Kind of wild. I could easily see a lot more ways this version of him could be challenged meaningfully beyond just ‘the enemy has Kryptonite and/or magic to weaking him’ and/or ‘it’s a situation where he can’t bruce force it without things going horribly wrong.’

Likewise, orphan Supes has some kind of compelling art to it. While I definitely favor Ma and Pa Kent as a reason he grew up kind, and I also get how there’s no way the whole ‘random motorist runs into a baby in a spaceship and just takes them to an orphanage’ thing would work nowadays, it’s still interesting to consider how such a backstory would have to be adjusted to at least be plausible.

Also, I know I made a joke earlier about ‘get me photos of Superman’ but like. Oh my god, Peter Parker isn’t the neighborhood menace, fucking Superman is. Breaking and entering, eavesdropping, destruction of property; this man just cannot be stopped. Truly, an auspicious start to one of the most iconic superheroes of all time.

Can’t wait for the next issue!

[phoenixwrites]

I actually recently read a fic that had a tiny bit if Jonathon and it mentioned Eddue not liking him because he was once accidentally rude to Chrissy and I love the idea of them having a one sided feud. Like, Eddie complains about him all the time and insults him and Jonathon thinks he's fooling around and then after a few months Eddie has bonded with him and dramatically calls for a conclusion to their feud and the beginning of their friendship and Jonathon is like 'we were fighting?????'

That's actually fucking hilarious.

I very strongly believe Eddie and Jonathan would be friends if they knew each other--they both have the same disdain towards conformity and societal expectations, connoisseurs of weed, Eddie is just louder about it. (And of course, they both end up with popular girlfriends)

But you know, you may have convinced me, I kind of adore the idea of Jonathan thinking they're good friends and Eddie considering him his nemesis for a long period of time before finally Eddie is like, "OKAY. Byers. You're all right, man. This feud has gone on long enough." And high out of his mind Jonathan going puppydog eyes: "feud...?"

Jonathan doesn't have a ton of male friends outside of Argyle, it makes sense to me that he was would be like "ah Eddie was just ribbing me" and Nancy going "I don't think he was..."

[mistahjs-jester]

Joker x Oc (Part 7)

Joker queries menacingly "Forget to ah invite me to the party? Where is she, Johnny boy?"

      I try not to give away my position as I listen. "She doesn't want anything to do with you, Joker." Jonathon states calmly. "And you ah think you can just cure her? Make her have something to do with you?" Joker shoots back. Jonathon answers sternly. "I'm protecting her, unlike you." 

    I start to dissociate and before I know it I'm mixed with another alter who is causing me to come out of hiding with the gun behind my back. Joker notices immediately and takes in my demeanor. "Oh how I've missed you, Rose." Jonathon looks in shock and then his face smooths back out as he looks between Joker and 'Rose'. 

      Rose stays silent and so does Joker as they both step forward. Joker says in a fake sweet voice. "I uh love you Rose. Sweet sweet Rose. Remember the times we've had? The good old times?" Rose remains silent as he finally gets close enough and she takes the gun from behind herself, points it and fires 3 bullets into Joker who staggers backwards, holding his chest while giggling. "Good old Rose." He coughs up blood as he continues to fall to the ground seemingly in slow motion. I look in abject horror as his jagged breathing slows and I come to completely in control to meet Jonathon's eyes.  

      He notices the shift and asks quietly. "Sage?" My eyes tear up a bit in my overwhelmed state, shakily dropping the gun and watching as the Joker takes one last breath. Dead. He was finally dead and I…. Rose… did it. 

      I stand completely stiff and dissociated not saying a word. He was finally dead. He could never touch me again. 

     Everything went by in a whirl of emotions and I found myself soaking in a lavender bath drawn with candles around me, the smell of Chinese food in the other room. I realized to myself I was hungry but the bath was so calming so I relaxed until I couldn't bear the feeling of my prune like skin. 

      I get out and grab a towel, drying myself then heading for the bedroom. I change in a green and white striped long sleeved, baggy shirt with some leggings. I wanted to be comfortable. 

       I get to where the smell was coming from and Jonathon smiles at me sympathetically, portioning some food onto a plate for me then handing it to me. 

   The Joker's body had been moved and the spot he was at since cleaned leaving nothing but a memory of him in my mind. Good. I needed that. 

      Both Jonathon and I ate in silence as smooth jazz lowly played in the room. He gives me small smiles occasionally that don't quite reach his eyes before finally finishing his food and claiming he was off to bed. 

