#full well knowing i deserved a severance package and not claiming it

[bironism]

bironically, my unremarkable career in law has already toed the line of infamy. my ex-employer, a literal millionaire, paid for an interview with him to be published on my birthday and had the last two questions tailored to make a directly inderect jab at me (that is, a jab that points at me but doesn't name me, starting out true and ending false, the sort of thing that can't be classified as libel as it doesn't unmistakably point in my direction without insider knowledge). it's a 10-questions format, so it's quite obvious which questions deviated from the previous interview rosters. it's a 10-questions marketing gimmick meant to define the interviewee's business ethic for potential clients. the business ethic here being a vengeful cunt.

[spnsisterimagines]

Mario Kart

Summary - Y/N decides to engage her brothers and Castiel into Mario Kart, not realizing what she was getting herself into.

Pairings - Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader, Sam Winchester x Sister!Reader, Jack Kline x Platonic!Winchester!Reader, Castiel x Winchester!Reader

Word Count - 1,911 words

"Let's get it!" Y/N squeals, claiming her spot on the middle of the couch. She was practically bouncing up and down, waiting impatiently for everyone to join her. The Dean Cave had brightened considerably since she had added a few redecorations. While Dean initially denied her, she had forced him to allow her to put up LED lights, several polaroids from her camera(they were mostly of herself smiling widely at the camera while Sam and Dean looked mildly annoyed with fake smiles. There was also a real funny one where Sam was unconscious on a hunt and Y/N decided to pose beside him), as well as posters from their favorite bands. Not to mention the added dock to the TV stand to hold her Nintendo Switch that Sam had bought her for her previous birthday. 

She supposed he regretted it now, since she was forcing him to play a game he'd never even heard of.

He entered the room first, holding a big bowl of popcorn and a soda. Dean followed close behind, Little Debbie packages hanging from his mouth since his arms were occupied with pillows from their bedrooms and a pack of beers for himself. Jack was the only one to come empty handed. He happily took the spot beside Y/N, waving merrily as Castiel also appeared with two sodas(both of them for Beth because he was just so considerate), taking the spot on her other side.

"I'll give this an hour before we switch to movie night, Y/N," Dean warned as he occupied his armchair, which was to the left of the couch. She had discovered this old thing at a garage sale. It had been a rather stressful day because Dean had refused to strap it to Baby and they had to hound what little friends they had for a truck. Since most of their friends were dead, Y/N had hot wired one outside of a bar and returned it before the drunk redneck inside could notice it had even left. She was sure the dent in the bed was there before they put the couch on it. Sam had not been happy about that.

Sam took his own armchair, which was to the right of the couch. 

"What is it, again?" he asked curiously. 

"Is the only thing in the media you've ever heard Facebook? You've seriously never heard of Mario Kart?" Y/N asked, happily accepting one of the sodas from Castiel. "Dad really did a number on us. I was introduced to this through Charlie." She got up to grab the number of controllers necessary for four. Jack was eager to try the game, but he was always open to trying new things, something Y/N could appreciate.

After connecting them to the Switch, she handed them out to her brothers along with Jack before returning to her spot on the couch between the angel and nephilim. 

"If I remember correctly from what you've told me, it's a racing game, right?" Castiel asked.

"Exactly, except with a few quirks to make it interesting. Like, um...I could throw a shell and hit one of them and vice versa. Or a banana peel. I'll give them a trial run before we actually get into it. Are you sure you don't want to try it, Cas?"

Castiel shook his head. "I have seen how you play with Charlie, and I don't want to be on the receiving end of your anger. And I rather like watching you in your element."

Y/N smiled, blushing, before playfully pushing him. 

"I need to get drunk to stomach this," Dean said, offended as he popped one of the beers open and took a gulp. "Keep the PDA to a minimum guys, you've got a kid next to you. Alright, what buttons do I push to hit Sam?"

"What the hell?" Sam scoffed. 

"What?"

"We haven't even started and you're gunnin' for me?"

"Uh, yeah!" 

"Alright, alright! First we gotta pick our player," Y/N mediated, pressing the buttons to get them to the screen full of Mario players. "I already got mine." She moved her icon until it landed on Wendy, before selecting her. "Obviously the best character, hands down."

The three boys maneuvered their icons over different characters, for some reason taking it a little too seriously on who they would choose. Sam selected his first. 

"Luigi?" Dean scoffed.

"You got a problem?" Sam asked. 

"No, but...why Luigi?"

"Who cares, I just chose him."

"You have to have a reason, man." Dean shook his head, before selecting his own. 

"Why'd you choose Bowser, then?"

"Because he's a badass. And he'd beat the holy hell out of Luigi if the games lost their PG rating," Dean shrugged.

Jack hummed thoughtfully, still scrolling. "I choose him!" 

He selected Toad. 

"Why him, Jack?" she asked. 

"I like his hat."

Y/N snorted, but it was a valid enough answer. Once everyone was ready, she selected the settings for the game and then decided to use the time to explain to them how the controls worked and anything else they were curious about. After a few trial races, they were ready for the real thing. Castiel was sitting patiently, his hands on his lap. 

"You assholes are going down," Dean declared, bringing his remote closer to him. 

"So much for being appropriate in front of the kid," Y/N sneered, but she was just as ready.

She set the game to go through ten races with a random select for the roads. 

And with that, they were off.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" Dean yelled, nearly jumping to his feet. His first empty beer bottle slide across the floor from his rapid movement. "I DIDN'T EVEN TOUCH IT! I DIDN'T GO NEAR THE GODDAMN PEEL!"

"That might've been mine," Sam stated, smugly. "But Bowser also takes up half the road, so avoiding it was probably impossible anyway."

Dean squinted. "You callin' me fat, Sammy?"

Sam shrugged. "Luigi's doing just fine."

Y/N hid her smile as she hit her own item, snatching that smile right from Sam's face.

"Why did you do that?" he asked, incredulous, the red shell sending Luigi off the edge of the map. 

"You got in my way!" Y/N sang. 

It only seemed to get worse from there. What was supposed to be an hour of playing turned into four with the bowl of popcorn thrown across the room at Dean when he had decided to hit Sam three times with three separate shells before snagging first place and doing a lewd dance as a way to declare his victory. Y/N's hair had bristled up, becoming bushier almost as though it were alive. Her right eye was twitching, and her hands were cramping by now. 

Jack, however, was having a good time. He has gotten last place the entire time, but he was still having fun, and that's what truly mattered.

Castiel, on the other hand, seemed to be on the verge of a panic attack, not knowing whose side he should take because all three Winchester siblings were completely out of their minds, including Y/N.

Finally, it was the last race. Everyone's nerves were shot. Sam's hair seemed even more raggedy than Y/N's, and his shirt was stained with soda because Dean decided to take vengeance by chucking his pillow at him when Sam was taking a big gulp. They had to pause the game for several minutes while Sam fought for his life coughing and wheezing because the soda went down the wrong pipe.

"I'm afraid I must at least attempt to deter you guys from participating in another race. There aren't any weapons in the Dean Cave, but I'm sure you three will find a way to kill each other," Castiel said, worried. "Jack, are you okay?"

Jack nodded enthusiastically. "I'm having fun!"

"I will let it be known if I lose, someone is dying tonight. I will call Billie to fix it, but someone has to die tonight if I lose," Y/N threatened. 

"Good luck with that, I'm kicking all of your asses, and you can kiss mine when it crosses the finish line," Dean said.

"I don't even care if I win, as long as you guys lose. And I'll make sure it happens." Sam jeered. 

With that, the race began. Aside from Jack and Castiel, everyone was bloodthirsty. Surely no matter who won, someone was gonna be pissed off. Castiel was making a mental note to grab Jack as soon as possible and escort him out of the room while the siblings brawled. 

"YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Y/N shouted, jumping to her feet. "WHO DID IT! WHO DID IT?"

"I did!" Sam happily announced, moving to and fro with the turn of his controller, as though he were in the game himself. 

"I'm gonna get you, Sam," Y/N snarled, pressing hard on the buttons, trying her best to catch up to her brother, collecting any items she came across, but none of them were good enough, so she kept using them without thinking until she heard Dean curse and also jump to his feet. 

"THAT WAS ME, JACKASS!" he yelled, completely distraught. "I didn't even do anything this time!"

"You probably deserved it anyway!" Sam shrugged, continuing to maneuver through the AIs to get to the front. 

By that time, Dean and Y/N had caught up, and with all they had, they used their items to completely screw each other over up until every kart had passed them. In the end, they were the bottom three with Sam first, Y/N second, and Dean in dead last. And for a moment there after, nobody said anything. They were completely beside themselves in utter shock at what just occurred. 

"What just happened?" Y/N asked, deflating considerably. 

"We lost..." Sam mumbled. 

"Screw you guys, I lost overall!" Dean scoffed.

"I won!" Jack suddenly cheered, leaping to his feet and jumping up and down. "I won!"

"You what?" Y/N asked, shocked as her eyes trailed to the top. Sure enough, Toad was in first place. "You're kidding!"

"I can't believe I won!" Jack said, smiling as he high-fived a proud Castiel.

"I want a rematch," Dean commanded, sitting back down and retrieving his controller. 

"Yeah, me, too!" Sam agreed. 

"I'm down!" Y/N eagerly agreed, about to grab hers when Castiel snatched it. He went around the room, taking up all the controllers.

"Given that it's five in the morning, and just a couple moments ago you three were ready to quite literally rip each other's throats out, I'm going to recommend everyone get up and get to bed instead," he instructed curtly. "I think we should postpone a future night of games indefinitely, at least for a little while until you three can learn to control yourselves."

"What-but-you can't-" Y/N sputtered.

"Quite literally, I can shut off whatever is necessary so you can never play the game again with just a snap of my fingers," Castiel warned. "Shower and get some sleep. Jody already told us she needed to discuss something at noon tomorrow, and it would be rude if we were tardy. C'mon, let's go!"

With a grumble, everyone got up and cleaned their mess, ignoring each other vehemently as they walked out. Except for Jack; he was practically skipping. 

There was another good thing about tonight that he knew about. He was the one that triggered the lightning item that really stumped the three siblings and put them at the bottom three.

[love-takes-work]

Steven Universe: End of an Era: Outline & Review

I wrote this review in October but never got around to posting it here

Steven Universe: End of an Era is far more than an art book–it’s also a collection of behind-the-scenes material, stories about the experience of working on the show, planning documents and associated background info, and both older versions of developed concepts AND concepts that never made it into the show. It's a huge fusion of all those elements, and it's definitely an experience!

Some low-quality images are included with my review just to give you an idea of what’s there--it’s not a good substitute for getting your own copy, but here’s a tour!

Like the previous concept art book, Art and Origins, I'll be giving you a description of the structure and overview, while also collecting notable information for fans. Obviously just about everything is "notable" once again, but I'll aim for unique insight or perspective on the main source material, keeping the screaming about everything new to a minimum so you can also enjoy something for yourself if you pick it up. My low-quality photos should prevent people from feeling like I'm reproducing the book in any capacity. Please grab one while you can and have your own experience!

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

OVERVIEW

The book is titled "End of an Era" for a couple reasons--obviously because it is released after the show has wrapped, but also because Gem history recently ended its "Era 2" and began Era 3--an age of prosperity and peace. The author--the person in charge of adapting all of this information into this slick, readable package--is Chris McDonnell, whose work was previously applied on the Art and Origins book.

The foreword is by N.K. Jemisin, a well-known science fiction author who's a huge fan of the show (and wrote a really excellent series that also has a weird geological connection, by the way).

And the cover, like its predecessor, is shiny and decorated with a beach scene featuring minimalistic characters--this time it's the Gems at night in front of the Temple, and on the back cover is a big pink leg ship in a cross-legged pose.

The interior covers are decorated with tons of amazing sketches of Steven and Connie on the front, and a bunch of Gem sketches on the back. Every interior page that most would leave blank is highlighted with some kind of sketch art or character exercise--it's so much to look at, so much to absorb.

The book is dedicated "For Eddie."

Its organization is different from the previous book in that it shares applicable work in chunks associated with groups of episodes rather than pertaining to different aspects of building the show.

FOREWORD

N.K. Jemisin gives us such a great introduction to the book--apparently understanding very well that the audience of this book is full of animation enthusiasts and adult fans more than it is full of kids, and explaining that bewildering journey some adults had from blowing this show off as a silly kid thing to falling in love with it hard and fast.

The important thing, Jemisin says, is being able to trust a storyteller with your heart. And it was clear to her that Rebecca Sugar knew what she was talking about and was saying important things about identity and the radical power that comes with accepting it and demanding respect.

Important also is how we handle heroes and who gets to be one in fantasy. That's part of the reason Steven Universe speaks to so many--because we see ourselves here, and know stories can be about us. Acknowledging the power we all have to MAKE THINGS BETTER with what we fight for is so important--especially if we're going to speaking to the next generation about it.

Highlighting Rose Quartz as a "born leader" who failed and Steven as a relatable scamp who did what she couldn't, Jemisin asserts that we can save the world.

1. END OF AN ERA

We start with an appeal to the audience to think about identity and the formative parts of our childhood--and how different it is if who you are and who you become is restricted, mocked, erased, or Not Allowed. Most people, if not ALL people, can relate to this, but for those of us with a special relationship with Steven Universe because of queer identity, this hits hard.

But it doesn't have to be anything grand to be something we respect--this show's authenticity comes largely from how personal everything is, drawn from real-life experiences and incidental truths from each artist's perspective, leaning hard on childhood and formative experiences.

Rebecca Sugar offers some interview bits to discuss writing philosophy and why "writing female characters" was difficult for a nonbinary person who'd been socialized as a girl and a woman. Rebecca has spoken before about how frustrating it is that marketing for cartoons was SO gendered when she was growing up (and to some extent still is).

The Gems in the story are all "she/her," but on their planet they're defined by their work, not by emotion or relationships (unlike women in our society), so having them be socialized opposite to how she was and be able to claim those emotions through choice and NOT as just an expectation "as women" was revolutionary. Rebecca wants her show to tell all marginalized people that they don't deserve to be in the margins.

Weighing in on other aspects of the show were Ian Jones-Quartey, Joe Johnston, and Miki Brewster. Ian describes feeling like at first doing SU was a thrill ride that meant they'd finally get to do all the cool stuff, but it quickly became a responsibility that he took very seriously--the need to tell a good story now that he'd been given a megaphone.

Promotional art, planning documents, character sketches, and concept art from the lighthearted to the stone serious is included, along with some very cool (sort of famous) timeline charts that track major characters' developments. It's emphasized by Rebecca that the developmental materials ARE NOT CANON (and especially are not MORE canon) compared the final show.

There are concept sketches alongside final art for Aquamarine and Topaz in "Wanted" (with Topaz labeled "Imperial Topaz"), the Zircons in "The Trial," Blue and Yellow Diamond, and the Off Colors (including Pink Lars).

And there's also a spread of "the two sides of Steven's life: Gem Magic and Rock N Roll" featuring Sadie Killer and the Suspects (referred to as "Buck's band")--as well as a cool "Crew Cameos" key and some concepts for short-haired Connie.

And then there's some more "finished" art with stills alongside concepts, including some background art, revision, and really cool "fairytale" art from some of the shadowplay storytelling bits. We get "Lars of the Stars," "Jungle Moon," and "Can't Go Back."

2. THE BEGINNING OF THE END: A SINGLE PALE ROSE

In discussing the huge reveals and Gem mysteries in the show, the pacing is examined, and emphasis is put on the intended "slow burn." One of the most difficult things in the show was to strategize so that every piece that was needed to support another piece in the future was placed properly to seed what it was supposed to.

Some of the ideas they developed were more of a group effort and were fit together collaboratively (like Amethyst's being younger than the other Gems and Jasper being from Earth), while others were intended from the beginning based on Rebecca's vision (the fundamental idea of Pink Diamond's true identity, for instance, as well as Obsidian's design and sword and our Pearl not being Pink's first).

The writing process gets a great deep dive here, including fun tidbits like how the orb in the moon base was inserted by Joe Johnston and they literally had no idea what it was for when they wrote the episode. They repurposed it when they figured out what they needed.

Rebecca credits her detailed timelines for helping keep the order straight, and discusses how other artists are sometimes flabbergasted that a storyboard-driven show can have this much detail and continuity and yet not get wrecked by the free non-scripted boarding process. But Rebecca and the Crew valued that approach and loved the way fresh eyes would handle an idea, making it come back alive, entertaining, vivid.

Several Crew members weigh in on the writing process. Lauren Hecht refers to making lots of incorrect guesses despite being on the inside. Joe Johnston recalled getting briefed on his first day and getting so excited to start working on this massive project.

Miki Brewster remembered being told Rose Quartz is Pink Diamond and being shocked--and also confused about why Ruby and Sapphire would need to be married if they're already basically married. Drew Green talks about being brought in late and getting to watch unaired episodes and a rough of the movie while eating cereal.

Ian Jones-Quartey complains about Pink Diamond's real jester-like form being leaked to the internet through a Hot Topic shirt. Rebecca piggybacks on that and says it was upsetting that the wedding was leaked because of toy fair keychains featuring Ruby and Sapphire in wedding attire. They'd always be worried about leaks, and sometimes Rebecca struggled not to talk about the reality of Pink Diamond before the reveal because she knew it would make so much more sense once the truth was out. And everything associated with Rose makes more sense once you know she's Pink--especially what happened with Bismuth, considering what we know about how Pink Diamond has a habit of treating anyone who no longer serves her interests.

When it comes to visual cues, Rebecca also talks about intentional designs to create a feeling of unity between concepts, like the flower shapes on Pink Diamond's palanquin lining up with the poofs of Steven's hair and the star imagery of the series. Steven Sugar and Mary Nash discuss how the Human Zoo incorporated this imagery, trying to look like Homeworld with a Pink Diamond touch.

Steven Sugar, as a game nerd, liked to throw in video game references from old and modern stuff to feel like he's inserting what he's enjoying and who he is from moment to moment, while Mary Nash, who related to Sadie as a basement-dwelling young person with cult interests, liked to include stuff from MST3K and cult movies. Pearl's hand gestures get a spotlight too--her reflex to cover her mouth when Pink Diamond was being discussed was analyzed here.

A "Top Secret Visual Timeline" from 2016 is included which tells us some Diamond history. It has an earlier version of Pink Pearl's fate and does not include Spinel since the movie hadn't been greenlit. The timeline includes the birth of the Diamonds, the emergence and major story beats for each major character, and some philosophy of the driving force behind each.

We're told that Pink Diamond straightened up, behavior-wise, after she lost her first Pearl, and that Yellow and Blue wanted to give her a planet but White only agreed to it to prove she would fail at managing a colony. Pearl, meanwhile, is so confused to have a Diamond who keeps asking her what she thinks when she doesn't believe she should have opinions.

And when Pink moonlighted as Rose to start conflict, she found herself leading an army to fight Pink's troops--then Yellow's, and eventually Blue's too. Lapis is said to be waiting for the conflict to end on Earth so she can terraform, but she gets trapped instead.

Pearl's love story with Rose is described as "an endless honeymoon" where she's free to love her, while Rose's is more like "I'm now the head of the family and I'm going to give everyone what they never had, so everyone is super special!"

Jasper is described as "adopted" into Yellow's army as the only successful Beta Quartz. And White Diamond knew that Pink Diamond was not dead--she thought she was just running away from home like a brat and would eventually be back.

3. THE HEART OF THE CRYSTAL GEMS

Now we discuss Rose Quartz--the original Pink Diamond. How she was selfish and selfless, never enough and always too much, and how Greg was her first partner who "challenged her" to be an equal. Rebecca describes Rose as being delighted by the idea that both she and Greg reinvented themselves, but when that leads her to want to share her past, Greg isn't interested--he only wants to know who she is now, and doesn't consider the old her to be her.

Rebecca likes Carl Jung's concept of "enantiodromia," which is the idea that extremes lead to their extreme opposite. This is demonstrated in all of the Diamonds. This narrative is interspersed with drawings of Greg and Rose being cute.

But another "heart" of the Crystal Gems is its relationships--particularly, Garnet, the fairy tale romance embodied. More psychological theories are discussed with regard to differentiation in a relationship making the relationship stronger, and how they made sure that happened for Garnet during the appropriate arc. Rebecca has struggled with the idea that she, like Ruby, went straight from a "family" group to a living-with-others situation and never lived by herself. But she also learned that you can in fact develop as a person in the context of a relationship--you don't have to be alone to do it. Ruby learned that too, and chose on her own terms to be with Sapphire.

The wedding made so much sense to Rebecca and the crew that they couldn't imagine a wholesome couple like Ruby and Sapphire not having a wedding episode. They wanted it for years: The wedding concepts always included the tuxedo for Sapphire and the wedding dress for Ruby.

But pushback (often blamed on the conservative standards of the international market) led to negotiations trying to keep Ruby and Sapphire's relationship from being explicit. Rebecca and the Crew were very tired of this double standard, and they were especially irritated by attempts to claim a wedding wouldn't be well received by a core demographic or wouldn't make sense for Steven's character. But other shows had done weddings and Steven had been established to love weddings already.

Rebecca kept adding more elements to the wedding episode to answer all the concerns, but she didn't want to back down from explicit marriage between these characters. They deserved it. And the audience deserved to see this as wholesome, like any other cartoon wedding. Eventually they got their way and were allowed to have the wedding. But the ordered episodes were also coming to a close without promise of more, so Rebecca had to request more episodes to be able to wrap up the storyline!

And of course, there is Steven, the true heart of the team. A very interesting aside discusses Garnet's leadership and how the network pushed the Crewniverse to acknowledge Steven as the leader. This was successfully resisted throughout as well--because Garnet is the leader (unless she's incapacitated, of course). It's fantastic that this concept was preserved because too often a young male chosen one is elevated above people with more experience and knowledge because of that chosen one tradition, so it's really nice to have a show acknowledge that team leadership is more appropriate for an adult.

4. ERA 3

Beginning with a discussion of the Diamonds, this chapter deconstructs the dysfunctional "family" of the Diamonds (who are said to be based on tropes about evil stepmothers and stepsisters), with the thread of dysfunction originating with White Diamond.

Yellow is physical, Blue is emotional, White is judgmental, and Pink is impulsive. Some philosophy on why Pink is naturally manipulative and why she clashes so much with White is offered.

White believes her identity is to be imposed on all because she is the pinnacle of what should be--and therefore, she has the right to make decisions and statements about and on behalf of everyone. But her secret is that she can't do what the others do--act or feel or want. In trying to be everyone, she is no one.

And this becomes very important when she confronts Steven about his identity and turns out to be wrong. The triumph of Steven being totally, fully himself is a beautiful, simple revelation that's described as far more satisfying than the theories about Pink living inside him or Rose returning from his Gem.

Also discussed is Gem architecture. A lot went into this idea, and Steven Sugar weighs in to say he had to think of what it would mean for a world to have buildings but serve no human needs. That's why it's mostly focused on transport and storage. Even the broken planet is meant to indicate a place stripped for its resources, and everything serves a function that is meant to avoid looking like the human equivalents.

And there's another layer, too: a difference between Era 1 and Era 2. Era 2 became more functional to hide Era 1's broken bits, and older Homeworld buildings still have some "ornate and ancient" feel to them. And the fact that props, tools, and even walls and doors could be living was taken from a concept Rebecca thought was horrible from old Busby Berkeley movies, where people were inanimate objects and it was portrayed as lovely. Tom Herpich helped conceptualize these living objects.

Steven dealing with "princess tropes" is discussed here too. The Pebbles (worked on with Pendleton Ward) were sort of his Cinderella's mice, and all the locked-in-a-tower, having supportive tiny friends help you, getting princess clothes made, attending a ball, having to mind your manners stuff was intentionally related to fairy tales.

The point of doing that (besides fun) was to easily invoke the feeling that Steven was being made to be someone he's not, and that he was being treated like THIS is who he really is when it isn't. White Diamond as the "evil stepmother" is discussed with regard to her detailed features and massive scale. They generally didn't put fingernails and eyelashes on characters (especially not to indicate that they were women or girls!), but they decided White would get all of these feminine markers for tradition's sake.

Rebecca also invokes several other references that were included and describes the princess tropes as "chipping away at his integrity" setting him up for the final challenge with White.

There is again tons of concept art: Homeworld architecture, Pebbles, Diamond diagrams, background Jades and Lemon Jade Fusion, Comby, Diamond extraction chambers, and White Diamond.

5. CHANGE YOUR MIND

Now we finally begin to discuss Steven's identity. The "Perfect Steven," discussed in several interviews before this book's release, was an idea back in 2013; the "ultimate Steven," beefed up and shonen-looking, was far from perfect because OUR Steven is perfect, while this alpha hero Steven idea (used in Steven Universe Future) didn't belong being idolized in such a show.

They thought about having Steven fall apart into organic half and Gem half early in the show (during "Giant Woman" after a successful fusion and unfusion, even!), but they didn't try the concept until the last episode. They didn't want the "Pink" Steven to be portrayed as "better" even though he would be more powerful, so they decided he isn't whole without his organic self and he's just as much of a shell as the organic half. They absolutely did not want any ending that required Rose to be inside him or waiting to come back. But the debates were fierce--what DOES it mean to have Rose's Gem?

Ian Jones-Quartey brings in an anecdote about his own family to emphasize some of the immigrant themes that inspired aspects of the show. He had a brother who reinvented himself elsewhere away from family without resolving issues, and all the ramifications of that were explored in the show through Rose Quartz. (He is careful to say he doesn't think his immigrant experience is like being from another planet!) But he did say you can hurt your old family even if they were toxic or didn't know the real you, and you can hurt your new family by hiding your past. The Pizza family of course was also a more direct reference to Ian's Ghanaian family.

In talking about the new Fusions from this episode, Sunstone is largely described by Miki, who also got to board the Sunstone section. Sunstone was described as a cool 1990s character and the evolution just continued into making them a fourth-wall-breaking PSA dispenser. Obsidian is also discussed, with their sword being an early concept. Steven Sugar said they totally knew it would be forged in action. Obsidian being similar to the Temple design is of course another very early detail.

The story of how James Baxter got involved with one of the final scenes (Organic Steven and Pink Steven fusing in front of White Diamond) was shared. His family was fans of the show and Rebecca Sugar took the time to drive to a birthday party for his daughter and give her a drawing. He then owed her a favor, and this was it.

