#Black self-adhesive paper

[signwell]

Black Self Adhesive Paper

Black self-adhesive paper is a specialized material with a deep black color, offering striking contrast and aesthetic appeal. Ideal for premium labeling, packaging, and artistic projects, its opaque nature provides excellent coverage, while the adhesive backing ensures secure application on various surfaces.

[zooophagous]

Mr. Strauss had long, long grown accustomed to surviving off of charity. Perhaps a blow to one’s pride, but one cannot eat pride. Or live in it. Or clothe one’s self in it. Or hide from the sun or other threats to one’s life in it. Charity seldom lets you choose what you want, however, and while Strauss would never insult or complain about the shelter so graciously offered to him when it really shouldn’t be- the smell of fresh paint and adhesive and dust and other accouterments of construction overwhelmed his senses and put him quite on edge.

Sleep did not come easy in the half-renovated halfway house- despite reassurance that it was indeed safe- but sleep did eventually come. And when it left, he roused himself from the somewhat itchy blankets and the too-small bed and made his way to the dining area which was decked out in plywood floors and bare sheetrock. Much like himself, half formed and barely useful.

Artemis, who sat at the table, was more useful but had gotten about half as much sleep. Her eyes wore dark circles, and her one good eye was fixed intently at a printout of a dispatch log, scanning it for something. What exactly she didn’t know. She’d know it when she saw it. A few entries had been highlighted bright yellow. Promising leads.

“How goes your hunt, Van Helsing?” Strauss asked quietly and sat himself across from her at the little foldout table.

“Bad. These are all of the dispatch logs for animal control in between the date of the fire and today. None of these sound like a lycanthrope. Except maybe a couple of these- an unknown animal, a large dog and what sounds like a black bear here on the 5th. But there’s no followup to any of them.” She sighed and tossed the papers aside.

“I’m worried, Strauss. If he hasn’t been seen at all there’s only two real options. He’s gone completely feral, mindless, living off the wild. Or he’s…”

“Or he’s dead.” Strauss replied sullenly.

“Right.”

Strauss sighed and sat down. “If he’s died, his remains have yet to be recovered. Vicar Martin tells me there are still no sightings of him. He is presumed missing.”

“Which can only mean wherever he is, he’s in the woods somewhere. Basically impossible to track unless you’re a big game hunter. And I don’t know about you, but I ain’t one, and I’m also not about to try and hire one on the down low.”

“So we must find him ourselves.”

“How? With what?”

“I can do a search for him. I may not be a bloodhound but I can smell him, hear him from a long ways off. If I take to the air I may even be able to spot such a large animal-”

“No. You’d be way too visible. Especially because you know the Witchfinders are already out in his last known location looking for him.”

“Not just looking, laying traps, planting cameras, I even hear talk of using an infrared camera attached to a drone.” A cheerful voice interrupted the conversation. Vicar Martin invited himself in with a weary smile. “Sorry. Couldn’t help but overhear. But your friend is in very dire straits. God only knows how he’s managed to escape them for this long.”

“Assuming he’s alive. He hasn’t made contact with anyone as far as we know.” Strauss grumbled in reply.

“Well, if it’s any comfort, he’s still not their main target and the fact that they have no idea where he is bodes well for us beating them to it.”

“You say ‘us’ as if you’re on our side, Vicar.” Strauss smirked.

“I may as well be. I’d be in just as much trouble as the director here if they caught me aiding and abetting a vampire.”

“If you were smart you would have handed me over already and claimed a tidy cash prize for it.” Strauss rolled his eyes. “None of us are wilderness trackers. We have a choice to make. Continue searching for Herr Cunningham or shift gears to a task that seems more attainable.”

“What did you have in mind?” Artemis rested her head on her hand.

“We do still need to stop Sylvain.”

“In what world is THAT more attainable?”

“I didn’t say capture. That would be a fool’s errand. I said stop. That we can do with the Van Helsing’s usual methods.”

“What do you think those methods entail?”

“We go back to basics. How does one dispose of vermin? You remove its nest and cut off its food supply. It moves along on its own accord.”

“You want us to find where she lives?”

“And who she is feeding on. If she is not getting meals from charity- and I suspect that is not her “Modus Operandi,”- she is getting them the typical vampire way. Given that she has not left a trail of bodies in her wake, that means whoever she is feeding off of is still alive, and may be a witness that can tell us who she’s planning to kill next, or where to find her.”

