#* detail \ additional notes & unusual features.

[machtwehr]

Accentuations of Nigel and Alex.

*Accentuation of personality is the personality traits that tend to move to a pathological condition. Possible negative aspects of such state between normal and pathology usually occur under the influence of unfavorable external factors.

I had the option to use the Leonhard type classification, but it is quite outdated and has some inaccuracies, so I used the Lichko classification. According to Lichko’s classification, all types are described in more detail, and the classification itself is more popular. I haven’t found any more common or newer classifications. In addition, the Lichko system is more applicable to teenagers, so I think the choice is more justified.

If we look at the film directly, without taking into account any guesswork. Nigel has the traits of Schizoid, Paranoid and Epileptoid. Alex Hysteroid with paranoid traits.

Nigel, as we know, is a mentally and physically developed person, he is of normal build. He is consistent, attentive to details, calm, careful in his notes and clothes. He has a difficult relationship with his parents, who raised him in conditions of increased moral responsibility. In addition, there may have been a harsh upbringing because Nigel is able to tell by ear whether his Father is picking up a gun. In addition, he hates his father, which can also indicate that their relationship had a harsh upbringing and increased demands. However, everything seems to be fine on the mother’s side, because he talks to her about what he cannot tell his father.

These types of unwanted upbringing and family environment can provoke accentuations close to psychopathy.

Nigel is definitely and predominantly typed as Schizoid. Nigel is shown to us as essentially withdrawn. He is mostly isolated from others, he does not want (more likely does not want than is not able) to establish contacts with peers, he has a reduced need for communication. He is cold and does have the untypical restraint for a teenager. Spiritual loneliness does not particularly bother him, because the only contact he established was only with Alex and only when he decided that Alex was worthy of this very contact. Nigel lives in his own world, with his own unusual interests and hobbies. Hobbies of an intellectual and aesthetic nature are characteristic of a schizoid. All this is never done for show, only for oneself.

Despite the fact that Nigel conditionally penetrates Alex's thoughts, he still does not intuitively grasp the hostile attitude towards himself and when he should not impose his presence.

The inner world, as already indicated, is always closed from prying eyes and only in front of a select few the curtain can suddenly be lifted. Interests are shared in exceptional cases. Perhaps Nigel, in a lesson where Alex was arguing with the teacher, saw a hint of a common interest between them. Alex is the chosen one for Nigel, so he begins to actively draw him into his inner world in all available ways.

In addition, as we can observe, Nigel's behavior is quite contradictory. At first he was silent and looked closely, then he opened up and gave Alex smiles more than once.

In addition, Nigel has clear features of the Epileptoid type and has Epileptoid type affects. (nothing to do with epilepsy). The affect of an epileptoid is like a steam boiler; person incubates for a long time and conceals within itself emotions that find a sudden release, an explosive reaction. (Suicide with collapse of beliefs). In general, the suicide scene also demonstrates the suicidal model characteristic of Epileptoid. Nigel shot himself from Alex's hands rather to show him the state of affairs that Nigel himself sees. It is possible that this was also intended to punish Alex for his resistance.

Epileptoid also corresponds to scrupulousness and pedantry in running any household, including student farming.

Nigel's love (maybe it was love, who knows) is colored by the dark tones of jealousy. Jealousy is quite strong, reaching the point of a valuable idea. In the end, out of jealousy, he goes to kill Susan. Probably so that she doesn't interfere.

In addition, he suppresses Alex's will and tries to gain power over his minds. The desire for power, extreme actions - all this is characteristic of an epileptoid.

Traits of the Paranoid type manifest themselves in overvalued ideas. Nigel is confident in the uniqueness of his origins, especially his destiny. Everything Nigel says is absolutely true. Nigel is confident that he has the right to everything he puport. He overestimates his personality, wisdom and understanding of everything.

He cherishes his ideas and shows extreme fanaticism towards them, bringing an extremely valuable idea to the status of a “crazy idea”.

She gives herself to the idea with exceptional passion, does not accept rejection, and convinces Alex of the value of her idea. It is common for a paranoid person to suffer defeat in a war for his beliefs. But having been defeated, he does not despair, does not become despondent, does not know that he is wrong; on the contrary, from failures he draws strength for further struggle.

Alex. Asthenic, also mentally developed, physically corresponds to his age. He was also brought up in undesirable conditions, without a real home, with increased moral responsibility. His father is emotionally distant from him, does not listen to his son’s requests, and is not interested in anything other than Alex’s assessments. Even in a difficult situation, he still distances himself from Alex. There is no mother.

Throughout the story, he demonstrates obvious features of a hysteroid.

All his behavior is aimed at capturing the attention of anyone: his father, school friends, Nigel, a psychologist. Demanding admiration, surprise, and reverence for one’s personality. Boundless egocentrism. At worst, he prefers indignation or hatred, but not indifference. Suggestibility, which is often brought to the fore, is selective. Hysteroids willingly act in public and show artistic abilities. Apparent emotionality actually turns into a lack of deep feelings with great expression of emotions, theatricality, and a tendency to show off and pose.

Alex also has the easily wounded pride characteristic of a hysteroid. He read the diary and Nigel's opinion about himself and decided to teach him a lesson, to show that elders should be respected.

Hysterics retain the childish reactions of the opposition. Having received a rebuff from Nigel, Alex took on the role of a “quiet” teenager who seemed to be sick from the outside, putting on a mask of indifference and painful loss.

It is also possible to refuse all “masks”, since Nigel literally saw through it. Withdrawing into oneself and leaving the company in this state of affairs is a typical reaction of a hysteroid.

The emancipation of a hysteroid has violent manifestations: running away from home, conflicts with elders, demands for freedom and independence. All this was also demonstrated to us. Alex constantly ran away from school at night with his friends, and demanded that his father not move neighbors in with him.

In the group, Alex characteristically takes the position of leader. In an impulse, he can easily lead a company. Alex also has a good intuitive sense. He reads the horror in the eyes of a friend on the verge of death, guesses who is giving him unusual “gifts”, and finds a good moment to ask Susan out on a date.

Hobbies are concentrated in the area of egocentric hobby. Just like schizoids, they pick up unusual hobbies, but unlike schizoids, they are more for show. Knowing that Alex's school is quite religious, he studies history and presents the facts to the teachers in such a way as to once again omit religious motives, bringing more prosaic ones to the fore.

Alex's self-esteem is far from objective; he emphasizes traits in himself that can make an impression at the moment.

Just like Nigel, he demonstrates paranoid type ideas. The extremely valuable idea of its exclusivity.

No wonder Nigel confirms this with his note “Alex is an egocentric megalomaniac with delusions of grandeur.” In addition, Alex is painfully touchy.

He evaluates all the people with whom Alex comes into contact by the attitude they show towards his activities. He does not forgive disagreement and indifference.

Now, if we look at the story in reverse, from the perspective of an unreliable narrator. Alex is the mastermind, Nigel the victim.

They, in fact, change characters with each other, but everything takes on more sinister and categorical features. Their Types become more pure.

Alex takes on the image of a more classic epileptoid, who is terrifying in his behavior in essence.

Long-lasting dysphoria comes first in Alex’s behavior and motivation, which, transforming into affect, is completely taken out on Nigel.

Alex probably has sadistic tendencies if he was the one who intimidated Nigel with a severed hand and a bloody knife. (We swapped them after all). It is possible that Alex committed the murder of Susan, because again, I repeat, such extreme actions as murder and fights at school are characteristic of an epileptoid.

In such positions, Alex is definitely a quarrelsome, conflicted teenager. In addition, the methods of reprisal against the victim by epiletoid teenagers are more developed. They are distinguished by extraordinary meanness.

The paranoid component of an overvalued idea is also present.

Nigel, if we consider him from the position of a victim who, by the will of fate, was not lucky enough to get along with Alex, loses all his epileptoid and paranoid traits. He still has the Schizoid type.

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

Forgive These Bones I'm Hiding (Part 2 of 2)

Pairing: Serial Killer Marcus Pike x f!Reader (Reader is a police officer with the nickname “Cricket”)

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+ only)

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: This is a Spoooooooky fic for Halloween season. Please heed the warnings; this is not darkfic, per se, but it explores dark themes and contains elements of suspense and horror. The following subjects are mentioned in the context of cases that the reader deals with. I do not go into explicit detail about any of these themes and any violence is implied rather than seen, but please heed the warnings for: child abuse, domestic abuse, alcoholism, drunk driving, implied sexual assault, suicide, drug use, drug overdoses. Whew. Okay, for the story itself, please be warned that there is: derogatory language (someone calls reader a “bitch”), murders, body horror (corpses!), Marcus Pike being a bit unsettling, Very Enthusiastic Pussy Eating, unprotected PIV sex (this is fiction! use protection and also maybe don't fuck a serial killer!)

Summary: When five paintings are stolen from their frames, an unusual crime for your small-town precinct in Hannibal, Missouri, it's easy for you to project your insecurities about being a female police officer in a tiny, Midwest town onto the handsome FBI Agent from Washington who arrives to help with the case. But as your disposition--and the solid walls you've built around yourself--begin to soften, you quickly find you have bigger problems than the charming man you can't help but develop feelings for. One by one, bodies are starting to pile up. Bodies that all seem to share one connection… You.

Additional A/N: OKAY, so things definitely pick up in this chapter! Please heed the warnings, as Cricket’s past cases feature in a big way. There are more corpses, more unsettling!Marcus, and, of course, more MURDER. Thank you to @littlebirdsbookshelf for being an amazingly supportive human, beta reader, and crime consultant! Thanks for making sure my self-indulgent fanfiction always has its roots in reality!! They can’t fuck if I can’t make it make sense first. PLEASE check out our Playlist for all the spoopy Midwest Gothic vibes. The title of this fic itself comes from Family Tree by Ethel Cain, which is of course on the song list!

Masterlist | Part 1

The next morning starts with a headache.

"Wha'th'fuuuuck," you croak. You’re so disoriented that it takes you a few moments to realize your alarm is going off. 

You fumble for it, surprised to find it on the charger. You don't remember plugging it in. For that matter, you don't really remember getting home last night. Did… Did Marcus…?

Confusion and dread cut through the hangover, and you switch on the lamp as you sit up in bed. 

You're still in your clothes from last night, but your boots are untied and placed neatly on the floor next to the foot of the bed. 

You look around your bedroom, looking for more clues as to how you got here. There's a glass of water on your nightstand, and upon further inspection, two ibuprofen next to it.

You rifle around beside it looking for a note, but you come up empty-handed. It doesn't really matter; you can pretty much guess what happened: You got so wasted that Marcus Pike had to help you get home. He took off your boots, but clearly didn't feel comfortable taking off the rest of your clothes. He made sure your phone was on the charger and even went so far as to anticipate your need for water and pain medicine in the morning. 

Something still feels off, though. Just call it a gut feeling, an instinct, some vestigial part of your hindbrain that's telling you something.

Maybe you forgot your purse…?

But no, when you finally drag yourself out of bed to check the entryway, your purse is there, hanging on its usual hook. 

Shaking your head (probably a mistake, going by the ache that shoots through it when you do), you chalk up the odd feeling to the hangover. You don't remember the last time you had that much to drink, after all. 

You feel slightly better after taking a shower and downing another glass of water, but your stomach still roils and your head still hurts as you throw on your uniform. You're thankful for the dark sunglasses that come with it when you step outside your house. 

Fuck. Why did you drink so much?

You pull into the station about thirty minutes late, which isn't that bad, considering how many glasses of whiskey you had. How many, exactly? You lost count after three, but you know there were more. You were upset about Bobby and unsure of whether you even made a difference in this town and… wait, did you cry last night? In front of Marcus? An image flashes through your mind: Your head buried in the crook of his neck. A wet patch on his white dress shirt from your tears.

Oh, fuck. 

The man in question gives you one of those characteristic grins when you enter, still wearing your sunglasses. 

"Moving a little slow today, are we?" Marcus asks playfully. 

"Jesus fuck," you murmur, collapsing into your chair with a sigh. "I guess so."

"I've never seen a woman put away that much whiskey," he comments with a wink in your direction.

"And you never will again," you groan. "I'm swearing off the stuff for life."

"I don't blame you."

"Jesus, I don't even remember what happened last night. I woke up this morning with no memory of how I got there."

Marcus laughs. "You don't?"

"I barely remember what the hell we talked about. Oh, God–was I an ass? Would you tell me if I made an ass of myself?"

"You didn't make an ass of yourself," Marcus promises.

"I feel like I got all maudlin about the job," you say, frowning.

"You did, a bit."

"Sorry if the evening was a sob-fest."

"I think you're allowed to be upset after finding Bobby Pearson like that."

Cold dread shoots down your spine. Heart in your throat, you stare at Marcus open-mouthed.  

"Did… Did I tell you that last night?"

"Didn't need to." He holds up a copy of the Hannibal Courier-Post with a grim expression. Oh. Right. There it is, right on the front page, accompanied by a picture of you deep in conversation with the Coroner. 

You shake your head, laughing slightly. "Jesus, guess I really am out of it this morning."

"You up for a ride?" Marcus suddenly asks.

"Huh?"

"To the St. Louis field office," he explains. "I texted you yesterday about forensics, remember?"

"Shit, that's right! I'm–I'm sorry–"

"Don't be. There was a lot going on," Marcus insists. "But they've got some stuff for us to look over. Wanna go for a little drive?"

"Only if it's you who's doing the driving," you say. 

"Done."

"And if we stop for coffee."

"You drive a hard bargain, but I accept."

An hour later, with a latte in your hand and your head tipped against the cool glass of the passenger-side window, the fog of your hangover begins to clear and you start to feel much better. The sun glints off of the pavement of State Road 61 as Marcus speeds along in the left lane on the way down to the city. Everyone steers clear of what’s obviously an unmarked police car, and like all officers before him, Marcus takes full advantage. The tall grass next to the road blurs as you stare out over endless fields, dotted with the occasional farmhouse. The day is crisp; one of those beautiful fall days where the temperature stays low even though there’s not a cloud in the sky. If you squint your eyes, you can pretend you’re flying.

At the Field Office, Marcus breezes through security with his badge and his characteristic toothy grin. After you’re presented with a visitor’s badge, the two of you walk down the stairs to the basement, and down a dimly lit hall until you reach a door that reads “Forensics - Art Crimes.”

"Basement, really?" you ask, wrinkling your nose.

"Windows are bad for the degradation of paint," Marcus points out. Then, with a grin, he adds, "Plus, they always give Intelligence the prime real estate."

When he opens the door, your face brightens. Unlike any forensics department you've been in previously, this one is full of… well, art. You aren't sure why that surprises you, but Marcus chuckles as you gaze, open-mouthed, at the selection.

"It's like our own little secret museum, huh?" he says, eyes twinkling.

"Okay, I think I get why you like your job now," you say quietly as you examine what looks like an ancient Greek vase on one of the tables. 

"Is that…"

"Fake," one of the lab workers says with a shrug. "Art museum still purchased it for two mil, though. Oops, right?"

"Oh. Is most of this stuff fake, then?" you ask.

"Nah. This one's a genuine Picasso that was recovered from the black market," the woman says, waving her hand at a colorful painting leaning against the wall. "We're in the middle of returning it to the rightful owners."

"Holy shit," you breathe. 

"New to art crimes?" the woman asks.

"Not a lot of paintings to steal in Hannibal," you say with a smirk.

"Ah, so you're Rockwell.”

“No, I’m–oh. Haha, I get it.”

“Damon’s been taking the lead on that one. His office is there in the back; he’s expecting you two.”

Marcus greets Damon like an old friend while you stand by his side doing your best to look ‘official.’ Something about being here–in the FBI building–makes you feel like a country-bumpkin of a cop. Maybe it's just the ever-present chip on your shoulder (Okay, it’s definitely that.), but the moment makes you feel like you need to fight to take up more space, puffing out your chest and straightening your spine. And when Damon offers his hand for you to shake, you grasp it more firmly than strictly necessary, something you’ve learned over the years is an effective tool to assert yourself as a female officer.

“So you’re the lead detective on the case?” Damon asks as you shake his hand.

“Yessir.”

“Fantastic. Well, I hate to bring you all the way down here to deliver bad news, but running the prints didn’t give us any matches.”

Your heart sinks. 

"But," the agent emphasizes, "your team did excellent work canvassing the area around the museum for CCTV footage, and we got some hits at one am at a few different places. Compiled it in a presentation for ya, if you wanna take a look."

At your eagerness nod, Damon turns his second monitor around to face you.

"So, first hit is at Main Street Bed and Breakfast," he explains as a grainy, black and white, blurry photo appears on the screen. Hard to ID, but it looks like we've got got male, maybe six foot, two-thirty, on foot heading away from the museum, which would be just across the street over here–" he points at the corner of the screen. 