Concept art is again included, this time with sample boards, promo images, a Diamond fight concept, costume design changes for the Gems, new Fusions, the so-called "Mega Diamond" ship conglomerate, some scenes from the White Diamond confrontation, Pink Steven, multiple pages of James Baxter animation, corrupted Gems and their healed selves, and photos from the "Change Your Mind" premiere and some awards. The show has won one design-related Emmy, a Peabody Award, and a GLAAD award.

6. STEVEN UNIVERSE FUTURE

The book doesn't cover the movie because it got its own book, but dives right into Future. Ian Jones-Quartey emphasizes that the movie and Future are separate and different from the original show, which ENDED. After all, after that, Steven has a neck!

Some new names are invoked now: new writers Kate Tsang, Jack Pendarvis, and Taneka Stotts. They were excited to have Steven make HIS OWN mistakes instead of trying to clean up someone else's! Now, instead of doing the usual shonen anime thing and having the final battle be a big physical rumble, Steven has to make peace with himself and take an active role in coping with what all the fighting has done to him and what effect it's had on who he is (and who he wants to be). There is no sudden "I love myself!" answer, either. It's always a process.

Drew Green and Maya Petersen, who came on board as storyboarders officially in Future, also weighed in on writing for a "mature" show, how to deal with Steven being a "moral compass" while being sort of unreliable, and what they learned as Crew that they didn't know as fans. Drew didn't know Garnet never asks questions. Jack didn't realize the show never deviated from Steven's point of view. Taneka was nervous but excited to collaborate. Kate was worried about how established the show was and what to do as a new writer to contribute appropriately.

Maya was on the old Crew but not as a storyboarder, so felt like some of the "old" ideas ended up not being appropriate for the "new" Future in an embarrassing way--and dreaded the idea of dealing with Steven's emotional problems when they were similar to stuff she'd been through. She also was personally behind the idea of Steven wanting to dump his problems by becoming Stevonnie, and got to work with Etienne Guignard on inventing the Pearl creation backstory with Volleyball.

There's some discussion of "depression hobbies," stress, and the show's pacing. And they say Etienne was entertaining at pitches. There's even some discussion of how Greg is taken off a bit of a pedestal because his terrible restrictive life in the suburbs sounded wholesome to Steven and Greg presented it negatively.

And then there is some information about how the Crew felt behind the scenes due to fan reactions and negative press. Ian discusses feeling offended when the Black characters are described as bad examples, as if their cartoonized but realistic-in-context features are automatically caricatures.

Rebecca Sugar felt beaten down by some of these narratives and began to access mental health services, inspiring some of the content of "Mindful Education." A long reflection from Rebecca discusses people's infighting about her show and what she had a responsibility to show or not show in the story. She learned a lot about bullying from Cartoon Network's anti-bullying program and learned that bullies thrive on whatever attention you give them--unless it is made clear to them by a peer group that no one is impressed by their cruel actions. Also, not all negative feedback is bullying. Constructive criticism is different. Self-awareness can help you avoid internalizing what bullies might do or say to you.

Segueing from the discussion of how people are affected by and connect with the show, we then discuss how they chose as a team what should be covered as the show came to a close. They didn't have time to do quite a few stories they wanted time for, like a Rhodonite story, a Lars side story, and Diamond "prehistory" and religion; all of it was put aside for the main arc with Steven.

They thought people would find those stories about Homeworld and Off Color history very interesting, but so much of the show had been about Steven's Gem adventures, so keeping him mostly on Earth seemed appropriate. The acknowledgment of his battle damage, of his trauma, was necessary and real, and helpful in an important way to the core audience.

Oh, and there was some stuff about a cheeseburger tree. Don't ask.

In discussing the "reverse escapism" of the original show (Gem aliens are intrigued by everyday human culture, and realism is necessary), Rebecca says her views have changed on escapism and gets why some people want a soothing feel-better show. She acknowledged also that her own escapist dreams-come-true fulfilled in the show didn't feel like escapism because they were givens to the majority of mainstream culture, but were never guaranteed to marginalized people.

Rebecca ties in her several-times-told story about "Love Like You" and how the middle bit was when she didn't feel she was worth looking up to, and the realizations she had to tie the beginning to the end. Feeling like someone will like you less if they know you more is terrible. So sometimes a show like this can be helpful in telling people that they belong when their fantasies are things like "I want to be loved" and "I want to know I exist."

In Future, Steven has to connect to who he is and love that person--and understand that person enough to finally feel that even if he's not fixing their problems or saving their world right this second, Steven deserves his family's love and support, and they WANT to give it to him.

There's a huge amount of supplemental material in this section so there's no way I could name it all. The charts for Future's timeline are pretty straightforward, though a few episodes like "A Very Special Episode," "Why So Blue," "In Dreams," and "Bismuth Casual" aren't specifically represented and a couple are in a different order ("Prickly Pair" was conceived as happening after "Fragments" and "Homeworld Bound").

Steven feeling like a monster, having intrusive thoughts, having not forgiven the Diamonds, and getting help/moving on--it's all there.

We have keys, color scripts, and boards for the new opening and some various backgrounds and storyboard art from episodes. Model sheets for Shep, Nice Lapis and Mean Lapis, Jasper, Steven Tag Gems, Pink Steven Powers, Monster Steven. New house concepts, Era 3 Homeworld concept art for the Diamond environments, and background art for the Reef.

New Connie and Greg designs. Concepts for Mega Pearl, the Rose Quartzes, Bluebird, and Morganite (who didn't get used). And there are some photos from recording and the conference room. There are even some extras from "Crossover Nexus," the crossover with OK K.O.!--including an unused cut scene that included Ruby and Sapphire fighting. The rest of the book is a bunch of adorable Crewniverse art--extras, blog drawings, promos, and gifts to each other.

NOTABLE

1.

The first timeline chart in the book features a cool sketch of the original Off Colors, which at the time this planning document was drafted included unused Off Colors Flint and Chert.

We knew of their existence already because of an episode of the podcast, but these two unexpectedly appeared as incidental characters in the Steven Universe Future episode "Homeworld Bound," identified only in the credits. Sad to think that instead of banding with the Off Colors, these two were probably shattered for their crime (being Quartzes who don't want to fight) and that's why we see them being repaired in this episode. Later, there's some brainstorming for types of Off Colors and "a Ruby that wants to wear limb enhancers" is mentioned as well.

2. 

It looks like there was also originally more juice to the story of tracking down the events of the war culminating in Pink Diamond's assassination.

One of the timelines talks about Steven thinking it makes sense that Pearl can't talk about her involvement because she might have been a double agent, explaining why Rose Quartz always knew what Pink Diamond was doing. It seems like that bit was supposed to be included in Garnet's version of the story she believed in "Your Mother and Mine." Seems like they originally conceived Garnet's story to inspire the Off Colors to become pirates and freedom fighters, though in the show's canon this storytelling happened after Lars had already reinvented himself the way he did.

Sadie was also supposed to be sending letters to Lars via Steven, which is funny since the "Letters to Lars" episode is just a montage Steven letter. And of course it's specified that Steven was supposed to get Pink Diamond flashbacks by going to the Palace on Homeworld.

3. 

The second chart in the book makes references to Sadie's reinvention of herself as a parallel to Lars, Greg, and Pink Diamond all doing the same thing, and how positive it is to embrace such a thing--a version of yourself that YOU create.

I love that Yellow Diamond's arm ship arm-wrestling the Cluster was always part of the plan.

There's some more explicit direction to have Connie help Steven understand the Diamonds as "strict parents," and a lot more emphasis on everyone realizing Rose had been inspired by THEM rather than them all following her.

White Diamond is presented here as if she thinks of Pink Diamond as a "daughter" (whom she now understands she has "lost"). There are notes on how the Diamonds have a responsibility to their children and should attend to it before just continuing to make more.

4.

One of the concept art images for the Off Colors features Rhodonite crouching by Padparadscha saying "Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you." It's very interesting because she DOES seem to protect Padparadscha in the show, but doesn't seem confident about it in her final version, even though it does seem like she'd be "programmed" to guard aristocratic Gems because of her Ruby and Pearl makeup. Cool.

5.

A "Crew Cameos" spread was included, which is of great interest to some of us who loved seeing the Crew insert themselves into the show. Not every SU Crew person who's been represented in a crowd was there, but this crowd included Amish Kumar, Kat Morris, Amanda Winterstein, Angie Wang, Lamar Abrams, Emily Walus, Mary Nash, Joe Johnston, Christy Cohen, Danny Cragg, Hilary Florido, Danny Hynes, Matt Burnett, Ben Levin, Elle Michalka.

6.

The official national flower of South Korea, Hibiscus syriacus, is the name of Pink Diamond's flower.

7.

One of Steven Sugar's comments about the silhouette difference between humans and Gems points out that humans have ears. This seems to be pretty good confirmation that they are not supposed to have ears, despite that sometimes we'll see ears drawn on them in some frames.

8.

Rose Quartz/Pink Diamond is characterized in this book as "self-hating" in a really interesting way, saying that because she believed she was not capable of compassion, she practically worshiped those who demonstrated that ability and thought they were so much better than her--which is described as "intoxicating" and resulted in others being drawn to her. How interesting is that!

9.

Timelines reveal that early plans for Pink Diamond's first Pearl originally had her getting destroyed by Pink during  a game, and then her destruction was rewritten as a punishment from the Diamonds after Pink Pearl defended Pink Diamond to the other Diamonds. They went back to the idea of her getting hurt by Pink for the final version, though the cracked face and control by White Diamond was not on the agenda until they started writing "Change Your Mind."

10.

The approximate ages of the major characters, based on emergence, are revealed on these timelines. It begins with a cracked-planet-looking graphic depicting four tiny Diamonds emerging at 20,000 years ago. Some suspicious "blacked out" redacting surrounds a long timeline tail that goes back before that, which may mean there are secrets they still don't want to reveal. But the dates go like this:

20,000 years ago: The Diamonds emerge.

11,000 years ago: Pearl is custom-made for Pink Diamond.

8,000 years ago: Sapphire emerges (on Homeworld).

6,000 years ago: Ruby emerges (on a colony).

5,750 years ago: Garnet is formed.

5,600 years ago: Lapis is poofed and put in the mirror.

5,200 years ago: Jasper emerges (on Earth).

5,050 years ago: The Cluster is planted.

5,000 years ago: Amethyst emerges (on Earth).

4,500 years ago: The Crystal Gems found Amethyst.

3,000 years ago: Peridot emerges (on Homeworld).

40 years ago: Pearl found Lapis's mirror at the Galaxy Warp.

And of course we know 14 years ago Steven is born!

11.

Originally the Diamonds were based on a quartet of themes: Love, Fear, Pride, and Sorrow. It got too complicated to keep and it was abandoned, with Pink's identification of "love" being described as "particularly outdated."

12.

Notes on a sketch say that Pearl was inspired to become bold and unashamed because Pink's questions drove her to have opinions, and it's said that Rose "fell in love" with her boldness.

13.

Rebecca tells the story of driving off a ridge and getting stuck in the desert, comparing this to Ruby's tumble during her Wild West adventure and using it as inspiration. She's told this story before but here it is in print. She also included the story about using the flowers from a friend's wedding to put in Ruby's hair.

14.

Rebecca describes having to "fight" notes she was given when it had to do with Ruby and Sapphire's relationship. One she describes as NOT fighting was for a signing card depicting Ruby and Sapphire dancing. It was called "too romantic" and she decided not to worry about it since it wasn't the actual show content.

She was also scolded over her book The Answer because the powers that be expected her to downplay that relationship. She always argued that queer youth deserved these things.

15.

Tom Herpich describes being inspired to name Blue Diamond's comb "Comby" because he was watching the news about Comey getting fired from the FBI. It's also a mineral-related term and I always assumed that reference was intentional, but maybe it's not and this is the only intended significance to Comby's name?

16.

Rainbow Quartz 2.0's design is not discussed, though the other two new Fusions from "Change Your Mind" (Sunstone and Obsidian) were. RQ2 has some sketches included, but no accompanying narrative in the text.

17.

A sheet of corrupted Gems and their healed selves is offered, though it doesn't appear to be final. The obelisk in "Serious Steven" is labeled Albite. The unnamed Worm Monster, Desert Glass, and Watermelon Tourmaline are included. An unnamed birdlike Gem represents the Big Bird monster from "Giant Woman." The crab monster from "Arcade Mania" is labeled Blue Chalcedony. The Tongue Monster is drawn uncorrupted but not named. The Flower Monster from "Back to the Kindergarten" is labeled Grossular Diopside or Titanite. The invisible monster from "Island Adventure" is labeled Moonstone. The Lighthouse Gem is labeled White Topaz. A form for Larimar that was used in "Change Your Mind" but changed in Future is there. The Slinker is listed as Chrysocolla. And the Crab Monster is listed as Aventurine.

On the next page, this is changed to Bixbite (as it was in Steven Universe Future), and we then also have Lace Amethyst, Blue Lace Agate, Crazy Lace Agate (Fusion), Ocean Jasper, the Mother Centipeetle Nephrite (Facet 413 Cabochon 12) and three other Nephrites, Angel Aura Quartz, a hooded Jasper, Zebra Jasper, Biggs Jasper, Watermelon Tourmaline (labeled as Fusion of Gem * Onion--huh?), Snowflake Obsidian, "Little" Larimar, and Orange Spodumene (who was the Worm).

18.

The Rhodonite side story would have been about the love story of a Ruby and a Pearl working for Morganite. Images of Morganite and her servants, unfused, are in the book. We do not get this additional information, but Rebecca said in a panel shortly before the book's release that Rhodonite's story would have been about finding out that she had been Rejuvenated 17 times because her components kept falling in love and needing to be reset.

19.

Referring to the Diamonds on one of the charts, Steven's perspective is "I can't believe I helped these" and then there's a censor bar. Welp.

20.

Some included art by Hilary Florido features Kevin with a souped-up Koala Princess car and another where Kevin is staring at himself in the mirror in front of an altar to himself.

21.

Rebecca's sweater collection is included in the Crew art.

[SU Book and Comic Reviews]

[ollieofthebeholder]

leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 34: Jon

Sasha apparently has a particular New Year’s Eve tradition involving a karaoke club and far too much alcohol, and the Primes are understandably not enthusiastic about the whole concept, so in the end it’s just Jon and Martin and Tim who venture out to the celebrations. Martin manages to coax Charlie’s grandmother into allowing them to take him along, and they have a grand old time. Jon manages to actually get a decent picture at one point, and now his phone background is of Charlie perched on Martin’s shoulders, arms folded on top of his head, with Tim standing beside them, all three of them looking up at the sky with expressions of absolute delight and wonder. It makes him smile every time he looks at it.

Back in the Archives, they all buckle down to an individual project, in addition to their regular duties. Tim, of course, is still attempting to get a handle on his newfound ability to see the color of fears. It’s slow going, since Jon absolutely forbids him to practice in the Archives, or anywhere on Institute property, until he’s got a better handle on it; the sheer overwhelming presence of the Eye means he can’t look around without nearly passing out, so he finally agrees to hold off until he gets to a point where he can target it to a single person or object, or at least narrow down his field of vision. Jon Prime warns that that’s something that will only come with time, but Tim is determined. He at least makes some small progress.

Martin starts working on a cross-index of the statements they’ve studied—not just which ones relate, or seem to relate, to the same entities, but ones that have common names, locations, circumstances, or even dates. Honestly, it’s the sort of thing they should have been doing from the beginning; it’s just that Martin is the only one with any kind of library training, so he’s the only one who thought of it. And now that they know more about what’s going on, he has something to work with. Wisely, he saves it to a flash drive rather than on the Institute’s servers, so there’s no chance anyone outside the four of them or someone they approve to help out can use it.

Sasha focuses on the Institute, or more specifically on its Heads. While the four of them know that it’s actually been Jonah Magnus the entire time, or at least his eyes, she’s interested in the apparent successors—why they were chosen, how they were chosen, where they came from and what happened to them when Jonah Magnus was ready to move on, at least ostensibly. Jon cautions her to be careful, and she reassures him with a flurry of technical terms he loses track of halfway through, but there’s a crackle and pop of static that makes them both wince but leaves them with the Knowledge that she’s right. Her research is as secure as can be.

For his part, Jon digs into Gertrude.

He knows Jon Prime has some knowledge of her—of her travels, her past—but he wants to find out as much as he can on his own. Besides, he isn’t sure Jon Prime has the answers he’s looking for. Really, he’s not sure what answers he is looking for, but whatever it is, he’s going to do the research himself. It just feels like it’s cheating otherwise. So he tries to find out as much as he can about where she came from, how she came to the Institute, and what sort of things she might have been up to.

In doing his research, he comes across the startling information that Gertrude’s flat is still unlet. Apparently there were some legal complications due to the nature of her disappearance and death, and she was paid up for several months, so the agent simply never bothered to clean the place out. Something about this nags at him with a sense of wrongness, but—perhaps unwisely—he ignores it and keeps looking.

He tells his team that he plans to break into the flat. Tim and Martin both protest, and even he has to admit it’s not the world’s best idea, but he can’t think of any other way to gain access. Sasha rolls her eyes and tells him to give her twenty minutes.

Two hours later, he presents himself at the lending agent’s office as Gertrude Robinson’s grandson and asks, all innocence, what they’ve done with her things.

The agency is only too happy to let Jon clear the place out, even providing Jon with a couple of boxes in case he wants to take things with him. Jon’s not sure what he would want to take, but he accepts anyway. If nothing else, he can take it all and they can sort through it with the Primes’ help. The agent brings him up to Gertrude’s flat, lets him in, and tells him to just lock it behind him when he leaves, then wishes him luck and leaves him alone.

Jon gives the agent to the count of ten to get well away while he unwinds his scarf and unzips his jacket, then reaches into his inner pocket. Once upon a time it’s where he kept his cigarettes, but what he pulls out now is his new tape recorder. Not that he went out and bought one, of course, or that anyone on the team bought it—as far as he knows. They all came back from the holidays to find a neatly-wrapped package topped with a black-and-white striped bow on each of their desks; when they, with some trepidation, unwrapped them, they found separate and distinct tape recorders—a pretty clear sign, as Sasha says with what Jon considers unnecessary enthusiasm, that they’re all meant to be recording statements. And probably everything else they do. Since Elias doesn’t seem to know about them, they’re not using them for anything official, but Jon knows they’re all dictating their supplemental research onto them. He checks to make sure the tape is properly loaded, then thumbs the RECORD button.

“Right,” he says. “I’m standing in Gertrude Robinson’s flat. Former flat, I suppose I should say, but it hasn’t been relet and all her things are still here…such as they are. Thanks to Sasha, and some technical maneuvering I am not going to ask about on the grounds that she is an excellent and able assistant and I don’t want to have to visit her in prison, I was able to gain access by plausibly claiming to be her grandson. I’m here to look around and…hopefully get a better idea of her. So…let’s begin.”

He keeps up a running commentary as he searches the apartment. Gertrude’s life was an austere one; the kitchen contains nothing but a collection of teabags, a pot, a kettle, and a single mug. Jon goes ahead and packs it all into a box, especially the tea, which is Martin’s preferred variety. The bed is neatly made, as if she expected to be back soon—which, well, of course she must have—and she has no more than a dozen different outfits. Three suits—two skirt, one pant—and a red silk chiffon evening gown of a style popular in the 1970s hang in the closet, along with two pairs of sensible brogues and a pair of pointy-toed high heels; the drawers contain a few pullovers and a couple pairs of more casual slacks, beyond the usual assortment of undergarments.

The bookshelf draws his attention. It’s a single shelf, filled with books, but there are no others in the apartment. Quickly, he scans the spines, narrating a few of the titles into his recorder, before stopping and sighing.

“It’s…it seems to be mostly nonfiction,” he says. “Some fiction, but most of these appear to be books on history. I don’t have time to go through them all here, so I’m going to do the next best thing. The agent did tell me to pack up and take what I wanted and they’ll throw away the rest. There might be something useful in here. And if all else fails, we’ll have some new books to read, I suppose.”

His first box is relatively full, so he sets up a second box and begins layering the books in it, muttering to himself as he does so. “I have no idea if all of these will fit in this box or not, but we’ll see what we can do. For that matter, I don’t know if I’m even going to be able to pick it up myself. And if I have to carry more—”

The lightbulb goes out overhead with a faint, metallic pop.

Jon blinks the spangles away from his retinas and glances up with an exasperated sigh. It was late in the afternoon when he arrived here, and the sun has set by now, so with Gertrude’s unexpectedly thick, dark curtains drawn, there’s no light coming from outside. The ceiling light is too high for Jon to reach; he has a brief moment of wishing Martin was there, or Tim, before heaving himself to his feet with a sigh. He gives his eyes a second to adjust, then makes his way carefully towards the end table with its small china lamp. It’s not optimal, but it will at least give him enough light to see.

“You don’t want to do that,” a sing-song voice says from behind him.

Jon nearly leaps out of his skin. Footsteps sound behind him—sharp and crisp and ominous—and he turns around to make out a tall, slim shadow moving towards him.

“I mean,” the same voice continues, “you can if you really want to, but you’re not going to like it. Sometimes not being able to see is a good thing.”

“Wh-who are you?” Jon stammers out. He tries to tell himself that it’s simply one of Gertrude’s neighbors, that this is perfectly harmless, but he doesn’t believe it. The last eight months have knocked most of his capacity for deliberate self-delusion right out of him.

He can’t actually see the grin in the darkness, but he can hear it. “Well, my father named me Nikola, and then I killed him, so I thought I rather deserved to have his second name, too. Which makes me Nikola Orsinov. Pleased to meet you at last.”

Jon now wishes Tim or Martin were here for a completely different reason. He swallows hard. “Y-you, ah—you killed Gregor Orsinov?”

“Yep!” Nikola Orsinov says brightly. “He was really boring, and I’m a monster. What did you want me to do—not pull him to pieces? I did use all the bits.”

Jon can feel the bile rising in his throat and mingling with the terror, threatening to choke him. “How—how did you get in here?”

“I followed you, silly! You didn’t even lock the door.” There’s a slight creaking noise as the shadowy figure shakes its head. “Gertrude would be so disappointed in you. You let me into her house!”

“There’s nothing here,” Jon says. He fervently hopes that’s true. “N-nothing important…”

“Oh, I don’t believe that. And neither do you, or you wouldn’t be here! That nasty old Eye wouldn’t have told you to come if there wasn’t a reason.”

Jon wonders if it was actually the Eye’s idea that he come here, or if it was his own idea, or a conflation of the two. He also wonders if anyone will hear him if he screams, if he can make it past Orsinov to the door or if he’ll need to use the window, and if he’ll manage to survive if he passes out. Irrationally, on top of all of this, he finds himself trying to remember the name of that girl in his Intro to Drama class with the gift for fainting on cue without hurting herself. Slowly, he reaches for the lamp.

“Don’t turn that on,” Orsinov orders, somehow managing to sound sharp and intimidating while at the same time never losing the high, lilting, almost childish sweetness to her voice.

Jon freezes. The name Ellie Hall slams into the front of his brain and he desperately tries to clear it away. He refuses to let his last thoughts be ones of regret, refuses to wonder if he’d still be trapped in a dark flat with a manifestation of the fear of the unknown if he’d stayed on the theatre track, certainly refuses to waste any more brainpower on the stereotypical prima donna who’d been the reason he switched his degree path in the first place. Think, he tells himself. He needs to pull up something to give him strength, or at least the courage to face his doom.

His hand falls away from the lamp and hits his pocket; his fingers trace the outline of his phone through the fabric. He thinks of the picture on the background—of Martin and Tim with Charlie, watching the fireworks display. The people he cares about are waiting for him to come home. Whether they need him or not is immaterial. They’re waiting for him and he can’t let them down.

The wrong shall fail, the right prevail.

“Are you here to kill me?” he asks, and he manages to ask it without his voice shaking. Small victory, but he’ll take it.

“No!” Orsinov says, sounding absolutely aghast. Jon relaxes, marginally, until she adds after a moment’s thought, “Well, yes, but not now. That would spoil everything. It would be a shame for you to go to waste.”

Unbidden, Jon wonders how, exactly, she used all of Gregor Orsinov’s “bits” and what she plans to use his for. He really and truly does not want to think about it, but he can’t seem to stop. He decides to put the blame for that on the entity of fearful and forbidden knowledge looming over his shoulder. “Wh-why are you here then?”

“I’ve heard so many interesting things about you, Archivist. I decided it was finally time for us to have a good old chat,” Orsinov says. “Face to no face! Eye to…well.”

Face to no face. Okay. Jon is definitely not turning on the light now. “What have you heard?”

“Well!” Orsinov says with relish. “First my friends came to make a delivery for you, and they said you called on all sorts of nasty powers to send them away. That wasn’t very nice, Archivist. It’s rude to chase away your guests.” She gives a delighted little laugh—not a giggle, not like Michael’s, but unnerving in its own way. “And then it turns out we have a friend in common! Isn’t that nice? Only he’s very sneaky. He came to visit Daniel and Sarah, and they thought he was coming to join us in our dance, but then he was…unmasked. He ran away! So very rude.” She sighs. “But then, what do you expect from the Eye? No manners.”

Tim. Oh, God, she knows Tim was at the Trophy Room, of course she does. And if Breekon and Hope are her “friends”, then she knows about Martin and Sasha, too. Jon’s terror compounds. “Leave them alone.”

“Oh, I’m not interested in them. Maybe. Or maybe it’s all of you! But if you can do it by yourself, that would be fine, I’m sure.”

Jon takes a deep breath and squeezes his phone—for luck or comfort, he’s not sure which. “What do you want from me, then?”

“I want you to find that old skin for me,” Orsinov says cheerily.

“The sk—the gorilla skin?” It’s the only thing Jon can think of—the gorilla skin missing from the Trophy Room when Tim went to investigate.

“Mm-hmm! We thought nasty old Gertrude had destroyed it, but your friend came asking so many nosy questions, so now we think maybe she was just very good at hiding,” Orsinov told him.

“I’m sorry, you want me to find it for you?” Jon’s tongue seems to have become temporarily disconnected from his brain, because he cannot seriously be talking like this to something that has already made no bones about telling him it tore its creator to pieces.