     I nod and wordlessly watch him leave. When he's gone I lie on the couch, turning on the TV and watching whatever movie was on without absorbing it. 

      Joker was dead. I kept repeating in my head. Joker was dead.

[kiss-my-freckle]

Episode 10x10 Rewatch

The Postman, his girlfriend, Carrie Baker, and the Maryland AG.

Tom, Liz, Eugene Ames, and Connolly.

"I believe that if she is given a fair trial by a jury of her peers, there aren’t 12 people in America who wouldn’t agree with me.” - Ressler

Cooper and The Postman show otherwise. 

Juror: Cash stolen from her wallet... and Nelson's DNA on the purse.

Interrogator: But your partial prints were on the device. Liz: That’s not possible.

“What the hell?”

Between Sleep And Awake

Ressler is sponsoring Jonathon the way Lauren sponsored him.

Jonathan: Ah, it just makes me realize how busted I was before. Ressler: Hey, I was a wreck at your point in recovery, I hadn't even shaved yet.

Broken and dead. 

Jonathan: But right now, I'm just really happy to be back in the world of the living.

Barber: You all right, son? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.

The point of the car.

Ressler: I didn’t know it at the time, but that car wasn’t the only thing I was fixing. I mean, when I started, it was - it was broken. Nothing about it worked. It was - It was dead to the world.

Red velvet cake pops, Son Phillip to Father Phillip...

Herbie: Rosaries. Ressler: Rosaries? As in Catholicism? Herbie: Yeah, brought me right back to Father Phillip telling me I was going straight to hell for not using a hall pass. That's a heavy load to put on a kid with a small bladder, especially right before his bar mitzvah.

Hitchin: Hand to God, how amazing was Saturday? I know I’m his mom, but Phillip’s Bar Mitzvah - cutest thing ever. Wright: It was incredible. Hitchin: Although my idiot husband did order 500 extra swag bags, so one for you, one for you -

Greatest dialogue of the episode, Keenler Baby...

Agnes: Except one of us is secretly an imposter.

Between Sleep And Awake. The shooting death of Tom Connolly.

Tom, 2x21: All right, dream scenario. We finish our coffee...

Ressler, 2x22: Damn it, Liz, wake up...

Aram: You’re right. That’s a - That’s a different boat. Ressler: It’s a different ocean.

The Harbormaster Investigation

Cooper: It's just that someone from my past has suddenly popped out of the woodwork. Red: Ghosts like to do that, don't they? Pop out of the woodwork.

Ressler: Tom Keen came out of the woodwork. Cooper: Keen? Does he know something?

Complicated...

Juror: It's not that complicated. There's either DNA or there's not. Cooper: It's not complicated because you want to go home.

Nik: Whoa. You’re… I didn’t know. And Tom’s… Obviously. It’s just… when I saw you last, it didn’t seem like you were together. Liz: It’s complicated.

Cape May waters and the marina where Tom moored his boat... 

Red: As a man with some criminal experience, I can assure you that sometimes forces much greater than ourselves help to lead us to those waters.

Liz: That’s not how the truth works. You don’t get to pick and choose. Not if you want to learn how to swim.

Tom: We don’t save people, Gina. We watch them drown.

Good vs bad...

Juror: You really want this kid to be innocent. But guess what. Sometimes people do bad things! 

Red: Bad things happen to good people. 

Bad luck... 

Juror: Oh, come on, though. If he didn't do it with evidence as is, he's got to be the unluckiest SOB in Baltimore. Cooper: Unlucky isn't a crime.

Red: What I do know is that – whether it’s chance or karma, DNA or fate, or just bad luck - this is where you are now. This is who you’ve become. A criminal. A fugitive.

The washer necklace... bad luck.  

Liz: I don’t know what happened. I used to consider myself lucky. I had a husband I loved, a job I always wanted. I was the kind of person good things happen to. [...] Red: Sometimes bad luck is the best luck you’ll ever have.

Liz: You want to see what else brings me luck? Agnes: What is that? Liz: Did I ever tell you how your Daddy asked me to marry him?

Tom, Judge Denner, and Connolly... 

Juror: Okay. What about this? Two days ago, his girlfriend swore on a Bible, took the stand, and told us that Lawrence Nelson privately confessed to the murder. How do you explain that? Cooper: He is insistent that conversation never happened with her.

Cooper: I recognize that it's improbable, but maybe there's a reason his girlfriend would've lied about his confession. She was already at the police station for some other reason when she made that accusation. And before we send a man to prison, I think we should know why. Juror: That information was struck from the record by the judge.