"Then the same individual shows up walking past Java Jive–" another grainy photo, not much clearer than the first, " –and then he turns down the alleyway behind the Dutch Country General Store, and gets into a white Pontiac Grand Am."

"He puts something in the backseat," you exclaim, pointing at the blurry shape.

"Mmhmm, something skinny and long," Damon says.

"...Like five rolled-up canvases," you offer, raising your eyebrows.

"It's not a lot to go on, but this is the only individual we saw out walking that night that didn't originate from any of the establishments we analyzed."

You watch the series of images, squinting as if it will help with the pixelation. The license plate, of course, is completely illegible as the car drives away.

"We've got people analyzing the plate, but best they can do is determine that the first letter is either a 'C' or an 'O.'"

"Better than nothing," you concede.

"Obviously, a Grand Am is gonna be a pretty common car in the area, but it's somewhere to start. We'll start pulling state records, and we'll be in touch if we–"

The loud ringing of your work phone interrupts Damon, and you wince apologetically as you pull it out and see 'SGT HUBBARD' on the caller ID.

"Hullo," you chirp amiably.

"Hey," Hubbard says on the other end. "We've got a body."

You straighten with a sharp intake of breath. Two deaths in Hannibal in less than a week? You don't think you've ever seen anything like it. Frowning, you duck out of Damon’s office and walk several paces away.

“I’m in St. Louis for the Rockwell case, but I’m finishing up,” you tell him. “I can be there in an hour and a half.”

“See that it’s quicker.”

You roll your eyes, mutter a “Yessir,” and end the call.

“Pike,” you bark, causing Marcus to look up with those pretty, soulful eyes of his. “We gotta go. There’s a case back in Hannibal that needs my attention.”

“Yes ma’am.” He gives you that wide, toothy smile again, and you remember how last night it had felt… unnerving to you. Like there was something lurking behind that earnest grin that no one else knew about. You shake your head. Jesus, you had way too much to drink last night. Get a grip, Cricket.

Lights on and sirens blaring, you zip past farms and woodlands. The official GPS time says one hour and forty-nine minutes, but you can do way better than that. Other vehicles automatically part for you, leaving them all behind in a blur of red and blue. Tongue poking out between your teeth in concentration and hands on ten-and-two, you think this might be the best part of the job. The part where you’re flying. 

You drop Marcus off at the Station with your apologies and race to the address Hubbard gave you.

The coroner’s office and a local news van are already there when you arrive, and the Sergeant looks disapprovingly in your direction, as if you could have shortened the drive from St. Louis through sheer force of will. 

“What is it?”

“Harold Dalton, 54. Apparent suicide.”

“What? What the hell is in the water that–”

“Hush. Keep your voice down. Right now, we’re waiting on State Police to come help with this one–there was a firearm involved.”

“He shot himself?”

Hubbard’s mouth is a thin line as he nods grimly. “Not a pretty sight.”

“Dalton…” you murmur to yourself. “Why do I know that name?”

“He’s got some priors,” Hubbard says. “Possession, some assault charges that were dropped, and–”

“Child neglect,” you whisper, as the realization hits you. “Oliver Dalton.”

“Shit, yeah,” the Sergeant says, realizing the connection at the same time. “God, how many years ago was–”

“Five,” you answer automatically. 

��That would make Oliver…”

“Sixteen.”

“Mm,” Hubbard grunts. “Ever check in on him?”

“He’s bounced around from home to home,” you answer, trying to keep the emotion and bitterness out of your voice. “Doesn’t last in one place for very long.”

“It’s a fucked up thing for a kid to go through,” Hubbard mumbles. “Can’t imagine he’s all that well-adjusted.”

The two of you stand in silence on the run-down, rotting porch. What a fucking shithole, you fume, scraping a piece of flaking paint with the toe of your boot. In the distance, you can hear the faint sound of sirens coming closer.

“Know we’re not supposed to say it,” the Sergeant finally says, as the State Police car pulls into the gravel driveway, “but good fucking riddance.”

Dalton. Now that the connection has been made, you can’t believe you didn’t remember immediately. You suppose you have tried your best to put his name–and several others–in a tidy little box in the corner of your mind. It’s easier that way.

Except… Why does it feel as though you were just thinking about him? As soon as you hear it, the pang of familiarity rushes through you, but you can't put your finger on why…

Hubbard is shaking hands with the two state cops that just arrived when your phone pings. You pull it out and glance at the thumbnail. 

“Hope everything’s okay! Talk to you later.”

It’s from Marcus. Something prickles across the back of your neck, and you slide your phone back into your pocket without responding.

“Officers,” you greet the newcomers, forcing a cordial smile and sticking out your hand to shake.

It was just the cold breeze making your hair stand on end. That’s all. 

“Sorry I had to dump you at the station like that this morning.” You tap out the message on your phone as soon as you get back into your squad car.

“It happens, don’t worry I know how it is.”

After a few minutes, Marcus begins typing again. 

“Want to meet up for a drink?”

“Fuck, no. You have any idea how shitty I felt this morning?"

"Noted. How about dinner, then? And some water?"

You pause. Drinks are one thing. But dinner? That could be considered "date" territory if you think about it too much.

You must be silent for too long, because your phone pings again.

“Had something I wanted to ask you about the CCTV sweep.”

It’s an obvious effort to sweeten the deal and get you to say yes, and you know it. You should tell Marcus you’ll discuss it tomorrow at work, pick up some fast food on the way home, and eat it in front of Jeopardy!–alone. 

Instead, you find yourself typing, “Dinner sounds good. Water sounds better. Where were you thinking?”

Marcus begins typing almost immediately. “How’s the Mark Twain Dinette?”

You snort to yourself. “Just as bad as you’re thinking. But Finn’s Food and Spirits is surprisingly edible if you’re looking for local eats.”

“Edible, huh? That’s not really a ringing endorsement, but I try not to go to chain restaurants when I’m traveling, so… let’s do it! :)”

It isn’t until you get into the shower that the reality hits you of how strange it is to be washing off the remains of two very similar cases in as many days. Not just two consecutive deaths–but two suicides, in a town of barely fifteen thousand people. 

And you knew them both. 

What you find most jarring, however, is the difference in your own mood between the two days. Yesterday, the weight of Bobby’s death felt as though it was dragging your body down. Today, though, there’s a weight off your shoulders. A burden you didn’t even realize you were carrying, suddenly gone. Hubbard had said it well, earlier–said what you’ve been thinking the entire day since. 

Good riddance.

You arrive a few minutes before Marcus, so you go in to grab a booth for the two of you–sitting where you can see the door, as you always prefer to do. Being a police officer has left you with some funny habits; it’s actually pretty nice to be able to talk to another person in law enforcement, for once. It isn’t like you go out much with Hubbard, who is both your supervisor and over twenty years your senior. Evan strictly works nights, so you don’t see much of him, either. You’re acquaintances with some of the officers in surrounding towns, but you don’t have much patience for their “I’m a cop” bravado–or even worse, the “Thin Blue Line” stickers on their car windows. 

Marcus seems different, though. Sure, he’s got an air of confidence around him, but you can tell it’s not an act at all. And yet, despite that confidence, there’s a softness to him: something in the upturn of his eyebrows, in the way his lips part when you speak, the way he seems enraptured by your every word–

When the man consuming your thoughts enters, you jump slightly, afraid, for just a moment, that he could read your mind. His expression brightens the moment he sees you, eagerness written all over his face, and you shake yourself.

This is why you can’t let him in.

“Everything go alright today?” Marcus asks amiably as he slides into the booth opposite you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, shaking your head. “Nothing big.”

The lie sits heavy on your chest. He’ll find out tomorrow–along with the rest of Hannibal–when the day’s Courier-Post arrives at the station. It’s just that you don’t want to talk about it, not tonight. 

“Yeah,” you say again. “So what was the thing with CCTV?”

“Hmm? Oh,” Marcus says, taking his eyes off the menu for a moment and giving you a discerning look. “Why don’t we just save work stuff for tomorrow, huh? C’mon, take a break–what’s good here?”

You shrug. “The catfish is usually fresh-caught from the river, if that’s your sort of thing.”

“Is it your thing?” he asks, a glint in his eye.

“I make it a point not to eat anything that was recently pulled from the river.”

Marcus hums in response, scanning the menu again. When the waitress comes by to take your orders, he gets the catfish.

“Country-fried steak,” you say, handing her your menu. 

Silence falls at the table; without reading material or decisions about food to be made, you aren’t sure how to talk to the man opposite you. He intrigues you; he attracts you… he also scares you, just a little. Is it possible to be too disarming? Too earnest? If so, Marcus certainly is, and something about his sincerity… puts you off.

Fuck, when you think about it that way, maybe you’re just an asshole.

“So the CCTV question was just a pretense to lure me here,” you say, raising one eyebrow in challenge.

Marcus holds up his hands in mock-surrender. “I plead the fifth. But I–listen, the truth is, Cricket–I can call you that, right? You, uh, you never gave me your first name.” When you don’t offer an answer, he forges ahead. “I’ve been told I’m forward, and that’s probably accurate, but the truth is, I think you’re one hell of a good looking woman, and I’d love to get to know you better.”

Your stomach flips over at his words. As much as you’d hate to admit it, you’re not immune to flattery, and certainly not coming from such a beautiful man in his own right. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

“I find it easy to talk to you,” Marcus continues. “I’m on the road a lot, and it can be… lonely. You don’t know how much of a relief it is to have someone to talk to who gets it, who’s been there, you know?”

You nod thoughtfully, tracing the rim of your water glass. “I do get it. I–I’ve been alone for quite some time, too, and there are few people in Hannibal that I can really sit down and just talk to. I–I guess what I’m saying is, it’s a relief for me, too.”

Marcus reaches slowly across the table and, in a barely-there caress, runs his index finger across the back of your other hand. 

“I–” you say hastily, pulling your hand back and settling it in your lap, instead. “I want to be clear that I’m not in the stage of my life where I’m looking for anything temporary.”

“Me neither,” Marcus says, his eyes burning intensely into yours.

“Anything between us, is, by very nature, temporary,” you point out. “I live here in Hannibal. You’re going back to Washington upon completion of this case. I’m not against seeking mutual relief from loneliness, but I’m just… I’m not sure if I know you well enough to go down that road.”

Marcus’s eyes are full of understanding and acceptance. He draws his hand back and sits back against the booth with a small, wry smile.

“So, what’d’you wanna know?” he drawls, letting the Texan accent slip out in full force.

So… you talk. And talk. 

And talk. 

Your plates have long-since been empty and the ice in your water glass has melted, dripping condensation onto the checkered tablecloth–and you feel as though you’ve been given a glimpse past the toothy smile and confident demeanor, into a deeper, hidden vulnerability underneath. 

“...She–She broke up with you via text message?” you ask, dumbfounded at Marcus’s most recent admission.

“God, when you put it that way, it sounds… way worse than it was, but yeah,” he chuckles. “But honestly, when I look back, the writing was on the wall. I was rushing, she was dragging her feet. There… there wasn’t a future there.”

“Do you do that a lot? Rush, that is?” 

Marcus hums loudly as he seemingly deliberates his answer. “Mmm, I don’t like to see it as rushing.”

“How do you see it?”

“I’m a man who knows what he wants,” he says simply, dark eyes flicking up to meet yours.

It makes you shiver slightly.

“Has that made me hasty, on occasion? Impulsive? Sure. But I don’t see the point in hiding what I am only to be disappointed later. Eventually, I’ll find who matches me beat for beat. Someone who has the same ambitions, the same drive. The same passions.”

His eyes bore into you again, and you swallow. 

“You are forward,” you comment, somewhat breathlessly.

“I know what I want,” Marcus says again–quieter, this time.

“I wish I had that degree of certainty,” you whisper, laughing shakily.

“I think you do. In here,” he says, placing a palm over his heart. “But you second-guess it in favor of what’s up here.” He taps his index finger against his temple. 

“I happen to think humanity in general should obey their brains a little bit more, speaking from experience.”

Marcus laughs loudly, breaking the intense mood that had settled over the table. “I don’t think you’re wrong. But when it stands between you and your desires? Sad,” he comments, pouting his lip slightly.

“Some desires should remain just that–desires, nothing more.” Your voice wavers.

“I respect that,” he says lightly. Signaling to the waitress with a wide, friendly smile, he asks for the check. “But you don’t strike me as a person who indulges most of her desires. You put everything else first, don’t you?”

“Not always,” you object, bristling slightly at the blatant call-out. 

“I’m sure,” he grins as he scribbles a signature on the receipt. “Well, Cricket, I hope I’m wrong. I hope you chase the things you want, that you indulge in the little things that bring you joy, that you live your life not being afraid to say ‘I’m doing this for me.’ After all, I’m seeing such a fleeting moment of your life, aren’t I? A blink of an eye in the scheme of things. You and I are merely ships passing in the night, never to be seen or heard from again.” He stands. “Have a good night, Cricket.” 

And with that, Marcus gives you one last fond smile and disappears through the front doors, leaving you stunned–frozen to your seat as you absorb his speech.

You wake up confused for the second morning in a row.

Bright and loud. Why is it so bright and loud?

This time, the confusion resolves itself quickly as your brain comes back online and you realize that your work phone is ringing again. 

The old-fashioned alarm clock across the room reads 5:23 AM.

“Hullo?” you croak.

“You’re not going to fucking believe this.”

At the sound of the Sergeant’s voice, you switch on your bedside lamp and blink rapidly in the harsh light. 

“What is it?” you ask, trying to sound more awake than you actually are.

"Maisie Fletcher called the station around four saying her husband never made it home from the Waterhole. Evans drove the road from town to their house about a mile south just to take her statement, and found solid evidence of fresh skid marks leading into the river.”

Your heart sinks. The river. 

“Any sign of a vehicle?” you ask, already suspecting you know the answer.

“No.”

You take a deep inhale through your nose and let it out slowly through your mouth. Pulling a body from the Mississippi is miserable, unpleasant drudgery. First, you’ll spend hours directing boat patrols back and forth in a cross-hatch pattern for miles south of the suspected entry point. Then, once you finally find the vehicle, the work to exhume it from the water begins. The fire department will need to be coordinated with, and, depending on the depth of the car, a SCUBA team or a crane. 

“Fletcher…” you repeat, frowning. “Isn’t that–” 

“The domestic disturbance couple, that’s right,” Hubbard confirms. 

You snort. ‘Couple’ is a strong word, in your opinion. The husband, Gavin Fletcher, was single-handedly responsible for half a dozen trips out to their house along the river over the years, but every time you’d asked Maisie–with increasing urgency in your tone–if she’d like to press charges, she had declined. And every time, you’d leave the house with a lead balloon in your stomach. 

You always worried it was a matter of time before the “domestic disturbances” turned ugly. Or worse… fatal. 

And now… he’s in the Mississippi. Maybe. Possibly.

Is it bad if you find yourself hoping he’s at the bottom of the river?

Yes. Yes, it is. 

“Understood,” you sigh into the phone. “Let me throw on my uniform and I’ll meet Evans down at the bank.”

After a long day of standing on the banks of the Mississippi, watching patrol boats pass back and forth in slow, deliberate lines while drizzle slowly seeps its way down into the innermost reaches of your clothing, a vehicle turns up around six pm. You watch as the fire department uses the Jaws of Life to pry open the driver-side door, sending a cascade of muddy water onto the ground. 

It’s difficult to recognize the former person being pulled from the wreckage–even after less than twenty-four hours of being submerged, water can do a fucking number on a body–but a search of the wallet in the back pocket of its jeans confirms the identity of the swollen, bloated corpse that used to belong to Gavin Fletcher. 

Predictably, the task of notifying Maisie Fletcher is handed down to you. 

Your mouth is a thin, tight-lipped line as you drive down the gravel driveway that you wish wasn’t so familiar. You barely have to knock before Maisie is at the door and falling to her knees in a display of grief that you simply can’t find yourself to feel. Try as you might, you can’t force anything–any emotion other than ‘numbness’ onto your face as you deliver the news as gently as you possibly can. 

Maisie, still weeping, agrees to meet you at the morgue tomorrow to officially ID her late husband, and as she shakily rises to her feet, you can’t help but note the not-quite-healed-over bruise on her temple. 

You need a fucking drink. 

Thirty minutes later finds you at the Waterhole nursing a cold beer and an even-colder mood in your still-damp uniform. 

Palmer, ever the charmer, leans into your personal space with all the enthusiasm of someone attempting to disarm a bomb, and mutters, sotto-voce, “You smell like a goddamn fishmonger, Cricket.”

At your deadpan glare, he backs away, hands in the air, and makes a show of cleaning cocktail glasses instead.

You don’t much feel like talking. 

For one–yeah, the lingering smell of river brine–with the barest hint of ‘bloated corpse’ underneath–doesn’t put you in a sociable mood.