“That would be lovely. And a lot nicer for you than our other ideas.”

The idea that Gertrude might have stolen a skin from the Trophy Room never occurred to Jon, but now that he thinks about it, it makes sense. He’s beginning to realize that she likely did read all of the statements, at least all the real ones; if he and his team can sense a true statement, surely she could, after forty years. She kept the Archives in disarray in hopes of slowing down Jonah’s plan, but he realizes she had to have read the statements to know they needed to be misfiled, and oh, God, why is he thinking about this now instead of getting out of this alive?

Because, a small voice in the back of his head says, if Gertrude stole the skin, it must be important to the Stranger.

“Wh-why—why do you want it?” Jon stammers out.

Orsinov’s hands clap together twice with a disturbingly hollow, plastic sound, and Jon can’t explain why that’s somehow more terrifying than his initial thought that she was an animated piece of taxidermy like Rawlings and Sarah Baldwin. In a voice of childish glee, she says, “I want to wear it when I dance the world new!”

Jon wonders if he can borrow some of Tim’s wit—what, you’re going to turn it into a dress or something?—but as the thought crosses his mind, another one meets it halfway and strikes him momentarily dumb with terror. The painting Martin Prime described all those months ago—the figure in the warehouse with the manic grin, the man tied to a chair. I thought you’d make a lovely frock.

Oh, God.

“But—but wh—” he begins, but gets no further. A shadowy arm shoots out of the darkness, faster than he can move, and seizes him around the throat in a powerful grip. It is, as he surmised from hearing the clapping, made of plastic—or at least something hard and unyielding—smooth, firm, and cold. He finds himself both wishing he kept his scarf on and glad he didn’t, as the plastic joints would probably pinch at Charlie’s inexpert and uneven stitches and unravel them.

That thought quickly takes second place to the fact that his feet are not touching the floor, followed by the fact that his flow of oxygen is very definitely being cut off.

“Question time is over, little Archivist,” Orsinov says, still in that same sing-song voice. “Find the skin. You have until…well, until I change my mind.”

She opens her hand, and Jon drops to the ground in a graceless, undignified heap. He gasps and sputters, struggling to force air back into his lungs, and looks up at the silhouette looming over him, equal parts terrified and angry.

“Shh,” she says, the sound far eerier than it has any right to be. “Save your energy for the dance.”

The plastic footsteps sound on the laminate again, and Nikola Orsinov is gone, leaving Jon alone in the darkened apartment.

He spends a few minutes greedily gulping down air. Tears stream down his cheeks and he’s not sure if it’s from the near-asphyxiation or from fear or maybe a little bit of both. Rubbing at his sore throat with one hand, he fishes out his phone with the other, activates it, and stares at the picture for a long moment, hoping to draw on that sense of peace and happiness he felt in the moment he took it.

He doesn’t. All he feels is a renewed sense of terror, because everything he loves is in this picture. It’s a reminder of what he stands to lose if he fails—of what can be taken from him in an instant if he’s not careful. He has to find that skin. Somehow.

He thumbs over to his contacts, hovers over the button to call Martin, and stops. He can’t. He’s still coughing and gasping for air, so if he tries to call, Martin will know by his voice something is wrong and try to come after him, and he can’t put him in danger. Can’t worry him, not like that.

Instead, he switches over to the group chat Tim has arbitrarily labeled Team Archives Happy Fun Times And Doomsday Prophylactic Society Executive Committee and sends a text. [Almost done. Where are you all?]

Sasha replies first. [Still back at the Archives. Cleaning up for the night.]

Tim is the next to respond. Rather than words, he sends a picture he obviously took at arm’s length, crammed between Martin and Sasha and with the time and date on a laptop screen behind them prominently displayed. Jon smiles, briefly. They’ve all grown a bit less trusting of text messages since the whole Jane Prentiss incident; he’s pretty sure the next step is going to be code phrases that change on the daily.

[Stay there. All of you. I’ll be back shortly.] Jon struggles to his feet and switches on the lamp. He contemplates the boxes for a moment, then sweeps as many of the books as he can into one and folds it up. The other he unpacks and unfolds again, then tucks the box of tea into his jacket along with the tape recorder. He puts the scarf back on carefully, hoping it’ll hide any bruising, hoists the box in both arms, and remembers to lock the door on his way out.

He drove today. Thank God he drove today. After carefully checking the backseat, the boot, and under the car for stray clowns or mannequins or anything else, really, he climbs into the car and drives the exact speed limit back to the Institute. It’s well past the end of the day by the time he arrives, and it’s a Friday to boot, so he’s pretty much the last car in the parking lot. Jon leaves the box of books in the boot, double-checks the locks, and practically runs down the steps into the Archives.

His team is there, standing by the cluster of desks. Martin is the first to notice, and he makes a small noise that alerts the others to turn around. Jon doesn’t slow down, just charges straight across the Archives floor and all but flings himself at Tim and Martin. As their arms wrap around him, he relaxes for the first time since the lights went out, even though he’s very aware of the fact that he’s still shaking.

“Jon? Jon, what’s wrong?” Martin’s voice is sharp with anxiety. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

“We’ve got you. We’ve got you,” Tim murmurs. “It’s okay. You’re safe. What happened?”

“Orsinov,” Jon croaks out, and damn, his voice is still raw. He doesn’t pull back from the comfort of his friends’ embrace, though. “Gregor Orsinov—his, his daughter, I suppose—calls herself Nikola Orsinov—she was there.”

“Oh, God.” Tim pulls both Martin and Jon closer to himself. There’s a brief rustle, and then Jon feels someone else join the embrace; he sincerely hopes it’s Sasha. “In Gertrude’s flat? Was she waiting for you?”

“No—no, she followed me.”

“What did she want?” Sasha asks, and thankfully her voice is right where he’d expect it to be if she was the fourth member of this hug.

Jon tries to take a deep breath and accidentally gets a mouthful of fluff from Tim’s sweater, so it takes a second before he can answer. “The gorilla skin—the one from the statement. The one that Rawlings told you had been stolen. She wants me to find it.”

Some of the pressure eases up; Jon clings harder to Martin and Tim, feeling a little foolish but not really caring. He’s scared, damn it, he needs the comfort, and while sometimes when he’s afraid he wants to be given space and left alone, more and more lately he’s found himself only feeling safe when he’s being held. He decides not to think too hard about what that says about him.

“Why does she think you can find it?” Sasha asks, sounding puzzled.

“A-apparently Gertrude stole it. Orsinov thought she’d destroyed it, but…” Jon hesitates. He doesn’t want to make Tim think it’s his fault.

Tim groans. “But I was asking leading questions, so once Breekon and Hope outed me, she thought we were looking for it, too. God, Jon, I—”

“No, it’s not your fault,” Jon insists. “I-it—it’s not your fault.”

“Did she hurt you?” Martin asks quietly. “Or just try to frighten you?”

Oh, Jon is tempted to lie. Martin didn’t force him to answer; he can just stay silent. But his options don’t exist in a vacuum, and he can’t do that to Martin.

“She grabbed me,” he admits. “By the throat. J-just for a minute, but—”

“Oh, God. Let me see.” Martin tries to pull back, but Jon grabs him tighter and shakes his head.

“I’m all right. I’m all right,” he insists. It’s not quite the truth and not quite a lie. “It’s not—I’ll take a look when we get home. I just don’t—right now I don’t want anyone going anywhere alone. Sasha, are you—do you want to spend the night or—”

“I really need to go home,” Sasha says, and when Jon looks over at her, she seems regretful. “Visiting hours tomorrow, and I promised Uncle Wade I’d be there.”

“Okay. Then I’m driving you, at least.”

“I’ll accept a ride.”

Jon nods. “Just…give me a minute.”

He knows it’s silly. Knows it’s a lot to ask of Tim and Martin. But he just needs a few more minutes in the safety of their arms before he has the strength to move.

They don’t talk about it further that night. They drop Sasha off, bring the books into their house, and have dinner. Martin makes a soothing tea and Tim carefully tends to the bruises forming on Jon’s throat and Jon makes tomato soup despite the other two saying he doesn’t have to cook. They end up going to bed early, snug under a quilt and a knitted afghan and cuddled close together. Jon falls asleep safe and warm in Tim and Martin’s arms, and for the first time in over a year, he doesn’t dream.

[thebachelordiaries]

Clare seeks HIMBO: ‘The Bachelorette’ cast first impressions

The Covid-19 pandemic has been rough for the entire world, but Bachelor Nation faced some dark days too. Going eight months without a single new episode from The Bachelor franchise is something I would really like to not relive.

Fortunately, those dark days are over. Clare’s season has me sucked back in. 

The quality of this image is atrocious.

Most of these men—presuming they followed CDC’s social distancing guidelines— haven’t seen a woman in months, are touch deprived, possibly unemployed and contemplating moving back to their hometown while stalking the housing market on Zillow. Everyone’s desperate. That makes for some pretty good TV.

This season features men ranging from ages 26 to 41. We’ve got a boy band manager, a grooming specialist, several men who look like they masturbate in front of full length mirrors and even more who probably want me to join their MLM pyramid scheme. 

I’ve never been more ready to roast a bunch of men who have nightmares about going bald. It’s all I’ve wanted to do since March.

Let’s go:

AJ, 28, Software sales

AJ is the kind of guy who writes “Looking for the Pam to my Jim <3″ on his Bumble profile. His bio is generic and probably not reflective of who he is as a person. If I were Clare I’d swipe left.

Ben, 29, Army ranger veteran

“Ben's favorite indulgence is an ice bath.“ Well then.

Alexa, play “Run” by AWOLNATION.

Bennett, 36, Wealth management consultant

Bennett’s profile is the biggest red flag I’ve ever seen. This man says he is the total package but hasn’t always been "this successful and good looking.” But wait, there’s more: “According to Bennett, his high school girlfriend is the only girl he's ever had to work for.“

Can someone tell me what NYC neighborhood he lives in so I can blacklist it?

Blake M1, 31, Male grooming specialist

Blake’s just another stereotypical “29th round draft pick who sat on the bench of the practice team before getting cut, but claims he left the sport due to an injury on his own accord.” 

Blake M2, 29, Wildlife manager

This Blake is an outdoorsy Canadian who seems pretty genuine and cool. Unfortunately, he has the face of someone who’d get sent home on night one. I hope I’m wrong.

Brandon, 28, Real Estate Agent

Just another boring hot person. Nothing to see here.

Brendan, 30, Commercial roofer

Brandan, not to be confused for Brandon, “loves some good true crime, working out and hanging out with his friends.” I can’t even make fun of this man. We have the exact same interests. 

Chasen, 31, IT account executive

The Winklevoss twins are actually triplets and Chasen is their long lost brother. But more seriously, have you ever seen someone who looks more like their name than this man?

Chris, 27, Landscape design salesman

“Chris hopes to find a woman who is sharp and witty but also easygoing.” Chris, sweetheart, have you met Clare? Easygoing...? There’s still time back out of this before it’s too late.

Dale, 31, Former pro football wide receiver

Dale aggressively screams “Bachelor material.” I’d say he’s auditioning for that role but Matt James already scooped it up. Better luck next year, Daley.

Demar, 26, Spin cycling instructor

Demar is a “very popular spin instructor in Scottsdale and says he can get on that bike and spin to any beat thrown his way.” Imagine how many trophy wives Demar has f*cked? 

Eazy, 29, Sports marketing agent

Eazy is very similar to Dale on paper. Except his name is Eazy so he automatically loses that battle.

Ed, 33, Health care salesman

“Ed is looking to find a woman who has natural beauty without looking overly fake.” Ed deserves to die alone.

Garin, 34, Professor of Journalism

Garin’s bio is giving me hubby material vibes. And maybe a little bit of a “gets eliminated on night one” vibe too.

Ivan, 28, Aeronautical Engineer

Ivan, what are you doing here? We’re in a recession. Please go back to your normal job before it’s too late. 

Jason, 31, Former pro football linemen

“He is a former NFL offensive lineman who, after suffering too many concussions on the field, decided to prioritize his health and change the direction of his life.” A big, brawny HIMBO with CTE? I feel like he’s Clare’s type.

Jay, 29, Fitness director

There are too many things about Jay that I dislike and I’m trying to keep this brief. Jay says “it's time to take a break from worrying about others and focus on himself instead.” I am willing to bet money that this man has never made a woman c*m.

Jeremy, 40, Banker

Jeremy is the oldest contestant ever to come on "The Bachelorette,” which may seem like a monuments accomplishment but he’s literally only one year older than Clare. 

He also “hates Instagram models, both male and female,” so he should have a lot of fun here.

Joe, 36, Anesthesiologist

Before I even saw his profession and location, I thought Joe looked like a doctor I’d find on a NYC dating app...and...uh...I probably did see him on there now that I think about it.

Anyway, this man has apparently been through seven stages of hell while on the front lines fighting Covid-19 in NYC so I definitely think he deserves to find love. Someone marry him please.

Jordan C, 26, Software account executive

I can already tell Jordan is going to get the “I’m young but mature” edit which means he’s probably not going to be good TV.

Too bad someone a tad younger (like Tayshia) wasn’t the Bachelorette. I feel like they’d make a cute couple.

Jordan M., 30, Cyber security engineer

I was going to say something mean but Jordan’s into cyber security and I don’t want my blog to be deactivated, so never mind. Cast photos are historically bad so I’m sure he looks much better in real life.

Kenny, 39, Boy band manager

I could go for the obvious drags regarding this man’s profession (or his sh*tty chest tattoo, or his suspiciously boyish face relative to his age), but I like to think I’m more clever than that. 

I’d like to take this time to talk about men, who are obviously difficult people, who rant and rave about how they want an “easygoing” woman. Look into the mirror, bud. No, not the one you use to jerk off to your reflection; the mirror that looks into your soul. Out of respect for the rest of humankind, have some self-awareness. Or maybe just see a therapist.

Mike, 38, Digital media advisor

Mike is seemingly a decent catch, but I can’t help but wonder why he’s still single or how he never (accidentally or on purpose) impregnated a woman in his 38 years of life. 

And now that I’m thinking about it, do any of these men have children? I have yet to see any mention of it in their bios. But there are eight men left to review, so there’s still time.

Page, 37, Chef

I spoke too soon. Page is a father! He also hates football! I’m a fan of this man. I was initially going to drag him for his name and say that Page is not a real name. PAIGE is a real name. PAGE is a piece of paper. I’m allowed to say this because we have the same name except mine is spelled the correct way. Based on my (mostly positive) review of his cast bio, I have decided not to hold his name against him.

Riley, 30, Long Island City

Riley, once married with children, would like to go on a family vacation that consists of touring every single MLB stadium in the country. If i were his wife, I would simply never give this man children.

Robby, 30, Insurance broker

No more Robbys on The Bachelorette. Society has evolved past its need for more Robbys.

This Robby described his dream woman as: “Incredibly athletic and able to throw back a few beers with him after a day of hiking. She has a sweet personality and won't mind that he spends his Sundays on the golf course.”

Someone please give this man a sex doll. He just wants a hole.

Tyler C., 27, Lawyer

“Tyler C. is a badass lawyer who says he is a businessman by day and a cowboy by night.” How does that make him a lawyer? Does this mean he’s into cosplay? I’m confused.

Tyler S., 36, Music manager

Tyler makes an honorable living off riding his brother’s dick success as a country singer. “He just LOVES his job!” Uh yeah, I would too if I had a low-show, high-paying job off the merits of nepotism. It’s the American dream.

Yosef, 30, Medical device salesman

Another dad! He’s totally going to pull the “girl dad” narrative. That saying is kind of sexist to me but the masses generally eat it up, so I’m fairly confident Yosef will get the "sweet guy” edit he’s looking for.

Zac C., 36, Addiction specialist

“He loves Philadelphia sports and dreams of sharing a Philly Cheesesteak with his future wife while watching the Eagles win a Super Bowl.” This man is so South Jersey it hurts. 

On a more serious note, I don’t think anyone in recent history has spoken openly about their personal struggle with addiction on this show, so I hope Zac gets a chance to tell his story. 

Zach J., 37, Cleaning service owner

Zach is seemingly obsessed with Clare already and hopes to introduce her to his mom as his fiancée. Since Zach watched Clare on Juan Pablo’s season, you’d think he’d know that Clare would first meet his mom during the final four hometown dates. Assuming he makes it that far. My prediction is that he won’t.

Final thoughts

After eight long months Bachelor Mondays are back!!!

Uhh....wait.

Actually, we now have the less-exciting Bachelor Tuesdays. Yeah, it definitely doesn’t have the same ring to it. But I’ll take anything at this point.

Here are my final predictions:

First impression rose: Dale. It just looks like he can turn on the bullsh*t charm

Final rose: Jason. Clare wants a HIMBO I just know it.

Bachelor: nobody (Matt James is The Bachelor)

Most likely to get engaged on Bachelor in Paradise: Blake M2

Most likely to get canceled online: Bennett

Most likely to get sent home night one but deserve better: Chris

Who are your favorite men cast on this season?

[danyka-fendyr]

Absence of Good

Chapter 1: Masquerade

Okay so I’ve been talking about starting a Spencer Reid fic for 8 million years and now I’m finally going to do it. So anyway...ya’ll better reblog this and leave nice comments if you want the second part that I will write regardless of whether anyone validates me or not because this is half for myself. Don’t judge you know you’re in the same boat. Anyway, enjoy. Or don’t I can’t make you love me.

Permanent Taglist: @rhabakoli @dreamwritesimagines

Warnings: Extremely graphic gore, descriptions of murder, disturbing themes

Wordcount: 3234

“When people see some things as beautiful, other things become ugly. When people see some things as good, other things become bad.”

-Lao Tzu

The most intimidating part of a job was always the first day. You didn’t know anybody, you didn’t really know what you were doing, and you were still a little bit convinced that your boss was judging your every move and kind of hated you. The fact that Aaron Hotchner had not once smiled during your interview did nothing to assuage that fear.

However, here you were, in the elevator at Quantico, with a tray full of coffee, balancing a million creamers and even more sugar, because you weren’t sure what everyone liked but you were trying to win them all over with bribery anyway. A lovely day, truly.

You had wanted this job in the BAU for years. You were morbidly interested in serial killers ever since you were young, and fascinated with catching them. To most people it was...offputting, to say the least. People don’t really warm up to the girl who thinks that announcing how many people Gary Ridgeway killed is a good ice breaker. 49 confirmed, 71 claimed, by the way.

So naturally, you figured you should go somewhere your talents would be better appreciated. Unfortunately, every half-wit piece of muscle in the FBI wanted to be in the BAU, so it had taken you several years to get to where you were today. Frankly, you thought you should have been here much sooner, but it was a rigorous process, and so you had to wait until you were well into your 20′s. But hey, not like you were getting any younger over here, right? 

Okay, so you were bitter. What else is new?

Your first few seconds in the bullpen were utterly terrifying for the simple fact that nobody noticed you were there. This was not...how do you say...uncommon, for you. However, it was exceptionally awkward. Did you speak up? Did you just wait until someone noticed you trying to juggle too many coffees and so much sugar you could fill a bathtub with it because that’s how you liked your coffee? Fortunately, you didn’t have to decide.

“Agent Y/L/N,” SSA Hotchner said. “I see you brought coffee.”

That was almost a smile. You knew the coffee was a good idea.

“Oh, uh...yeah. I figured, first day, right? First impressions and everything.” You started unloading your coffee when Hotchner gestured you towards a vacant desk waiting for you. “I hope nobody minds the ridiculous amount of sugar. I just didn’t know how you guys take your coffee, and I like my sugar with a side of coffee you know, so...”

You stood back, swaying awkwardly on your stilettos a little bit and trying not to let your body language cave in on itself like you wanted to. To help with your anxiety, you noticed upon turning around that everyone had swiftly crowded around you. Awkward.

“Ha, you sound like our boy genius. He puts so much sugar in his coffee it’s barely recognizable anymore.” A tall, incredibly fit black man chuckled. “I’m Morgan, by the way, but my friends call me chocolate thunder.” 

He winked. Uh...okay. Somebody swooped in to save you from that though.

“Ignore him. I’m Jennifer but everyone just calls me JJ and the coffee was a lovely gesture.” The stunning blonde leaned forward to shake your hand, but not before cutting Morgan a glare.

“Emily Prentiss.” The dark-haired, serious-looking woman gave you a smile as she shook your hand.

“SSA Rossi, pleased to meet you.” The older Italian man gave you a little smile as he shook your hand.

The truth was you already knew a little about all of them, having read through their personnel files before starting this job. Which meant you were prepared when Dr. Spencer Reid began his introduction.

“Hi, I’m-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you were already pulling hand sanitizer out of your purse and applying some of it, stopping him dead in his tracks with confusion.

“Dr. Spencer Reid. Your reputation precedes you.” Now you were in your element, a little smirk on your face and a twinkle in your eye.

Stunned, he reached forward to take your hand even as he said, “You know, hand sanitizer actually only kills-”

“Spencer, please,” JJ interrupted teasingly. “Not yet. We want to keep this one.”

You laughed, already finding it easy to fit in with this crowd. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It would take a lot more than that to scare me away.”

You winked at him, and he blushed. Oh, you were going to have fun with this one. He was cute and smart, the whole package. You’d be damned if you weren’t already a little smitten.

“Oh, there’s a new person!” A cute blonde with absolutely wild style stopped dead in her tracks, surprised to see you. “You’re the new!”

“I’m the new,” You confirmed.

“Oh, hello! I’m Penelope, and unfortunately, I come bearing bad news.”

“There’s a case baby girl?” Agent Morgan spoke up.

“Right as always my sweet, sweet Chocolate Thunder.” Ah. So that was what that was about.

Heading into the briefing room, you and Reid ended up trailing a bit behind, causing you to lean into him to whisper. “Are they a couple?”

He laughed a little bit. “No. Just best friends. That’s just how they communicate.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Nice. I like it.”

“Yeah?” He smiled.

“Yep.”

Before you got the chance to say anything more though, you were officially being briefed. You absolutely couldn’t afford to talk during your very first briefing, so you just smiled at the handsome brunet before giving all of your attention to one Penelope Garcia.

“Alright crime fighters, brace yourselves because this is a bad one, even for our standards. The images I am about to show you are to be viewed with caution and it is not advised you continue on if you are pregnant, have a heart condition or are prone to seizures. I’m going to hit the button now and one of you is going to tell me when I can look again.”

True to her word, Garcia clicked a button on the remote and then shielded her eyes. You could see why. The images on the screen were absolutely brutal. They were women, or at least you were pretty sure they were women, who had had their eyes, noses, and mouths removed. Three of them, one after the other. You liked to think you had a pretty strong stomach, but this...this was giving you the heeby jeebies. All the Scary Mary R.L. Stein nightmares you had as a kid were coming right on back now.

“That’s...really something,” You breathed quietly.

“No kidding.” You were validated in your disgust by Agent Morgan, who looked just as perturbed.

“It gets worse, kiddies,” Garcia spoke, eyes still closed. “Their limbs were all cut off, but those were left at the crime scene. The missing facial bits though, and I deeply, deeply regret having to say this, were nowhere to be found.”

“Trophies,” Rossi said.

“Most likely,” Reid agreed from where he sat next to you. “Most enucleators take the eyes as trophies, and while it’s highly unusual for other facial features to be removed, it seems logical to assume that these would also be taken as trophies, especially given the complete disregard for the rest of the body.”

Garcia hit another button, causing different, less horrifying images to come up.

“Can I look now?”

“You can look baby girl,” Morgan reassured her.

“Oh thank goodness. You know I hate that part.” Garcia continued with the case briefing, letting you know exactly where you would be flying to.

“We’ve already made contact with the Miami police department. They’ll be ready for us when we arrive. Wheel’s up in 30,” Hotch instructed.

“Okay, so the victims,” you said, wanting to voice what was on your mind. “The taking of the eyes, nose, and lips is all extremely personal. But the cutting off of the limbs and then just leaving them there says quite the opposite. Like...there’s this loathing of the body but an obsession with the face.”

JJ nodded. “Agreed. It’s oddly matter of fact too. Very business-like. Look at these cuts,” she said, pointing to the photos. “Aside from the first victim, who’s a little rougher, these are clean, precise chops. Just get it done and over with. But the face, there’s detail there.”

“Agreed,” Rossi said. “Look at those cuts. Not a single piece is missing. It’s absolutely vital to this guy that he get the whole package. The eyes are perfectly severed from the ocular nerve, a clean removal, almost surgical in precision. And the nose...he had to cut through a lot of cartilage to get that kind of clean, flat removal. Our guy has to have some kind of history in the medical field.”

“It’s likely that they symbolize a depersonalization for him,” Reid said, hands bunching as he spoke. “The taking of all of the distinguishing features of the face indicates a sense of ownership. It’s as if he’s saying, ‘Look, I’ve taken who you are. Who people know you as.’ Some believe that the Ancient Greeks used masks in their plays to cause the viewers to focus on the character’s actions, rather than their appearance. All of our victims were relatively low risk. It could be our unsub sees these women as wearing masks, but he doesn’t like the actions that correspond with the face they choose to wear, or he believes their actions do not correspond with their mask and therefore they do not deserve to wear it. This taking of the self, of the soul if you will, could be symbolic of a dissatisfaction with how these women present themselves and how that conflicts with the unsub’s view of them.”

The rest of the team did not seem nearly impressed enough by this. You, for one, were awestruck. You had read about him, of course, but that was nothing compared to the real thing. He was beautiful.

“Okay, so we’re assuming that our guy probably knows his victims,” Morgan said.

“It would make sense. It makes it easier to get close to such low-risk targets if he does know them,” you said.

“You have a point,” Rossi said.

“Alright, well, first we need to determine whether or not our unsub is in the medical field or not. Y/L/N, Reid, head to the M.E.’s and find out what you can about the bodies. Morgan and Prentiss, you’ll head to where they found the last body, and...” Hotch continued dolling out assignments, and before you knew it, you were there.

“The media are already calling him the Face Thief,” the Miami PD chief told Hotch.

“Oh, that’s original,” you grumbled.

“Well, it does its job. People around here are terrified. This is like something straight out of everyone’s worst nightmares.”