The Postman: I'm not signing a confession. Cooper: It's not a confession. It's a 30 -year-old transcript of your old girlfriend's first conversation with the police on the night of Carrie Baker's murder, the same conversation that made her the star witness against you in court. That transcript should've been given to your counsel. It wasn't. The Postman: She doesn't mention me. At all. Cooper: The BPD was investigating her for drug charges. The fact that she gave them a story about you less than 24 hours after the murder and that the prosecution withheld this information at trial suggests that she may have testified against you as part of a quid-pro-quo deal orchestrated by the prosecutor. The Postman: She was scared to go to prison. So she sent me instead.

Like Tom and his private confession to Judge Denner, only for Connolly to walk in. Quid-pro-quo. How Liz went from Eugene Ames to Most Wanted.

Tom: Wait! Listen! I will make a confession. I will give you a full deal. But you have to promise me that you leave Liz out of this. Connolly: THAT deal won’t happen.

Liz: What’s gonna happen to Tom? Connolly: Who? Liz: My ex-husband, Tom Keen? Connolly: I never met him. There’s no Tom Keen in federal custody.

A reason Tom Keen walked out of federal custody and Liz walked in... just like The Postman. And like The Postman... might as well have arrived in a pine box. 

Reminds me of the Drexel painting. 

And with Karakurt vibes. 

Hitchin: And what if he opens the door? Director: Well, we return to the original plan. We take Elizabeth Keen to an undisclosed location for questioning, from which she will try to escape. And then we’ll be forced to shoot her. In any case, you are looking at a ghost.

The difference between season 3 and season 8 Liz...

Cooper: You were so adamant then that you were innocent. We have to hold you accountable for your new crimes. Still, I'm gonna do everything I can to have the original crime expunged from your record.

Agnes make all the difference...

Cooper: And I'm going to try to hold Christopher Jay accountable too. The Postman: What difference does it make now? Cooper: It makes all the difference.

Jennifer: So he did this to you. Liz: What difference does it make? We’re so close! Jennifer: The difference that it makes is that I’m worried that he’s gonna do it to me.

Liz makes all the difference... 

Ressler: I’m just saying, if she did reach out to you, if you actually saw her, you might think differently. Aram: Did she reach out to you? Ressler: No, she didn’t. But if she did– I’m just saying it might make a difference.

Ressler: Look, I know what Cooper said– Aram: He didn’t “say,” he ordered. Ressler: Yeah, but I told you, if you saw her you’d think differently.

Aram: You were right. It is different.

Not a Keen, but a Ressler. 

Liz: I am attempting to build a life with the father of my child.

Why Liz is now dead. 

Director: In any case, you are looking at a ghost.

Because of her second memory wipe. It’s all there. Karakurt and the Orea bombing, chemical weapon and the senator, Connolly's shooting.

[luciouslaughs]

WRITING: "Dragons respect the strong," the dragon said. "Okay, so if that's true why do you never attack that one old farmer outside the city." Asked the adventurer. "I'll repeat, Dragons respect the strong."

They used to tell stories about Farmer Deadeye. No, that wasn't his real name. There were several farmers at the local pub who claimed to know it, but at any question of revealing this information, they'd simply scoff and return to their drinks. Deadeye, it seemed, liked the children staying clear of his house.

The stories themselves ranged from the impressive to the terrifyingly absurd. There was the tale they told of the time he dragged a horse 2 miles through a storm after it exhausted itself running from a pack of Darters. As you may know, Darters are a particularly fierce little land dragon that hunt in large packs. They swarm about like mosquitos, taking bites until the target has no more joints left to swing the hole-pocked limbs. The horse, miraculously, survived with only a few nips on its' hindquarters and flank.

Then there was the tale of the Talking Dragon.

Everyone knows these days that Talking Dragons exist, but they are often either so wicked that humanity is but sport to them, or so old and shrouded in that Dragonish shine of knowledge that most humans are but twittering birds to them; something to admire for a moment, maybe ask a rhetorical question or wave a great paw to frighten them away for some amusement.

I was present at the first telling, which is the only reason I choose to share this particular ridiculous tale above all the other ludicrous ones. Unlike the stories told by the children, and the posing grandparents and bar regulars who simply liked to sound impressive, this story is dominated by the power of word. And maybe that is what makes it so interesting. If Old McCare wanted to tell a tall tale, he would have screamed of a great battle, or of Farmer Deadeye hurling a fence post at a great beast and driving it off.