But what’s really bothering you is all of those old “domestic disputes” hovering in the forefront of your mind ever since Hubbard said the name ‘Fletcher’ at 5:30 this morning. God, you had all-but-begged her to press charges; in hindsight, you probably sounded insane. And each time, you took her refusal personally–as if it were happening to you, not to her. You’ve worked hard over the years to put that hurt, that anger away in a tiny little box in the corner of your mind, but the death of Gavin Fletcher seems to have released it all over again.

He’s dead, you point out to yourself. There’s no point in resurrecting your demons.

“Back at it, I see?" a slightly amused voice calls out from your periphery, and you close your eyes in exasperation.

You can't do this dance now.

"Marcus," you say with a resolute sigh. 

"Fancy seeing you here," he grins, and slides onto the barstool next to yours. "I'll have the same," he says to Palmer, who nods.

Seated next to you, you can tell exactly when the odor of your uniform hits his nose. He pauses, beer bottle halfway to his lips, and cocks his head in a way that would be comical, had you been in a better mood. His eyebrows pinch together, causing a little crease to appear between them, as he looks at you. 

"Did you… get dumped in the river earlier?"

You sigh again. "Not exactly. Had a car go into the river last night. Had crews searching all day, and finally found it this evening."

Marcus lets out a low whistle. "Roads must have been slick last night with all the rain," he points out.

"Yeah, exactly," you agree. "Honestly, it's probably worth it to put a feature on hydroplaning in the local paper after the news comes out. Not enough people take it seriously."

"Occupants?"

"Just the one. Male, forties. I can't release any names until tomorrow, though."

"I know," Marcus says, smiling fondly. "So after a day in the rain and the Mississippi mud, you're so ready for a beer that you don't even change out of the wet uniform, huh?"

"Fishmonger," Palmer grunts from the other side of the bar.

"I wasn't going to say it, but…"

"If you two are gonna gang up on a woman drinking, I'll damn well go home and do it alone," you grumble.

"Nonsense," Marcus grins. "If I bought the second round, would that convince you to stay?"

"One," you say, holding up your finger. "You have me for one more drink. Then I'm going home and getting into a hot bath."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawls, a glint in his eye when you mention the bath. "Guess I'll have to get my fill in the span of two beers."

You drain your first bottle and set it down challengingly. 

"...One beer," he amends.

"It's just as well," you tell him. "I'm less than pleasant company tonight."

"Impossible," Marcus promises. "Your company becomes more and more entrancing to me the more I'm graced with it."

"I guess if you can't handle me at my 'smelling like rotten fish,' then…"

"Don't make me beg to 'handle' it."

"Marcus!" You bark out a surprised laugh in spite of yourself. 

"Ha! There it is," he crows triumphantly. 

"Are you trying to cheer me up or piss me off?"

"You looked like you could use the former. Seems as though you already have enough of the latter."

You can't help but chuckle again. Damn him that it's working.

"Is it so wrong to desire the company of a beautiful woman who smells like the bottom of a river?"

"Leaving," you sputter through your stifled laughter, although you make no move to get off of your stool.

"You wound me."

"I'm not the one habitually insulting your smell.”

“If I smelled like that, I’d hope someone would ask why,” Marcus points out with a teasing grin.

"I guess if I had known I'd be doing… this, I would have gone home and showered first."

"Doing… what?" Marcus asks, a flirtatious glint in his expression.

"This. This… dance, this back and forth." You gesture between the two of you.

"This… dance?" he repeats teasingly. "Cricket, if you wanted to dance, all you had to do was say so."

"Do you ever stop?" you laugh, rolling your eyes.

"Of course I do," Marcus answers, sounding affronted. "I'd never push someone if I didn't think my feelings were returned."

You close your eyes and exhale shakily. "You know I do… I do feel the same way, Marcus. And it isn't like I haven't thought about what you said last night–in fact, I've thought of it a lot. But I keep coming back to the fact that I just… I don't want to just scratch an inch. I'm looking for…" 

"Connection?"

"Yes," you say emphatically. "Exactly. Not to be melodramatic, but I'm just too damn old for anything else."

"I feel the same way," Marcus murmurs.

"If you feel the same way, how the hell do you reconcile the fact that we're from two different parts of the country?" 

"I don't know," he says softly. "But I know I can't ignore what I feel for you–the connection I feel between us. I know that's real, don't you?"

You drain the last of your beer and set it down on the counter. 

"Guess that's my time," Marcus chuckles resignedly.

"Walk me to my car," you say quietly. 

Marcus nods, throwing some cash onto the counter and extending his hand to you. "Shall we?"

Not taking your eyes off of his, you gently slip your palm into his own. He walks you to your car, one hand resting perfectly at the small of your back and making the skin there tingle slightly.

“I won’t ask to kiss you,” he announces as you open your door. “But from one passing ship to another, I’ll just say that you look so goddamn beautiful right now under the streetlights.”

You turn carefully around. Marcus’s expression is open and earnest. His lips are parted, his eyebrows upturned as he watches you. He’s made his desires clear, and you… you simply want to bask in that all-consuming attention of his for just a few moments. 

Slowly, achingly slowly, you bring your palm up to lay against his sternum. Your eyes meet–a question in his, an answer in yours. 

Just as unhurriedly, Marcus steps closer. He gently cups your chin in one of his large hands as he tilts his head just slightly and lowers it to meet you. 

His lips are soft when they slowly brush against your mouth. The kiss is sensual, full of longing and barely restrained passion lurking just under the surface. His lips are parted, but he makes no attempt to deepen the kiss; you never feel the careful slip of his tongue into your mouth or the sting of teeth. Despite this, it might be the most sexually charged kiss you’ve ever received. A wave of pure want surges down your spine and into the base of your core and your grip on his shirt tightens to steady yourself as a small, involuntary noise escapes from deep in your chest.

You expect things to escalate from there. You wait for your back to hit the side of your car, to feel the weight of Marcus’s body against you as he pins you against the door. You wait for his hand to grip your hip, his fingertips to dig into the back of your neck as he takes control.

Instead, he pulls back–breathing shakily as he does–and rests his forehead against yours.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done that,” you laugh breathlessly, thinking of how the hell you were supposed to to work with him now.

“Maybe not,” Marcus chuckles back. “But I don’t regret it. I can’t.”

The orange light from a nearby lamp casts half of his face in shadow, making his features stand out in dark relief: the bow of his upper lip, the angle of his cheekbone, the strength in his brow, the line of his nose… 

He’s the one who looks beautiful, you think. Out loud, you say something else. 

Just one word.

Your name. 

Marcus’s lips part in surprise, eyebrows turning upward as he realizes the gift you’ve given him. He could have used it all along, of course, had probably seen it in the city directory before he’d even met you. 

But he waited for your consent, instead.

And oh, how sweet it sounds when it falls from his lips for the first time like this, his mouth just inches from yours.

“I can’t believe I let you kiss me smelling like this,” you joke, trying to dispel the heavy cloud of tension.

He laughs quietly, and murmurs your name again, his thumb brushing delicately back and forth against your cheekbone. “Go home,” he whispers. “Take that bath. It’s late.”

You nod, swallowing thickly. “See you tomorrow.”

Marcus steps back, giving you a fond, warm smile. “Sure will.”

Christ, what have you done?

The thought doesn’t hit you until the wee hours of the morning, when you bolt upright in bed before your alarm and realize that you’re going to have to continue working alongside Marcus for the foreseeable future. 

You don’t know him, not really; you don’t know how he’ll act in a professional setting after a very unprofessional moment between the two of you. He brings out a softness in you that you don’t recognize, a deep yearning at the very core of you that had been shoved down and suppressed for years. Vulnerability is punished in your line of work, especially as a woman, and you’ve gotten so well-practiced at stamping out any trait that could be perceived as weakness that you, unknowingly, eradicated it from your personal life as well.

How long has it been since you’ve let someone in?

How long have you denied yourself the comfort of another’s touch?

Damn him.

He’s brought all of these feelings to the surface, and now you have to worry about not only his reaction to seeing you at work today, but yours as well. 

Will you be able to hide the way your body seems to gravitate toward him? Can you keep your face from betraying you? 

Will he be able to remain aloof and businesslike, or will the mask drop–showing everyone the hunger in his eyes? 

You shudder slightly. Please, let the day go smoothly. 

As it turns out, all your nerves were misplaced. There’s no awkward reunion, no shy smiles or stilted small talk. 

“They ID’ed the guy!” Marcus exclaims loudly as you walk into the bullpen. 

The outburst from the typically softspoken man surprises you so much that you nearly drop your coffee.

“What?” 

“Your Norman Rockwell thief! His name is Reuben Porter, and he lives in Moberly.”

A slow smile spreads across your face. “No way.”

Marcus grins back, dimple on full display. “Fancy a drive to the field office today?”

“Hell yes. Gotta be sooner than later, though,” you add, thinking of Maisie Fletcher. “I’ve got a meeting at three.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smirks. “Shouldn’t take too long. They’ll share all of their files, and you and your precinct can be the ones to make the arrest.”

“Wait… you’re not doing that?”

“Told you it was still your case,” he points out. “Yeah, before you know it, I’ll be out of your hair and on a plane back to D.C.”

“What a relief,” you joke, but the words hardly have any bite to them. Back to D.C.? Part of you wants to have your fill of him first; that kiss last night only left you craving more. All you can think about is his lips on yours, and wonder about the feel of his body as it pins you to the bed. 

“I’m sure it is.” 

Marcus’s voice deepens, his tone tinged with amusement, and you fight the urge to avert your eyes like a schoolgirl. 

“Shall we, then?” you say lightly, raising your eyebrows and tilting your chin upward.

“You’re driving, this time,” he says with a boyish smile.

The car is where the tension finally returns. The air feels dense, each lull in polite conversation pregnant with what goes unmentioned and unacknowledged. To your surprise, you find yourself itching to address the elephant in the squad car, even after what feels like hours of giving yourself pep talks before work, promising yourself you wouldn’t be the one to slip.

“When… when is your flight?” you ask instead.

“Tomorrow.”

“...Oh.”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Marcus says seriously.

You blanch. “You do?”

“Mmhmm. ‘Good Riddance,’ right? Mister Big City Agent, finally getting out of your way so you can arrest the jerk who had the audacity to defile the Mark Twain Museum.”

You bark out a surprised laugh. “I can’t tell if you’re making fun of Hannibal or not.”

Marcus makes a show of appearing offended. “I would never poke fun at the birthplace of Samuel Clemens.” Sobering, he adds, “I hope you know by now that I care very deeply about every art case.”

You can’t help but beam at him. Taking a leap of faith, you respond. “And I hope you know by now that I’m not hoping the door hits you on the way out.”

“Yeah?” he asks quietly. 

“‘Course.”

Marcus slowly reaches his hand over to you and drags just the tip of one finger from your wrist and down your hand to the end of your pinkie finger in a barely-there caress. 

You let out a shaky exhale as the squad car pulls into the lot of the St. Louis field office.

Damon greets you and Marcus cheerfully as you enter the Art Crimes Department. He shakes your hand, offering his congratulations, as you follow him back to his office.

“Here you go,” he says, handing you a singular flash drive. “The final identification reports identifying Reuben Porter as the thief, and all related case notes.”

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“Oh,” you say, turning the flash drive over in your hand. “Why not just email it?” 

“File’s too big,” Damon shrugs.

“Got some stuff for you, too,” Marcus adds, pulling out his field notebook and a manila folder and handing them to you. “My notes, and my formal report of my involvement in the case.”

“Thank you,” you say, looking at Damon, and then at Marcus. “For your expertise and your support. I’ll–”

You’re interrupted by the loud ringing of your work cell. Grimacing, you give the agents an apologetic smile and duck out of Damon’s office.

“Yeah,” you say impatiently into the phone.

“Hey,” Hubbard replies, sounding, for once, incredibly hesitant.

“...What’s going on?”

“Can you go on a call?”

"I'm at the St. Louis field office with Pike," you tell him. "You'll have to call Evan in."

"Evan is already here," the Sergeant says, making you frown in confusion. 

"He is? Then why–"

"We’ve got a body, but Cricket? …It's Johansson."

You don't realize your legs have given out until you feel the cold chair underneath you. Your breath comes in short pants after hearing That Name. That fucking name.

"Jakub," Hubbard continues, as if you needed to be told.

"H-How?"

"Looks like an overdose, but the autopsy will have to confirm it, obviously."

You feel as though you're floating above yourself. That fucking case. You hadn’t been on the force long; it was the first time the system had failed you. Failed her. 

"I just thought you should know," the Sergeant is saying. "If you need to take a few days–"

"I don't," you interrupt. "Thanks for telling me. You still need me to come?"

"Nah," Hubbard says. "Have fun in St. Louis."

"Yeah," you hear yourself saying over the blood rushing in your ears. "Thanks." You robotically set the phone down on the table, eyes unseeing as you process the conversation. 

A warm palm lands on your shoulder, and you exhale shakily. "S-Sorry, just give me a minute."

"Are you okay?" Marcus's voice is full of concern.

"Yeah, it's um… just a name I haven't heard in a while, is all."

But that’s not true… is it? The name is fresh in your brain, feels familiar when you silently form the shape of it with your mouth. Jakub Johansson. You’ve tried your best to put him–and all the other cases that keep you up at night–in the past, but ghost after ghost keeps turning up this week, in more ways than one. 

“Do we need to get back to Hannibal?” Marcus asks.

“Nah. No. They’ve got it handled, they were just–it was one of mine, so… informing me, I guess.”

“One of your… what?”

“Sorry. Just an old case. Someone connected with it, anyways.”

“Everything alright?”

“They’re dead,” you deadpan. And even as you say the words out loud, a weight you didn’t realize you had been carrying seems to lift from your shoulders. Finally unparalyzed, you turn and look at Marcus. His gaze is burning, his eyes searching your face with unrelenting intensity. 

“Do you need to take a moment?” he asks softly, plush lips barely moving and his wild eyes never once leaving you.

Suddenly, the windowless Art Crimes Department feels stifling, like there’s not enough air. You can’t speak; you can’t breathe. Instead, you nod as you quickly rise from your chair and all-but-bolt from the room, walking quickly down the hall and up the stairs until you reach the lobby, then rushing out of the main entrance. It’s only then that you feel as though you can suck in a deep, ragged breath of crisp autumn air.  

You’ve carried this case with you for almost seven years. Seven years of feeling like you were the one who failed–not the system. You. You could have collected more evidence, you could have fought harder, you could have–no. You pace the sidewalk, repeating the statements the Force’s therapist gave you all those years ago. You did everything you could do. You helped a woman in need and brought a bad man to justice. His light sentence is not your fault. 

And now he’s dead.

Why doesn’t this feel like relief?

That feeling, the one you've been having all week, returns. That feeling of wrongness, like you’re forgetting something important. 

“Hey.” A soft voice cuts through your thoughts.

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” you murmur, not turning to acknowledge Marcus. “What the fuck is happening this week? Pearson, Dalton, Fletcher, J-Johannson… I’ve seen more dead bodies in one week than I’ve seen in a fucking lifetime.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Marcus points out, “not a dead body.”

“The case with Johansson, it… it fucked me up for a while,” you say quietly, not looking at him. “I had to take time off, I was appointed a therapist to speak to, I–” 

“The details must have been really upsetting to you,” he says gently, laying his hand on your forearm.

“I had panic attacks,” you whisper, feeling the leftover shame wash over you. “We’re supposed to keep our own emotions out of the job, and I… I failed–”

“That’s not a failure–” Marcus starts, but you interrupt quickly.

“I failed her,” you grit out through clenched teeth, spinning to face him head-on. “I thought I was doing everything I could, but it wasn’t enough.”

The soft sound of your name causes a sob to catch in your throat.

“Listen to me,” Marcus says softly. “You did everything you could, I know you did. You’re a caring, capable, brilliant cop, and you did everything in your power. And besides, the universe has a way of making things right, doesn’t it? He came to justice in the end.”

You snort. “He fucking overdosed in his own home, and his victim was left with a lifetime of trauma. If that’s justice, the universe has a funny sense of humor.”

You deflate with a sigh. Checking your watch, you give Marcus a humorless smile. “We’ve gotta go, anyway. I need to be back to meet with the wife of a drowned man at the morgue.”

Maisie Fletcher’s demeanor is far more stony than it had been the day before. Head held high and lips pursed, she strides confidently into the observation room and watches expressionlessly as the sheet is peeled back to reveal Gavin Fletcher.

“That’s him,” she confirms with no emotion in her voice.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say, because it’s what you’re supposed to do.

Maisie snorts, the first time her facial features have changed since she walked in. “Really? Knowing what you know about him? You might be the only other person who knows the truth about what he really is.”

When you don’t answer, she speaks again.

“This might be the best thing that's ever happened to me." The words are whispered, barely audible even in the cryptlike silence of the morgue.

You nod at the mortician, Milo, who you remember from a few grades below you in school. He nods back and carefully replaces the sheet.