Hotch nodded. “Well, don’t worry. My team and I plan on catching this guy as quickly as we can.”

Speaking of which, you and Reid needed to go talk to their M.E. Now, what did a girl have to do to get a dead body around here?

Spencer seemed to know his way around pretty well, probably having memorized the layout of the police station on the plane or something, and so you followed his lead.

“I take it you know where we’re going?”

“Yeah. Been here a few times before,” he said.

“Have you ever seen anything like this?”

He paused in the hallway. “No. This is some pretty intense stuff. And while I can’t exactly say it’s not like this all the time, well...”

“It’s not like this all the time,” you finished for him.

“Yeah, exactly.” He laughed a little bit. “So, you’re kind of young to be in the BAU already.”

It wasn’t a rude question. From anyone else, it might have been, but you could tell he was just curious. Plus you happened to know he was a child prodigy, and therefore was in no place to judge.

“Yeah, well, don’t make any mistakes. It took me forever and a day to get here. I just skipped a couple years of high school, fast-tracked my college education, that’s all.”

Spencer nodded. “I read your file. You finished your Bachelor’s in a year and a half, joined the FBI at 19 and gained your doctorate while working for the bureau. That’s pretty impressive.”

You smiled wryly. “Oh, you can’t fool me Dr. Reid. I’ve read your file too, you know. Now you, you are quite impressive.”

The man before you blushed beet red, stammering out something that sounded like the beginnings of an excuse, but fortunately for him you both found yourself in the presence of the M.E. before he had to come up with anything more than, “Well, I don’t know I-I mean-”

“Dr. Reid. Dr. Y/L/N. Let’s get right to it. This guy does some neat work, but he’s no doctor.”

“Really?” You asked, fascinated.

“Yep. Look at these cuts here around the mouth. They’re jagged. There are hesitation marks. Not because of inexperience with the action, but lack of expertise. You can see the same marks around the nose and eyes. And, I’m sorry to say, all of this was done anti-mortem, which did not make his job any easier.”

“He’s a sadist, then,” you deduced. “He gets off on their pain.”

The M.E. nodded before continuing.

“He started with the eyes, which I hate to admit is smart since those are the easiest part to remove wholesale, which seems to be this guy's trademark. After that, the victim usually passes out and dies from blood loss, which makes the rest of his job easier. But if you look closely you can see these aren’t surgical cuts. The only precision here stems from a purely obsessive desire to get things right. It’s good work for an amateur, but it’s just that, amateur,” she said.

“And the limbs?” Dr. Reid asked.

“Well, I can tell you a little bit more about those, since we still have them. They were cut off post-mortem, and it was a pretty quick job. It looks like it was done with some sort of power tool. There’s no beauty to those, and there’s no attempt to make it look pretty. And yes, the torsos do show signs of sexual assault. Additionally, it looks like he knocked his victims out first to incapacitate them before taking them to a secondary location and waiting for them to regain consciousness before beginning his..process.”

“I guess we can tick the sexual box in the sexual sadist checklist.” You sighed.

Reid nodded, leaning forward to more closely examine the nature of the cuts and the body.

“Okay,” you said, thinking out loud. “I’m the victim. You’ve got me tied up and you’re about to remove my eyes. I’m doing a lot of screaming. You scoop my eyes out. Here’s what I’m wondering. Why not start with the nose? If he’s a sadist, wouldn’t he want to like...see the look in their eyes or something sick like that?”

Spencer hummed thoughtfully. “It’s possible it’s an act of remorse, but that seems unlikely given the other details of this case.”

You thanked the M.E. before heading back out, but you stopped Reid in the hallway.

“Okay, indulge me. Let’s play this out. You’re the unsub and I’m the victim,” you said, leaning up against the wall and gesturing for him to get all in your business. “Okay, so you’re looking at me, and what are you thinking.”

Spencer stared at you, and you thought you caught the sharp bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed, but you brushed it aside. He took a step closer, fingers brushing across your cheekbones as he stared at you thoughtfully. For your part, you tried not to let your heart race, because you had sincerely not thought about how attractive the good doctor was before signing up for this experience.

“You’re right,” he murmured. “The eyes are the most expressive. But...maybe that’s what he values about them. They’re so beautiful.”

It was your turn to swallow hard. That felt deliciously personal, but you were trying not to read too much into it. His brow furrowed, expression changing.

“Maybe that’s it. This is more about the eyes than the whole face. The eyes take precedent because, if he’s removing the face to capture their essence somehow, what are eyes said to be the window to?”

You grinned. “The soul.”

“Exactly.” He smiled back at you, and you must have forgotten to put a dryer sheet in with your laundry because you swear you felt static electricity crackling up your spine.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, but then you snapped out of it. 

“We have to go tell Hotch!”

It was true that the eyes were the window to the soul, and they were the window to this guy’s soul too. Garcia had gone on the prowl for medical school rejects, people who watched too many YouTube videos about surgery without being nursing majors, and otherwise normal folks who just owned way, way too many scalpels. Before you knew it, you had a prime suspect. And uh, tip? If you ever decide to be a serial killer, try not to kill the people you openly have vendettas against. It makes you really easy to catch. So actually, you know what, go for it.

“I can’t believe this guy ran a whole blog based off of the people in his neighborhood he hates,” you said.

“A whole blog positively riddled with face fetishizing symbolism. This guy could go on for weeks about the masks people wear and how our eyes show who we truly are and blah blah blah,” Emily mocked.

You were in the car on the way to his address. Another girl had been reported missing, and you were praying you wouldn’t be too late to find her. 

As it turned out, you weren’t. In a stroke of good luck, you arrived just in time to save the day. You and Spencer ended up going in together, Spencer taking the lead in talking this guy down. You couldn’t help but admire the way he did it. It was like art, watching him. The careful way he played right into the fantasy, eased the unsub into trusting him. Masterful, right up until the moment he cuffed the guy and the show was over.

On the plane ride back to Quantico, you found yourself sitting next to him. “How do you do it?” 

“Do what?” He asked, confused.

“Play into their fantasies so well. Doesn’t that...I don’t know, mess with your head?”

He became quiet for a moment, and his face fell. You worried that you had said the wrong thing. Crossed a line.

“Yeah. It uh...it takes a toll on you, definitely. Some days, working this job, you’ll be afraid of your own mind,” he admitted quietly.

You didn’t totally know why you leaned into his side on the small couch, other than sheer sympathy. You didn’t totally know why he let you.

“Spenc-Reid,” you corrected yourself. “Do you think the people we deal with are evil? Do you think they ever stood a chance?”

“I ask myself that question a lot,” he said softly. “So many of the people we see behave the way they do as a result of trauma of some kind. That doesn’t excuse their actions by any means, but...it makes you wonder. What if things had been different? How many more people would be alive today? How many more brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons? It’s a ruthless cycle. And all because someone didn’t have anything good in their life, and so they passed that down to someone else. So...I don’t know.”

“Do you think it’s better not to think about it?”

“No. I think it’s important for our jobs to at least try to understand. Besides, it’s human nature to try to make sense of things. Even when it’s hard.” He stared at his hands, head hung low.

“You should get some sleep. Clear your head,” you said gently. “I’ll wake you up before we land.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Just as he settled in, he lifted his head one more time to speak to you. “Y/L/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Great work today.”

“Thanks, Reid. You too.”

Dr. Reid was smiling when he fell asleep.

“Darkness is the absence of light: when there is no light, there is darkness. Light is an existing thing, but darkness is nonexistent.”

- ‘Abdu’l-Bahá

[hippriestess]

Part 4 - I’ve Been Duped...

It was to be expected that some of those who brought us some of the less essential Fall releases would also respond to Smith's death. One of worst was the first to arrive and it came from perennial recyclers Secret Records; a repackaging of 10 live tracks from the 2002 “A Touch Sensitive” DVD – already reconfigured multiple times – on an LP titled, and this absolutely beggars belief, “Best Of” and credited to “The Fall & Mark E Smith”, a credit never once used on a release in Smith's lifetime (a few gig posters, yes but never a record). Released just 3 months after Smith's death for about £18-20, this received the derision it deserved and, judging from the number of copies for sale on Discogs and their current asking prices, it appears to have sold just a little more than fuck all.

But even this was overshadowed come March 2019 when Ozit/Dandelion released what has to be The Worst Fall Release Ever. Pressed into horrid orange vinyl, the contents of “Mark's Personal Holiday Tony Tapes” were staggeringly poor. Proudly labelled as “Non-Record-Store-Day Release” (was it turned down?) the record boasted just 8 tracks. The album tried to elide its rotten contents by calling all the tracks “Mark's Personal Holiday Tony Tapes”. Track 1 was a 6 minute version of “Last Nacht” from “I Am Kurious Oranj”. The released track doesn't actually feature within the 6 minutes so this is probably an outtake and therefore probably not owned by Beggars Banquet. There is a drop out lasting several seconds that has gone uncorrected and it's about 4 minutes longer than it needs to be, confirming the brevity of the version used in 1988 to be bob on. Tracks 2, 4, 6 and 8 are live tracks from 1981, all of which had already been released on the otherwise unimpressive “Northern Cream” DVD. What is barely credible is that tracks 3, 5 and 7 are also “Last Nacht” but not further alternates, rather being Track 1 cut into 2 minute pieces and simply repeated! Did they think we wouldn't notice?! Utterly awful, thoroughly exploitative and an absolute disgrace. They also stumped up a 30 minute DVD of MES being interviewed. This bore the thoroughly unappealing title “30 Minutes On A Manchester Slag Heap”. I only ever saw this for sale on eBay but a couple of clicks confirmed that it was Ozit/Dandelion product being sold by them through that channel. The cover was of a slag heap rather than of MES. Enough said.

OK, let's tidy up, what's next?

The immediate future sees 2 vinyl releases in the August “drop” of the now-staggered, socially-distanced RSD2020; a double LP of “[Austurbæjarbíó] - Reykjavík Live 1983” on the now inevitable splatter vinyl and a single LP of  “Cerebral Caustic” on multi-coloured “bonkers” (their word, absofuckinglutely not mine) splatter vinyl because of course it is. That's all for RSD this year, a move which represents far better judgement by the organisers. A studio album out of print on vinyl for 25 years and a properly sought after live release on the format for the first time? Yeah, that fits well with what RSD was meant to be back when we all queued up for a “Bury Pts 2 + 4” 7” in 2010.

Now, a fun wee question mark was raised over “CC” when the RSD website credited the release to Demon rather than Cherry Red. It appears Demon have the Permanent Records catalogue and have also announced clear vinyl reissues of “The Infotainment Scan”, “Middle Class Revolt”, “The Twenty-Seven Points” and, perhaps most interestingly, “The Post Nearly Man”, all on clear vinyl with expanded artwork from Pascal LeGras. It looks as though these are coming in under the £20 mark (£25 for T27P) and I reckon they'll be popular – I fancy nabbing MCR and TPNM myself. A bit of a downer that all of these, except, oddly, “The Post Nearly Man” were recently rescheduled from September 2020 to January 2021 but hey ho – probably Covid-related, much like everything else.

As for Cherry Red, whilst one report had it that “Are You Are Missing Winner” was next, they are finally releasing a 3CD/2LP edition of “Imperial Wax Solvent” in October. This includes the much-discussed original mix by Grant Showbiz and a previously unavailable live set from shortly after the album's original release. This is, basically, exactly what we wanted. Hurrah! Can't wait.

Thanks to the speculation re: AYAMW, there was a little disappointment in come quarters and I can certainly see a healthy audience for a straight single LP pressing of that as it was only ever available on a picture disc vinyl before. Here's hoping they won't go for a double splatter vinyl with unnecessary extras (“Where's The Fuckin' Taxi? Cunt” on vinyl? Come on, SPARE US).  

To yr present authors surprise, an expanded edition of “The Frenz Experiment” was announced for release by Beggars Banquet/Arkive in October. I had reckoned a new vinyl edition was likely as it was the only studio album on BB not yet afforded a new pressing and the addition of a second LP with various singles tracks was no surprise either, given that there are similar packages available for “TWAFW”, “TNSG” and “Bend Sinister”. A very pleasant surprise however is the inclusion of the group's Janice Long session from 1987, their only unreleased Radio 1 session. Also, “A Day In The Life” has been licenced for the this also (it was the only studio recording from the era missing from “5 Albums”). The Long session and “...Life” are only on the CD version. As such, this release very much follows the pattern of the “Bend Sinister” reissue from 2018 and is likely inspired by the near ecstatic reception and healthy sales that release enjoyed. Nice that the CD edition is £12 this time, having been more like £22 for “Bend Sinister”.

Let Them Eat Vinyl are responsible for the illustration...they are planning an almost ludicrous onslaught of Fall vinyl. Their website currently lists an almost unbelievable THIRTY ONE Fall LP releases for the three months running September to November. Thirty-one. Now – this includes “Interim” which is already on the shelves but it also includes the “Live From The Vaults” releases. It was assumed from the inclusion of two of these on Cherry Red's “Dragnet” 3CD box that these were part of the Fall Sound Archive deal that MES cut with CR in the years before his death which makes this a bit interesting. Also, LTEV are also claiming they will release “The Post-Nearly Man” on vinyl in October, which clashes with Demon's schedule – they originally had Smith and The Fall's albums for Permanent Records releases slated for reissue in September but all except TPNM have been moved. Meanwhile, “Cog Sinister” are about to release TPNM on CD! After being unavailable and highly prized for 2 decades, we're now set for 3 separate reissues within 2 months!  Anyway, the vast majority of the remaining LTEV are discs from the 2 “sets of ten (really eleven)” although also included are the excellent “I Am Pure As Oranj” and the first vinyl edition of “The Light User Syndrome” since its original release in 1996. Caveat Emptor, as the saying goes.

Narnack are also hinting that a 3LP “Fall Heads Roll” isn't too far off. Having teased this for a couple of years, Early in 2020, it was announced that the label was folding. This announcement was deleted and Narnack immediately moved on to asking fans to suggest what additional material could be added to this new version. Never one of their best, there would have to be some impressive outtakes to persuade yr persent scribe to cough up.  

Elsewhere, Phonogram have yet to succumb to new vinyl pressings of their albums, despite the prices fetched on the collectors market for these, especially “Code-Selfish”. This may be partly due to what seems to have been a relatively low take-up for their 6CD box set from 2017. Titled “The Fontana Years”, this was just the 2CD editions of the three albums from 2007 in a box. It therefore looked weak next to the “Singles 1978-2016” box set as well as providing nothing attractive to the faithful who already had them. It hit the shelves at £35-40 a time and, unsurprisingly, remained there and can now be scored for around £20.

The much requested expansion of “The Real New Fall LP” with the original, very different mix of the album has yet to appear. At last count, contractual wrangles between the UK and US were said to be in the way but who knows? If “Levitate” can reappear, surely this can too.

Of course, we never know what else the less-salubrious end of the market will have for us but we shall approach with due caution.

The cold reality: what we get now is all there is. Mark E Smith now exists for Fall fans on paper, on magnetic tape, on vinyl and in combinations of 0 and 1. A sad fact. But it is clear that the appetite for The Fall is, if anything, increasing. Hindsight is presenting The Fall in a particularly clear light. In such a stylised, filtered and carefully marketed world, full of covert strategies and manipulative messaging, The Fall are reassuringly flawed, human, real. Their jagged edges, their constant state of flux, their DIY presentation and their disinterest in convention draws in the curious. The quantity of music suits an insatiable, want-it-all-and-now culture and, having made their albums for the vinyl format as well as bringing us so many magnificent 3-4 minute singles, their music is almost perfectly suited to today's market place where vinyl albums mix with song-by-song streams. People who love to write about music always loved The Fall and it seems that this is every bit as true today as it was in the days when we never had to wait any more than a few months for a missive of some sort, be it an album, a single, a Peel session or even just an entertaining interview.

Given that The Beatles – the most lauded rock/pop act of all time - have finally reached a generation to whom their blithe optimism means absolutely nothing, it is impossible to say how anything in music will be regarded 20 years from now. But for now, at least, The Fall endure. Their vibrations remain intense and powerful. And we, the people, dance to the waves.

Nine out of ten? Nah. Ten out of ten. Top marks. 

[krisroley]

February 9th, 2021

One Small Moment

Today I want to talk to some specific friends who I won't name, but I'm fairly sure that this will apply to way more of just them.

First things first, I'm not going to insult your intelligence by giving you a bunch of platitudes. In my experience, they're nothing but empty calories. Filler and no substance, they're designed to make the person giving them feel better, not the person who needs help. In some cases, people who need help end up feeling worse. I'm one of those people, so I absolutely understand the feeling. So, no bullshit from me. Cool? Moving on.

Let me describe my lack of bona fides right upfront. I'm a guy with a high school education and one year of college because I let my dick do the thinking up to the point that I ended up homeless and friendless. I tried to follow in my Dad's footsteps and join the military and washed right out after six months because I have a mouth bigger than my brain. I come from a family that describing as dysfunctional is exceedingly generous. My dad had anger issues, my mother was a narcissist manipulator, as is my brother. He's got a criminal record and is probably on his way back to prison for at least 12 years as I write this. I'm the voice of reason in my family, and as I have said repeatedly, this should scare the fuck out of you. I got married at 24, and I had three kids by the age of 30. I've been dirt poor most of that time. At this stage of my life, I believe that I am an undiagnosed case of autism from the 1970s because my kids--all of them--are on the spectrum. I didn't have a bad childhood if you looked at it from one angle, but I had a horrible one if you looked at it from the inside out. I inherited my Dad's anger issues and my mother's narcissism. I was a horrible husband for years until my wife walked out on me in 2005. It made me face myself in a way I had not seen before, and I couldn't take it. I had a nervous breakdown. My wife thought I was worth saving, and I am forever grateful for it. I promised I would work on my issues, and I have. Three times in my life, I thought I was at the end of my rope. Not from a thought of suicide ideation, just that there was nowhere else to turn. No one else to ask for help. No one else I could lean on. Just Roley.

That moment right there is the point. The entire lesson. One small moment when your brain says, "Well, you're really fucked now, aren't you?" There is only one answer to that question, and that answer is yes because if you answer no, you ain't there yet. Trust me on this. You have to answer yes. This is the moment where you're accountable to no one but you, and you cannot lie to yourself. You can TRY. It ain't gonna work. Not for long.

Let's not bullshit ourselves. There is a lot of work in repairing a life that you fucked up on your own. You climb up out of a hole for years before you ever see daylight. I was a shut-in for two years because I thought it better that the world forgets about me. I tried to make a living from home in 2006-2007, but this world we live in hadn't come to pass yet, and I was living a fantasy. It made me feel worse that I couldn't provide for my family, but I could barely function as a human at that point. So I decided to do the only work I was capable of: Working on myself. I read every self-help book and mental health book I could lay my hands on. I dug deep into myself to try to figure out why I was the person I was, how I became that way, and the answer was straightforward. First, I thought I was absolutely normal. My behavior, though abhorrent, was how I was raised. My parents treated each other and us kids horribly, but it wasn't physically abusive save for a couple of times I'll keep to myself. I grew up in the same environment I perpetuated. I was continuing a cycle. Secondly, to accept that fact and to change meant work I wasn't ready to take on. But human psychology is a lot like a car in that regard; you can do the work now, or you can do it later, but it's going to cost you a lot more. In my case, it almost cost me everything. It was the third of those three times that I faced myself in the mirror and heard that voice, and this was the time I said yes.

For two-thirds of my life, my story is a story of failure, of self-hatred, of being a bad example. But from the age of 35 to 50, it's a story of repair and redemption. I'll put my humble path to today up against anyone's and dare them to do the work I've done to heal myself and come out who I am today. I'm still married to the same woman for over 25 years now. I've got three amazing kids who I adore. Up until May of this year, I had what I consider to be a dream job until COVID ate it, but I'm still with the same company, and I'm going to bust whatever amount of ass it takes to get my job back or demonstrate the skills I learned there to someone else who's willing to take me. I have a sense of self-worth and purpose that I've never had before, and I'm not taking being a call center tech support agent for the rest of my life. It is a means to an end, and it is not my life's work. I know what that is. It's helping you in the best way I know how: By being not the example of how to fix it, but from showing you by my example, it CAN BE FIXED that you can go from being a person full of anger and self-loathing and cruel behavior to being a person of kindness and compassion and love for people. That you can go from being a person who has no prospects to a person who can go to a job every day that fulfills them personally and professionally. That you can go from being a person who hasn't got their shit together at all to a person that can get morning to night without falling apart at the seams. This is my road, and my lane, but it's big enough for you, and I want you on this road with me. Some of you are gifted and talented beyond description, but the world doesn't know it yet because you have these problems. I know. I get it. I also see who you are, and the world deserves to see you as well. I had no one else to turn to at that last moment, so I did what I had to do. Myself. I'm asking you to take a walk with me because I don't want you to have to do it on your own. I may not know your way home, but I can get you as far as Anchorhead. You can get transport there to Mos Eisley or wherever you're going.

I had to get one joke in there somehow.

Did Joe Know About This?

On the heels of the news of Joe Budden maybe-kinda-sorta-moving his show to Patreon (which is weird since it looks like it’s being hosted on Libsyn now), Spotify has announced plans for multiple business models for podcasts, possibly to include ad-supported subscriptions and a la carte options. These may be discussed at a live stream event later in February.

Asked if Spotify thought customers would be willing to pay for podcasts, Ek on the earnings call responded that he believed there were several new models that could be explored.

“I think we’re in the early days of seeing the long-term evolvement of how we can monetize audio on the internet. I’ve said this before, but I don’t believe that it’s a one-size-fits-all,” he said. “I believe, in fact, that we will have all business models, and that’s the future for all media companies — that you will have ad-supported subscriptions and à la carte sort of in the same space, of all media companies in the future.”

“And you should definitely expect Spotify to follow that strategy and that pattern,” Ek added, more definitively.

The answer seemed to indicate that Spotify is considering some of the ideas in that recent survey — of getting consumers to pay for some podcasts, instead of accessing them all for free or having them bundled into their music subscription.

I wonder if Budden was aware of this and balked. Would there be a revenue split between Spotify and the creators, and what’s the ratio? Now that I think of it, isn’t that what they’ve been crying about re: Apple?

For more than a year, Spotify has been making noise about Apple’s unchecked power over the App Store, and in March 2019, it filed a complaint against Apple with the European Commission. Spotify claims Apple’s practice of taking 30 percent of an app’s revenue is unjustified, and says the company operates as a monopoly on iOS.

Suddenly, I find this Budden/Spotify deal more intriguing.

Wait, You Can Make Money Doing That?

Julie Miller from Vanity Fair writes about Hollywood coming over to the Pod Side for ‘fun and profit’:

…entertainment types began orbiting the audio space about two years ago in earnest, as the number of Americans listening to podcasts every month headed toward the 100 million it is today. It was also around 2018 that agencies like CAA began incorporating audio deals into their development packages. One insider estimates that many celebrities could get a six-figure guarantee per year, with the biggest actors receiving between $1 million and $3 million to launch an unscripted podcast. Scripted projects offer less up-front money but can be adapted into TV shows, films, books, and so on.

For the record, I am Steve Jobs, “Podcasts are Amateur Hour" Years Old. For years, podcasting was seen as less-than, so when I see stories like this, the little imp of the perverse in the back of my head tosses a bone at every true media elitist who, strangely, has a podcast now..

How About Not Doing That?

Chris Curran over at PES has a question about your thin mouth:

When I’m doing my fine-tuned editing on a podcast episode I use TwistedWave or Sound Forge because they allow me to VERY QUICKLY zoom in, highlight very small things like single mouthclicks, and delete them. 

When I try to make the same kind of edit in a DAW (Reaper and others) it takes forever. 

What say you?

For the most part, my workflow tends to remove mouth clicks, or at the very least minimize them. If they still show up through my noise gate, I highlight and remove them. I can’t say this happens often because I like to make sure I keep some water near me while I’m recording. The single biggest thing you can do to prevent mouth clicks is to keep hydrated. Remember, you can’t fix it in Post if it never happens in the first place.

Shot Of The Day

[but-first-geek]

Legal Case Savannah Georgia

Accidents involving tractor-trailer or semi-trucks have a tendency to differ significantly from other accidents. Foremost, the massive build of these vehicles plays an important part in how catastrophic the accidents are, meaning anything that is within their way in a crash or collision sustains severe damages. Victims of these accidents have a tendency to suffer injuries that take a while to heal, and a complete recovery may also be an extensive process. Savannah personal injury attorneys can help you today!

Lots of the severe injuries that men and women sustain after being involved with a massive commercial truck accident often have an existence-changing impact. Furthermore, they may be costly to treat and nurse. Victims of the accident remain with substantial medical bills they cannot settle while they likewise have ongoing medical care. The physical, mental, and emotional damage the accident causes also impacts an important component of their life-style. They experience financial losses because of their inability to go back to work, plus some never resume their professional lives because of the nature of the injuries.

If your victim of the accident dies, the family relatives qualify to look for justice and compensation by filing a wrongful death case and claim. The amount of money award will help cover lost wages, funeral, and burial expenses. Additionally, it might include a quote of the current and future financial losses the family incurred due to the loss of its income earner.

The legal experts right here at Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C, will help you in your pursuit to recover the general damages and losses your loved ones suffered from the death of your partner once the 18-wheeler truck accident.

Exist State Law And Insurance Regulations That Really Must Be Considered?

The commercial trucking industry must abide by set federal and state laws. The trucking companies ought to have high-insurance coverage for heavy vehicles, due to the increased potential damages associated with them when involved with accidents.

If you are involved with this type of accident, you may qualify to sue the truck driver, trucking company, its insurance provider, fleet maintenance agency, or even the makers of the commercial trucks to recover damages. However, understand that working with cases of accidents that involve 19-wheelers could get complicated considering the state and federal laws regulating the business.

For instance, truck drivers must have physical qualifications for operating these heavy commercial vehicles. Moreover, they may be expected to comply with set regulations, like driving within the stipulated time period, which is set based on how much the drivers rest. Furthermore, laws that govern the specifics of the particular cargo to transport and exactly how it needs to be loaded and secured have been in place. The trucking companies also must cope with a minimum of two insurance providers when it comes to making policies for your vehicle’s trailer and cab parts.