But McCare's story began quite differently from the rest. He seemed shaken that night, as if he had nearly fallen a great height and barely caught himself only a few moments before coming in. He tugged quietly at his drink as a couple curious regulars (including myself) tried to pull the story out of him. When he finally looked at us with tired eyes and began, he spoke softly.

"Weren't not but half a mile from me own farm, down by the old creek near Densbury. I was walking along, quiet like, and before I knows quite what's goin' on, there's a great black shadow round and over me head." McCare laughed shakily. "Well, I can tell ye I had not much thought but of makin' a dash for it when the great shadow, quick as lightning, grows to the size of a house and with a crash I'm seeing the scales and the wings. Big golden feller, with eyes like a fox's." He shook his head, lifting the drink back to his lips.

It was around this time that a ripple of laughter cascaded past me from a couple of the younger farmers. One of them sitting next to me, a man named Jonathon, patted the old man on the shoulder. "Ah, but you're expecting us to believe this great beast circled you as a hawk circles a rabbit, landed in front of you, and here you sit filling the pocket of scoundrels like Robinson?"

More laughter followed these words, and a general quiet cursing from the general direction of the bartender. McCare took no notice of this. He simply dragged his drink for a moment, and continued.

"Aye, you'd think I were not but hatchlin' meal- as it as I were in no position to run; great thing's landin' shook the earth around it like pudding, and I was on me back. And if it had been a normal dragon I'm sure that would have been the end. But this one, this one spoke to me." The last words were barely a whisper, but everyone heard them.

General uproar. Some laughter, some genuine shouts of "a talking dragon?!", "could he be serious?!" and the like, and some scoffs and words of disapproval- "scarin' folks for no reason-", "always some fool tryin' to outdo the last liar-", and so on and so on.

When the noise settled back down, McCare finally recounted the part that would be told for years, decades, maybe even centuries to come.

"Well, he says to me in a voice like a bull and a cat and a crow all in one, 'little mortal, either I am mistaken, or you seek a petty price for the weight of your soul.'

Well, to be sure I weren't quite aware of his meanin' and, bein' so happy not bein' eaten and all, I supposes to myself 'I may as well return his riddle if I can!' And so I says, looking into those great monstrous eyes, 'great master of the skies, you behold a mortal with little of either and very often mistaken. Do I misunderstand your meaning, o Lord of Sea and Flame?'

At this, the dragon throws back his head and laughs like a great bell of flesh and bone. He peers at me and says, 'oh little mortal, your reply is satisfactory, although it is not dazzling. You have thus saved yourself from the fate of becoming my son's next meal, and earn yourself the reward of a question. For it is the strong who shall be treated as equals, and dragonborn shall respect them.'

I says to the dragon, thinking the only thought that may have come to my mind as I stood there, shaking in my terror and wonder, 'I say, Mr. Dragon, your people attack our towns near daily, as I reckon. How comes I've never seen a dragon go after that old farmer down the road there?'

And the dragon turns to follow my finger as I point to Deadeye's farm, and a little grin comes upon his face.

'The little mortal who dwells within that hut has earned our benevolence,' says he. 'In the days of the Great Skyworms of the East, he wrestled my brother, Sliv'je the Fang for a whole day and night before being bested.'

'Bested?' I says, me mouth going dry. 'But, o Winged bringer of the Justice and Time, would you not have killed the poor man then?

And once again, the dragon laughed. And somehow-" McCare paused in his story, staring down at a spot on the table, "-somehow, it was nicer laugh this time.

'Little mortal,' says he, 'if a mouse wrestled a dog for a morning and an afternoon before fleeing, would the dog ever think to make a mouthful of it again?'"

END

LUCIOUSLAUGHS

[handelplayssims]

A new Sunday! Meredith’s whim is to be friendly to a non-household sim, which lines up nicely with my plans. My plans to invite people over to ask about NAPs! And repealing them! Oh man, failure on Shulk. That ain’t good. We only got Agatha and two other random folk Meredith somehow is vaguely aware of. Oh and Moria Fyres! Thank you random call asking about the Flea Market. ...which I wish I could go but man, I got NAPs. Politics! Also, all of the calls about befriending Simeon are returing. Only one not interested is Leslie. Not bad at all. Next is Agatha and she immedately set to cross-stiching. ...which honestly sounds like something Meredith would be interested in. Let me get a cross-stich thing in this house! Annnd no dice on Agatha as well. Come on over Moria! A yes from Moria! Thank you! Random scientist number 1! Jonathon, who’s squeemish evidently. Not a good trait for a Scientist I’d wager. Also high maintenance. Yep, those traits go well together, mmhm! Annnnd, success! All five repeal signatures got! Now we can get back to Meredith’s whims again. To make money!