You escort Maisie back out to her car with a heavy heart and brooding thoughts.

"What are you going to do?" you ask quietly.

"I'm leaving town. Soon as I can. I–I never meant to stay here, but…"

"It's hard to leave," you murmur. "The town, mean," you correct quickly. "It sucks you in. Believe me, I know."

"You could go, too," Maisie points out. "Every town needs cops."

"And leave all this?" you joke. "I'm good. Really. Just been a week for the record books."

As Maisie drives off, you turn and see that Milo is watching you from the front entrance.

"There a problem?" you call out.

"Nah, just wanted a second opinion on something. You busy?"

You shake your head, walking back into the morgue behind the mortician.

"Lot of new tenants this week," Milo says. He pauses, looking over at you as if waiting for your laugh. You manage a weak one, but it seems to satisfy him. He stops in front of one of the metal drawers and turns toward you. "This one, the one they found yesterday? The autopsy hasn't been completed yet, but I wanted to run something by you to see if you agree with my analysis."

You shrug, holding your arms out in a gesture for him to continue. He grabs the handle and pulls, revealing the pale, stiff corpse of Jakub Johansson. You suppress a flinch.

"It doesn't take an autopsy to conclude that the overdose killed him," the mortician says. "We've got all the classic signs of a fatal dose of Fentanyl. Should be cut-and-dry."

You pause, a small frown on your features. “If it’s cut-and-dry, why am I sensing a ‘but’ there?”

“Well, the overdose is cut-and-dry. No one walks away from that many drugs in their system, but… well, it looks like he got into a fight or something right before.”

“A fight?”

Milo sweeps the sheet back from the corpse’s arm. “Here. See, there’s the puncture from the needle, but look–” he gestures at the upper arm, where, through the discoloration of the already-decomposing skin, you can clearly see five purple marks. 

“Someone grabbed him,” you say quietly. 

“Mmhm. And here.” He points to the forearm, where a larger bruise runs horizontally across the skin. 

Staring at the marks, the image starts to crystalize in your mind. “It looks like… like someone grabbed his upper arm, and held his forearm in place with their knee, or something.”

“That’s exactly what it looks like,” Milo nods grimly. 

“He was held down,” you murmur, barely audible in the silent room. “He was held down and given a fatal dose.”

“The injuries were perimortem,” the mortician adds. “They would have been sustained just before he overdosed.”

“How long before?”

“No way to be precise, but…” he clicks his tongue, “...no more than an hour or two.”

You thank Milo in a daze, heading back out of the morgue with rapidly swirling thoughts. You can no longer ignore the facts: All the people who have died this week, with the exception of Bobby Pearson, were on your list of ‘Cases that Haunt your Dreams.’ That list… subconscious, but so vivid that you may as well have it written down on a piece of posterboard and hung opposite your living room couch. They were the cases that kept you up at night, the reason you… 

… the reason… you…

…drink… to… forget.

The phrase seems to set off a chain reaction in your mind. You hear it again and again, but not in your own voice…

In the voice of someone else. 

“They say there’s only two kinds of people,” Marcus says. “Those who drink to remember, and those who drink to forget.”

You remember his soulful eyes, the understanding in his expression as he acknowledged that he knew exactly which of those people you were.

“I drink to remember.”

“The living, and the dead.”

The dead.

Images flash rapidly in your brain. Him telling you the work matters. Urging you to tell him the names. Pouring you another drink. You, crying against his dress shirt. Him pleading with you to let it all go, the burdens you carried.

The names…

Nothing makes sense, anymore.

Well, actually, everything makes sense, it’s just that you don’t want it to. 

Everything that’s happened over the past week is leading you to one conclusion–and you simply aren’t ready to face it. Not yet. 

You can’t face it… but you can’t let it go, either. It would be against everything you thought you stood for. So rather than go home and drown your suspicions in more whiskey, you go back to the station.

Not bothering to turn on the lights, you sit down at your desk and power on your computer. The blue light is harsh in the dim bullpen as you open the FBI’s website and search for the Art Crimes department. You glance at the directory–Supervisory Special Agent Marcus Pike at the very top, of course–then navigate over to the department’s news page and scan the recent case headlines. 

Wilton Man Admits Operating Fraud Scheme

Palm Beach Art Dealer Sentenced to Federal Prison for Laundering Money From Art Fraud Scheme.

Lips pursed, you open up a second tab and search for ‘Wilton.’ It’s a small town in Connecticut–and you find the town’s local newspaper easily. You click back to the FBI page, look at the date the man was arrested, and look through the newspaper archives on and before the same day. 

No major headlines stand out, but when you read the obituaries for the week, goosebumps begin to rise at the back of your neck. Elliott Bradford, 42. Overdose. Mark Hampton, 38. Suicide. 

Those kinds of deaths are common everywhere, you try to tell yourself. But, pulling up yet another tab, you search for the first name. Immediately, article after article appears in the results. Heart in your throat, you click on the first. 

Sex Offender Elliott Bradford Implicated in Trafficking Ring. The news is from over a decade ago–but the details are enough to turn your stomach. He’d been sentenced to ten years in prison, which means he would have just been released… last year. Mere months before Marcus would have been there for work. 

When you search for Mark Hampton, you find a similar story. Marjorie Hampton Files Suit Against Husband Mark Citing Repeated Abuse. And just a few years later, he’s dead, too.

A little voice in the back of your head tells you to stop digging, but you can’t seem to quit. You repeat the search with Palm Beach, and find that again, the obituaries are filled with accidental deaths and suicides from the town’s most violent men. 

Minneapolis. North Hollywood. Palmdale. You’ve gone as far back as 2016, and every town has the same pattern: Marcus Pike arrives for a case, and days later, known abusers start turning up dead. 

Every. 

Single. 

One.

It’s nearly two in the morning when you finally force yourself to stop. Your mind is swirling with names, dates, and heinous crimes. And all of them died within weeks of the town being visited by a certain FBI Art Crimes Detective. There’s still a part of you that can’t believe your conclusions are real–that the sweet, kind man you can’t deny your feelings for any longer is actually a killer. Which is why, hands trembling, you do the one thing you definitely should not do at this moment.

You text Marcus Pike.

“I need to talk to you.”

You regret it almost immediately. Part of you hopes that he’s asleep. He has to be, right? It’s two AM. Shaking your head and inwardly chastising yourself, you slip your phone into your pocket and start shutting down the computer. 

When you get up to leave, however, your phone pings.

“Where and when?”

"I–I need to talk to you,” you blurt out the moment the hotel room door opens, but the sight before you almost makes you swallow the last few words.

Marcus is shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sleep pants low around his hips. You can’t help but stare at the sight, taking in his broad shoulders, the light musculature of his arms, his slender waist and the soft skin on his stomach. A light trail of hair disappears below the waistband of his pants, and you swallow thickly as you drag your eyes back up to his face.

"So you said," Marcus says quietly. If he’s amused at your obvious staring, he doesn’t show it.

"You–what're you doing up so late?"

"Never did sleep much," he says with a crooked grin. One of his eyebrows raises as he looks you up and down. "Why are you up and at my door at this time of night?"

"Losing my fucking mind," you murmur shakily.

He steps forward, reaching his hand up to tenderly cup your cheek. Your eyes flutter closed as your body instinctively responds to his touch.

"Marcus," you whisper. 

"And why does that bring you to me?" he asks, his voice deepening. His thumb traces back and forth across your cheekbone.

To confront you, you want to say. To make you tell me I'm not crazy. That I figured out your secret.

Instead, you reach out and touch one trembling hand to his sternum, indulging in your desire to touch that expanse of golden skin. 

You open your eyes to find him watching you with a hooded, coal-black gaze. His eyes flick down to your hand on his chest, then back up to your face.

The moment feels like the drawing back of a bowstring. It seems to linger, seconds stretching out longer and longer until the inevitable moment where everything snaps.

Suddenly, Marcus is pulling you forward, shutting the door, and pressing you back against it in one swift, fluid motion. 

His entire body molds to you–hips, hands, lips–with far more ferocity and less restraint than the night before. You feel the sting of his teeth, the grip of his fingertips as he takes from you.

You aren't exactly idle, either; your hands map the planes of his chest, hips canting up to grind against the hard length you can feel there. When he pushes right back, you groan loudly and dig your fingernails involuntarily into the meat of his upper back, and he hisses.

"Sor–"

"Again," he growls, so you scratch harder.

A low, feral sound escapes from deep in his chest he breaks away from your lips and kisses a frenzied path down your neck.

"This was always going to happen," Marcus rasps into your skin. "You, and me. Can't you feel it?"

"Feel–?" you gasp, arching your back at the little nip of teeth at your shoulder. What you feel, right now at least, is the hard, thick length of his cock pressing insistently against your stomach, and it empties your mind of all other thoughts. 

"Feel the electricity between us. The connection," Marcus clarifies between kisses back up your neck until he gently nibbles your jaw. 

"Mmhmm," you whimper. Your knees almost buckle.

"Tell me," he orders. 

"I feel it."

You reach down and grasp his erection through his clothes as if to punctuate your meaning, and Marcus’s knees do buckle slightly as he sags against you with a broken groan.

"Every fucking night," he growls, "I pictured how you would look spread out on this bed. You'll forgive me for indulging that, now."

"Tell me," you parrot coquettishly, staring up at him coyly from behind your lashes.

Another low sound emanates from deep within Marcus's chest at your command. Spinning you around so fast you nearly lose your sense of direction, he pulls you further into the room and deposits you on the bed before crawling over you. 

"Tell you, huh? Tell you what? How I would close my eyes and think about the sounds you'd make for me? Or about how I'd get so worked up imagining the way you'd taste, the way you'd look coming undone beneath me that I'd have to fist my cock just for a little relief?"

"I wanna see that," you say lazily, licking your lips and making a show of pulling your shirt over your head. 

"Next time," Marcus promises darkly. “Next time I'll do it just like this, with you staring up at me, watching me fuck myself for you. But I don't think I can go one more night without being inside you."

"Please," you whisper, staring up at him with wide eyes. 

"Yeah?"

"Fucking… yes, Marcus, shit–"

He chuckles, straight, white teeth showing as he grins and starts to unbutton your pants. You let him draw them down your hips, along with your underwear, your breath getting shakier as you see the hungry look in his eyes. It makes you feel powerful, the way just the sight of your bare center seems to affect him. 

When your pants reach your ankles, he yanks them off the rest of the way and casts them aside in the corner of the room. His gaze is almost predatory, but you get the feeling you are the one who has him under your thumb at the moment. Giving him a sly, crooked smile, you spread your legs wide.

Marcus pitches forward onto his elbows, dropping down onto the bed as if deep in prayer, but everything about the man in this moment is sinful. With his mouth inches from your pussy, he breathes in, closing his eyes and shuddering visibly. When he opens then again, they're deep obsidian. They don't move from your face as he lowers his mouth to you.

You aren't sure who moans louder at the first generous lick of his tongue into your pussy. Rather than start at your clit, he dives in; thrusting the wet, warm muscle as deep into your cunt as he can while his nose presses deliciously against you. 

He devours you greedily, licking up into you as if he could pull pleasure out of your channel with just his tongue. He seems to be getting almost as much satisfaction out of doing it; his eyes are closed as if savoring you, low, muffled moans from deep in his throat punctuate every lap into your pussy, and every so often, his hips thrust slightly against the bed as though he can't help but seek a little relief.

His hands scrabble at your hips, yanking you closer as soon as he can find purchase, and you throw your head back on the pillow as he buries himself even deeper than before.

Christ, how is he even breathing?

His nose rubs back and forth against your clit, and you can feel your orgasm starting to build. Growing bolder, you rock your hips subtly against Marcus's face, and by the loud groan that escapes him when he feels you do it, he enjoys it.

He pulls at your hips again, wordlessly commanding you to continue. 

"Fuck," you murmur. "Marcus, your mouth–"

You slowly grind on him, gyrating your hips as you chase the sensations that feel best for you. It causes everything to pull up tight, and before you even realize what's happening, you're falling apart on his tongue.

"Have to have you," Marcus pants in your ear, having surged up to cover you with his body even as you were still trembling with aftershocks. "Tell me I can have you."

"Yeah," you agree. "Fuck, take it. It's yours." Make me forget.

"Condom?" 

"Clean. You?"

"Clean. You–You sure? Tell me now, because I don't think I can wait any longer."

"Please," you whisper, reaching up to gently wipe away some of the slick above his upper lip with an amused smile. He looks wrecked already–the only time you've seen him with a hair out of place–and it's incredibly endearing. 

You don't have time to dwell on that thought, because with a broken sound, he sheathes himself within you. 

The noise that escapes you is involuntary–an instinctual, guttural reaction from somewhere deep in your subconscious brain. You can feel Marcus everywhere at once, pressing against nerves deep inside of you, nerves you didn't even realize you had. 

Anyone would be forgiven for expecting sex with this clean-shaven, softspoken man to be just as gentle and sweet as the man himself. You would have thought the same thing, except for one feature of his that always made you feel as though something darker was lurking underneath: that smile. Wide, toothy, eager; the rows of straight, white teeth; the boyish little dimple it exposes.

It's his eyes when he smiles like that that have always made you wonder what he's hiding; what demons are being concealed behind pearly whites and laugh lines.

But you think the way Marcus fucks might expose far more than anything else about him. 

The fire that dances in his eyes has certainly hinted at a deeper passion, but you've yet to experience anything like the way it feels to be on the receiving end of this much intensity. 

He's unrelenting in his pursuit of pleasure; fervent and raw and so very physical. He doesn't shy away from the messiness of sex; he licks an escaped tear as you reach your second peak, he spits on your clit and rubs it in with his fingers, and when he finally pulls out and finishes on your chest, he immediately covers you with his mouth and sucks himself off of your nipples.

You'd also be forgiven in thinking Marcus was done with you. That, given the late hour and the vigorous, explosive way he had fucked you, he'd collapse on the bed with a tired, sated sigh.

Instead, he pulls at your hip and guides you to turn over on your stomach. You're about to open your mouth and question his motives when you feel his hot, wet tongue press against your other hole.

You squeal involuntarily, burying your face in the pillows as you surrender to the onslaught of Marcus’s attentions. In this, just as in every other way he's already had you tonight, he's incredibly vocal. He straightens his tongue and pushes it inside, and moans loudly as he feels you give way for him.

"Good girl, so fuckin' good, gonna make me hard again, aren't you? Mewling so prettily into the sheets like that while I take you apart. You like that, don't you? Filthy fucking girl, huh? Good. I am, too–told you we were made to do this."

Marcus is merciless, giving you his tongue, fingers, tongue again, over and over and over in your pussy and your ass until you come undone again with a wail. 

You're boneless and pliable as he hauls your trembling body up onto your knees and enters you again, this time from behind. 

He's equal parts brutal and reassuring: ample, generous praise spills from his lips with every rough punch of his cock. 

You're so overwrought with pleasure, you can't even speak. Marcus is destroying you in every delicious way, and you aren't sure how you're supposed to come back from this. How you're supposed to confront him after he's made you feel things you didn't even know how could feel.

His lower hands are pressing down on your lower back, intensifying the arch in your spine and causing his cock to hit the perfect spot inside you.

"Gonna–" you gasp.

"I know," Marcus answers. "Together, this time. With me, yeah? I'm so close, but I'm waiting on you. Cum for me, let me feel it baby."

You sob into the pillows as he fucks you through your orgasm, your walls aching and ultrasensitive from the relentless onslaught of his cock. 

You're only barely aware of him pulling out and letting you collapse forward onto the bed. You aren't sure why it surprises you–perhaps just the intensity of the moment before–but you aren't expecting the warm, gentle arms encircling you as Marcus follows you down and wraps you up, pulling you into his chest. 

You're still panting, trying to catch your breath and regain equilibrium as you hear his voice behind you. It's not rough and rasping like before, but soft and soothing as he croons into your ear.

"So good for me, so perfect. Took me so well, look so good in my bed. Incredible.”

Giddy and overwhelmed, you start to laugh breathlessly.

Marcus chuckles too, nuzzling the spot behind your ear with his nose with a satisfied hum. His fingers start to trace a path up and down your stomach, and you sigh bonelessly and settle against him.

"This… this wasn't what I came here for," you murmur after a few moments.

"No?" Marcus nips playfully at your jawline just below your ear.

"No, I… I…"

The teasing kisses continue, causing sparks to shoot up and down your spine.

"Marcus," you sigh, as you feel another little nibble on your neck. "Marcus. Stop."

Slowly, cautiously, he pulls back. You turn in his arms, frowning slightly.

"I came here… Jesus, this sounds–I need you to convince me I'm just being jumpy. That I've been spooked, scared of my own shadow…"

“You’re under a lot of stress,” Marcus says gently. “You’ve had a hard week.”