Exactly Why Are Truck Accidents That Disastrous?

All vehicles using a gross weight rating exceeding ten thousand pounds are believed large automobiles most semi-trucks and tractor-trailers belong to this category. Given their weight and how they can move at high speeds, they require an increased amount of proficiency to function them in comparison with their smaller 4-door counterparts (the sedans). That is why the accidents associated with these trucks are generally catastrophic.

Why Must I Hire An Accomplished And Experienced Savannah Truck Accident Lawyer?

Trucking companies often have a team of skilled legal experts and advisors that have different tactics for freeing their clientele from sustaining situations and responsibilities. They understand all you should know concerning the various regulations governing the trucking industry. Also, these attorneys go all out to discredit, minimize, or delay claim payouts. That is why our company of legal experts at Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C, can be the missing piece in ensuring those responsible are found liable and having the compensation you deserve.

We now have handled countless commercial truck accidents, going against a number of the prominent trucking companies. We now have the reputation, experts, and resources needed to deal with the most sophisticated and highly-established trucking agencies across America. Call our law office now to plan a non-obligatory case evaluation and learn the way you will help make certain each of the parties liable for your injuries and losses are held accountable and receive full compensation to your suffering and pain.

Obtain The Best Legal Representation From The Reputable 18-Wheeler Accident Attorney In Savannah

Lots of the horrific damages and fatalities of accidents involving 18-wheelers are related to the sheer weight and measurements of the trucks. They are heavy vehicles often accustomed to transport bulky cargo over long or short distances. 18-wheeler drivers are legally needed to be holders of a valid commercial driver’s licenses. Moreover, state and federal laws have been in place that governs how you can operate these tractor-trailers or semi-trucks given their formidable weight and size. That is why how these large vehicles are operated is held with a higher standard than other automobiles, which extends to their maintenance, driver skills, and specific loading and offloading procedures.

But while such policies have been in place, there are many fatalities and damages connected to accidents that involve these big commercial trucks.

Do I Need To Consider Hiring A Lawyer For My Truck Accident Case In Savannah?

We recommend choosing the assistance and guidance of any experienced truck accident attorney in Savannah. In the event you or someone you care about were unfortunate victims of any 18-wheeler truck accident, you could be eligible to seek compensation to your injuries and losses. You ought to employ a lawyer devoted to accidental injuries claims, particularly in cases involving semi-trucks or tractor-trailers.

We at Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C, tend to be more than glad to assist you seek justice and obtain the compensation you rightly deserve.

18-Wheeler Trucks Are Among The Common Factors Behind Road Accidents

In Regards To The 18-Wheeler Truck Accidents Litigation Team At Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C

At Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C, we represent our clients the ideal we are able to. We attempt to ensure they leave as winners. We are a law practice together with the resources and professional workforce you need to maximize your case’s potential outcomes. Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C is not really like other accidental injuries attorneys that rely on 3td party agencies to cope with case analysis, collecting exhibits, and hiring expert witnesses.

Why Is Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C Different?

•State-Of-The-Art Trial Presentation Software

We are a law practice that may be proudly a cut higher than the rest. We are proud of our state-of-the-art trial presentation software, which allows us to gather vital information for each case we handle, packaging it correctly into one compelling package. As a result, we are able to give presentations seamlessly for depositions, mediations, or before a jury in the courtroom. With the software, we are able to display the severity of the injury and injuries caused while providing concrete evidence that proves the defendant’s liability via expert testimonies, diagrams, photos, videos, scene analysis, as well as other subtleties.

•Our Attorneys Are A Great A Part Of Our Resources

We are a law practice that does things differently, going for a unique approach in handling cases. We now have an in-house litigation team that enabled us to preserve closer power over every part of the legal matter’s clients hand us. It is actually an issue that has allowed us to gain a far better idea of the injuries and damages that men and women involved with heavy-cargo truck accidents cope with and exactly how this impacts their lives. Furnished with such detailed knowledge, we are able to assembled a winning strategy, whether a settlement is regarded as the viable option or even the matter will go to trial.

In case your case have their day in the court, we must convey the important points of the incident for the judge and jury. And since our litigation team assembled each of the evidence and crucial details surrounding your case, from scene analysis and therapy for your trouble for damage estimates and prepping for trails, they offer each of the essential insights about the impact the accident had on the road of life. Furthermore, they are going to suggest the most effective means for conveying these facts for the jury to help you maximize the likelihood of winning and also you getting compensation.

•The Litigation Specialists

Mr. Cohen is part of the litigation team. They have a lot more than twenty five years of experience in law and an extensive background in alternative dispute resolution and trial experience. Cohen has represented insurance providers for liability claims. Consequently, he is probably the invaluable resources in our law practice that can help give us a position concerning the different tactics and tricks that insurers employ for specific situations. Therefore, our legal department can have a compressed technique to use when striving to increase the effects. Cohen offers his expertise and skill to bolster the attorneys’ efforts in all of the cases we handle.

•The Medical Investigation Experts

Mr. Drew Olley works in the country Coroner’s offices from more than thirty years, spending countless hours investigating accident scenes, damages, and injuries. They are thirty years of gaining invaluable experience which includes allowed him to understand how you can deduce the important points all around the events that transpired and determining the safety of machines or maybe there way any faulty conditions that probably have led to the accident resulting in the injuries, damages, or fatalities. Mr. Drew uses specialized software and “stand-ins” to ensure all assessments are accurate, thereby yielding precise results.

•The Trial Technicians

Mr. Chris Dietz has a lot more than 10 years of doing work for our law practice. They have honed his legal skills and expertise to evolve to constant variations in trial presentation technology aptly. Diets work alongside attorneys and respective clients, helping with each case’s assembly to become presented in the court or mediations.  He uses the most up-to-date trial-presentation technology and possesses effectively assisted our legal experts to effectively convey the essential specifics of their injury cases, presenting things medical records, expert witness testimony, and also like photo and videos of the injuries and damages.

Have You Been Look For A Reputable 18-Wheeler Truck Accident Lawyer In Savannah?

It will be a smart idea to considered enlisting a competent, experienced, and reputable attorney to advocate to suit your needs when seeking justice against a trucking company or truck driver liable for your injuries. At Kenneth S. Nugent, P.C, there exists a team of dedicated lawyers and legal experts which will do all they may to have the judgment swing in your favor and assist you in getting compensation our rightly deserve. Call us today and book a free of charge case evaluation.

[thewitchsstudy]

An Old Opinion Research Essay

Made this last school year. It’s about MLMs (Multi-level Marketing) and why I think they should be illegal

Thousands of dollars. You don’t make thousands, you pay thousands. You don’t sell thousands, you recruit thousands. You don’t get paid to work, you pay to work. Welcome to MLMs, the most unethical world of business where everything is a scam. It deserves to be banned, gone from the reach of the people who run them. For the safety of the workers. 

MLMs- Multi-level Marketing- companies pop up a lot in the modern day. Have you ever gotten a Facebook message from somebody, likely with an eye bleeding amount of emojis, claiming to know you from somewhere pitching a product? That’s an MLM worker, no doubt. While most see them as annoying at worst, these companies that these workers come from have been proven, as from testimony by former workers, the FTC, and multiple state lawsuits, to have destroyed finances, careers, friendships, and lives while breaking the law. Many have been accused of or been charged with illegal activity- operating a pyramid scheme. 

Any amount of research will bring up how horrible some companies can get. Being repulsed at the practices is one thing, but how do we prevent them from harming workers? I argue a full ban on the practice. With already tight regulations and monitoring by the FTC, MLMs are in hot water. Still, illegal pyramid schemes manage to bypass the law and operate until it’s too late (hello Advocare, like your lawsuit?). The best way to deal with MLMs is simply banning the practice.

Bans may not be the best, but they can be necessary. Prepare to feel a mix of shame, disguise, anger, and bitter hopelessness for humanity.

Corporate can be a dictator. Many people, including former workers, heavily argue the point that many MLMs are morally and legally wrong. They have no base pay and hide under a “make as much as you want” claim. In reality, workers buy products from the company to sell to consumers, and when they don’t sell, often due to the terrible quality and horrible company reputation, they are essentially being paid under minimum wage with negative wage counts! Financial reports show that, during a year in an MLM, the majority percent of employees lost money, some broke even with joining packages and product costs (which cost thousands of dollars), and less than 5% made money, and less than 1% reached or exceeded the annual national minimum wage ($15,080)

In addition, workers who quit MLMs are often shamed by supervisors and friends still in the company. They get harassed online through texts and Facebook for breaking free. Friendships are broken in split seconds. Lives are left fragments of what they once were. Families fight and argue and refuse to communicate with each other due to associating with these companies. A video by Vice News, which is highly recommended to watch, tells the stories of women who have left MLMs and the shame that was placed on them. In addition to their terrible financial situation, it documents how much shame was put on these women who are left friendless, leaving friends for the company and leaving the company with fake “friends”. MLM workers are encouraged to sell to family and friends, and one worker has stated that “every conversation turned into a sales pitch”. Any human would leave a friend who did that.

On the other hand, people argue that MLM products are legit and that they are perfectly legal and not pyramid schemes. They say that, without legal action, MLMs are fine to operate. They argue that a pyramid scheme is a solid definition that requires many boxes to be checked, and that MLMs don’t check enough. They may call them “Anti-pyramids”, which is a funnel and shows more on the top than the bottom and the money still goes to the one guy on the bottom and that’s still a horrible business model for a dozen reasons, but that’s beyond the point. These could have good backing to them. When the research is done, however, even on social media, these people are often corporate workers who run these MLMs and bank millions or other workers (who many call “Huns”) who are in denial about their workplace being a scam (they may also be arguing this case even if they understand the truth).

It is also important to understand that the other side will defend their word with flamethrower and shield, even if the flamethrower is a knockoff that doesn’t even work and the shield is a sad excuse for a thing made of atoms. Workers post pictures online of their new “expensive” things they bought with money from their “job”. Many have debunked these as fakes, including noted images of clearly empty bags that were supposedly filled with stuff (classic fake-rich tactic right there). This is easily found, since if the poster refuses to show a top view or take the items out, you don’t trust that anything is in the bag. Many in the Anti-MLM community  realize and share their findings on how the evidence and claims made by these people are next to nothing in value. It makes them incredibly petty and decays their point. Like rotting flesh.

Most of that evidence is little slaps to MLMs. The big problems come when states start suing them. Oh, yeah, MLMs from Advocare to Young Living to LulaRoe have been sued for years. States, ranging from Idaho to California, have accused these companies of operating illegal pyramid schemes. Warehouses have sued LulaRoe over not receiving payment for storage. LulaRoe has been sued over cross-state taxation (taxing buyers in states with no tax who purchase from workers in states with tax). Federal government agencies have reprimanded MLMs as well, most noticeably in a case against Young Living where a man died in a distillery due to severe safety code violations, such as lack of training and not providing respirators in the high-chemical environment. Note, these are only some well-known companies and their well-known lawsuits. 

Deception is rampant in MLMs, and consumers are being lied to almost constantly. Young Living used to claim a Seed to Seal standard and having 100% pure essential oils. Not only was it revealed that they source from multiple farms, which makes the Seed to Seal claim highly unlikely, independent lab tests show birch and jasmine oils produced by the company were, in fact, synthetic. Worse, one study done by the State of California showed higher than acceptable levels of a chemical known for producing cyanide inside the body in Young Living’s oils. This was not mentioned anywhere by Young Living- not on the bottle, not online, not anywhere, which is an offense in California. They were, like previously, sued over this serious health and safety matter since they sold their products in the state. 

It should be obvious that Young Living’s products are not the most trustworthy, regardless of your opinion on essential oils. That could be applied to all MLM products. LulaRoe leggings are notorious for ripping, even in the first wear. Herbalife’s powders and mixes, especially their soup reportedly, have been called by people such as John Oliver as tasting “like wood shavings” (this was a continued joke in his televised segment on Multi-level Marketing, another good watch for more info). When looking at prices, such as LulaRoe leggings costing $30+ bucks for a quality $10 Walmart leggings with better, non eye-bleeding designs far surpass, the word “scam” pops up in New York City lights.

John Oliver in his segment also went into detail on how, while distributors lose thousands on MLMs they work for, their founders and CEOs can afford meetings that I can only describe as an 80s metal concert if everybody there was on some serious drugs. Some things that occur range from overly enthusiastic live announcers, CEOs coming out as “Welcome to the Jungle” plays, and screaming at the grave of a man named Joe Nobody, dated 1952- about how much he could’ve done with his life if he had just joined his MLM. Are laughing out loud at the thought of all this? It’s real, and you can find the Joe Nobody clip and more in the John Oliver episode online. It’s on-the-floor-laughing levels of ridiculous. One can only imagine being at any MLM meeting, host, worker, or random guy, in person is an accurate simulation of an acid trip for all parties involved. 

How does this add up to a pyramid scheme? With the previously stated knowledge in mind,  look at the employees. Those Facebook messages from before? Those can be recruitment messages. These often target mothers, those of color, and those of specific religions depending on the MLM. For example, LulaRoe often has single or unemployed mothers as distributors. On its website, the FTC notes that promises of extravagant lifestyles, wealth, and “high-pressure tactics” during recruiting are prominent red flags for any business. Guess who milks these until the cow runs red? MLM recruiters. While I don’t trust Reddit for factual info often, there are credible accounts of this practice on such subreddits as r/AntiMLM and r/LuLaNo. 

The big problem is that MLMs may pay their employees for recruitment. The FTC says that “Your recruits, the people they recruit, and so on, become your sales network, or ‘downline’. If the MLM is not a pyramid scheme, it will pay you based on your sales to retail customers, without having to recruit new distributors”. The way it often works when a Pyramid Scheme is in place is that those higher up in the pyramid get a percent of commission from those they have recruited, those recruit’s recruits, and so on. Pyramid schemes require active participation for this often only check, which requires more money for products that will never sell and, as the saying goes, “get left in a garage.” The FTC notices this is a practice utilized by pyramid schemes. A former LulaRoe (funny how LulaRoe pops up so much) worker high up on the corporate ladder on the previously mentioned Vice News clip claims to have been receiving these commissions, with checks from the company proving it. MLMs have systems of ranks, which are often named after anything from crystals to management positions, and guess what those more than not focus on? How many people you recruited. Higher up you are, the higher percent of commission, the more money you get. 

That, fellow readers, are the bones of pyramid schemes. You don’t grow a business with a stable customer base and happy employees, you make more people fall into it and destroy their lives. Former work testimonies say that supervisors actively encourage recruiting over selling.  It’s a cycle of new and quitting members.

It should be obvious. Horrible quality, product not worth the price, constant lying to consumers, lawsuits galore, and the foundation of a pyramid scheme and its culture are what make MLMs scams, unethical and borderline illegal. We, as consumers and workers, should call for a ban on this business model to protect sales and underclass workers from a practice that harbors illegal schemes. If a company wishes to grow, it should in an ethical way that isn’t a pyramid scheme coverup! The FTC says that pyramid schemes “can look remarkably like legitimate MLM business opportunities” and so taking part in any MLM is a risky venture to the highest degree. Even legit MLMs have the same issues as pyramid schemes, since the lack of buying due to terrible reputation causes equal wage and financial issues as stated earlier. MLM and pyramid scheme operators milk money from their employees. As Bo Burham’s song “Repeat Stuff” says, they’ll “stop beating this dead horse when it stops spitting out money.” We need to stop them from beating the dead horse of MLMs so they can’t collect the money it spits out at them. And the best way to get rid of a dead horse is to bury it. 

Bury the horse, they cannot get the money. Will you grab a shovel and start burying it, or will you watch as people continue to beat it? 

[rheyninwrites]

Old Friends Part 17

A week later, I still hadn’t gone back. I couldn’t face it. Either he cared for me and I didn’t deserve it, or he didn’t, and our friendship would probably be over. He called a few times, and I always declined it. I deleted his text messages without reading. When one of the gang tried to tell me what he had said, I left the room. I guess I wanted to be alone with the pain for a while. The truth was, I felt like I deserved it. Funny thought from someone who was claiming someone else did wrong.

After the first few nights, I semi-moved in with Sadie. She worked odd hours here and there, and that meant that almost any time she was home, she was sleeping. As long as I didn’t disturb her, I was fine, she said as much, frequently. There wasn’t much I did those days that could have disturbed her, though, unless I cried too loud. That was pretty much all I did. Other than that, I just sat in whatever room I was in, staring straight ahead. For a change of pace, I might lie down instead.

I had nightmares. Ones where Arthur rejected me in the harshest manner possible, or ones where he got hurt, or died. A few where I needed his help, and he laughed at me instead. I guess some people might have said that was a sign. I just looked at it as the punishment I deserved. I barely ate anything, no more than a couple of bites a few times a day, as a result, my pants would barely stay above my hips. I drank water only when my throat felt so dry I thought I would choke on it.

After the third week, Sadie, Tilly, and Abigail all grouped around me, almost begging me to talk to him. They said he wasn’t doing well either, losing weight and refusing to do anything other than sleep and go to work. Even then, his performance at work was slipping. They said he was lucky he was friends with his boss, or he might have lost his job by now.

Not for me. This is not about me. He wouldn’t care for me this much. He couldn’t.

Charles came to visit. He brought me some pencils and a sketch book Arthur had sent with him. I wouldn’t touch them. There wasn’t anything in me to draw, except a page full of black. I’d almost stopped feeling anything at all.

One by one, and in twos and threes, they visited me. Texted me. Talked to me. It was always the same thing.

“Please. He misses you. Just talk to him. Just see him.”

No. I can’t. I don’t deserve it.

I was punishing myself more than trying to punish him at this point. My world had broken down, shrunk to a single point, a single thought.

How dare I think I deserved to love him at all.

One day, Sadie kicked me out.

“You are just too much sadness right now. I can’t take it.”

I didn’t know where I would go. I didn’t care. I let Tilly put me in her car, drive me away. I just looked down, unfeeling, uncaring.

Maybe this is where I die, finally.

It looked a hell of a lot better than living right then.

The only thing I noticed when Tilly stopped was that Charles’ car was there. I heard the door close, my door open. I might as well have been a plastic doll, for all of the reaction I gave. She and Charles opened the door, pulling me to face them while they talked. They encouraged me to talk, open up. They said Arthur wanted to see me. Still no response. Why would I? What did it matter?

A distant front door opened, then closed. They’d left. Just me out there. Who cares? I let my eyes close and got used to the new silence. Front door opened again. Whisper of my name. Why did I look up? I don’t know. Maybe that part of me that automatically reacts to my name hadn’t died just yet. Maybe I recognized the voice.

Arthur.

All I remember is thinking that I must be dead, I had to be dead to be seeing him. But seeing him meant I was in heaven and I knew I didn’t deserve that.

Suddenly his hands were on me, all over me. Touching my sides, my face, my shoulders. Caressing my skin. Saying my name, saying other things to me, things I couldn’t understand because my brain was still trying to work out what was going on. Touching the back of my head, trying to pull it to his, trying to pull me into a hug.

I looked at him, but I didn’t see him, not really.

Tilly’s voice in the air.

“She’s been like that for weeks. Won’t eat. Sadie says she barely sleeps. We didn’t know what else to do.”

I felt his hands grabbing my face, bringing my forehead to his lips.

You’re not real.

It couldn’t be real, this feeling seeping into me again. I didn’t want it- feelings meant hurting, I didn’t want to hurt. I had more than enough hurt for a lifetime. My hands found his against my face, and he gripped them tight and brought them to his chest. More words.

“I know you can’t forgive me. I don’t either. But I got to say I’m sorry.”

He pulled me up into his arms, then guided me into the house. Thanking Tilly, thanking Charles. Charles closing the door, leaving us alone.

He walked over to where he had left me sitting on the couch, kneeling in front of me. For the first time, I looked up, taking in his face.

They hadn’t been kidding about him not doing well. His face was gaunt, all sunken cheeks and dark eyes , rimmed with red, probably like mine. He hadn’t brushed his hair, and I’d guess he’d probably been showering with the same frequency I had, which was not much. He must have been wearing the same clothes for several days. Just like me. He took my face in his hands again and started talking.

“I know I made a mess of things. It seems like I don’t know how to do nothing else. Look at what I done to you.”

He stopped, taking a few moments to trace his fingers over the lines of my jaw, my cheekbones. His calloused thumb ran across my dry and cracking lips.

“I made a real mess of things.”

My eyes met his, and I saw the tears threatening to spill over, his hands shaking. Slowly, like the drip of a faucet, feelings and awareness were returning.

“I know I don’t deserve you. If I didn’t know it before, then I do now, because what man worth anything would do this to someone. Least of all someone he loves.”

Loves?

“I know I don’t deserve you and I feel it every day, every time I see this scarred, ugly face I’m reminded of just how hard it’d be, how impossible that you could love me. Look at how beautiful you are, even in this state. Even when I have touched you and damn near ruined you.”

I slapped him, right across his face. I slapped him hard. Hard enough it rang out through the room and made my hand hurt. Hard enough that I could already see the marks on his skin. Feelings had come back in a giant rush, and now I was goddamn infuriated. I leapt from the couch and stood over him.

“You shut your goddamn mouth right now Arthur Morgan, I WILL NOT HEAR THAT KIND OF TALK!”

He stumbled backwards against the coffee table, then lifted himself to sit on it, opening his mouth to speak.

“Oh no you don’t, I ain’t finished with you yet. You say you love me? Really? Because if you can love me, and you can look at me and see beautiful, then I don’t know how you can look in a goddamn mirror and see anything else! You’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever known, Arthur Morgan, and I ain’t just talking about the pretty packaging on the outside! So if you wanna love me, you’d better goddamn start loving yourself as much as I do!”

My energy was spent, an I flung myself backwards onto the couch, crossing my arms. I was still angry, unable to believe he could think that way about himself. Why couldn’t he see himself how I saw him? For as long as I’d known him, he’d been kind, always ready to help anyone who needed it. He’d been treated cruelly by his father, by life, but he was still soft, and in my opinion that made him all that much stronger.

He looked up at me, almost afraid, but not quite. Then he shifted down to the floor, kneeling in front of me like he had been before. Moving slowly, like he was afraid he could scare the moment away, he reached for me. With one arm he pulled me to him, while his other hand reached up to touch the side of my face, softly, like I might break. I leaned into him, sliding my hands over his chest, his arms, his neck. Placing my legs on either side of his, I slid towards him, aligning our bodies, and his mouth found mine.

Our mouths were dry, and our lips were cracked. To anyone else, the lack of showers would probably have been obvious . Neither of us had eaten anything substantial in weeks. Yes, there were things that still had to be talked about. But right then, the only thing either of us needed was each other.

[nitaescence]

The Howling Wolf | Part VI

↳ Pairing : Lycan!Taehyung x Human!OC ft. Vampire!Jimin & Human!Jungkook Genre : Mythicalcreatures!AU, Royal!AU | angst, smut, fluff Word Count : 4.6k ↳ Moodboards | story masterlist (unavailable because tumblr sucks) ↳ Warnings — Depiction of blood and injuries, description of medical procedures, childbirth

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3RI1Ixuzjc

The group of women made themselves scarce at Taehyung’s arrival. As he took your head in his hands, his worry merely increased upon inspecting your unconscious face. He called out your name, but you remained motionless in his arms. You were, then, moved inside your tent and undressed before he tucked you under the sheets and decided to stay with you.

His body heat warmed your skin as it seeped through the thin layer of fabric clinging loosely. It brought back some color to your visage and he hummed pleasantly at the way you seemed to react to his closeness even inanimate.

After being warned of your dizzy spell, the pack doctor and the Old Wolf came a few minutes later. They came in in a soft and hushed way, clearly mindful of your sickness. Taehyung’s ears are quick in discerning their presences and so are his feet as he jump up to open the door.

He looked at both of them as they step closer to your seemingly sleeping body laid out on the bed, eyeing curiously the serious glint attached to the Old Wolf’s gaze analysing you.

“What happened to her?” The doctor inquired in a soothing manner, settling his medical equipment.

Taehyung kept rubbing his thumb on your hand, “I don’t know… she fainted.”

“Is it the first time it’s happened to her?” He continued asking while he checked your breath with the help of a mirror.

Your husband’s brows shifted into a slight frown as he nodded. “Yes, I think so. Yet, she hasn’t been feeling well for the past few days.”

“Has she been feeding herself well?”

“Sometimes she doesn’t. But, it’s because she’s never been a big eater.”

The doctor hummed and leaned down to look inside his bag, “I can give her a drink that’ll invigorate her body. Only a small amount since she’s human.”

“I…” Taehyung seemed to be hesitating as he nibbled on his bottom lip while staring at your face with worried eyes. He looked up at the Old Wolf who had been quiet ever since her arrival, “what can you see?”

“I can do the clairvoyance spell,” she finally spoke in a rough voice. “But I need her to be awake to be able to know exactly what she is suffering from.”

Taehyung took the bottle the doctor had offered. The glass was tiny, containing the amount he recommended, and he left soon after to provide you a little more privacy and because he would be be of no practical use anymore.

She follows the doctor on his way out, leaving the tent in order to retrieve some material of her own, and your husband takes his sweet time to observe you - the smooth and constant rise and fall of your chest, the dollops of perspiration adorning your features. He runs his slender fingers on your lips, slightly chapped, and opened the drawer nearby the bed to pick up your lip balm.

He remembers with vividness the day you arrived back to your shared home, with a skip to your step. Your usual forlorn and downcast expression had been replaced with cheery disposition as you held a nicely wrapped package.

A loving grin settled on his face at your pleased expression. “What’s this?” He had asked with hesitation.

You gazed up, surprise overtaking your features then quickly replaced with a look of embarrassment. You turned your body around a little as if you wanted to hide your gaiety away from him. His smile did not falter. You cleared your throat,“I spent the day with the Luna. She wanted me to go with her and a couple of people. They taught me so many things.” You smiled again as your eyes looked down at the small object you were holding so carefully and quickly peeked at Taehyung over your shoulder. You gently put the package on a wooden piece of furniture nearby. “I had no idea you could do so many things with so little.” You heard him approaching you with caution. “The weather is starting to get cold so they showed me how to make balm for lips. And gave me this one. I’ve never been offered anything before.”