Some woodcarvings later and we got 100 simoloeans. But that’s not enough for me. I want a bit of a stash of woodcarvings. Oh and Markus got level 5 communication and level 5 movement while Meredith was doing other things. Just chatting with strangers and running around. Everyone’s gone now and Markus is tired out. So it’s time to read to sleep. While Meredith heads back to her woodworking table to woodwork some more! And laundry. Gotta make that money. ...OH SNAP I FORGOT IT WAS A WORK DAY! TO BED! TO BED!

Neighborhood Watch!

Forgotten Hollow: The Allocco household recently moved in.

Manabu Matsuda in the Matsuda household has died. Manabu thought he could conquer the mountain, but the mountain conquered him.

Another day to rise and go to work at. And desperately trying to help with Markus’s needs before Meredith heads off. Also the bills rolled in. Again. Ho boy, we’re under 10,000. I don’t like that! Anyway, that means Markus gains more skills...and also comes home hungry and with low fun. Again, what do they do at those daycares? Meredith tends to both his needs and hers and with what little time we have before bed, I set her up to cross-stitch. It only made 90 simoleans, 10 more than the initial price. Yeesh. I had to sell one of my saved woodworks in order to get that 100 similoean whim. Ah well. To bed once more.

Neighborhood Watch!

Autumn Truong in the Truong household has died. Autumn stayed in the sun a little too long and overheated.

Robin Harkins in the Harkins household has died. Shockingly, Robin botched a repair and was electrocuted.

Tatum Olivas in the Olivas household retired from the Painter career.

Henford-on-Bagley: The Lucena hosuehold recently moved in.

...lets add in one more day of work. It’s the work-from-home day even. The job asks for filing a legal motion and researching current case. Welp. Let’s get to work. But first, the toddler needs a bath. And food. Food for both. And then it’s playtime around the house while Meredith files that legal motion. Then we head off for the library. The case marker was quickly settled because someone swore and that took Meredith off the computer. Of which, I call cheating. So I resettled her back in to research. Besides which, she needs to level up that Research and Debate skill! It’s literally what’s holding her back from a promotion. Research done, and after waking up a napping Markus, it’s time to return home. He’s hungry and she’s about to be. So food and then sleep time for both.

Neighborhood Watch!

Ronen Koenig in the Koenig household has died. Shockingly, Ronen botched a repair and was electrocuted.

Henford-on-Bagley: The Lucena household recently moved out.

Marcos Rushing in the Rushing household retired from his job as a Daycare Admin in the Babysitter career.

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, Pt. 3.7

Previously on Terrarium Lights: so they know who the ghost is. What now? (Next part >>here)

Gail considered heading back to the lighthouse the next day, but, despite her seeming abundance of free time, she did, in fact, have duties to attend to.

She waffled about it over breakfast before deciding that Jonathon knew where to find her. Presumably, he wouldn’t have trouble coming here, since he had been here before and overall seemed in a decent state to travel.

It still all felt like a bit much, a dream where inexplicably you know all the answers but don't know why, and you’re stuck moving in accordance with it all until you wake up and go “what on earth?” She felt that she was moving like she should in this dream, as much as she knew how, but it was all rather disorienting. Maybe a day of cleaning and gardening and being in her own home would help her feel more grounded.

"I suppose other worlds are a little grander, beyond my thoughts," she said to the Lord as she prepared to sweep the house from top to bottom. "I don't quite know as I understand all that was told me yesterday, but, then again, I don't see as that I fully have to."

Half-way through sweeping the second floor, she leaned on her broom and chuckled to herself. "I suppose it is odd that I'd be right fine with the concept of a ghost, showing up in my own garden at that, but then balk at the idea of somewhere I didn't know of. Why, most of this world is a place I don't know, and I can't say that I properly know my own tiny little corner of it. You made all of the knowns and unknowns, and You know, and I'd say that's what matters in the end."

That satisfied her, mostly.

By the end of the day, she felt much better. More awake, and more content with the answers belonging to a dream. Sometimes you just had to accept things as they were. Perhaps she might know more some day, but that day hadn’t come yet. She’d just have to wait for it and keep her eyes open.