You scoff. “Hard week? I’ve had hard weeks. This week was devastating. I’ve seen more deaths in one week than in almost my entire time on the force, and–” you swallow and look up, meeting his dark eyes, “–they’re all connected to me.”

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers. “They were bad men, and they all had their vices…”

“Every single one,” you forge ahead, “was connected to a case assigned to me. But that’s not the only connection, is it?”

Marcus cocks his head to the side, not dissimilar to a confused puppy. “What do you mean?”

“They were all connected to cases that keep me up at night. Cases that didn’t end in justice. Cases that I confessed… to you.”

Confusion melts away into an easy, casual smile. Marcus chuckles softly. “I thought you said you didn’t remember anything we talked about that night.”

“Details might be blurry, but it’s the only thing that makes sense,” you say, laying back to stare at the ceiling. “I was upset over Bobby. I was disillusioned with the job. You were all too eager to lend an ear, to let me drown my sorrows and whisper the names of the men whose faces I’ll never forget. I cried on your shoulder, Marcus. And you… you took those names, and—”

“Are you saying you’re accusing me of being some kind of one-man vigilante justice machine?” Marcus asks, beginning to laugh outright. “Cricket, do you have any idea how that sounds?”

“It sounds crazy," you say, turning toward him again. "So convince me otherwise. Tell me I've lost my fucking marbles on this one."

"I think it would be natural for anyone to look for some kind of reason behind a string of deaths of people they know," he offers gently. "And these men, they've… they've affected you more than most–let's not mince words, you were traumatized by these cases. It's only natural that you would look for answ–"

"Answers?" you interrupt. "My job is to find answers, you should know that. I've been researching you on your own website, what do you have to say about that? I know where you've been for other cases."

Marcus chuckles, although it seems… deeper, this time. "That's publicly available information on the government's own servers. I'm not sure what your point is."

"I also looked up all the newspapers from the times you would have been there," you say. "And just like in Hannibal, there's a rash of suicides and accidental deaths, and all of the victims? They all had rap sheets miles long."

"Cricket," Marcus intones softly. "I know you're desperately trying to find connections here, but you have to realize these all sound like huge coincidences–"

"You got sloppy," you accuse, picking up steam and confidence as you continue to talk through it. "Did you know that? Johansson's death was no accident. He was held down and given a fatal dose. It was rough; whoever did it wanted it to hurt–"

"Stop." Marcus cuts you off, his voice harsher than you've ever heard it. "You're grasping at straws. You're under a ton of stress, and you've concocted a wild fantasy to cope. It's a good story, but that's all it is. The things you're accusing me of, the person you've made me out to be… it's not rational, and it's dangerous. I'm an agent with the US Government, and you're throwing around some pretty serious allegations."

"I know what I've seen…" you murmur, shaking your head.

"You haven't seen anything," Marcus insists. "I'm not sure what your game is here. You come to my hotel room in the middle of the night saying you want to talk, you come onto me, we have sex… and now you're telling me you think I'm, what? A serial killer?"

"I–I think I should leave," you say quietly, getting up from the bed and padding over to pick up your uniform–where your gun is still holstered in your belt. You grab the pile of clothes and retreat to the bathroom to breathe and regroup. You splash cold water on your face, trying to ignore the fact that your hands are trembling slightly. 

Get it together. 

The pull you've felt for the man all week doesn't matter. Put it aside. Do the job. 

You take a few more deep breaths, then pull on your clothes. With a set jaw, you unholster your gun and slowly open the bathroom door.

"Marcus Pike, you're–"

You freeze mid-sentence, staring at the now-empty room.

"...gone?"

Epilogue (1 year later)

“I know it’s not much, but–”

“It’s perfect,” you breathe, walking into the small office, carrying a paper box full of your belongings, all waiting for a home among the bookshelves and desk space.

“Sure,” the other agent laughs.

It might not have a window. It might not have much charm. But it has a door–a real door that closes and everything–and even more importantly, it bears your name on a plaque.

A real office.

Yours. 

“You’re coming to us from… Saint Paul?”

“Saint Louis,” you correct amicably. 

“Welcome to White Collar Crimes,” your new coworker says with a wan smile. “It’s like Organized Crime, except instead of bodies, you’re examining accounting spreadsheets.”

“Good,” you say emphatically. “I’ve had enough death for several lifetimes.”

The other agent makes a face. “What the fuck was going on in Saint Louis?”

You huff a laugh through your nose. “You don’t wanna know.”

You set the box down, taking out some of your most prized possessions: A Mark Twain bobblehead, your Bachelor’s Degree in Criminology from the University of Missouri, and more recently, a certificate from Quantico labeling you as a Special Agent with the FBI.

It had taken most of the year to coordinate your exodus from the tiny town of Hannibal where you grew up. Sure, you could have simply gone to another city to be a cop, but the endless parade of speeding tickets, accidental overdoses, and orders to break up tent cities was wearing on you. Were you really making a difference where you were? 

No.

No.

You wanted to go after the real criminals. Those who swindled the vulnerable out of their hard-earned money. Those who gamed the stock market only to make a few million more than they already had. 

White collar crime.

“Well, welcome to D.C.,” the other agent says, his tone tongue-in-cheek, but your smile is genuine nonetheless. He leaves you to your task–setting up the tiny, cramped space that serves as your office. 

You unpack a box of your favorite pens, your stapler, a potted plant (fake) to add some greenery. Maybe when you get an office with a window, you can get some real plants, you think as you rearrange your notebooks on the small bookshelf beside your desk.

You glance down at the badge on your lapel and smile.

It had been a year since your strange run-in with the Art Crimes Agent that changed the course of your career. 

After Marcus Pike fled the scene of his own hotel room–leaving most of his belongings behind–you couldn’t find it in yourself to continue down the road of being a small-town police officer, handing out tickets and misdemeanors and investigating every tragic case that came across your desk. And they were all tragic, make no mistake. 

After a few months of being angry and indignant, you’d grown to respect Marcus Pike. You’d realized he was telling the truth all those months ago: he’d felt useless as an Agent, cutting through all the red tape and bureaucracy, and he’d simply taken matters into his own hands in the end.

He used his connections within law enforcement to gain access to the world’s undesirables: the violent, the unhinged, the maladapted, the unacclimated. 

The bad men who had gotten light sentences or slaps on the wrist when they should have been removed from polite society for the gain of humanity.

Compared to you–fighting through the red tape of Government at every turn–Marcus was unstoppable. You guess that’s why so many people like to read about comic book heroes who spend their time doling out vigilante justice. Fighting for prolonged sentences within the criminal justice system was one thing. Living by your own creed of law and order? That was another.

Marcus simply… went around the law.

Did the ends justify the means?

That was a question that kept you up for months on end–that still causes you to shoot up in bed, panting and sweating, fighting off the remnants of a nightmare.

Even now, you aren’t sure of the answer.

That, on top of the real job opportunities that the FBI awarded you, is what really brought you here.

Marcus Pike… is a murderer.

You’re here to keep an eye on him.

Putting aside your… more personal connections, the man is dangerous. After all, you have no way of substantiating that his moral code, the way he kills for his own perceived sense of good, will always match the general sense of human morality. Is Marcus the type of man who would take a personal slight and warp it into his own twisted sense of justice? Would ever kill to satisfy his own grievances? Would he ever simply kill for the sake of it? You have no way of knowing.

A soft tap on your office door interrupts your reverie.

“Got a briefing on the Waters case in five. I’m assuming you read the file I emailed over?” 

At your nod, the other agent continues. “It’s in conference room 2E63. Since this place is a bit of a labyrinth, thought we could walk there together.”

“Appreciate it,” you say cheerfully, snapping your laptop shut and grabbing your notebook. 

Time to work.

“Got any questions for me before the meeting?” your coworker asks as you navigate through the halls.

“Are other departments involved in this case?” you ask. “There’s the embezzling scheme, stock fraud, that’s obviously us. But what about some of the company’s other operations? The file mentioned something about illegal smuggling and money laundering, surely that’s–”

“Organized Crime, yup. We’ve got two representatives from that team, they’ve been heavily involved. It was recently discovered that some of the goods smuggled were uh, famous paintings or something? So we’ve recently added someone from—This is us, by the way.”

Your coworker opens the conference room door, and across the room, a familiar set of deep brown eyes flicks up in surprise.

“Anyway, yeah, we also recently added someone from Art Crimes to assist in the recovery of the, uh–” your coworker trails off, turning to the only other agent in the room that you happen to know, apparently hoping for him to complete the sentence.

He doesn’t. Agent Marcus Pike is still staring at you, lips parted, his face white as a sheet. Fear lurks in his wide eyes.

When he blinks, though, the mask suddenly drops back down over his expression, his agitation replaced with cool confidence.

“Cézanne,” he answers patiently. To you, he extends his hand. “I haven’t seen you around here,” he says carefully. 

To anyone listening, the words are straightforward, said by a stranger, but you catch the hidden, underlying message. I’ve seen you before, but in a different world. You are out of context. 

“Just started today,” you comment lightly before giving him your name, taking his hand, and shaking it firmly. Very firmly. Marcus blinks. You see a flash of that wild intensity that you know lurks beneath his unassuming exterior.

When he smiles, you take in the rows of perfectly straight, white teeth and his singular dimple. 

A warning. Or a promise.

“I look forward to working with you.”

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Here's a 1925 chateau that looks like a castle in Waite Hill, Ohio. 6bds, 10ba, $4.425M.

It has a very castle-like entrance foyer. Like the stone, brick, and wood combo. That display shelf is unusual, too. Very nice.

Unfortunately, the home is empty and the realtor chose to use obviously Photoshopped furniture. But, let's focus on the architectural details like the coffered ceiling and the cool black fireplace in the sitting room. Really, I think it would look better empty.

This is a lovely sunroom that's an extension of the kitchen. The shape and color of the wood, plus the carved details and paned windows make it so attractive. Ignore the stupid modern Photoshopped furniture.

The large kitchen is wonderful- features a gorgeous stove with a stone backsplash and Medieval style hood. Love the huge carved island, light fixtures and detailed ceiling.

Beautiful counters, tile backsplash and gothic style upper doors.

This is nice- dark wood, detailed coffered ceiling, and a stone fireplace that looks like it's made with boulders.

Love that they used different woods in each room. Homes with the same wood throughout get boring and matchy-matchy. This game room is beautiful. Look at the details on the doors.

And, here, we have a large 2 lane bowling alley. Fantastic. And, it's a part of the family room.

Love the black and white ceiling in the huge primary bedroom. There's a sunroom area for sitting and relaxing, plus spiral stairs to a space above.

Here's the sitting area w/o the fake furniture and it looks much better.

Isn't this fabulous? A gorgeous secret hideout in the bedroom. This is so beautiful, it's the top of the tower. Note the details on the stair railing.

Gorgeous marble en-suite with a separate tub room features a copper clawfoot tub.

Castle hardware with amber glass door knobs.

Love the color of the wood and the shape of this hall.

The details in this home are stunning. Beautiful ceiling and railing. Plus, the piece on the left must be a built-in with a marble top.

Beautiful secondary bedroom with a lovely ceiling and large window seat also feature carved doors on the cabinet.

This bedroom is different- it's a more modern style with regular walls, but the ceiling is great and so is the long window seat. It might be part of the guest apt.

Another stunning bedroom. The woodwork in this house is superb. This fireplace wall is just beautiful. Look at the carved frame molding around it.

Every bedroom has something new and beautiful to offer.

Gorgeous marble and wood in this full bath.

Modern family room in the finished attic.

This amazing home is on 14.15 acres and features a pond, but no pool. There is a golf course just beyond the trees. In addition, there's a private ski slope that is already wired for a ski lift, full court basketball court, and guest apt.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/7265-Markell-Rd-Waite-Hill-OH-44094/34501560_zpid/

[paganimagevault]

Symbols of the Xiongnu, Sarmatians, Scythians, and Alans from various branded objects 2nd C. BCE - 2nd C. CE

"Starting in the 1950s, the source base for the study of the branding of cattle has substantially broadened. One of the Sarmatian burials of the lower Don contained a unique instrument for branding an animal (Raev 1979, pp. 207–08, Fig 3.9; Yatsenko 2001, p. 12, Fig. 1.1). A male burial of the last quarter of the 1st century CE not far from the village of Porogi near the Dniester yielded a silver cup with a handle in the form of a horse with brands on the right shoulder and left flank [Figs. 3.1, 6.2]. In this same complex was a gold torque with ends shaped like horse heads. One of the heads has a brand on the cheek (Simonenko and Lobai 1991, Fig. 16.1,2; Simonenko 1991, p. 316, Nos. 154, 157). One should include here a long-known gold bracelet accidentally discovered on the shore of the Bug estuary. Its ends, analogous to those of the torque from Porogi, also are shaped like horse heads, on one of which is a brand (Solomonik 1959, pp. 131–32; Voroniatov 2013, Fig. 1.2). Additional evidence regarding the tradition of branding Sarmatian horses may be found in numerous examples of Roman-period ceremonial horse harness, whose decoration includes Sarmatian tamgas (Voroniatov 2013). S. A. Yatsenko’s idea (2001, p. 13) that details of horse gear can duplicate or imitate a real brand on the body of the horse merits close attention.

As unusual as the buckle from Mongolia is the depiction of a bear on a wooden harp [Fig. 6.3] from the interesting complex of the end of the 1st–beginning of the 2nd centuries CE not far from Olbia (Simonenko 1999, pp. 111–14, Figs. 2, 3; Simonenko 2004, pp. 209– 21, Abb. 7). In toto there are 32 tamgas on the harp, six of which are incised on the figure of the bear. A.V. Simonenko emphasized (1999, p. 112) that the tamgas are placed in the same locations as the signs on the figure of a horse which served as the handle for the silver cup from Porogi [Figs. 3.1, 6.2].

I would propose that the depiction of a branded wild animal (a bear) on Alano-Sarmatian materials is related to the depiction of a fantastic animal with a brand in Xiongnu antiquities. It is possible that the meaning attached to signs specifically on such creatures relates to something other than the pragmatic tradition of branding cattle. This phenomenon, on which I will not dwell in greater detail, requires special study. I would merely note that early medieval depictions of wild animals and mythical creatures with a brand are attested in the territory of Inner Asia and Asia Minor (Boardman 2010, Fig. 19; Samashev and Bazylkhan 2010, p. 311).

In discussing the tradition of branding cattle along the northern Black Sea littoral, E. I. Solomonik (1957, pp. 215–17) provides information about this practice in archaic Greece, a practice which might well also have existed in the Greek Black Sea colonies. Clearly horses and cattle, branded with Sarmatian tamgas and, correspondingly, their depictions appear in the steppes of the northern Black Sea littoral and in the Bosporan region with the arrival of a new wave of nomadic tribes in the first century CE.

The objects examined here in the three categories demonstrate not only the similarity of several types of tamgas of Inner Asia and Sarmatia but also suggest common features of ritual practice among the Xiongnu and the Alano-Sarmatians. All three categories of objects have characteristics which are not merely the inherent qualities found in artefacts of daily life.

The astragalus with a tamga found in the burned layer of the Bosporan fortress of Artezian [Fig. 5.5] also has been interpreted as a cult object (Vinokurov 2007). In addition to the astragalus with a tamga, in the same layer of the Liubimov settlement on the lower Dnieper [Fig. 5.3] was a whetstone inscribed with three tamgas. Scholars have attributed a cultic and magic purpose to unusual whetstones of the Scytho-Sarmatian period and specifically to whetstones with tamgas (Griaznov 1961; Anikeeva and Iablonskii 2012, p. 52; Voroniatov 2012)."

-Sergey V. Voroniatov, State Hermitage Museum - Connections between Central Asia and the Northern Littoral of the Black Sea: Evidence from objects with tamgas.

[avampyone]

Prompt #26: Camouflage

Characters: Hemlocke , Amaranth Vyse, mention of Ange.

Synopsis: Hemlocke continues to track the elusive Ange and the mystery that follows him.

Setting: Thanalan, Ul'dah.

Warning - Piercings

-----------------------

Upon opening the double door of the bath, a cloud of heavy mist enveloped the Hemlocke’s chambers to such an extent that he had undoubtedly kept those waters at an elevated temperature during the duration of his bath. His own tall lanky strode forth shortly after, currently only clad in silken black robe lazily tied about his waist and a fluffy towel lay haphazardly atop his head.

He occasionally patted to capture the stray droplets of water from long black and ombre dark red locks. The soft strands were neatly gathered to one side over his shoulder with the lingering scent of lavender and sage purposely following him. The more everything lay hidden and masked- even his own natural scent, the better off they would be that night.

Stepping into his house slippers, Hemlocke settled himself at the apothecary’s desk laden with white candles that stood flickering from above high on brass prickets. With one smooth leg crossing over the other, a tired sigh escaped Hemlocke, hand lightly brushing past his features to hook a few stray strands behind one long pointed ear before he turned his attention to the desk’s surface.