He stopped right before you. The sound of your voice growing weaker naturally lead him to bring you comfort. His hand came to rest on your hip gently while his face looked for the crook of your neck to get to inhale your intoxicating scent. “You deserve everything good in this world,” he whispered huskily. His hand moved across your front to reach your other hip and he turned you around slowly. Taehyung cocked his head to one side as he fingers gently tilted your head upward to have you looking back at him. The corner of his lips curved a little when he noticed you were still smiling. “Did you enjoy yourself ?”

Your grin widened a little more as you promptly nodded, your hands crawling up his chest to lightly fist his wrinkled shirt. He pecks your forehead and your grip tightened to have more of him against. He took his time gazing down at you before letting his mouth press tender kisses down your face and neck, deliberately tickling your skin. He feels his chest on the verge of bursting, the sheer happiness flowing bountifully in his veins is unprecedented and overwhelming his senses. Your laugh was the most gracious sound and he wanted to listen to it forever.

“I’m happy for you.” He mumbled with a lowered voice, his nose touching with yours affectionately. You let one of your hands reaching his nape and interlaced your fingers with his soft hair.

Your receptiveness and agreeable mood skyrocketed his pulse, adrenaline forcefully filling his being and rousing the beast within him. He did not think twice about it before latching his lips on yours hungrily. You moaned in response and kissed him back in the same manner.

“I’m really happy, love,” he grunted with a hot breath but suddenly halted his moves, self-conscious.

You frowned a little, overcome with desire. “What’s wrong?”

“I- I’m sorry,” he stammered, ready to pull away from you. “I don’t know what-”

His eyes widened a bit when you strongly pulled him back to you and cupped his jaw. “Don’t stop.”

He let out a moan as you claimed his mouth, his heart swelling and sending pleasurable waves down to his groin which was thickening at warp speed. “You want me?”

“Yes, please. I want it. Want you- Now.” You huffed in a breathy and almost annoyed tone. “Just, don’t stop.”

Taehyung growls viciously and hoisted your body off the ground effortlessly. You barely have time to bat an eyelash as he threw you on the bed, hovering over the entirety of your body, his heart melting with yours.

“I won’t stop. I never want to stop when it comes to you,” he gasped unceremoniously, licking a spot liberating more pheromones for him to drown in. “I love you so much.”

The memory dissipates as soon as he hears the Old Wolf’s steps getting closer. She had returned with a sack full of things, and he shook his head a little to clear his mind clouded with thoughts of you.

Letting out a strangled sigh, he put the lip balm back into place while observing placidly your now coated mouth.

The woman paid Taehyung no heed as she put blades of weed inside a rusty cup and she hummed with content when it sent a few sparkles flying. She, then, proceeded to take a tiny flask from her inside pocket and drop four droplets of its liquid, unbeknownst to him, smashing the content together with a pestle.

The cup had three holes on its edge, through which small metallic chains were inserted, and their ends were linked to a large silver ring. She hooked her fingers around the ring and suspended the object above your body.

A gray smoke emanated from the cup as she moved it in slow circles above your body and uttered words in an ancient language with closed eyes. Taehyung kept looking at you as he rested his elbows on his knees and pecked your knuckles; silently hoping for your quick recovery.

“What is it? What did you see?” He pleaded right after the woman ceased her spell and had put down the object.

Her eyes watched you closely, then slowly travelled up to stare at him. “I am not sure yet, but I can tell you that she’ll get better.”

Taehyung frowned slightly, not really knowing what to do with that information, yet nodded. She packed her material and headed toward the way out. Before she left, she turned around to look at him. “I’ll come back when she wakes up. You can give her that drink.”

He waited for her to leave and, only then did he open the bottle with care. He was reluctant to give you the medicine as he inhaled it. Lycans and Werewolves took that kind of drink to improve their condition if they were in a bad one or undergoing through a period of sickness.

The Old Wolf’s clairvoyance spell had done nothing to soothe his nerves and quell his anxiety in regards to your health. She told him you were going to heal, but if the doctor decided to administrate a werewolf medicine to you, what did it mean? Wasn’t it a sign? He must have decided it was alright to administer it to you given that some Lycans’s genes were close to those of humans and no after effect were observed in Werewolves who were themselves half human.

It was with plenty of precautions that he chose to make you swallow it. Cautious not to spill the liquid anywhere, he gently lifted your head until your chin touched your upper chest. Bringing the rounded edge between your lips, that had naturally parted, he tilted the vial until the content had slipped down your throat.

He slid his other hand behind your shoulders to keep you up a little more and allow the drink to slide down your throat completely. He lightly lied you back down and readjusted the covers on top of you.

You slightly frowned and clenched your eyelids as you slowly regained consciousness. You sat up and blinked several times to clear your blurry vision. There were some noises coming from your left side and when you turned your head around you saw Taehyung walking to you as he was pulling a clean shirt down. His frowning look softened.

“_____,” his voice sounded relieved. He cupped your face and looked closely at you. “How do you feel?”

You were tired and dazed and felt a bit sick. You didn’t like that feeling it at all. “What happened?”

“You fainted earlier today, do you remember?” He brushed your hair behind your back and leaned in to kiss your forehead.

You remember the smell of meat and smoke and the sudden need to get away from it, but after that, nothing came to your mind except for the blackness. He moved down to kiss your cheek and slowly stood up to walk away. You remained on the bed, feeling too weak to move around.

You pulled on your sleeves, feeling the fresh air seep in underneath your clothes and chill your body. You looked up when you heard voices nearby the entrance of the tent and saw your husband joined by the Old Wolf. Taehyung smiled at you reassuringly and came to sit in front of you while the woman stood away to make her concoction again.

You drew closer to Taehyung as you frowned at her above his shoulder, concerned, “what’s wrong? Why is she here?”

“As a precaution,” he whispered back, nudging your face with his nose. “To make sure you’re not hurt. There’s no need to worry.”

You kept looking at her as she finished grinding the ingredients and the same herbal smell pervaded the air again.

“Lie down, love,” Taehyung quietly told you and guided you back down on the pillows.

You indulged and your eyes flew back to her when she reached your right side with the steaming cup. You watched curiously as she repeated her words and circled the smoke above you with her eyes tightly shut. The spell lasted a little bit longer than the previous one.

She eventually stopped and put the cup down, “You can help her sit up.”

Taehyung helped you and sat right behind you as your support, you let him circle your front with his arm and welcomed his warmth against you. With his eyes closed, he began rubbing his nose against your nape and hair, loudly breathing in your scent — it felt a bit different to him — but you remained impassive as you watched her sitting down beside your legs.

She took your hands in her wrinkled, calloused one. You silently stared at her, waiting for what seems an eternity. Her thin lips parted slowly as she took a moment before she finally spoke again, “You are with child.”

Surprise showed on your face and you could feel your body freezing as the news sank in. Taehyung’s arm tightened around you and a wide, warm smile split his face. As he pressed his face against the back of your head to kiss it, a sound of approval escaped him, and you asked yourself if he already knew or, at least, hoped for it.

Clearly unsettled, you gradually became numb to everything, Taehyung’s warmth had become dull, inexistent and white noise filled your ears, only your eyes stared unwaveringly at the woman who looked at you with the same intensity. You fixed her because you had not expected it, could’ve not imagined it even in your wildest dreams, but mostly seeing as something in her eyes somehow told you she was sorry and that it did not bode well.

In the span of a few weeks, your belly had increased in size tremendously.

Now that you knew humans could procreate with lycans, you guessed the unusual matching had something to do with the unprecedented pace your stomach was growing with. This phenomenon was not unknown to the world but it had been decades since the last time and from what you had heard when you took an interest in the matter and asked the Old Wolf or the Luna about it was that when a female human was concerned, she rarely survived the birth.

You then guessed the elderly woman must have foreseen your death, foreseen you exhaling your last breath as your body laid lifeless in a pool of blood, literally torn apart after you would have given life to a progeny who was not meant to be conceived in your human body, too fragile, too unfit.

You did not know how you were feeling about your dreadful future although you spent most of your day thinking about it. You often mused about accusing Taehyung of your imminent death; he wanted to protect you from everything and anything so much so, he would end up being the one culpable of your death.

But you kept your thoughts to yourself and settled for watching him blossoming in the happy event, waiting eager for the day he was not suspecting would cause your demise.

You knew it would be of no use if you were ever to allude to the dangers because he would always try to reassure you of the contrary, because those things only happened to others, didn’t they?

Although you chose not to disclose that significant detail, you quickly became annoyed with him and the little being inside you; because of them you did not have a hold on your life anymore.

“You can feel it, can’t you?” You wondered out loud with a small smile as you looked down at the wolf which was sniffing your proeminent bump. You patted his head and the animal lifted it to rest it down on your lap.

It was the middle of summer and a very agreeable flowery scent suffused the air. You tilted your head back with your eyes closed when a single ray of sunshine lightly heated your skin and enjoyed your moment alone with your friend... for the short while it lasted.

“_____,” you heard Taehyung sighing behind you but you did not make any sign showing him you acknowledged his presence nor did the wolf.

He walked closer and tried again. “_____, you shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t let this- wolf anywhere near you. You should be back inside. Come with me.”

“I am not going anywhere,” you deadpanned. What could happen to you worse than your own death? “Whether you like or not.”

“Don’t be silly. Now, come.” He tried to sound stern but you did not move a jot. You heard him walk the small distance between the two of you. You eventually opened your eyes when you felt underneath your lids his shadow blocking the rays and you frowned as you watched him shooing away your furry friend.

“Why are you being like that?” You whined.

He frowned, confused, “Like what?”

You stood up.

“So annoying. Always on my back, following me everywhere I go? I’d like to be by myself for once... without you interfering in. Would it be too much to ask?” Your face had quickly changed in color and you hated yourself when you felt tears blurring your sight.

Taehyung’s brows furrowed and his mouth opened several times. All this time you had been looking for his touch, for him to be close to you, he thought he was doing you a favor lingering nearby. He feared you would distance yourself from him again.

His chin jutted and he breathed out loudly, “I know I can be stifling but please understand me.” His hands looked for yours, “I don’t know why you keep putting yourself at risk in your condition.”

Because I’m running out of time here.

You brushed him away and stepped back, “There’s nothing to be worried about. Look at me. I’m perfectly fine.” For the time being. “Nothing happened to me.”

Your husband stared at you powerless with pleading eyes.

Your muscles tightened in your throat. You began to regret for snapping at him out of nowhere when you knew he only meant you well just like he told you the first time you encountered but again just like he said it he felt smothering and right at this moment you could feel yourself barely breathing.

You turned around and crossed your arms on your chest, “Now, please, I’d like you to leave me alone.”

“__-” His voice was begging you but you did not yield.

The pain was bewildering.

You barely could make sense of your surroundings.

You were conscious of your being coping with the pain and if you physically could you would be withering, twisting every way to make that agony disappear. But it seemed like there was no escape from that pain, no issue from the atrocious feeling that submerged you endlessly, without respite.

Your brain was not registering the cause of the pain anymore, no happy thoughts of seeing in a future your newborn child, the flesh of your flesh, no notion of that supposed to be happy event.

You were suffocating.

You heard voices, people busying themselves around you. Through blurry eyes, you made out shapes running around with white towels and buckets of water.

“We need to be quick. She’s bleeding.”

“_____!” Taehyung’s voice boomed in the tent right before you felt what you guessed as his body next to you.

He had run the fastest he could from where he was hunting in the forest with the pack the moment someone had warned him about you. He had already felt it inside him; he could not feel your pain but the disagreeable sensation of you being hurt lingered deeply within him.

Black spots covered your vision as a new rush of pain stabbed you mercilessly into your womb.

It was crystal clear; you would not make it, there was no way you would survive this unberable suffering.

And slowly, the idea of dying appealed to you. Anything that would alleviate you, you would welcome it with open arms.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung warned at the sight of the small knife in the woman’s hand.

“I’m helping her,” replied the woman in a very calm voice. “The baby is too big.”

“She might die if you cut her!” Roared your husband, looking down at you with a deep frown, dreading the thought of having you cut open somewhere that did not lend itself as favorable to a childbirth.

“We don’t have the choice.”

A shaky gasp escaped him and he lowered his head closer to you, cooing in your ear,“_____, my sweeting.”

“Let them- do it- ngh- Tae-” You panted painfully, beads of sweat running down your face. “I want this to stop. Ah-” Something inside yanked violently, ripping, breaking and you kicked your head back in frustration, “Just do it!”

The woman had heard you loud and clear yet her eyes flew right away to the lycan beside you seeking his approval above all.

He clenched his jaw in anger, jutting his chin and reluctantly nodded.

A shrill cry escaped you, freezing Taehyung’s blood; his hands tightening in fists around your head at the sight of your flushed face and distorting features, throbbing veins straining in your neck as the blade cut through your skin.

“Alright, now. Help her curl on herself. I can see the head,” instructed the woman. “Taehyung!” She cried out snapping out of his torpor.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ehjqRia7Zts

Your husband tried not to focus on the frightening sight of your blood covering the woman’s arms. He effortlessly lifted you and quickly positioned himself behind you, resting you against his chest.

“You’re doing so good sweetheart, so good,” he whispered to you all the praises he could think of in between kisses pressed to the top of your head.

Reality became blurry, you were seeing red and black, your body throbbing with pain and tiredness, your head was spinning and you could not make any sense of anything said to you.

Taehyung held you firmly against him as if he wanted to show you you were not alone. He felt a mixture of excitement and fear, happiness and awe as you shook in his arms, clawing at his hand mercilessly.

You kept on whimpering and screaming, there was just no end to that pain.

With the last bit of struggle you had managed to find within you, you gathered it all and cut your breathing, tensing your muscles as you pushed with all your might.

A weight left you, slipping out in one go and immediately after the woman exclaimed.

You gasped.

There was pain again, warm slashes searing your womb all over again and you felt yourself clenching another time. A second weight withdrew itself.

There were no cries whatsoever, the tent was dead silent as the women busied themselves on providing first care to your two newborns.

Taehyung was staring at them fascinated and could barely move. They breathed in quick, startled pants. Their eyes seemingly blind. Their little, perfect bodies covered with thick layers of blood and other fluids. Their cheeks colored the shade of flames. They were the size of human babies but had come out as lycan puppies.

The women slowly brought them to you and Taehyung held both in his arms in front of you, admiring the fruits of your loins.

The weakness was too much. You could not feel yourself anymore and blackness seemed to want to solidly submerge you.

Everytime you blinked your eyes slowly, a thick blindfold naturally overwhelmed you. And somehow you knew that if you ceased fighting it, it would cover you firm and fast, not just your eyes but also yourself with a crushing weight.

But pushing it felt even more exhausting and oh, how would it be so much easier to just give in, to let the blackness push you down, further down to a place where there was no pain, no weariness.

You pondered the thought of letting the black nothingness erase you and at the same time, a voice inside your head raised your awareness about something.

Disappearing forever meant hurting them, the only ones who seemed to care about you.

It would certainly hurt Taehyung. Perhaps Jimin. Possibly Jungkook.

You held the blackness of nonexistence at bay by inches as you lifelessly stared at your children.

“They’re perfect,” Taehyung’s voice trailed softly, barely louder than a whisper, “_____, thank you.”

His grateful words were the last thing you remembered hearing when you could not find anything to hold on to anymore and so you let yourself slip in utter dimness.

Taehyung smiled again at the seemingly sleeping puppies, so comfortable in his strong arms, and looked down at you again. “______. _____?”

He tilted his head when you did not respond and a rush of adrenaline coursed him when he realized you were not moving anymore, you were not breathing anymore.

The woman rushed to him to take the fragile newborns in their arms to let Taehyung move around and see what was happening to you.

“_____! Do you hear me?” Taehyung spoke in a panicked voice as he cupped your livid face. “What’s wrong with her?”

Your body moved with each of his shakings as he tried to awake you but there was no point, you were gone.

Life left you and you left Taehyung.

The man looked like he was losing his mind the longer you remained unresponsive to his voice and his touch.Taehyung leaned back on his heels, looking up and down your lifeless body frantically.

He fumed at the women gathered by the Old Wolf, supposed to assist you in the birth, “What have you done ?”

“Nothing. She lost too much blood.” The woman explained calmly, unaffected, as she thoroughly cleaned your legs and between your thighs. “There wasn’t anything to hope for. Her body wasn’t made for delivering your offspr-”

“Move away from her!” He bellowed, taking her place between your legs and leaning over you on all fours protectively. “Out! All of you!”

The people scurried out, not wanting to face the lycan’s fury and soon it was only you, him and your two puppies bundled up together in a thick blanket and placed in a warm, cozy nest made up just for them across you.

“_____, love.” Taehyung trembled as he hovered over you, raising his hand to your cheek which had lost its warmth. “Don’t do this to me, don’t do this to me please. You can’t.” He continued to himself and kissed your lips.

He was raging and distressed, he was clueless about what he needed to do and wished he could help you and provide you with his capacity of healing just like Jimin did the last time.

And so, blinded by a firm conviction only he had, blinded by the sheer feeling of unconditional love, he began biting you, sharp fangs breaking the fragile barrier of your skin in hopes the healing capacity of his venom would reach anywhere inside you needing it.

Futility.

Annoyance overwhelmed him as he reached the end of your legs, his eyes turning that familiar shade of gold when he realized no changing whatsoever could be observed on your body which had not moved an inch.

Nothing at all.

He crawled back up towards your head, sinking his teeth in your neck, biting you there longer than he had done previously, in one final hope to bring you back to life.

Taehyung shifted his head to press his face against yours, closing his eyes and muttering to himself,

“Please, please, please…”

Stradling you, he eventually lied his head on your chest, eyes fixed on your children.

There was no reality he could picture himself living the rest of his life without you. You belonged to him, and so nothing nor no one could take you away from him. That’s how it was. Yet death did not make exceptions, not even in Taehyung’s world.

An eternity seemed to go by.

Until he finally could feel the faintest of thuds.

He quickly lifted himself.

“I knew it.” He whispered to himself, his lips stretching in a small triumphant smile and his chest heaving with relief. “You’re going to be alright-”

He lied back down on top of you, curling around your body to keep you warm, mostly to reassure himself. He knew he would feel much better if he kept a close watch on you and your frail heartbeat.   

Taehyung spent the next days looking over you and your little ones, sharing his time to warm you each in turns, he was told by the doctor to shift your body from side to side to prevent soreness in your limbs.

He showed some surprise when he noticed your were not needing any nutriment, Taehyung’s bite marks had faded away and your episiotomy healed completely.

As days passed your belly had decreased in size and your body flamed with color again, your temperature increasing slowly yet-

“Why isn’t she awakening?” Questioned Taehyung, leaning closer to your face. He studied it for the umpteenth time, like he always did ever since he heard the very soft pulse underneath your rib cage.

You had not moved an inch for days, asleep, breathing, seemingly living yet as motionless as a carved statue.

“Give her some time, Tae,” spoke softly the Luna.

The woman was kind enough to nurse your children while you were in a coma. By good fortune, she threw her third litter a month ago and produced enough milk to suit everyone. Your children had opened their eyes for the first time two days ago and were growing up very quickly. It did not bother her to stay by your sides for the sake of your children until you would awake. “It’s a miracle she’s alive.”

Taehyung looked at her and then down at you with serious eyes. He trailed the tip of his fingers along your cheek and leaned to kiss your forehead.

He moved away to cradle his fed baby who was lying not far from you, inhaling the pleasant scent of his soft skin. His son smiled at him, lifting a chubby hand to harmlessly grasp onto his father’s cheek and chin. He tilted his head to kiss into his tiny palm while the female lycan was joining him. She very gently laid your daughter in the crib.

“They need me at the camp again, I-”

“Go. I’ll put them to sleep.”

“Thank you.”

Burnt wood was the first scent you recognized, mixed with vanilla and lavender and something you did not manage to decipher but it smelled familiarity.

You wanted more of it. You tried to inhale as much of that agreeable warmth as everything seemed to become clearer and clearer.

You gradually regained a somewhat of consciousness, episodes flashing in your mind from your latest memories — there were pain, blood, shouting and Taehyung…

You remembered his body underneath yours, his voice in your ears and the blurry image of two little beings right in front your eyes.

Your body felt heavy, like a dead weight, and moving around appeared like the toughest task you were ever given to do. Your reverie was interrupted when you heard sounds, seemingly coming from behind you.

The more you focused on them, the clearer they sounded and soon you recognized Taehyung’s voice.

It sounded like he was talking to someone, his voice was low, calm, soothing. He was singing a lullaby.

You liked the feeling you were getting from listening to him.

Very subtly, you moved your eyes underneath your eyelids, clenching them here and then. You opened them in tiny slits, blinking repetitively to get used to the ambient lightning. It was almost dark outside and the only source of light was the fire burning in one corner of the tent but it still was too vivid to your taste.

You gradually got used to it and remained staring blankly ahead.

You did not recognized the place you were in. The carpet was different, the curtains hung over the fabric of the tent had motifs you did not remember seeing before. Your feeble fingers, very slowly curled themselves and you gently stroked the smooth blanket you were covered with.

You take a deep breath in and stretched yourself languidly, sleepness still showing in your lethargic moves. Taehyung’s singing stopped when he noticed you moving out of the corner of his eye.

You let yourself fall back on your back and you stared at the ceiling, still dazed. You heard him shifting and a few seconds later, your husband’s familiar scent submerged you as he hovered you.

You slowly met his eyes, gazing blankly back.

“______, can you hear me?” You subtly nodded and he smiled.

He leant down and hugged you, softly kissing your neck.

“There’s some water if you want.”

You moved towards where he was looking but he preempted you and pressed a cup to your lips. His hand gently cupped your nape to lift it. The fresh fluid felt really good against your dry tongue and down your throat and as much as you wanted to drink it avidly, you did not find the strength for it and fancied lying down again.

Taehyung did not want to rush you nor overwhelm you but he could not help feeling very excited that you were awake and safe. He could not wait for you to meet your children and share his happiness.

He leant to the side and stretched his arm to pull on something. You looked sideways and watched him bring closer an entirely made up cribs; in its shallow hollow lied your two babies, fast asleep.  

“______, there’s somethi-.”

You cleared your throat and cut him short, slightly frowning at them.“How long was I asleep for?”

“Two weeks and three days.”

Your lips parted but no sound came out.

“They’re growing fast because their carry my lycan genes.” He continued softly, looking at them as well. “By the time they become two they’ll look like human five-year-olds. They’ll grow at normal rate afterwards.”

He paused and looked back at you. “That’s why you delivered after only three months of gestation.”

“Who-” You hawked,“ who took care of them?”

“I did, the Luna kindly proposed to feed them milk the first week. A nurse took over now that they can eat solid food.” Smiled Taehyung, caressing one of the toddlers’ hairy heads.

The longer you stared at them, the more foreigner they looked. You simply could not recognize yourself in them.

“It’s a miracle, really.” He went on. “I don’t know the reason you are still alive but I’m so grateful…” Sadness veiled his eyes and his head tilted downward. His hand rested gently on your stomach. “You and our baby.”

“Our… baby?” You hesitated, gaze fixed.

“The Old Wolf... examined you,” he frowned at the poor choice of words, “and said the baby inside you could most likely be human. Meaning it still needs some time to develop…” The sparkle in his eyes faltered. “... It also means you’re still at risk.”

<< Prev Part (link unavailable)                                               Next Part >>

[duhragonball]

Dragon Ball GT Retrospective (4/7)

[Note: This was originally written on January 13,2013.  I embedded YouTube videos on each part, including several Evanescence AMVs, but Tumblr won’t cooperate with that for some reason.   Just look them up yourself.]

Today I'd like to talk about the Super 17 Saga.  It sucks, but it's short.   Man, there's an Evanescence AMV for this too?  I'm starting to see why that Daredevil movie was so poorly received.  Starring Ben Affleck!   Soundtrack by Every Fifteen-Year-Old on YouTube!