For now, she was helping a ghost that God had sent her, one who needed to get back into his body after he'd been lost in another world. Simple enough, in a way.

She didn't know how much she was truly helping, but Samuel—Jonathon, now—did seem to appreciate being able to talk to someone. At the very least, she was involved in the goings on, if only for emotional support.

At the end of the day, she was more tired than she anticipated being. Scrapping her plans of baking that evening, she contented herself with a simple egg sandwich, and once again headed to bed early.

***

She was awoken by insistent, though faint, knocking at her bedroom door.

It took her brain several seconds to realize, through a haze of sleep, what she was hearing, and that it wasn't any of her children—seeing as they had all grown up and moved out—and her husband wasn't there.

Gail sat bolt upright and reached for the double-barreled plasmagun Michael kept loaded and primed for her.

"Hello?" She asked, sleepiness blunting the tough edge she'd been going for.

"Um, hi," said Jonathon's voice from the other side. "I'm sorry if I startled you. Are you… um… awake?"

Gail shook her head to clear some of the cobwebs from them. Wrapping a shawl about her, she tumbled her way to the door. "Well, I am now," she mumbled, tugging the door open.

As her senses caught up with her and she could better see the windows in the stairwell, she could tell that it wouldn't be long before dawn broke.

"Ah… I… I may be a bit early," Jonathon said apologetically, gesturing in a vague manner with his hands. "It’s occurring to me now that I… don't really remember what sleep schedules are."

"Well, I usually sleep longer than dawn," she said, "but I suppose I'm awake now. How can I help you?"

"Oh, um. Well. I didn't want to go into your bedroom, so I wasn't really sure if you were awake. I… can come back later?"

Gail could feel aches in her bone, and a gust of cold threatening her from beyond her blanket. "I believe we may have to set some boundaries in the future," she said with a sigh. "But, as I said, I am awake now. I would have been in an hour or so, anyway. So, what's been eating at you?"

Jonathon looked down at the floorboards, shoulders pulled up to his ears. "Well… I found Samuel."

There was a haggard look in his eyes. Gail guessed that he may have been out searching for the past two nights. Ghosts—or Jonathons, at least— apparently didn’t need sleep, but whatever he’d been doing had taken a toll on him. She drummed her fingers against the edge of the doorframe. "Go sit down in the dining area, and I'll be dressed and down there in a tad."

Perhaps Gail should have been thinking more about the situation, but she was still foggy from sleep. Automatically, she dressed herself and washed her face and arranged her hair, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders to ward off the early morning chill.

She found Jonathon sitting on the table, his legs dangling and swaying ever so slightly as he stared into nothingness, shoulders hunched over.

It occurred to her that his eyes had been staying consistently colored lately. Hopefully that was a good thing.

Gail came down and half-sat, half-leaned on the table beside him.

"It's… um… it wasn’t a very nice sight." He said quietly.

"I see." Gail pulled her shawl closer.

"He's about half-way between here and the lighthouse," he said, “if you go along the coast. I found him this morning."

"How do you know it was him?" Gail asked.

"He was still there."

"Ah."

His shoulders hunched further into themselves. "I… I didn't know what to do. I ran away before he saw me. But… I think I heard him calling after me. And then I found myself here again. So I went to see if you were awake, and then…." He trailed off.

Gail chuckled. "And then, here we are."

"Sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

"It's fine," Gail patted his knee as best she could. "My children have often woken me far earlier with far less reason."

He gave a half-smile response that was more attempt than success.

"So, now that you've found him, what would you like to do?"

"I don't know." Jonathon buried his face in his hands. "I don't know if I can face him. I don't remember hardly anything, and I left him for several weeks, and I don't even know what our relationship ended up being like. What if I did something bad, and now he hates me, and I have no idea? If… if he's still here, is it because of that? Is he… is he dead, because of me?"

"You have only had positive things to say and remember about him," Gail pointed out. "Besides, consistently you’ve grasped ideas and feelings behind your memories, even if you don’t know the actual memories themselves. Hypothetically, that would indicate you would have far more negative feelings associated with your friend if something had gone wrong. So if you don't have any solid reason to assume something horrible happened, I'd say your fears are just working against you right now."

“That’s true,” he admitted glumly. “But also, there’s just… I don’t know. Even that aside, even knowing where he is… that should be a good thing. But it’s… not? It still is, but it doesn’t make me feel better. Which is a selfish way of looking at it, but… I don’t know. I can’t face him. I can’t go talk to him."

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