The surface lay covered in a multitude of different piles of notes detailing dates of specific nights, the events that occurred, and the names of those who had been involved. If Hemlocke was able to learn their names at all – Ange’s people were quite the secretive bunch.

Leaning an elbow against the solid wood surface, Hemlocke leaned his cheek into his open palm with black sharp clawlike nails tapping gently against his smooth skin when he peered down to his latest set of notes. Nearby the desk propped up on the wall, there stood a world map pinned to a board with specific locations marked on the world marked by a singular pin from Sharlayan to Ishgard, Gridania and even as far as Gangos.

There were small sketches he had drawn of the faces of those he had seen close to Ange – like the silver haired elezen woman as well as some outlines of horrific batlike creatures and demons. These were all linked together by strings with small additional notes gathered up to make a list of all the locations where unusual incidents occurred. It was no small task that this evidence board had been constructed and added to over time.

Hemlocke’s free hand reached for his sharp quill to dip liberty into the open jar of ink and gently tap away any excess before he started to write again:

'Although my initial thought lie in ‘M’ was targeting the Black Shroud specifically around the ruins of Amdapor, I suspect now that they may be setting their sights on Ul’dah – The Coliseum. I have heard rumors of gladiators going missing and invitations being passed to high performers to attend private parties. I have confirmed the bodies of two missing and one still alive in observation. Vyse thinks it is likely that corruption has spread in the survivor. These bodies were found shortly after the opening of the new and popular venue, Hellfyr’ We begin our initial investigation into the venue tonight to see if our suspicions of their involvement are correct.'

After signing off the date, Hemlocke set the metal quill down near the bottle of ink as he lifted that hand to brush against the back of his neck to pause and stare up to the many connections made, “To think I only believed him to be some vampire casanova. But with every new connection uncovered reveals another mystery and clues to follow…” He whispered a loud to himself like it might ease a growing anxiety. As clear as it was that something darker lay hidden under all this, he could not be sure how deep these mysteries went nor how long they had been kept hidden from sight.

Sitting up a little, Hemlocke peered over to the time on past the broken glass face on his pocket watch – It would not be too much longer before Amaranth arrived. He stood from his spot, undoing the tie at his waist with one swift pull to let the silky black robe pool along the ground. It was time to get dressed.

A brief time later the pale haired veena viera entered the chambers after Hemlocke called him to come downstairs. He took a few short steps within just in time to see Hemlocke carefully pulling up the zipper of a fitted black corset that cinched about his abdomen in a too tight black matte material that fit him like a second skin.

The gleam of silver studs stood out on his chest from his pink buds of rounded pecs on display that he likely chose to only do for tonight’s outing. To complete the look, he wore low fitted hip hugging trousers of the same material, a fitted black bolero, and tall black boots.

Hemlocke hardly looked like himself at all – His natural hair lay hidden underneath a dark purple nearly black wig with a naturally tousled look to the longer bangs that helped to cover his eyes alongside the dark shadow and purple rounded shades.

Lastly, he wasted no time in seeking to hide the silver dagger he always kept on his person along the inner edge of one boot. There were a few small thin ordinary daggers he strapped underneath his bolero and along his wrists underneath his longer sleeves just in case.

Wearing a typical black leather jacket and trousers, Amaranth sought not to look too closely at his comrade and huffed out as if to cover any oncoming embarrassment in such, “It is all necessary? Could at least have a ruffle or somethin’ over..you know.”

He motioned over his front to convey his message with a low chuckle from Hemlocke to follow, “Absolutely necessary. Anything that aids to distract is an advantage to us and worth using to exploit any weak points. Unless you want to play the distraction...? And did you bring the vials?” As playful as his tone was, it was still more prompt and business like than usual.

“I guess I have seen others wear far less in those places… But, no no, I’ll pass! As a priest, it’s already enough to have to step inside..” Amaranth shook his head vehemently to the idea, tossing Hemlocke a few vials all the while. It appeared to only be water at first glance.

He pocketed a few and smiled at the viera in appreciation, “I doubt we shall need these, but it never hurts. Tonight, a quick assessment of all who run the venue before we reconvene another night to discuss our findings. How does that sound?” With a quick pass of his gloved hands over to check all weapons were in place, Hemlocke strode towards the door, “Are you ready then?”

Amaranth nodded even if his stern features were a touch glum at the situation, “Mn, that seems the best. We have no more leads to go off otherwise. Ange and his people are skilled at covering their tracks..Let’s head out while the night’s still young.”

[michelalovesbieber]

Proper Car Maintenance for Keeping Your Wheels Safe and Smooth

A New Jersey shipping company is stepping up to help beginner drivers with proper car maintenance tips. This guide covers the basics, from checking oil levels and proper brake and transmission maintenance, to inspecting tire pressure. It breaks down tasks into simple steps, making it easy for new drivers to follow. Knowing how to care for a car can save money and extend its life.

Lucky Star Auto Transport encourage beginner drivers to practice safe driving, and make sure they feel confident behind the wheel. By sharing helpful tips, they’re creating safer roads for everyone.

Transmission Types and Proper Maintenance Care

A transmission system connects engine power to vehicle movement. This complex mechanism controls the engine's rotational force and sends it to the wheels through precisely engineered components.

Types of Transmissions:

Manual transmissions require driver gear changes

Automatic transmissions change gears independently

Continuously Variable Transmission (CVT) offers infinite gear ratios

Dual-clutch transmissions combine automatic and manual features

Transmissions convert engine power into controlled energy that moves vehicles forward or backward.

Manual transmissions work with different gear sets that lock and unlock.

Automatic transmissions use the same set of gears to produce all gear ratios.

The cars gear-set is the life-line of automatic transmissions. It has three main components: the sun gear, planet gears with their carrier, and the ring gear. This system creates multiple gear ratios without engaging or disengaging additional gears.

Drivers should follow these maintenance steps to ensure optimal performance:

Check transmission fluid levels monthly

Look for potential leaks regularly

Service according to manufacturer schedules

Fix unusual noises quickly

Automatic transmissions rely heavily on their hydraulic system. The pump pulls fluid from the transmission sump and delivers it to the hydraulic system. Modern transmissions now use electronic controls. These controls use solenoids to manage hydraulic circuits while they track vehicle speed and throttle position.

Proper Brake Care: How Often to Replace Car Brakes

Regular brake inspections help prevent repairs that can get pricey and keep your vehicle safe. Mechanics suggest checking brake parts during regular maintenance. Brake pads typically last 30,000-35,000 miles with city driving and can extend up to 80,000 miles on highways.

Brake Inspection Process:

Let brakes cool down completely (minimum one hour)

Check brake fluid's color and level

Look through wheel spokes to check pad thickness

Remove wheels if needed for detailed inspection

Note any unusual sounds or vibrations

Your brakes might need service if you notice these signs:

Squealing or screeching at the time of braking

Grinding or growling sounds

Vibration in brake pedal or steering wheel

Longer stopping distances

Dashboard warning lights

Fresh brake pads measure between 10-12 millimeters (3/8 to 1/2 inch) thick. You should replace them when thickness drops to 3 millimeters, though some experts suggest replacement at 6 millimeters (1/4 inch).

You can check brake pad condition through wheel spokes. Many brake pads have a wear indicator slot - replacement becomes crucial when this slot barely shows or disappears. Several vehicles use dashboard warning lights or make squealing sounds to signal minimum pad thickness.

San Jose's city drivers might need brake pad replacement between 30,000-35,000 miles. Highway drivers can see their pads last up to 80,000 miles. Regular brake dust buildup shows normal wear, but less brake dust often means it's time to replace the pads.

Understanding basic tasks like checking oil levels, maintaining tire pressure, and keeping the car clean can improve cars safety and efficiency. This informative guide shared by the car transporters will provide you the right knowledge that can help you get started on the right track.

Take charge of your car’s care, and remember, regular maintenance saves you time and money in the long run. Keep your car in good condition for a smooth driving experience.

[germanpostwarmodern]

The four decades between the 1880s and the start of World War I brought about significant change for the German town of Emden in Lower Saxony: a canal connection to the Ruhr area led to a significant increase of traffic and goods turnover as Emden at the same time served as a hub for the sea transport of goods coming from the Ruhr area. This boom required a comprehensive extension of the port area and consecutively new dwellings and infrastructure.

This trend continued after the end of the First World War in 1918 and architecture-wise peaked under the aegis of the head of the municipal planning and building office Reinhold Haasis’: he served from 1925 to 1933 when he was removed by the National Socialist. During his tenure the city of Emden, which had more than doubled its population between 1885 and 1933, saw the construction of a number of remarkable buildings characterized by an amalgam of local brick architecture and Expressionism.

One of the buildings conceived during this period was the former agricultural school/savings bank, a design by Walter Heim that was built in 1927/28. It is a striking example of the local expressionist idiom, significantly more restrained than those in Hamburg or Hannover, that especially on the inside surprises with expressive details and an unusually bold color scheme. This color scheme was restored during the buildings’ renovation and extension carried out by Helmut Riemann in 1999, a revitalization that was followed up by the present book: „Expressionistische Architektur in Emden - Ein Haus von 1928 und seine Neugestaltung“, edited by Ulrich Höhns and published by Dölling und Galitz in 2002. In addition to providing a lavishly illustrated overview of the reconstruction and extension of the building the book features a thorough description of the original building on basis of historic photographs and plans but also sheds some light on the architect Walter Heim as well as the expressionist architecture in Emden. On a final note the volume also includes a history of Emden’s ascent to a significant harbor city and a detailed overview of how the city area changed with regards to infrastructure, housing and industry.

In view of these insightful essays the book is more than just the monograph of a building but also an introduction to the history of city and its expressionist architectural heritage. Well done!

[msbyomimi]

masterlist - prev chapter - next chapter

Chapter 2

pairing: kageyama x hinata

Cw: Angst, depictions of unhealthy coping habits

wc: 1,511 

notes: Another chapter for everyone <3 things be heating up

After that awkward night, Kageyama couldn’t seem to focus properly. Ushijima hung up shortly after Kageyama’s outburst. A tense blanket of uncertainty draped over his shoulders as he went to bed that night. The thoughts swimming around in his head circulated around one common theme, Hinata. From the minute he opened his eyes, alarm blaring off as specks of sunlight sprinkled through the blinds at 5 AM. To the grueling volleyball practice and training throughout his day, which left him stumbling through the door to his apartment near delirious from exhaustion. 

Kageyama couldn’t shake the undeniable urge to pick up his phone buried in his pocket and open Instagram again. Just to catch another glimpse of the familiar orange hair, amber eyes, and mesmerizing aura that Hinata held. Kageyama has looked at that damn picture one too many times, every slope, crevice, and detail burned into his memory. Leaving him with the vague sense that he knows what Hinata’s experienced this past year. Simply allowing himself to peek into the life Shoyo lived without him. Only to feel the pit in his stomach grow deeper seeing Shoyo content, dare he say it even, happier without him.  

This vicious cycle spiraled onwards for another week, slowly draining Kageyama more and more until he finally reached the tipping point. Practices were getting tougher, his body seeming to suddenly feel as if everything were heavier. The weight of restless nights stacking up against him, threatening to tip the scale and have everything he’s worked so hard for come crumbling down. 

“You want me to take a day off?” The words left his tongue foreign and viscerally. Kageyama didn’t take days off, he’d never needed to. His drive and focus had kept him burning onwards every single day with the single motivation of getting to continue to play volleyball. 

Coach Banjou Suzaku merely crossed his arms, a deep sigh leaving him. Kageyama had arrived at practice that morning, same as any other day for the stoic setter. Except this time before he got to change into his practice clothes, coach Suzaku was waiting outside the locker room doors, arms crossed and a tense look washing over the man’s features. “Ah there you are Kageyama. Come follow me.” 

Suzaku curtly directed, turning and swiftly leading the young player. Confused, Kageyama was left with the only option but to follow behind his coach, pondering what on earth this could be about. Worry slowly ate away at Kageyama’s resolve until the two of them stopped outside a door with the name plate reading ‘Office’ in big bold letters. Suzaku ushered Kageyama inside, closing the door behind the two of them and sitting down in his chair with a hefty sigh. 

“You look like you’re really thinking something through there.” Suzaku jested, easing the tension as best he could as Kageyama finally took a seat in front of his mahogany desk. “Sir what is this about?” Kageyama could barely recognize his own voice that left him. It sounded so weak, drained, exhausted.

Suzaku was quick to try and smooth over Kageyama’s unusual behavior. “Don’t go worrying your head off. I simply wanted this to be a private matter between you and me.” Leaning back in his chair, Suzaku wistfully looked over the trophies that garnished his office space. There were plenty of 1st place trophies from various tournaments of differing sizes and caliber. Framed photos were strung up on the walls of the room, showing the Schweiden Adlers at different points in time, some of the players Kageyama didn’t even recognize. There was one photo right near where Kageyama sat, it was the newest addition to Suzaku’s office. Within this photo were Hoshiumi, Ushijima, Romero, Sokolov, Heiwajima, Hirugami, and Kageyama. 

A strange sensation washed over Kageyama as he peered at the framed placard photograph on the wall. The snapshot of Kageyama from a year ago stared back at him, leaving the setter’s hands sweaty. He quickly brushed his palms across the black sweatpants he was wearing, desperate to soothe his thoughts somehow. There was something off about that picture, he could hardly recognize himself when he looked at it. It was as if he were looking at some random stranger, not himself. 

“I always loved that team photo we took.” A hearty chuckle left Suzaku as he reminisced. The picture was taken the first day all the players met, a cast of characters certainly within the team. The photo showed all 7 players along with Suzaku himself, the only one wearing the proudest grin. Ushijima and Kageyama both had their signature smiles stretching across their face, however menacing they appear. Hoshiumi stood giving a proud smirk along with the rest of the team. 

“Ya know I need my players all to be in their best shape.” Suzaku spoke up once again, snapping Kageyama out of his thoughts. “You’re an amazing setter. There’s no doubt about that.” Suzaku turned his chair to face Kageyama, arms leaning on the table and hands folded under his chin as he spoke. He held an aura of seriousness that was not lost on Kageyama, he was speaking from his experience as a coach and what would be best for the team. 

“Which is exactly why I brought you here. I’m asking you as a coach to take a couple days off.” He locked eyes with Kageyama, gauging his reaction to the words he knew would be hard for the setter to hear. Kageyama’s whole body tensed, clearly not prepared to hear that request. 

“You want me to take a day off?”

“No. I want you to take a couple days off.” Suzaku was quick to throw his witty reply. He felt bad for Kageyama, the lesson he was trying to teach wasn’t an easy one. He was once in the same position, being young and steadfast in whatever goals were in his sights. Not stopping for anything. Even when the weight of the world would feel unbearable.

“Listen Kageyama, you’re clearly going through something. You haven’t been to any of the team retreats this month, you leave first after every practice, and your focus is so dialed in to just volleyball.” A silence filled the room as the words were left hanging in the air. Suzaku gave Kageyama a sympathetic look, the latter only stared down at his lap, body tense and black hair covering his face. 

“Some coaches would love to have a player like that. No funny business, simply playing volleyball in pique form all the time. However…” There was a hefty pause, Sukzau looking Kageyama directly in the eyes, voice firm as he spoke.  

“You can’t use volleyball to escape your problems.”

The words hit Kageyama like a punch to the gut, hands grabbing onto the fabric of his sweatpants, gripping it deep in thought. Was he doing that? Who cares if he was playing volleyball to let off some steam? It’s not like he’s running away, no he’s simply doing what he loves. He was still performing well - 

“You’re going to push yourself too far and never find proper ways to work through those difficult emotions. That is why, as your coach, I’m instructing you to feel better. Take a couple days off until you feel like you’ll have fun playing volleyball again. ” 

Kageyama’s thoughts were spiraling, an ache starting to form along his temple. What would he do without volleyball? He could just go practice on his own time? Kageyama simply couldn't fathom not being able to go through with his carefully crafted schedule he’d formed over the past year.

Why? 

Why?

Why?

“Yes sir.” The words left Kageyama’s lips hallowly, his eyes were hazy with uncertainty. Suzaku stood, giving Kageyama a fatherly pat on the back, smiling softly. He knew better than anyone that Kageyama would have a hard time wrapping his head around this complex issue. But Suzaku cared too much about Kageyama’s overall well being, the last thing he wanted was for Kageyama to start burying those painful feelings. This would be better in the long run.

Which is exactly how Kageyama found himself in his current predicament. Laying down sprawled across his bed, a day having passed since the encounter in the coach’s office. Kageyama spent his first day off waking up early at 5AM, eating his favorite oatmeal, and going for a morning run. Exactly what he’d do any other day. The only difference being that after he was done running, standing sweaty in the middle of his living room, his phone buzzed. 