From what I've read, Episode 41 was supposed to have been the finale of Dragon Ball GT, but the show got renewed and so it chugged along for another 23 installments.  I don't know if the post-Baby storylines were rushed, per se, but it does sort of feel like Toei was caught flat-footed.   For one thing, the opening credits still kept using the same animations of Goku, Pan, and Trunks flying around in space, looking for Black Star Dragon Balls, and fighting Baby.  Well, the outer space adventures are over, the Black Star Dragon Balls are gone, and Baby's friggin' dead.  Hell, Trunks even gets kicked out of the main cast.   From here on out It's all Goku and Pan with a little Vegeta now and then.   Also, I think the Super 17 Saga feels like a kneejerk reaction.  "They ordered more shows, what do we do?   Shit... uh, let's just bring back all the bad guys from the old series!"   For a Dragon Ball Z fan, watching GT for the first time is like getting whiplash because they kept switching the premise around.   The whole point of the first two dozen episodes was that they were abandoning the DBZ formula and trying to do old school Kid Goku stories in outer space.  Then they spend another dozen episodes setting up a Goku vs. Vegeta fight with new power-ups.   By Episode 42, the series has given up any ambition of offering a distinct flavor or vision.   It's settled into a rut of doing lame comedy and watered-down superhero fights.   So first off, Episode 41 is about the latest World Martial Arts Tournament.   Goku used to compete in these things, but after he won the tournament he let everything that happened in DBZ distract him from the event, and during that time Mr. Satan became the multi-time World Champion.   The gag with Mr. Satan is that he has no super powers whatsoever, and while he's a brilliant martial artist, he only dominates the competition because all the super-fighters lost interest in the event.  By the end of DBZ, Goku and Mr. Satan's kids got married, so now they rig the tournament like some kind of kung fu mafia: Whoever wins the tournament has to fight Mr. Satan to actually claim the championship, and that person always agrees to take a dive.  By the end of DBZ, the Z-fighters are comfortable letting Mr. Satan serve as a figurehead hero to the people of Earth, while they do all the actual daysaving.  By the GT-era, Satan is now in his mid-fifties, and feels comfortable retiring and passing the torch to someone new.   He tries to rig the event so his grandaughter Pan can win, but she withdraws for fear that she'll be required to wear his ring gear and mustache if she wins.   Goku wanted to compete, but Mr. Satan convinces him to fight in the junior division because he's too short.   Ultimately, it's Uub who wins the tournament, but at the last moment he freezes and Mr. Satan actually eliminates him cleanly.  The reasons for this are complicated, and so I gotta explain Majin Buu.   The final bad guy of Dragon Ball Z was Majin Buu, a genie who could absorb the personalities and traits of his enemies.   This ability eventually caused him to split into two Buus, a good fat Buu and an evil version who went on to be the main villain.  The good Buu made friends with Mr. Satan, and was instrumental in preserving his stranglehold on the World Championship.   The evil Buu was killed by Goku, who wished that he could be reincarnated as a good guy so they could fight again.   Goku's wish came true, and the evil Buu was indeed reincarnated as a young human boy named "Uub" (get it?).   Goku quickly took the boy as his student so he could train him for a rematch and groom him as his successor.   You'd expect that Uub would have been a major player in Dragon Ball GT, but instead he barely ever shows up, and when he did finally make his big move to stop Baby he got his ass kicked.   Fortunately for him, the good Majin Buu stepped in and recombined with Uub, transforming him into "Majuub".   Majuub still got his ass kicked by Baby, but at least he made him work for it.   The point of all this is that Majuub consciously wanted to beat Mr. Satan for the World title, but unconsciously, the part of him that was once Mr. Satan's BFF wanted to let his old pal have the glory one last time.   This is sort of a problem with DBGT.  I meant the show has tons and tons of problems, but this is one that I think deserves more attention.   There's a certain fatalism to the series, because even if it isn't the final act for these characters, they're all older and half of them got 9-to-5 jobs and so forth, so it's clear that things are winding down.   To that end, it makes sense that GT would see the deaths of some of the major characters, but they're all kind of cheap death scenes.  Majin Buu doesn't die so much as he just merges with another iteration of himself.   Mr. Satan misses him, but only because he doesn't understand what's happened.   Piccolo dies, but it was a stupid and pointless sacrifice as I explained last time.   In any event, he shows up later on in the afterlife, so it's not like he's actually gone.   Then there's Krillin, but I don't want to get ahead of myself.   Mr. Satan retaining his title is a variation on the theme.    He talks about retiring, but when the moment arrives, he can't bring himself to step out of the limelight.   In a similar vein, one could argue that Dragon Ball GT should have been mainly about Uub and Pan as the successors to Goku and Gohan, but Goku just couldn't walk away from the action.   Anyway, with that business resolved, the Super 17 Saga can get started.   Basically, it's like the Batman stories where a bunch of villains break out of Arkham Asylum, except all the worst offenders in Dragon Ball are dead, so they have to literally escape from hell.  The plan begins when Dr. Myuu is recruited by Dr. Gero.  Again, it really feels like Toei was just trying to come up with something on the fly, and they decided Gero and Myuu's resemblance was a feature instead of a bug.    Myuu designed the Machine Mutants in the early episodes of GT, and Dr. Gero created the android villains in DBZ.   They're both doctors and they both wear silly hats and long, bushy mustaches.  Also, both of them were betrayed.   Gero was killed when Android 17 turned on him, while Myuu was killed by his creator Baby.   Gero's plan is to work together with Myuu to correct that whole "betrayal" thing that made Android 17 backfire.   Android 17 is still alive on Earth, but if the two doctors build another Android 17 in hell, they can.... harmonize their subspace... tachyons.... resonance.   Something.   All I know is they somehow managed to build an exact duplicate of 17 in hell, so apparently they have hardware stores in hell.   Dragon Ball has never been very consistent about how hell works.   In theory, a dead bad guy is stripped of his corporeal form and he languishes in hell as a disembodied spirit until he's finally allowed to be reincarnated in a new identity.    That's why Frieza can't just beat everyone up and conquer the afterlife.   But Toei always liked the idea of dead bad guys stirring up trouble, so they kept depicting them with their bodies in hell, complete with their full powers.  Dr. Gero was a cyborg, and I think they let him keep his robot body in hell, even though Frieza didn't get to keep his own cyborg implants.   Go figure.   For that matter, I'm pretty sure Dr. Myuu is purely mechanical, so I'm not convinced he'd even be in hell to begin with.    But somehow he and General Rildo are there.    So if Machine Mutants have souls, why isn't Baby there with the other villains?   He's the strongest one, so wouldn't it make more sense to rebuild a stronger version of Baby and use him in the big revenge plan?  Realistically, Toei probably left Baby out deliberately because they just killed him off, but that's why you don't do a story like this right after killing off a major villain. The point of all of this is that "Hell Fighter 17" and "Not Dead Yet 17" are mentally linked because they're basically the same unit in two bodies.   They both fire some sort of energy beam in unison, and this allows them to open a portal connecting Hell and Earth.   It's just sort of implied that the original Android 17 was mind-controlled for all of this, because he's the guy who sent Dr. Gero to hell in the first place, so I doubt he'd willingly endorse a plan to help him get out.   Gero and Myuu send a bunch of dead villains to invade Earth, and they issue a challenge to Goku: Come fight Cell and Frieza in Hell, or we'll send them to Earth too to make the situation even worse.   Goku is eager for a rematch with his old archenemies, even though he's gotten far, far stronger while they've been puttering around the afterlife all this time.   He stupidly flies through the portal, only for Gero and Myuu to close it from the outside.   So now Goku's trapped in Hell and most of his enemies are  causing trouble on Earth.   One of the first episodes of GT I ever saw was #43, because it came on a bonus DVD packaged with a strategy guide for a DBZ videogame.  This was the episode where Goku fights Cell and Frieza in Hell, and I guess they put it on the DVD because it seemed like the best possible choice to promote the new show to DBZ fans.  Cell's my favorite character in the show, so this has gotta be good, right?   Well I watched the episode and quickly realized that GT sucks ass.   First of all, it's been 43 episodes and Goku's still stuck as a child.   He can turn into a Super Saiyan 4 and blow Cell and Frieza away in one hit, but he never does this.   Hell, he could annihilate them in one of the lower Super Saiyan forms.    But this is GT, and GT-logic demands that any preliminary fight be fought in base-form.   Never mind that Goku had to go Super Saiyan the first time he fought these guys.   Now he's fighting them at the same time, with a smaller body, and he wants to do it in normal form.   Frieza and Cell act like they're gonna curbstomp Goku because they have scary new ghost powers, and they can't be killed themselves because they're already dead.   But the reality is that Goku makes them look like idiots because he won't even bother powering up to fight them.  Up your ass, Dragon Ball GT.   At one point, Cell tries to absorb Goku with his scorpion tail, which doesn't even make sense because Cell only absorbs Androids whole, and he doesn't need to absorb anything anymore because he's in his final form.   Goku simply forces his way out of Cell's ass.   Later, Goku defeats Cell and Frieza using a snowblower.   I wish I was kidding.  It's some kind of magic snow blower, designed to freeze dead people, but it's still stupid.  Cell deserved better.   Meanwhile on Earth, the other bad guys get their asses destroyed because they're all incredibly outclassed by the good guys.  Seriously, most of the villains from Dragon Ball were just mercenaries in helicopters and shit.   They were fine at the time, but now all the good guys can throw mountains and shoot lasers from their hands.  They're treated like cannon fodder, and rightfully so, but it kind of makes you wonder what the point of all this was.   I always appreciated the fact that DBZ villains have to die because they're obsolete after their first loss.  The good guys always train and get stronger, so if they were to come back for revenge they'd just be at an even bigger disadvantage.   It's kind of neat to see Nappa come back and confront Vegeta for killing him, except Vegeta's like a thousand times stronger than he was the first time he killed him.   The lame thing is that a handful of the villains might have had a chance, but Toei screwed them over.   Trunks and Goten shoot down Android 19 with hand energy.   Well, fine, they're probably strong enough to do that, except #19 was built with the power to absorb energy blasts.  If a good guy kicked his head off or something I'd be fine with it, but they went for the one quick-kill scenario that made the least amount of sense.  Captain Ginyu can switch bodies, so if he played his cards right he could trade up and be a contender again.   I don't think they even used him in the story, though.  A lot of these guys would have been better off running away from the battle and hiding out somewhere.   I mean, if you're a human bad guy, you could just slip away in the confusion and if you can stay out of trouble for a few days, you're home free.  You'd think most of these rank and file guys would rather have a new lease on life than revenge on some goofy kid they only met once.   Once the villain army is wrapped up, Gero and Myuu sic Hell Fighter 17 on Vegeta, while the original #17 wanders off and tries to seduce his twin sister, Android #18.   I'm not really sure what his motives are exactly, but he does some sort of hypnotic thing to her, but when Krillin snaps her out of it, he kills him, then attacks 18 when she objects.  Maybe Gero wanted to use 18 in his plan, or this was 17's personality trying to fight his programming, but whatever.   Guess how Vegeta fights Hell Fighter 17.   If you said "base form", congratulations, you understand GT-Logic.   Gero and Myuu summon the other Android 17 to the battle, and they combine them together to make "Super Android 17", a taller, more eyebrow-deficient version.   Super 17 basically no-sells everything, and his secret weapon is that he can absorb energy from his opponents, just like #19 could do, except it actually works.   Vegeta, Trunks, Goten, Gohan, and Majuub all take turns getting their asses kicked, then they finally power up and do it all over again.   I should point out that the original, non-super, one-at-a-time 17 was more than a match for a Super Saiyan back in the day, and yet they all had to try fighting him in base form, just in case it suddenly works this time.  The whole thing is a pointless debacle, because we all know Super 17 is too strong for anyone but Goku to fight, so we're just marking time until he can show up to save the day.   Fortunately, Piccolo has an idea to free Goku, but he's stuck in heaven because he's a good guy.   The guy in charge of that sort of thing refuses to send Piccolo to hell, so Piccolo starts blowing shit up to deserve the punishment.  Once he arrives in hell, Piccolo starts duplicating the Android 17 thing.   He and Dende time their energy beams just right, and that creates a polaron inversion that realigns the warp field coils, allowing Goku to jump back to Earth.  Piccolo is unfortunately stuck in Hell now, but he gets to spend all his free time beating up bad guys, so he's probably happier that way.   Goku finally comes to the rescue and shockingly transforms to fight Super 17.   The only beef here is that he starts out in Super Saiyan.........1, the same form Vegeta used when he got his ass kicked.  After a short warmup, he finally gets down to business and whips out SSJ4.   The weird thing is that Super Saiyan 4 was GT's signature thing, and yet they barely ever let Goku use it.   It's like they were embarrassed or something.  It doesn't really matter anyway, because Super 17 can just absorb Goku's energy no matter how strong he is, so Goku gets beaten just as easily as his weaker allies.   I should point out that, along the way, Super 17 turned on both Dr. Gero and Dr. Myuu.   In Gero's case, Myuu secretly programmed Super 17 to only follow his own orders, but then he later blows up Dr. Myuu in an act of defiance, so it probably would have come to that no matter what.   The only thing that stops Super 17 is his sister. 18 shows up at the critical moment and demands revenge in spite of the odds.  Her rejection of what 17 has become stirs his original personality, and he manages to sabotage himself just enough that Goku can use 18's attack as a diversion and defeat him with a Super Dragon Fist.   For no obvious reason, 18 tears her blouse during this scene.   GT.  Logic.   So the saga ends as it began, with a character taking a dive to let a weaker character win.  Not that I was rooting for Super 17 or anything, but it doesn't really make Goku look special when he can't even fight his own battles.   On the other hand, Android 17 is finally, definitively killed, after years of being in a sort of limbo where no one really knew what had happened to him.  It's really the only death scene they let stick, so I guess I have to give some credit there.   The interface of hell and Earth causes environmental problems, so Goku resolves to find the Dragon Balls and use them to restore the Earth and resurrect Krillin.  Unfortunately, all seven Dragon Balls are cracked.   These are the good old Red Star Dragon Balls, by the way, the ones that don't blow up the Earth when you use them.   At least, they used to be reliable... NEXT: Breakin' my balls

[alitheamateur]

Birthday Boy Bob

This one is for my dear friend, @torialeysha who requested some smutty Bob Saginowski action. (Who could blame her?) This guy, this guy, this guy. Let me tell ya’! Bobby boy here, has by far been my toughest encounter! I hope it’s up to your standards, you genius!

Characters: Bob Saginowski/Reader

Warnings: NSFW. Explicit Sexual Content. Language. A bit of angst. A touch of fluff.

Word Count: 4,742 

“You really did not have to do alla this, Y/N. But, I truly appreciate it.”

“You deserve some fun, Bobby boy. So, you can thank me by having a drink. Or ten.” You winked, bopping the end of his nose with your fingertip.

Bob Saginowski had been your boss for going on two years now. You, being the barmaid at his local treasure in the heart of Brooklyn, had developed quite the mysterious relationship with him. There was no figuring Bob out, though. He was an impossible enigma that Sherlock himself couldn’t crack open with his most impressive skills, so there was no way you’d get him down pat. He was frustratingly literal, unobvious with his dangerous intelligence, and the holy grail of secrets. But as of late, your subtle glances had been reciprocated, and his claiming accidental skims of your skin when he’d squeeze close to you behind the bar were becoming much more recurrent.

He worked himself day and night, and you wondered concerningly if he ever even slept at night. He had paid his debts, and was now sole owner of “Bob’s Bar” which lengthened his daily ‘to-do’ list, that also consisted of tending to his loyal companion, Rocco. In your eyes, he deserved a hefty dose of fun and unwinding (as much as a person like Bob could unwind), and his 37th birthday opened the door to help you make that very goal achievable. So, your plan was set into action, and had unfolded without a hitch. So you thought, at least…

“Cheers, ol’ boy! This ones for you, Bob!” One of the most frequent stool warmers at the bar stuttered between drunken hiccups, raising up the third tequila past his limit.

The usual present pondering lines of Bob’s forehead seemed even more troubled suddenly, as the two of you stood chatting behind the bar top. You tossed your ashy blonde hair over your shoulder to turn and investigate the ringing bell that notified an entry. The eyes you looked into made you instantly squeamish, and all hopeful opportunities you’d envisioned ensuing with the object of your secret affections fizzled out. Nadia, the only ex you were ever aware of from Bob’s relationship endeavors, just had to show her unwelcomed face tonight, of all nights.

“Hey, birthday boy!” She screeched, waving the deflating ‘happy birthday’ balloon she had tied to her finger.

Nadia had tossed him into the trash, leaving him in the condition much like he had found Rocco inside her trash can a few years ago. No rhyme, or reason behind her flighty exit had been heard on the streets, and she hadn’t been seen since last fall. Her unexplained bow out had granted you a job, and a confused and wounded Bob to look after, so you were thankful in all honesty for her disappearance. It was her reappearance however, that had you squirming and insecure. 

“Uhh, yeah. Hel… Hi, Nadia,” Bob apprehensively greeted the ghost of his past, and leaned on the chipping wood of the counter to steady his shaken balance. “Where um.. where you been?”

The subdued tenor of his answer angered you to dangerous heights, and your conscious nagged you to spit venomous curses and toss her out on her smug ass since Bob obviously didn’t have the stomach to do it himself. But, it wasn’t your place to do so, and if you were being truthful, you saw her unforeseen return as a chance to decipher whether Bob was truly over what they had shared.

“You know, just here and there.”

Here and there?! That’s all she had for him? The utterly heartless and ignorance of her explanation had your head swimming, and your spiteful tongue could no longer be controlled.

“Bob! Let’s open your gifts, okay? Rocco keeps sniffing the bags in the corner. He’s trying to hurry you up!”

You couldn’t stand idly and twiddle your anxious fingers as she entranced him deeper into her silky web of manipulation and pitiful lies.

You brashly grabbed his hand into yours, and the heavy clogging of his worn boots echoed behind you careful not to stomp on a following Rocco yipping at your feet. Nadia cornered herself in a booth near the cake you had bought with your own earnings, and you smiled despicably to yourself when none of the party guests fawned over her homecoming. These were your customers as much as Bobs’, and they had whispered teasing remarks about seeing how the two of you were always blushing and flirting as you danced around each other behind the bar on a hectic night of business. Nadia’s departure had granted her top rank on the blacklist, and the attendees of Bob’s Bar had made their stance obvious.

 You held the growing pup in your arms, and smiled admiringly at the gawky excitements Bob attempted to show to his company. A party full of guests, all in one room to celebrate and dote over Bob was probably the closest thing to a nightmare in real time for him, and you began to wonder if the whole gesture was a colossal, incurable mistake. But, the quirky, barely perceptible half-smiles he snuck between gifts warmed you with reassurance. When he lifted the last perfectly creased corners of a package, tucked purposely by you behind all the others, he looked instantly to you when it was missing the gift-tag he examined it for.

“That one’s from Rocco and me. He even wrapped it himself.” Bobs’ endearing, single wonky tooth appeared suddenly, as your playful, pitiful excuse for a joke made him almost audibly laugh. It could’ve been construed as honest laughter, or a result of the flow of alcohol you’d insisted he intake, and let loose.

The protruding line of a vein tensed and shifted in his forearm from beneath the rolled sleeves of his flannel as he tore the paper casually in front of the room.  It was a photo taken on New Year’s Eve night at the bar several months ago that you had printed from your phone, of the pair of you decked in stupid ‘happy new year’ sequined tiaras, and silly Rocco smooshed between your heads with his panting tongue hanging out. That particular night had been the nearest Bob had come to finally biting the bullet and kissing you when the new year struck on the clock. You giggled recollecting how all eyes in the room immediately shifted to the two of you when the ball dropped to see if either of you would make the much-anticipated move. When his lips never moved, you instead settled on pecking him lingeringly to his scruffy cheek.

 “Look at that. That’s real nice! Thank you, really. Rocco, you too, buddy. But, I think imma give Y/N all the credit. No hard feelings.”

“You’re welco-“

“Oh my God, do you remember our first New Year’s Eve with Rocco?! He was snoring under the bar all night, then when everyone yelled at midnight, he got so scared and nearly jumped up your leg, Bob.”

Apparently, your particular birthday gift to the man in question had struck the attention of one unwelcome, obnoxious party guest who just had to jump in rudely with her pointless two-cents. You weren’t born yesterday, and neither was the interrupting ex-girlfriend of his who could see the flirtatious manner bouncing back and forth between yourself, and the man Nadia had clearly come back into town for.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do rememba that. He uh, he still ain’t a fan of real loud noises either. You know, like sirens and stuff.”

Bob swiveled in his chair to actually civilly converse with her, literally and figuratively turning his back on you. Maybe friends would be a line never crossed between you and Bob Saginowski as long as Nadia’s chilly presence loomed close by. But besides the hopes of a relationship between the two of you squandered, you feared your position as bartender would be dismissed as well if she swindled her way back into his life, and his bed successfully.

You turned the pup loose from your arms to roam the room, and drug your feet back behind the counter to refill drinks, and maybe sneak a swig or two of your own liquid courage. Closing time and last call would be arriving shortly, so you combed your hair back into a high ponytail, and pulled off your olive-green utility jacket to prepare for clean-up. No one had cut that cake, but since Nadia wanted to be the center of attention tonight, she could handle it. You were checked out, and ready to crash into bed with too many glasses of wine.

As you reached for the damp rag to wipe the counter of sticky remnants of spilled drinks, Johnny, a devoted customer and a bit of a watchful eye over the place if Bob ever had to leave you to handle things so he could run errands, snapped you from your thoughts.

“Hey, don’t chu throw in the towel. Alla us are countin’ on you to keep Bobby boy away from that little she-devil.” He whispered and nodded his head in the direction of the female snake petting on Rocco after rattling the ice cubes in his empty tumbler of bourbon.

“Seems no one can replace her, John. You saw it! It’s like I just left the room once she started to talk to him. They have history, I guess. I can’t compete. And I won’t either.”

“Nobody said it was a competition, Y/N. But, this is Brooklyn, honey. You gotta fight for whatcha want sometimes.”

………………..

“Alright, alright! Take the cake and get out of here, you goon!” You kindly teased with the last guest who wouldn’t take the order of leaving until you sent him home with the last two slices of the chocolate cake.

Rocco was snoozing under the pool table, avoiding the drunk hugs, and repetitive loop of a horrendous ‘happy birthday’ song being sung as the party goers lined out the door to head home for the evening. Bob ushered them out one by one, calling cabs for the few who he knew would wind up passing out on the sidewalk before they reached their own doorstep 5 blocks from the bar. It appeared only him, and yourself were left to lock up, and you were building up a bubble of nerve to confront him about Nadia, when you heard the gentle thud of a bathroom door closing down the hall.

She had already showed up like an unannounced gypsy to crash the party you had thrown for him, but that wasn’t enough to suffice. She had hung around, probably listening from the stall of the toilet, to wait for the room to clear so she could have some alone time to seal the deal. Bob looked to her, as did you, as she sheepishly approached the exit. Her ‘poor pitiful me’ charade was far from authentic, and you prayed silently and fervently that silly Bob would see right through her acting.

“I guess I’ll head out then…”

She looked to Bob, who then looked to you, who stared intently at Nadia.

“You could walk me home.. If it’s not too much trouble?”

That was it. The nail in your coffin. When he didn’t deny her instantly, you accepted you’d never hold the title of Bob’s girl, or Rocco’s dog-mom, and Nadia still compelled him beyond any way that you had.

“Go head, Bob. I’ll lock up.” You plastered on a brave, quite unconvincing smile as you rinsed and dried the last few glasses to shelf before you could head out.

“Are you sure? You already done so much tonight, I hate to ask.” Bob’s shifty eyes examined you seeking whether you were truly okay with him leaving you to handle the close up.

“She’s got it, Bob. I’m sure she’s closed alone before, right? It is your birthday, after all.”

Before you even had a second to object, Nadia interjected to make sure you didn’t. She had already awoken Rocco who was yawning and dazed in the cradle of her arms, and all but shoving Bob out into the night air with her. He turned to wave goodbye, and mouthed a ‘thank you’, to which you chose not to acknowledge much. The silence of the room, aside from the humming of the ice machine made you paranoid with confusion, and shame. You assured yourself that you had taken your shot, it just wasn’t meant to be. But, had you really? Was the man completely uninterested in you, or had he just in typical Bob fashion, been too bashful and timid to show you he really did have desirable feelings for you? You couldn’t place all fault on him, when you had done little to reveal how you felt towards him.

The unwavering, worrisome flow of ‘what ifs’ clouding your thoughts had passed the time substantially as you finished off the final items on your closing to-do list. Reaching down to unplug the stringy cord of the last neon sign glowing in the dingy store-front glass, you heard the chattering metal of a door handle being opened. Your body stiffened in paralyzing fright, and you ceased breathing to remain as still, and undetected as possible.

Thankfully, it was the familiar Bob and Rocco who swept inside the now dark shadows of the empty building, missing the third party they had left with short of a half hour ago.

“You scared the hell outta me, Bob!” You cupped your hands over your mouth and the sweaty palms stuck to your lips.

“I’m uh… yeah, sorry ‘bout that. I was gonna call but…”

“What’d you forget? I’m all done here. I was heading out in a sec, actually. Where’s uh… Where’s Nadia?”

Walking towards to the stool to gather up the purse and jacket you had sat there moments ago, you felt a masculine hand fall onto your shoulder.

“I called her a cab…”

Turning yourself in a half circle so you could meet him face to face, and tip-toe into whatever waters the conversation was leading next, you gulped a heavy knot of surprise seeing him remove the scratchy wool-lined vest he always wore when the seasonal temperatures started steadily declining into winter. Your own coat was draped over your wrist, but looking silently into your eyes, Bob removed it. Tossing it, along with your purse, and his own discarded outer-layer back onto the seat you once had placed it.

“I told her not to be comin’ around here again. And that this wasn’t her place anymore.”

Intently, your watchful stares followed him as he shooed Rocco into the storage room he was usually kept on busy nights, next traveling over to the large glass window that looked into the street and easing down the plastic shade. Like a dimmer, it eliminated the entering glow from the luminescent streetlight near your parked car, and only the lit-up handles of the beer taps, and mini-fridge tucked under the stock shelves allowed you minimal vision of Bob’s eerily calm features. Working with him nearly every calendar day for countless months now, you had grown naturally enamored by the anomaly of his disposition. But his calculated steps, sure actions, and silent planning were a far cry from his usually peculiar behavior. Should you be afraid? Leary or standoffish? Probably. But you were only allured, and aroused to say the least.

The lack of conversation made your ears squeal. Should you say something? Shouldn’t he? What’s happening here? A plethora of scenarios all played out one-by-one in your head, but you were clueless at the thoughts crossing through his. He was the farthest thing from an open-book, and he wasn’t exactly dropping red flags. That is, until he raised one thick finger to brush the line of your glowing, alabaster skin peeking from the hem of your tank top. You closed your eyes, and sharply inhaled between gritted teeth savoring the unmistakable insinuation of his actions now, and the ones to follow.

One by one, each plastic button that fastened your black, plaid flannel was tauntingly opening at the cautious, yet purposeful hands of Bob. He seemed to stare laser beams of tantric desires straight through your pupils, and you couldn’t turn your focus from the slow-growing bulge between his legs.

“Take if off for me, Y/N. I’d like to watch you if tha’s alright.” He petted down the side of your arm, and as his spoke the wind of his heated exhales blew the stray hairs from your face. You couldn’t tell by the slithering octave of his words whether he was requesting, or darkly demanding you to remove your unlined, lace bra. But you obliged keenly, and Bob grunted sexually as your breasts toppled free.

You then saw Bob Saginowski move more abruptly, and scattered than he ever had shedding his own shirt, and unlatching this jeans. He didn’t hesitate, didn’t overthink the matter, he just threw his usual caution to the wind. And for the first time, your eyes beheld the uncovered treasure that lie beneath the clothed surface. He was so broad, and uncannily built like a sturdy wall that was graffitied with an array of black markings across the span of his torso. The heated desire you’d built up for him in the last year crawled like a paranormal, starving demon from somewhere deep in your core, and you sprung at him with a lustful kiss.

Expecting him to politely protest, or pump the proverbial breaks on your fierce attack on his mouth, you were pleasantly surprised when he began to fiddle with the zipper on your light-shaded jeans. His tongue danced carelessly and gracefully like a practiced waltz with your own, and you let your hands wander over his tight chest sprinkled with hair. Once he pulled your pants, along with your silky underwear over your ankles, you gasped when he palmed your exposed cheeks with both of his masculine, worked fingers. He was dominating you in the most elusive, and well-mannered way and your body ached for more. Quickly, your feet separated from the recently mopped floor, and you were planted on top of the chilly countertop where you served drinks every day. Bob positioned himself slightly between your legs, and his fingers danced friskily near your uncovered center.  You’d never look at Lucky Larry’s stool the same way again.