Annoyed at who could be bothering him this early in the morning, he fished his phone out of his gym shorts. Reading the new notification the ravenette’s eyebrows shot up, jaw clenching instinctually as he cast a sour expression down to the phone in his hands. No way. There could be no possible way this was real. His grip tightened on his phone as his heart pounded. 

One message from Hinata Shoyo: “I’m going to try out for MSBY division 1. I’ll be in Japan if you want to meet up”

[brookemedbil]

Learning Medical Code Billing: Essential Strategies for Accurate Claims and Maximized Revenue

Mastering Medical Code Billing: Essential Strategies for accurate Claims adn Maximized ‌Revenue

In ⁣the complex world of healthcare administration, mastering medical code billing⁤ is crucial for ensuring accurate ⁢claims and maximized revenue. ‍As⁢ medical billing ⁣continues to ‌evolve, staying updated with the ⁢latest coding practices and strategies becomes essential for healthcare providers and ⁣billing professionals‍ alike.This article explores essential strategies to⁤ enhance the accuracy of ⁢your claims, improve⁢ revenue cycles, and streamline your billing processes.

Understanding Medical Code Billing

Medical code billing involves ⁢translating healthcare services and procedures⁣ into ⁣standardized‌ codes. These codes ​are essential ⁢for⁣ claims processing, reimbursement, and ⁢financial​ reporting. Accurate coding and billing can significantly affect ⁣a healthcare providerS revenue cycle ⁣and‍ overall⁢ financial health.

Benefits of Accurate Medical Code Billing

Improved Revenue Cycle: Accurate coding ensures timely ‌and appropriate⁢ reimbursement, minimizing denied⁤ claims.

Enhanced⁢ Compliance: ⁤Following‍ proper coding guidelines⁤ reduces the risk of audits⁢ and legal issues.

Better Patient​ Experience: Clear billing practices lead to ⁤improved patient satisfaction⁣ due to transparent billing.

Data Analytics: ⁤ Accurate codes help ‌in analyzing patient outcomes and treatment efficacy.

Essential Strategies for Accurate Claims

1. Invest in Staff Training and Advancement

Regular training for your billing staff is paramount. Educate​ them about the latest coding rules and regulations, which can change frequently.⁤ Some key training areas include:

Understanding ICD-10 and CPT codes

Familiarity with ⁢the latest HIPAA regulations

Updates regarding government⁤ and payer⁣ guidelines

2. Implement Advanced Medical Billing Software

Utilizing advanced medical billing software can automate many aspects of the billing process. ‍Look ⁤for features that include:

Automated coding‍ assistance

Claim scrubbing tools to reduce errors

Reporting capabilities for tracking trends

3. Streamline Documentation Practices

Precise documentation is critical. Make sure your healthcare providers are ​well trained in documenting each encounter,ensuring ‍it⁤ matches the coding. Focus on:

Detailed​ patient⁢ notes

Thorough documentation of⁢ all procedures and diagnoses

Use of templates​ to standardize ⁢documentation

4. Conduct Regular Audits

Regular audits can identify patterns ⁢of errors or trends in denials. Consider performing:

Monthly internal ⁢audits focus on randomly selected claims.

Quarterly external audits by a healthcare compliance expert.

5. Build Strong relationships with Insurance Payers

Strong ‍communication ​with insurance providers can⁤ help in understanding their requirements and getting insights into common claim denials. Strategies include:

Establishing a direct line for query resolution.

Participating in payer webinars ⁣and training sessions.

Regularly​ reviewing payer contracts to understand coverage ⁣policies.

Case Study: A⁢ Real-World Example

A family practice clinic implemented​ rigorous training programs for their‌ staff on ICD-10 coding updates and integrated advanced billing software. following these ‍steps led to a 30% reduction in claim denials within six months. Moreover, ‍the practice saw a meaningful increase ⁢in ​first-pass claim acceptance rates, ⁢which drastically improved their⁤ cash flow.

Practical ⁣Tips for Maximizing Revenue

Tip

Description

Use ‌Modifier Codes

Apply modifier⁣ codes accurately to ⁤clarify unusual circumstances that may warrant additional ‍reimbursement.

Follow Up on Denials

Have ‍a dedicated team to follow up on denied claims⁣ promptly to avoid revenue loss.

Regularly Review Fee ​Schedules

Make sure your fee schedules align with current codes to maximize your⁢ billing rates.

First-Hand Experience: A Billing Specialist’s Viewpoint

As a medical billing specialist with ⁤over 5 years of experience, I’ve witnessed how proper coding can make or break a practice’s financial success. I recall ​a ⁢particular‌ scenario where a lack of knowledge on the‍ latest coding guidelines led⁤ to significant revenue loss​ for a healthcare provider. Post-training, the practice not only ⁢recovered lost revenue but also gained momentum ​with an improved claim acceptance ⁢rate. Regular training and updating of protocols‍ have been game-changers.

Conclusion

Mastering medical code billing is an ongoing journey that requires diligence, education, and the right tools. By adopting strategies ⁤for accurate ⁤claims⁢ processing ‌and staying proactive in staff ‍training ‌and technology use, healthcare practices can significantly‍ enhance their revenue potential. Embrace these methods, and watch as your billing accuracy and revenue begin⁢ to flourish. Always remember: ​accurate medical code billing is not ‍just about financial gain; it’s about ⁣ensuring that healthcare providers can continue to ‍offer the best services to patients without disruption.

https://medicalbillingcodingcourses.net/learning-medical-code-billing-essential-strategies-for-accurate-claims-and-maximized-revenue/

[manic-maniac-man]

HUgE Feb 2011

ONEstep BEYOND

The arrival of 2011 is bringing signs of change in shoe trends. From American to European, from ruggedness to sharp elegance, we have carefully selected six categories that reflect the new trends.

theme_ WHITE

This season's key color, white, on your feet

Ann Demeulemeester

01 From a collection composed of black and white. This pair is finished in pure white, and the balance between the thick sole and the rounded toe that is characteristic of Anne is exquisite. The clean pure white skillfully creates a modern elegance. ¥113,400 (Pred PR)

Foot The Coacher

02 A minimalist design Blucher with a flat leather sole. Although the shoe looks flat, the heel of the insole is thickened to create a mechanism, making it easy to walk in and comfortable to wear. ¥77,700 (GALLERY OF AUTHENTIC)

Givenchy by Riccardo Tisci

03 The bold bone motif patchwork is a distinctive design for this season. The long nose and pointed toe are given an impressive shape with unusual decoration, leaving a strong impression of a unique worldview. ¥130,200 (Third Culture)

Lad Musician

04 The theme is Oscar Wilde's novel "The Picture of Dorian Gray." This pair of shoes incorporates the elegance of the British aristocracy at the end of the 19th century, the setting of the novel. The sneaker style is lightweight and easy to wear. ¥25,200 (LAD MUSICIAN SHINJUKU)

Maison Martin Margiela

05 A shoe made from a single piece of leather covering the upper and outsole, with needle studs. The simple, stripped-down look highlights the skilled craftsmanship of the artisans. ¥103,950 (Maison Martin Margiela, Tokyo)

theme BALMORAL

Accentuate elegance

Plain toe with inner wing

Comme des Garçons Homme Plus

01 Titled "SKULL OF LIFE", this collection strongly emphasizes skulls. The toes of the plain toes are carved out in a skull pattern to express the worldview of the theme. The choice of socks is also important, so attention was paid to every detail. ¥39,900 (Comme des Garcons)

theme_DECK

A twisted design adds a fresh touch

Engineered Garments

01 The sole is made of leather instead of rubber, giving it a dressy look. In addition to the brown calfskin, there is also white suede and camel embossed leather, and the color of each material is different. ¥37,800 (Engineered Garments)

Nonnative

02 A new version of the popular deck boots. This season, we made some minor changes, combining them with desert boots as a new attempt, and changed the sole to a crepe sole. The overall thickness of the shoe has increased, creating a well-balanced finish. ¥35,490 (vendor)

Miharayasuhiro

03 A half-and-half design that mixes wingtip dress shoes and deck shoes. The soles are made with authentic Sperry soles, making them fun yet functional. ¥47,250 (Miharayasuhiro Tokyo)

Junya Watanabe

04 Junya has a strong marine feel overall this season. Deck shoes are an essential part of any serious outfit. Note the meticulous craftsmanship, such as using a single piece of oiled leather on the inside intentionally. ¥61,950 (Comme des Garcons)

theme_MILITARY

A rugged design with a modern touch

Kris Van Assche

01 The silver surface of the calf leather is brushed with friction to create a worn look. The single piece construction and long shoelaces that can be wrapped around multiple times are also notable features. The greatest appeal is the flexibility that allows you to wear them with any silhouette, from tight to wide. ¥81,900 (Pred PR)

Gucci

02 Military-inspired boots are elegantly modernized with a closure strap. Take advantage of the soft calf leather and pair with slim pants to add nuance to the opening. ¥99,750 (Gucci Japan Customer Service)

Dries Van Noten

03 Indigo denim is coated with black and dyed to an elegant color. It has a light feel despite its heavy appearance, and is easy to match with short pants ¥88,200 (Dries Van Noten Aoyama store)

Undercoverism

04 Military boots with a large zipper on the front. Studs are sewn into the back, adding a punkish touch to the rugged design. Also available in dark brown. ¥78,750 (UNDERCOVERISM)

[landscapedesignfirm]

Using Winter’s Quiet Months to Rethink Your Outdoor Spaces

As the chill of winter settles in, outdoor gatherings might take a backseat to cozy indoor activities. However, this quieter season offers a golden opportunity for homeowners to step back and reevaluate their landscapes. With the hustle and bustle of warmer months on hold, winter is the perfect time to reimagine your outdoor spaces and plan upgrades to transform your yard into a vibrant haven for entertaining family and friends come spring.

Why Winter Is Ideal for Landscape Planning

Winter’s slower pace provides the mental clarity to reflect on your outdoor space without the distractions of ongoing yard work or summer festivities. As you gaze out at your dormant garden or snow-covered yard, it’s easier to spot areas that need improvement or have untapped potential. By planning during the off-season, you’ll be ready to hit the ground running in spring, ensuring ample time to enjoy your upgraded landscape throughout the warmer months.

How to Evaluate Your Current Landscape

Start by asking yourself a few questions:

What worked well last year? Did your patio comfortably host gatherings, or did it feel cramped?

What challenges did you face? Were there areas with poor drainage, or did your yard lack privacy?

What’s missing? Would a fire pit, outdoor kitchen, or additional seating enhance your outdoor entertaining experience?

Note any functional issues, aesthetic preferences, and features you want to add. This evaluation will serve as the baseline or foundation for your new landscape design.

Planning for Upgrades

Once you’ve identified areas for improvement, winter is the perfect time to collaborate with a landscape design company to turn your ideas into a workable plan. Whether you’re dreaming of a lush garden, a spacious patio, or a cozy fire pit area, professional designers can help bring your vision to life. They’ll also assist with practical details like zoning regulations, drainage solutions, and plant selections suited to your climate.

Setting the Stage for a Vibrant Spring

Thoughtful planning in winter ensures that your outdoor space is beautiful and functional. Consider incorporating features that enhance year-round enjoyment:

Evergreens and Winter Interest Plants: These provide color and structure even in the cold months, adding depth to your landscape.

Hardscaping: Patios, pathways, and retaining walls can be designed and scheduled for early spring installation, avoiding summer delays.

Lighting: Strategically placed lights create ambiance and improve safety for evening gatherings.

By spring, you’ll have a detailed plan ready to execute, allowing you to focus on planting and enjoying your upgraded space without last-minute scrambling.

Start Now for Stunning Results

Winter might seem unusual to think about landscaping, but it’s the season when great ideas are born. Using this time to evaluate your existing outdoor space and work with experts, you’re setting yourself up for a spring garden ready to impress.

Don’t wait for the snow to melt to start dreaming—take advantage of winter’s quiet months to rethink your outdoor spaces and create a landscape that becomes the heart of your home’s social life.

Case Study: Transforming a Backyard into a Spring-Ready Entertaining Space with Winter Planning

Lisa and Mark, a Colorado family, transformed their underwhelming backyard into a vibrant, functional space for entertaining by starting the planning process in winter. With the help of a landscape design company, they assessed their space, addressed drainage issues, and designed zones for cooking, dining, and relaxing. Following the February landscaping tips, the plan included a stone patio, fire pit, pergola, and garden beds filled with spring blooms designed for year-round appeal.

By planning during the quiet winter months, Lisa and Mark secured contractors and finalized designs, ensuring their backyard was ready by spring. The result was a stunning space that hosted their first spring gathering, impressing guests with its beauty and functionality. Lisa reflected, “Winter gave us the time to think about what we wanted,” emphasizing the value of early planning for stress-free and impactful results.

[alexesguerra]

Mega-Sized Tarot: Hocus Pocus Tarot Deck and Guidebook Mega-Sized Tarot: Hocus Pocus Tarot Deck and Guidebook Contributor(s): Schafer, Tori (Author) , Siegel, Minerva (Author) , Dread (Artist) --Brand New-- Pub Date: October 31, 2023 Physical Info: 2.2" H x 9.2" L x 6.1" W (2.46 lbs) 78 pages Bring a touch of witchcraft into your tarot practice with this new, larger-than-life edition of the illustrated Tarot Deck and Guidebook inspired by Hocus Pocus! Hocus Pocus has put a spell on fans with its humor and heart since its release in 1993. Now, tarot enthusiasts and Hocus Pocus fans alike can celebrate their love for the film in a big way with this official tarot deck. LARGER FORMAT: Truly celebrate your fandom with larger, sturdier cards that fully capture the splendor and enchantment of the Hocus Pocus films, a beautiful card stand, and a deluxe velvet pouch for taking your tarot practice on the go! A MUST-HAVE FOR FANS: Featuring original illustrations of the Sanderson sisters and the wider world of Hocus Pocus, this deck matches characters from the film with tarot archetypes, making it a fresh interpretation of a traditional tarot deck. COMPLETE TAROT EXPERIENCE: This deluxe set of 78 cards consists of both major and minor arcana, perfect for anyone beginning their tarot practice, as well as for experienced practitioners. BEAUTIFULLY ILLUSTRATED: Each card features a full-color illustration of a character from Hocus Pocus, including the Sanderson Sisters, the Dennisons, Ernie, Billy Butcherson and more. DETAILED GUIDEBOOK: Includes a 128-page guidebook with explanations of each card's meaning and simple spreads for easy readings. GREAT GIFT: Packaged in a sturdy and decorative gift box, Hocus Pocus: The Official Tarot Deck and Guidebook will enchant fans of the film and tarot practitioners alike. COMPLETE YOUR COLLECTION: Hocus Pocus: 13 Frights of Halloween also available! Biographical Note: Tori Schafer is a writer and narrative designer for video games, and has worked on titles such as Elder Scrolls Online and Spellbreak. Her love of games is only matched by her love of tarot, which she has been practicing since she was a child. When she's not playing games or practicing tarot, she's spending time with her husband and beloved, bratty cat in their apartment. Minerva Siegel is a writer, author, sensitivity reader, tarot consultant, and longtime practitioner of witchcraft who haunts a Victorian home in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, with her gruff Taurean double-Virgo husband and their motley pack of rescue dogs. In addition to this book, she's the author of Tarot for Self-Care: How to Use Tarot to Manifest Your Best Self and Spell Jars for the Modern Witch: A Practical Guide to Crafting Spell Jars for Abundance, Luck, Protection, and More, as well as a dozen licensed tarot decks. Minerva is a disabled wheelchair user. Though the physical body has limitations, there's freedom and power in fully tapping into our own magickal potential. Her many guidebooks help readers do just that. You can find her on Instagram @Author.Minerva.Siegel. DreaD. is an illustrator of the strange, unusual, and geeky. She spends all her time in her lair making fan art, casually threatening greeting cards, and fantasy pins with her goblins in the Pacific Northwest. She loves telling stories with her illustrations and hiding secrets in her pieces, and has tons of wacky things happening on her Etsy and Patreon(s). You can find out what she's up to at: linktr.ee/drea.d.art.

[used-cars-near-me]

What to Know Before Buying Used Cars: A Complete Guide

Purchasing a used car can be a savvy financial choice, allowing you to enjoy significant savings compared to buying a new vehicle. However, it’s important to approach the process with careful planning and research to ensure you're making a smart investment. Whether you’re in the market for an affordable commuter car or a pre-owned luxury model, understanding what to look for in a used vehicle is essential for making a well-informed decision.

1. Set a Realistic Budget

One of the first things to consider when buying a used cars is your budget. Having a clear price range in mind helps narrow down your options and ensures you focus on cars that offer the best value within your financial limits. It’s important to account for more than just the price of the car itself. Additional costs such as taxes, registration fees, insurance premiums, and potential repair expenses should also be factored into your overall budget. By establishing a realistic budget, you’ll avoid overextending your finances and ensure you’re financially comfortable with your purchase.

2. Research the Vehicle’s History

A used car’s history is a vital piece of information that can shed light on its condition and reliability. Most dealerships and private sellers will offer a vehicle history report, detailing aspects like previous ownership, accident history, maintenance records, and any title issues. Services like Carfax or AutoCheck can verify these details, offering peace of mind that the vehicle has not been involved in significant incidents or undergone major repairs that could affect its future performance. Ensuring the car has a clean history can help you avoid costly surprises down the road.

3. Conduct a Thorough Inspection

Once you’ve identified a car that fits your criteria, it’s crucial to carry out a thorough inspection. Carefully examine both the interior and exterior condition of the vehicle, paying attention to any signs of wear or potential damage. Minor scratches and dents are usually not a major concern, but rust, misaligned body panels, or worn-out tires could indicate more serious underlying issues. Inside the vehicle, inspect the upholstery, dashboard, and all electronic features to ensure they are functioning properly. If possible, bring along a trusted mechanic or take the car to an inspection service to check for hidden mechanical problems that might not be immediately obvious.

4. Take a Test Drive

A test drive is one of the most important steps in the process of buying a used car. Even if the car appears to be in perfect condition, a test drive can help you assess its performance. Pay attention to how the vehicle handles, listening for any unusual noises and noting the feel of the brakes, steering, and suspension. A smooth, comfortable drive is a good indicator that the car is in solid working condition. On the other hand, any strange sounds or discomfort while driving could signal potential issues that require further inspection or may be used as a point for price negotiation.

5. Understand Your Purchasing Options

When buying a used car, you have several options, each with its own pros and cons. You can purchase from a dealership, opt for a certified pre-owned (CPO) vehicle, or buy from a private seller. Dealerships often offer warranties and financing options, which can provide added peace of mind. Private sellers may offer lower prices but come with fewer guarantees or protections. Certified pre-owned vehicles are typically inspected and refurbished to meet manufacturer standards, and they come with extended warranties, offering a balanced option between the dealership and private seller choices.

6. Be Prepared to Negotiate

Negotiating the price of a used car is a common part of the buying process, and being prepared can help you secure a better deal. Before entering into any price discussions, research the vehicle’s market value through resources like Kelley Blue Book or Edmunds. This will give you a solid foundation for negotiating a fair price based on the car’s make, model, condition, and mileage. Keep in mind that the car’s condition, along with any additional maintenance or repair costs, should influence your negotiation. If the car has been well-maintained and is in good shape, it may justify a higher price, but be sure to bring up any issues that might lower its value.

7. Finalize the Paperwork

Once you’re satisfied with both the car and the price, it’s time to complete the necessary paperwork. Ensure that all documents are filled out accurately and that the title transfer is done legally to protect yourself. Make sure you receive a bill of sale, an odometer disclosure statement, and any warranty paperwork, if applicable. Be cautious with payment methods, especially if purchasing from a private seller, and confirm that everything is in order before making the final transaction.

Conclusion

Buying a used car can be a rewarding experience if you approach it with care and thoroughness. By setting a realistic budget, researching the vehicle’s history, conducting a detailed inspection, taking a test drive, and negotiating wisely, you can find a reliable used car that fits your needs and lifestyle without breaking the bank. With the right preparation and attention to detail, your next pre-owned car purchase can be a smart and successful investment.

[cashcountingmachinebybankomat]

How do cash counting machines help in preventing fraud

Cash counting machines, also known as note counting machines or currency counting machines, are essential tools in the fight against fraud, particularly in environments that handle large volumes of cash. Their advanced technology and features are designed to enhance security and ensure the integrity of cash transactions. Here’s how these machines contribute to fraud prevention.

Advanced Counterfeit Detection

One of the primary functions of a cash counting machine is to detect counterfeit currency. These machines utilize multiple verification technologies to ensure that only authentic bills are processed. Key detection methods include:

Ultraviolet (UV) Light Verification: This technology identifies hidden security features in genuine banknotes that are not visible to the naked eye.

Magnetic Ink Detection: Many currencies use magnetic ink for certain elements, which can be analyzed by the machine to confirm authenticity.

Infrared (IR) Detection: This method scans for specific patterns and features that are characteristic of real banknotes, further reducing the risk of accepting counterfeit money.

By employing these sophisticated detection methods, a note counting machine significantly minimizes the chances of fraud occurring at the point of cash handling.

Reduction of Human Error

Manual cash counting is not only time-consuming but also prone to errors. Human mistakes can lead to financial discrepancies and unintentional acceptance of counterfeit notes. A currency counting machine automates this process, providing accurate counts and immediate alerts if a counterfeit bill is detected. This automation ensures a higher level of precision in cash handling operations.

Real-Time Monitoring and Reporting

Cash counting machines provide real-time visibility into cash transactions. As bills are counted, the machine can generate immediate reports detailing the total amount counted and any counterfeit notes detected. This capability allows businesses to maintain accurate records and quickly address any discrepancies, enhancing overall cash management and security.

Enhanced Security Features

Many modern cash counting machines come equipped with additional security features designed to prevent unauthorized access and tampering. These may include:

Access Controls: Restricting who can operate the machine.

Encryption Protocols: Protecting sensitive data during transactions.

Audit Trails: Keeping logs of who used the machine and when, which can be crucial for accountability.

These features help create a secure environment for cash handling, further reducing the risk of internal fraud.

Integration with Cash Management Systems

Cash counting machines often integrate seamlessly with broader cash management systems. This integration allows for enhanced tracking of cash flow and identification of unusual patterns that may indicate fraudulent activity. By providing insights into cash handling processes, businesses can proactively address potential vulnerabilities.

Conclusion

In summary, cash counting machines are vital tools in preventing fraud within businesses that handle significant amounts of cash. Through advanced counterfeit detection technologies, reduction of human error, real-time monitoring capabilities, enhanced security features, and integration with cash management systems, these machines ensure that organizations can manage their cash securely and efficiently. Investing in a reliable note counting machine not only safeguards against financial losses but also protects a business's reputation by maintaining customer trust through secure transactions.

[gameinfoxtbr]

My Sweet Home Dungeon Developer Everything You Need to Know

The brains behind developing My Sweet Home Dungeon have created an interesting game where the player is placed into an avatar of a Demon Lord whose main job is to protect the dungeon from intruders. Today, we are going to focus on what the developer of the game intended, what changes he made, and how the game changed over time. If this is the first time you are here, then you should know that in creating an article, discovering and discussing the effect of My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes is part of the package since these codes unlock many unique in-game bonuses! Let’s move the curtain up and see the developer’s way which My Sweet Home Dungeon was created and why it became a part of the mobile gaming industry.

GameInfoX

About the Developer of My Sweet Home Dungeon 🛠️🎮

The people behind My Sweet Home Dungeon are Dungeonborne, a development team specializing in mobile strategy games. They have been closely concentrating on the game genre and a strong concept of a tower defense RPG wherein the player assumes the role of a villain. He noted that their view of the game, where the basic aspects are planning and resources, has been well-liked by the audience. They have been committed to trying to achieve fun gameplay, dynamic graphics, and compound mechanics. That is why many people are excited about updates as well as the codes for My Sweet Home Dungeon. For more information about the game, readers should go to the About My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes Game page to find out what makes this game so special.

GameInfoX

The Developer’s Vision for My Sweet Home Dungeon 🏰💡

As for Dungeonborne, the vision was to change the perspective of a typical good guy vs bad guy game. It is not players attempting to save the world but rather the world’s heroes trying to conquer players’ dungeons. The developer’s objective was to create a deep strategy game where each time a player has to think about each action – from summoning the proper Minions to understanding when to use My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes for valuable bonuses in the game. Here are a few key aspects of the developer’s vision: - Strategic Depth: Any change made in the game such as upgrading the Minions or selecting the strategic positions can alter the game completely. - Resource Management: The developer wished to be involved in resource management, so it was challenging to be an effective player. Since each Minion comes at a cost of resources, choosing who to deploy and when creates an additional layer of consideration. - Unique Gameplay: The Possession System, frequently allowing the Demon Lord to possess Minions and enhance them, was created with the intent to implement a gameplay aspect unusual for most games. If you want the full detailed rundown on how to apply these techniques then our My Sweet Home Dungeon Game Guide can be found here.

Regular Updates: Keeping the Game Fresh 📅🔄

The developer has been wisely coming up with releases that add the feature to keep the game interesting and balanced. As players progress through the game, these updates will bring new Minions, extra dungeons, balance improvements, and, of course, new My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes. These codes are an important part of the game; they provide gems, and new and unique minions that would improve the defense mechanisms. Some highlights of the latest updates include: - New Dungeons: With each update, a game can also unlock hidden dungeons that present additional quests and possible rewards. These are important zones that help in collecting resources and challenging your strategic abilities. - Minion Balancing: The developer engages the community often and plays Minions and adjusts it so that it does not get out of balance. - Seasonal Events: Thematically populated special occasions follow their acts and customarily drop unique My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes that offer players strong bonuses. To get the latest code, therefore, look at the My Sweet Home Dungeon Latest Update and News section.

GameInfoX

Why Codes Are an Essential Part of the Developer's Strategy 🎁

The My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes preceding the game’s release by the developer are not mere incentives; a plus point is a strategic tool. These codes help players to earn basic prerequisites including gems, lamps, and Minions to have leverage in defending the dungeon. The developer uses codes to: - Engage the Community: Daily code releases bring players back to the game, hoping to open a new chest. - Balance Free-to-Play Elements: Although the game contains in-app purchase option My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes gives players who do not want to spend their money a chance to level up. - Reward Players: It is common to relate codes to an event, change or achievement in the game as a way of keeping the players informed and excited as the developers carry on making modifications. To see the list of all active codes, check out the My Sweet Home Dungeon Game page.

Tier Lists: A Developer’s Insight into Minion Power Levels 📊

Another valuable gift to the community which the developer provides and updates quite often is the Minion Tier List. The list tells players how effective Minions are in combat, which means that players can focus on developing certain kinds of Minions before others. The developer’s balance updates usually transpire within the Tier List, so that none of the Minions is over or underpowered. The Tier List is split into several categories: - S-Tier: The stronger Minions are usually obtained through special events or codes usually embedded in the cartons. - A-Tier: Powerful Minions that can stand up to any regular fight. - B-Tier: Reasonable Minions, which are good substitutes but can at times also get assistance from better Minions. Therefore, if you check the Tier List, you will know that you are dealing with the right Minions to support your defense. My Sweet Home Dungeon Tier List: Want full details? You better check it out now!

GameInfoX

Behind the Scenes: Developer’s Commitment to the Community 🌟

Ever since the release of My Sweet Home Dungeon, the developer has been obsessed with fostering a good relationship with the game’s fan base. This way, they are always in touch with their clients and making efforts to ensure they stay busy, through posting on social media, blogging or even releasing more codes. The developer also takes the views of the players as some of the ways of enhancing the game and making it a good experience for everyone. Their daily updates and major occasions indicate that they are not just a team designing a game, but a team cultivating a space for active fans who are important in protecting their dungeons. For more information on the developer and more information about the game, go to the My Sweet Home Dungeon Developer section.

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs) ❓

Q-1 How long does it take a developer to bring the new My Sweet Home Dungeon codes?A- A developer typically releases new codes during events, updates, and during the festive season. If you want to see if there are new codes, you can check constantly the My Sweet Home Dungeon's Latest Updates and News.Q-2 Is there any updating plan from the developers shortly?A- The developer always releases new updates and events. Please read this About My Sweet Home Dungeon Game for upcoming features and change information.Q-3 As to the question of how the developers balance Minions for fairness, the article suggests that there are four possible means:A- The development team collects information that the players provide and then adjusts the abilities and parameters of Minions to maintain a proper balance of gameplay.Q-4 What if I would like to ask for new features, or if I want to share my thoughts or opinions about the application with the developer?A- Yes! The developer is quite responsive and many updates and changes are based on the players’ feedback.Q-5 Here’s a list of detailed explanations for every straightforward step you need to take if you’re searching for My Sweet Home Dungeon codes and have no idea how to utilize them.A- Just get to the settings in the given game, look for ‘Redeem Code’, type in the code, and you get your rewards! Want more codes? Check out the following link for our complete My Sweet Home Dungeon Game Guide.

Conclusion: A Developer Committed to Excellence 🎮

The developer behind My Sweet Home Dungeon has produced an interesting and fun game that is sufficiently unique to provide a new wave to the tower defense games. It is therefore consistent with their duty of feeding their community with repetitive My Sweet Home Dungeon Codes and rich content which makes the game an interesting one to play. Newbie or have been playing all along, you can rest assured that the developer is always doing everything possible to enhance your experience. 😊🔮 Word Count: 965 Read the full article

[winterwishesweekly]

Creative Christmas Cards for Architects: Designs That Build Holiday Cheer

The holidays are a time for giving thanks, introspection, and artistic expression. It presents a chance for architects and design aficionados to combine holiday spirit with creative architecture. Christmas cards for architects may be little works of art that express both professional and personal creativity when they are made with distinctive designs, eco-friendly materials, and cutting-edge technology.

Innovative Design Concepts

Including recognizable architectural components in the design is a common practice for Christmas cards with an architectural theme. These cards honor architectural excellence in a little package, whether they include well-known buildings like Frank Lloyd Wright's Falling water, the Sydney Opera House, or the Eiffel Tower. Furthermore, including drawings or blueprints in the card's artwork might convey the beauty and mystery of the planning process, appealing to both architecture fans and professionals. These designs honor the passion and attention to detail that characterize the architectural profession in addition to celebrating the creative spirit.

Architectural Elements in Card Design

Imagine a Christmas card that depicts the majestic heights of the Eiffel Tower or the grace of Frank Lloyd Wright's Fallingwater. Adding architectural details to a card's design not only improves its aesthetic appeal but also conveys the designer's design philosophy. Architects and designers may utilize Christmas cards as a platform to exhibit their creative abilities and architectural mastery by incorporating these aspects.

Examples of Architectural Elements:

Geometric patterns inspired by iconic buildings

Pop-up cards featuring miniature structures

Embossed designs that mimic architectural blueprints

Showcasing Creativity and Design Philosophy

For architects, a Christmas card is more than just a seasonal greeting; it's a statement of style and creativity. By leveraging their design expertise, architects can craft cards that speak volumes about their professional identity. These cards can include unique design concepts, thoughtful layouts, and innovative use of space and form.

Ways to Showcase Creativity:

Incorporate personal design projects or sketches

Use layers and textures to add depth

Experiment with unusual shapes and folding techniques

The Importance of Sustainable Materials

In today's eco-conscious world, the choice of materials speaks to a brand's values and commitment to sustainability. Architects can lead by example by using eco-friendly materials for their holiday cards. This could mean utilizing recycled paper, soy-based inks, or even incorporating plantable seed paper that recipients can grow into a festive herb garden.

Sustainable Material Options:

Recycled cardstock

Bamboo or hemp paper

Plantable paper embedded with seeds

Personalization Options for Meaningful Connections

Personalization adds a special touch to any Christmas card, making it more meaningful for both the sender and recipient. Architects can tailor their cards with personalized messages, custom illustrations, or even a photo of a completed project. This personal approach not only strengthens client relationships but also adds a memorable, human element to the professional exchange.

Personalization Ideas:

Handwritten notes or signatures

Custom illustrations depicting the recipient's building or space

Incorporation of personal anecdotes or stories

The Role of Technology in Modern Card Design

Technology has revolutionized the way we design and distribute Christmas cards. From digital illustrations to animated e-cards, there are numerous ways architects can leverage technology to make their holiday greetings stand out. Digital platforms also offer cost-effective and environmentally friendly alternatives to traditional paper cards.

Technological Innovations:

Augmented reality cards that bring designs to life

Interactive digital cards with embedded videos

QR codes linking to portfolios or virtual tours

Tips for Designing Memorable Holiday Cards

Creating a memorable Christmas card requires a blend of creativity, attention to detail, and a clear message. Here are some tips to ensure your card leaves a lasting impression:

Start with a Strong Concept: Identify the architectural theme or message you want to convey.

Focus on Quality: Choose high-quality materials and printing techniques to enhance the card's tactile feel.

Balance Aesthetics and Functionality: Ensure the card is visually appealing while easy to read and handle.

Incorporate a Call to Action: Encourage recipients to visit your website, follow your work, or engage with your brand.

Send Early: Allow time for delivery, especially if mailing internationally or during peak holiday postal periods.

Conclusion

Christmas cards for architects offer a unique platform to blend festive cheer with architectural creativity. By incorporating innovative designs, sustainable materials, and personalization, architects can craft cards that are both meaningful and memorable. Whether you're sending cards to clients, colleagues, or friends, these creative expressions of holiday spirit are sure to build lasting connections.

For design enthusiasts and creative professionals eager to explore new horizons, the holiday season is the perfect time to experiment with innovative ideas and share your passion for design with the world.