“Spread your legs, Y/N. Lemme see if you taste as good as you always smell when you’re behind the bar with me every night.”

You couldn’t control the subconscious pink that painted your cheeks at the provocative, explicit way he had spoken to you. The heat in the room, of his breaths, and of your own temperature climbed unsubstantially with each passing second, and there was no telling what heights your explosive orgasm would reach tonight as he knelt eye-to-eye with your sex. He pulled your legs possessively forward, dangling them over the hump of his shoulder and nipping skin sporadically between his teeth along his journey up to your swelling bud. There was an intangible exhilaration at the sight of Bob abandoning his submissive mantra and passionately taking you. Your manicured toes curled in exotic elation due to the audaciously close proximity his mouth came to you, and the almost villainous demeanor of that shadowy smile floating across his face as he kissed your lowest lips. You found irony in the fact that you’d only seen Bob smile a very few amount of times in your presence, but now his teeth were gleaming upon the introduction with your sexually tamed flower. Your partner body count was a mild number, but you didn’t feel pressured or an inexperienced fear in his hands. Something in your brain concluded that Bob hadn’t allowed many women in his bed considering his sealed off personality, so you wouldn’t be just another notch.

The gruff friction of his beard chaffing the sensitive crook of your thighs, only added a heightened level of pleasure to the simple, generous lashings of his tongue. The sounds of sucklings, and humming, along with the drooping of his pleasure filled eyes tortured you with euphoria. Your mind told you to cry out like a mangy wolf to the hazy moon as Bob pleaded forth your release, but you couldn’t help but succumb to the irresistible need to watch his heart-shaped lips feasting down below.

“I’m almost there… Just… just a little more.”

“Beg, Y/N. Tell me you need me to finish you off. Tell me you need me to make you come.”

He had been hiding this marvelous, politely dominating, sexual prowess somewhere deep in the valley of his complex mind, and apparently it needed a gasping breath of the light of day. The compiled list of scripts in your mind hadn’t prepared for you a turn of events like this. Expecting to take the reins, and lead his doe-eyes where to go next had been how most of the set-ups played out, but you were more than happy to obey under his commands.

“I need you, Bob. I need you to… I just need you. Please!”

You felt any second you’d spill out into his cavernous mouth and stain the bar underneath your now numbing bum, but upon your groveling admissions of want, the bull-necked man indulging in his own private dine-in ceased instantly. His rearranging of your bodies came swift and smooth as you found yourself straddling his generously sized lap. His finger trialed down the soft line of your nose, then in slow motion grazed the inside of your wet bottom lip, and moved to admire the locket you wore dangling just above the cavity between your breasts. You were thankful for the recognizable tenderness you found waiting in his eyes amongst the welcomed, new traits of boldness you’d discovered as well. He seemed now to be even more perfectly rounded and suited to be the man you longed to be next to.

“Is this okay wi’ you? You’re sure? ‘Cause you know, I don’t wanna do anythin’ you ain’t-“

“Bob, shhh. It’s more than okay. I want this so much.”

“Good, ‘cause I do too. Very much, actually. You uh.. you stay just like that and let me take care a’ you.” He nodded insistently while fondling your rosy nipple.

“You’re the boss, handsome?”

“Whatwas ‘at?” Bob froze, and a cool wind seemed to course through your veins at the light, dangerous manner of his question.

“I said… I said, you’re the boss,” you gulped.

“Oh I, I uh… I heard you, baby. I just like hearing it roll off those pretty little lips. You wanna see the boss, do ya’?” He chirped salaciously and pulled down the hair band tying back your wavy locks, and fisted it around his knuckles.

“I think so. It’s of dire importance that I speak with him. You see, I’ve been having these terribly hot, inappropriate dreams about him, and I think we should discuss it.”

“Wow… Uh.. well, you’re right. We might have to do something about that, because I believe he may be having those same dirty, dirty thoughts about you, too.”

As a exclamation to this stemming role play the two of you had going, Bob heartily thrusted his strong hips upward to attack your insides with his manly member. The feel of him pumping inside of you tingled your organs with electricity, and heat. You grabbed the nape of his neck as he held tightly onto yours, and rode the seated man in the creaking barstool like a bucking mare. There was a build up of the last years worth of attraction stored inside you, and now there was no reasonable excuse to hide that flaming passion for Bob Saginowski. You clawed at his chest, yanking the crucifix chain clumsily right off his neck to fall to the floor inside his discarded, muddy boot. The sloppy bites he was staining around your throat would raise eyebrows tomorrow, but you’d wear them like a medal of honor if need be. He hissed, and drew blood from his own lip as he bit down in uncontrollable eagerness at wetness that coated his thighs.

The particular cushion Bob had chosen left his back vulnerable to the door, and the glass center of it. The interior switches had been flipped off earlier from your attempts to close the place properly, so you didn’t give any thought of being exposed to the passing of nighttime traffic. But, when you happen to catch the wiggling of the turning knob as your eyes turned upward from the earlobe belonging to Bob you were chewing on. You cringed horrifically realizing he had left the door unlocked when he returned with Rocco, as it opened hesitantly. The clinking bell triggered the man to wrap you tightly between his strong arms equipped for defense, and swivel around to meet the intruder.

When none other than the dismissed, scorned ex-girlfriend stepped inside to escape the misting rain of the midnight hour, your heart leaped and whistled like a songbird. Normally, you would’ve crawled under the bar to hide your naked body in shame. But, due to the crass and snarky behavior she had shown to you just mere hours ago, you immaturely decided she may very well deserve the X-rated vision of yourself and a very pleased Bob underneath the bouncing cheeks of your ass.

She disturbingly turned away and shielded her eyes the minute she concluded what she had indeed interrupted.

“What the hell, Bob?! You threw me in a cab for.. for this?!!”

Your necked sank into your shoulders like a frightened turtle when his hands loosened their clasp around your shivering body courtesy of the puff of breeze she carried in upon opening the door. Was he going to just shove you away, leaving you unsatisfied, and lacking a single shred of dignity to your name, so he could chase after her?

“She is exactly why I tossed you into a cab, yeah. She didn’t leave me to run off doing who the hell knows what, with God knows who. So yes, Nadia. She is who belongs here wi’ me and Rocco.”

He combed a chunk of sweat dampened hair behind your pixie ear, and gazed approvingly, and lovingly over meek features.

“Now, I believe I made it clear that you ain’t welcome here. Ever. So, if you’ll excuse me…”

Before she processed the clear, and justifiable dismissal from Bob, he met your mouth to his, and began a romantic rhythm of in and out motions with his hips. An inkling of your conservative side wanted to protest, but you wouldn’t deny the reciprocation of his craving for you. He closed his eyes in bliss, resting his forehead on the dip of your collarbone, and you took the opportunity to wink over his shoulder at an exiting Nadia. The dramatic rolling of her overly-lined eyes tickled your satisfaction.

You could sense he was terribly sorry for his irresponsible move of leaving the door unlatched, and having Nadia intrude on this long-awaited night. He shifted, and situated you strategically so he could reach tingling depths inside of you to stimulate that sweet spot you didn’t even know you had. A wafting aroma of his woodsy, raw sweat blended with your dipping arousal and hints of candy-like perfume followed behind the wave of your orgasm.

You accidentally closed off his air with your boa-constrictor like grip around his core as he shook loose the stress of the long overdue release. Bob’s hands clung fitfully to your lower back, careful not to crush you, and seeped himself inside of you with an airy moan of your name.

When the two of you drank every sense of the other in, and had imploded with a feverish unwinding, you heard Rocco’s begging whines, and clipped nails pawing at the stockroom door. He even howled three times and attempted to poke his nose from under the doorframe. Bob smiled at you slightly, and nudged your nose with his own before draping his unbuttoned shirt over your miniscule shoulders.

“I told ya’. He hates loud noises, so you’re just gonna have to learn to keep those little screams to a whisper, Y/N.” Bob winked at you, and offered you a cool drink of the lager he retrieved from the cooler.

“So, there’s a next time then? Boss…”

“Give me 5 minutes, and find out.”

 TAGS: @torialeysha @eap1935

[oddyssea]

            〔   HYPERION CLASSIC: FILE I :// ONE CONDITION  〕

❝ You’re late. ❞ 

The grousing voice of Jane comes almost RIGID donning her perfect posture and PRISTINE outfit ( a perfectly ironed dress with some Christian Louboutin heels ). She’s the epitome of a woman in charge. She’s an intense ironic comparison to him. 

THE TASMANIAN DEVIL. 

A mess of a man. A flannel plaid shirt, SLEEVES rolled up and covering his tank top, SMALL CHEST FUZZ peaking from the neck line. WORN WASHED jeans crinkled at the BOOT, muddied & aged with years of good use. His hair disheveled, BEARD relatively unkempt. Jane always WHINED about HATING it. He gives her a SNIDE look. One that’s playful, his dry cruel brand of playful as he makes himself comfortable in her MODERN PORCELAIN office.

❝ No m’not. Yer meetin’ was scheduled fer three thirty an’ y’told me two so I WOULDN’ be late. I asked yer damn receptionist. ❞

HER furrowed brow and the clack of her heel against the beautiful stone flooring suggests she’s in a sheer state of disdain before she finally GRUNTS, taking her seat, one leg crossing over the other as he DARK hair is pushed from her face, THICK & SHINY like her mother’s. Or at least as Karter recalled her mentioning before.

❝ Moving on. I have a job for you. A big client asking about you. YOU specifically. Apparently they have a very niche job they’d like accomplished and they claimed that only YOUR specific set of skills would be able to completely the job. ❞ 

Karter furrows his brow, LEANING back, his legs kicked up as he hits his BOOTS on her desk, her jaw tightening at the sight of it before she CAREFULLY moves them off and shakes her head.

❝ Oh? Lil ol’ me makin’ waves? Why’re y’surprised? M’pretty sure I toldja we’d be doin’ great things... ❞ 

HE PAUSES glancing down, INDEX finger raised for a second before he puffs softly and shakes his head, air blown out from puffed out cheeks for a second as she follows his finger, her brow furrowed even FURTHER. She can ALREADY tell she’s not going to like what she’s about to hear. And after some more of his prolonged silence she draws in an IRRITATED breath.

❝ What is it? ❞ 

He purses his lips, HEAD cocking to the side.

❝ One condition. ❞ 

And there it was. She KNEW it.

❝ Karter––– ❞ 

HE LOOKS her dead in the eye, not letting her finish her statement before he continues. She was CURT with tier 1 clients. HIGH PRICE TAG jobs meant they had to give a bit of wiggle room, but there were PERKS to working as the TOP DOG in the community.

❝ One condition. ❞ 

She sighs, PINCHING the bridge of her nose, LEANED over as she shakes her head her hands smoothing out her dress for a moment before she folds her hands together.

❝ And what is that? ❞

 He leans back, BROWS raised and lips pressed together into a OVERDRAWN frown, nodding a little as if she ALREADY knows what he’s going to say and when she eyes him she knows FULL WELL she’s going to regret it.

❝ Bloodhound. ❞ 

A pause.

❝ You can’t be serious. ❞ 

He raises brows, expression unchanging as he continues to nods AS IF astonished at her ability to overlook the obvious nature of his work before he finally speaks again.

❝ As a heart attack. ❞ 

She continues, her frown down-turned softly. She KNOWS he’s not going to let up, but she’s going to REGRET it if she tries to FIGHT him on it, but there’s no getting around it. He’ll get his way, it’s a matter of her doing DAMAGE control for him all things considered.

❝ They want you. ❞ 

He laughs INCREDULOUS at the notion and with a coy grin he shrugs his shoulders softly nodding to himself for a second before continuing.

❝ We’re a package deal Janie. I NEED him. An’ he’s damn good. I ain’t doin’ th’job without’im. ❞ 

❝ Why? You don’t like ANYONE. What exactly makes him so special? ❞ 

She’s unsure. She can’t wrap her head around how a man like KARTER KANE. The Tasmanian Devil. A man who LOATHED everyone, and somehow he’d latched onto this man. A MAN she had no knowledge of who one day MANIFESTED out of nowhere. She’d heard he was a friend from the military but Karter seemed far for CHUMMY than just FRIENDSHIP. They’d worked several jobs together from what SHE’D understood. 

❝ He’s DAMN GOOD Janie. He ain’t helpless, ‘ve already started teachin’ ‘im––––an’–– ❞

HER BROW QUIRKS. She focuses on him, intently focused on his face. She’s not STUPID. She’d seen Karter with his former flame and there was ONLY one reason she could think of that Karter would NOT ONLY induct someone into the community ( especially given his track record & VIEWS on the community ) but ADVOCATE to bring them along on a hunt.

❝ And? ❞  

THE EXPRESSION on his face is ONE that’s beyond telling, HIS FEATURES hidden as he turns his head, flicking his thumb across his nose. THERE’S something about him. HE DOESN’T need to say it, she already knows why he’s doing it, but she knows he’s not going to say it. And after a moment she SIGHS heavily RUBBING her temples softly.

❝ Fine. I’ll see what I can do–––but KARTER. Don’t make me regret this. ❞ 

She’s happy for him truthfully. Karter was a STONY LONESOME man. He didn’t do well alone for long periods of time. The more he was alone the more CLOSED OFF HE WAS. His eyes were warmer these days. THIS BLOODHOUND did something. MADE HIM HAPPY. And he deserved it, SHE JUST hoped he’d be careful.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{January Collection} #27

Stained Glass on My Window

Inspiration ♥

Seeing the world through rose-tinted glass is sometimes the only way to make it through the day.

Some people think churches have the monopoly on stained glass, but that isn’t true. Intriguing rumors persist about others outside the religious institutions, who weave stained glass for healing purposes.

Being known as the world’s greatest reporter is not just a title for Lois Lane; it’s a fact, and something she proves time and time again. It allowed the highly celebrated wife and mother to hold her shoulders square and her head up, posture that follows her even into her home; after all, she’d earned it! Pushing the garage door closed with one hand, Lois was careful with the brown wrapped parcel underneath her other arm, mindful even of her purse brushing against it.

“Hello? I’m home!”

“Welcome home, sweetheart.” Seated at the kitchen island, Clark Kent looked up with a loving smile aimed at his wife, standing as she came in to give her a kiss. “Any luck?”

“I found it!” Lois drew back, holding up the parcel with a triumphant smile. “I found her and I swear, Clark, it was like she was expecting me.”

Clark’s smile deepened, giving Lois’s arm a rub. “You were right about this.”

“I’m right about everything, but it’s nice of you to acknowledge this particular time.” Lois draped her purse over the back of the bar stool with a wry smirk aimed at her husband.

“I...” Clark rubbed the back of his head with one large hand. “I’m pretty sure I always acknowledge it.”

“No you don’t.” Lois opened a nearby drawer, scooping up a pair of scissors before bumping the drawer closed. “And you know the craziest thing about all this? She didn’t even charge me.”

That gave Clark a start, and he moved around to stand behind Lois, curious about the work of art she was unwrapping. “Really? That normally implies something shady...”

“Right? But this was honestly the nicest woman I’ve ever met, and I have met your mother.” Lois teased, but there was a wealth of love in her voice for her mother-in-law.

This package was something special, and the care that Lois was handling it with was well-deserved; they’d been trying to locate this shop for weeks with no luck, even with Clark’s super abilities and Lois’s field experience they’d come up empty-handed every single time--but the tides had turned, today, as if some invisible force that was keeping them from finding what they were looking for was lifted. Lois couldn’t believe how easy the shop had been to find, today, especially after searching for it for so long. That couldn’t just be coincidence, but she had no other explanation for it--she wasn’t looking for one, either. All that mattered to her at the end of the day was that they got what they’d been searching for.

Clark whistled lowly as the parcel paper was carefully cut and then pushed aside, revealing an intricate, absolutely breath-taking piece of art. It was a stained glass window pane, cut to size so that it could hang over an existing window and use the natural lighting to filter through the intricately woven glass. With Clark’s abilities he could feel a certain energy pulsating from the glass, but rather than feeling threatened by it, he felt calmed, soothed, and when he reached out to touch the glass it was warm to the touch. The panes themselves were a mixture of sapphires and fiery pinks, all blending together to create a floral rose pattern at the dead center of the hanging glass.

“When I went into her shop, she asked me what Monica’s favorite fairy tale was, and I told her Beauty and the Beast.” Lois explained, her voice hushed as if she was afraid of disrupting the soothing aura the glass had settled over the kitchen. “I don’t...know if that’s exactly right, but I know that’s her favorite Disney movie? And Francesca seemed to agree it was the right choice, said she’d had a feeling and this was the piece she’d created to suit Monica’s needs.”

“Francesca?” Clark mused, turning the name over as if trying to see if he recognized it.

“Yes, Francesca Del Ponce. She said she was from France, but her accent sounded more mixed than that and when I’d asked she did mention she and her husband Gabriel had originally come from the Carpathian Mountains in Europe.” Lois looked up at her husband. “Can you believe that? I mean, it explains the artistry of this piece, it’s absolutely breath-taking. All the rumors about her work were true. This woman’s a true artist, I mean just look at this.”

Clark couldn’t deny it, and initially he’d been a touch skeptical about the renowned claims of others about a “healer” who could soothe and cure with glass. That just didn’t seem like a normal claim, but the more he and Lois had looked into these claims, the more they couldn’t find a single person dissatisfied with Francesca Del Ponce’s stained glass work. It was a fortunate thing, Clark thought, to be wrong. He’d wanted just as badly as his wife had, to find this miracle healer and request a piece for their little girl. Monica had been struggling lately, and waking up seemed to be the hardest time of the day for her; what had started as an internet search for ways to help battle depression in the morning turned into looking up different ways people dealt with depression, until one night while reading through a forum Lois had come across several people who said they’d gotten special stained glass charms or even full windows installed in their house from a healer named Francesca Del Ponce, and that it had drastically improved the start of each day. Lois and Clark were willing to do anything they could to help Monica get better; she was the heart of their little family and it broke their hearts, day in and day out, that she struggled so much. She didn’t deserve to. Anything they could do to help, they would.

That had begun the search to find the elusive Miss Del Ponce, and Lois had refused to give up once she started. If there was even a slight chance that this glass could help Monica, Lois was going to find this healer and she was going to request a special piece done--but when the shop had suddenly turned up on the same street as Lois and Clark’s skyscraper workplace, it had seemed almost like magic. Lois walked past the same store fronts every single day, how had she possibly missed this? She’d entered Francesca’s store almost in a trance, as if she was afraid to blink or step too heavily and shatter the illusion. As the door had shut behind her, the entire world dropped away; she couldn’t hear the busy traffic or the people passing by on the sidewalk. There wasn’t anyone else in the store, and behind the counter sat a stunning, elegant looking woman with long, dark hair and eyes that seemed too dark to be kind, but were motherly and affectionate as they met Lois’s over the glass top.

“Um, hello, my name is Lois and I’m interested in one of your pieces.”

Francesca had extended her hand, giving Lois’s a gentle shake that was almost more a show of holding hands, and Lois was surprised at how soft and warm her touch was--it was soothing, and she felt her nerves dissipating until they were gone. Once she felt at ease, Francesca let her hand go, and asked, “Tell me, Lois, what does your loved one need most?”

Lois couldn’t be sure, even now, why she felt this way but she was pretty convinced Francesca already knew who she was and why she was there. She’d allowed Lois to talk about Monica and though Lois hadn’t intended on divulging much about Monica’s struggles to a total stranger...Lois wanted so desperately for Francesca’s work to be able to help. In the end, she told Francesca that the thing Monica needed most was hope.

“I’d say love, everyone needs love and to feel taken care of but she’s got love and support in me, my husband, our son--what she needs is hope. A reason to get out of bed every morning. No matter what we do, I’m afraid we can’t give her that.” Lois had blinked back tears, clearing her throat and lifting her chin. “Can you really do this, Francesca? Do the things people say you can? My little girl, she needs help.”

Francesca’s smile put Lois at ease. “I can, and I have. If it’s hope she needs, it’s hope she’ll have.”

Lois had thought initially that Francesca would need time to prepare a piece specifically for Monica, but this next moment was what led Lois to believe Francesca...wasn’t exactly human, or was at least a psychic of some sort. She’d gone into the back and come out a few minutes later with that same breath-taking piece of art that was on she and Clark’s kitchen counter.

“All of my pieces are originals, intended only for the person I make them for. I promise, this piece is for Monica alone.” Francesca had run her long, elegant fingers over the glass and Lois had felt the responding vibrations. It was soothing, like a mother’s humming. “You told me her favorite fairy tale was Beauty and the Beast and so I chose a rose, to represent the hope that all flowers have, for sunshine and rain each day. It will remind her that even during the rainstorm, because of the rainstorm, flowers bloom, and that every day, the sun will rise. It will remind her that she is the rose at the center of your family’s garden, necessary and needed. It will give her hope to bloom each passing day, as no matter how the wind howls or the skies darken, flowers do what they must do. They bloom.”

Lois didn’t know how Francesca did what she did, she didn’t know how Francesca had this custom piece when she’d only just learned Monica’s favorites minutes before, but Lois hadn’t felt compelled to ask. Staring down at the handcrafted piece, all she knew was that she believed Francesca.

What neither Lois nor Clark had any way of knowing was that yes, Francesca did know who Monica was, had known for longer even than they’d begun searching her out for a piece of her healing art. Francesca and Gabriel had been drawn to Metropolis to present this piece to an ailing girl, wanting to ease her suffering because she deserved it. She deserved to be happy and the pair of lifemates were compelled to do all they could for her...as if she were another piece of their very souls...

In the end, Francesca would not accept payment from Lois, only asked that Lois take her business card and keep her updated regularly on Monica’s progress. It was something Lois didn’t mind doing, and was truthfully touched that someone else was watching out for Monica. Now that she was home, Lois was eager to hang the piece in the bedroom the three of them shared.

“Where is she?” Lois asked, moving to pick up the pane of colored glass. Clark, however, was faster.

“She’s in bed,” he answered, a little grimly. “Today wasn’t a good day.”

Lois’s smile was motherly and determined as she started toward the stairrs. “Well, it will be.”

The master bedroom door opening drew the attention of the occupants lying in bed; Monica lifted her gaze over the top of Jonathan Kent’s little head, the 10 year old turning without relinquishing his hold around his Mom. Their little family was a never-ending cycle of love and affection, with Monica at the very center, and both Lois and Clark couldn’t help their smile at the sight of their son in bed with Monica, trying his best to give her some of his sunshine.

“Mom! Dad! I got her to smile!” Jon beamed, causing Monica to laugh, and Clark and Lois joined in immediately.

“Way to go, champ.” Clark flashed Jon a thumbs up, careful to keep the gift hidden behind Lois.

“Monica, sweetheart, we have a surprise for you.”

Monica pushed herself to a sitting position, laughing lightly as Jon helped her sit up; she could never get used to his strength in such a string-bean body. As she came to rest against the headboard, Jon wrapped his arms back around her waist, resting his head on her chest; he got clingy when she wasn’t feeling well and it was something she appreciated. He may not understand what she was feeling but he never stopped trying to make her smile and if she really couldn’t, then he’d nod and say, “Then, I’ll hug you until you can, Momma!” And this little ray of sunshine did just that. He stayed by her side, loyally, because he loved her more than anything in the world.

“Y-You guys didn’t have to do anything,” Monica shook her head, settling her arms back around Jon as Lois and Clark came to stand by the bed.

As Lois sat on the edge of the bed, Monica’s eyes were drawn to the beautiful piece of hanging stained glass in Clark’s hands and she audibly gasped. It was beautiful. The moment she laid eyes on it, she felt not one, but two pairs of arms wrap around her, surrounding her in a warmth that made her heart stammer. In her head was a gentle chant, a soft murmuring of one male and one female voice, speaking as if to her very heart and soul, and involuntarily tears sprang to her eyes. For the first time in a long time she felt...okay. She couldn’t understand the words in her head, she had no idea where they were coming from or who was speaking to her, but she didn’t question what she was feeling because it was just nice to feel the weight of sadness, of numbing pain, lift off her petite shoulders for a little while.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Clark asked, giving her that handsome smile of his. “Lois had it made special for you.”

“It’s from all of us,” Lois gave her husband a pointed look before she turned to her wife, her little girl. Their little girl. Lois reached out, taking hold of Monica’s hand. “It’s special, made just for you by a new friend of the family. She’s a healer, and it’s supposed to help you feel better.” Lois searched Monica’s face with a smile. “Is...Is it working?”

Monica gripped Lois’s hand, turning her face to bury in Jon’s unruly dark hair as she nodded, unable to speak around the ball of emotion in her throat.

Lois tightened her hold on Monica’s fingers, feeling proud and extremely grateful to hear that. Clark had to stop himself from letting out a cheer, his broad shoulders visibly relaxing to see Monica responding positively to this. He strode over to the window nearest their shared bed, immediately hanging up the stained glass and as it caught the setting Metropolis sun, the entire room took on the feel of a sanctuary, somewhere safe and warm. There was magic in that glass, in that moment Clark himself became convinced. Lois slipped further up onto the bed, cradling Jon between herself and Monica as she wrapped her arm around Monica’s little waist. She pressed a kiss to the top of Monica’s head.

“We love you, honey. You know that? We’d do anything for you, anything at all.”

Clark took the offered spot to spoon Monica’s much smaller frame, immediately wrapping his heavily muscled arms around her so that she could rest back against his chest, be dwarfed by him so she could feel safe and very much loved. He rested his head against hers.

“It’s okay if every single day is a tough day,” Clark murmured reassuring words to mirror Lois’s, wanting to comfort his little girl, his wife. “You aren’t going through it alone.”

Jon burrowed closer to Monica’s chest, holding her tightest of all! “You’ve got Superboy and Supermom and Superman to help save your day!”

"And what is it we say, sweetheart?” Clark nosed a kiss to Monica’s temple. “What do we Supers say?”

Monica sniffled but laughed all the same. “Up, up, and away.”

Every single day. One day at a time.