The vicar knit his brows in concern. “If this person or persons is indeed alive… they may be in a very delicate situation. If we don’t play this very carefully we could throw the entire investigation and potentially throw this witness into harm’s way.”

“That’s assuming the witness even exists. Are we really going to spend our time chasing hypotheticals?” Artemis asked.

“Hypothetical witnesses, versus very real lycanthropes, and neither option is particularly easy or attractive.”

“I do not care which option we pursue. But we must do something.” Strauss pushed himself up from the table. “We have already decided not to flee, and fleeing would never be a permanent solution. The hounds would be forever at our backs. That only leaves staying and trying to right the situation. Sylvain is still out there and still a very present threat not only to our own lives, but the lives of any unlucky bystander. If Troy is not able to be found, she is the only thing left on our list.”

“Even if we did capture her, Mr. Strauss, I doubt the Witchfinders will decide to spare you. Even if they were ordered not to by the Vatican. They would kill for revenge, and seek forgiveness later.”

“Then I had better get to work to save my friends before they catch up to me.”

“Alright, alright. Is there anything I can do to help in the mean time?” Vicar Martin asked tiredly.

“What you are doing now is more than enough. I will not ask you to risk your head any more than you already have. If any pertinent information comes up, will you let us know?”

“Of course. And when you do decide on a plan of action, keep me in the loop will you?” The vicar excused himself and left his guests to sort out their own problems. Artemis sighed and rested her head in her hands.

“I hate being in charge, Strauss. I don’t know what to do.”

Strauss gave her a sympathetic glance. “I did not want to discuss this in front of the vicar, but there is… another problem.”

“Yes?”

“It has been some days since I last fed. Granted, it was quite a large feed.” He smiled slightly, as if in fond remembrance of the thrill of his fangs in a Witchfinder’s neck.

“That is true. Almost a week. You must be getting hungry.”

“Quite. And my pool of donors has recently shrunk. Not to mention the loss of sterile bloodletting supplies.” He heaved a dramatic sigh and folded himself into a chair with his hand resting theatrically on his head, which was tilted back in the pantomime of fainting.

“In no time I shall waste away to nothing.”

“Or go feral and kill us all while we sit on our hands and argue over what to do.”

“Frau Harker would dispose of me first. But it is true- I need to find a feed sooner or later.”

“Well…”

“Well what?”

“I could always just. You know. Make a little cut and just…”

“Do not tempt me.” Strauss groaned. “Perhaps there is another more suitable way. Surely there must be some Witchfinder imbecile who could be convinced to step out of line. Lure him to his own grave.”

“Now it really does sound like I’m colluding with a vampire to feed him victims.” Artemis wrinkled her nose.

“Better them than you? But, stay a minute. This gives me an idea.”

“Yes?”

“Think about it. Sylvain must be finding her meals somewhere. What if I should follow in her footsteps? Seek out the source of her blood.”

“Sure, but where would we begin?”

“Think of it. Where would a hungry vampire- one smart enough not to immediately get caught- look for a target?”

“The same place any killer looks. Runaways, sex workers, homeless people I’m sure.”

“Then that is who we will ask first. The church often hosts dinners for the less fortunate of the city. Perhaps the vicar could ask among their ranks. See if anyone is willing to share. That would be an easy way to hunt for information without either of us spreading our face around town.”

“That’s true… if I know Sylvain though…”

“Yes?”

“She’s going to be picky. She wouldn’t go for just anyone, not any random addict in a gutter. She’d make it count. Strauss, when she killed Gregor White, did she give you any indication of why?”

“Yes. He was targeted specifically because she believed him to be a pedophile.”

“We need to narrow our search criteria then. I’ll start by getting a list of registered sex offenders in the city. If anyone is her blood bag, she wouldn’t feel bad about using one of them.”

Strauss grinned. “Now, there is the hunting prowess that has made the Van Helsing name strike fear into the hearts of vampires for centuries. I am glad it is finally used for me and not against me.”

“I’m glad one of us is optimistic about this.”

“In this moment, Frau Van Helsing, optimism is all that we have. Make your list. We’ve work to do.”

[sandsorghum]

Hollywood AU

With Oscars round the corner I wanted to explore a Movie Industry 'verse, featuring Screenplay writer Nanamin x Starlet Reader, with some messy Director Geto x Reader thrown into the mix cuz it's HOllywood so why not.

I don't have things fully fleshed out, this is only a drabble. It's just a fun little plot bunny I'm considering chasing down the rabbithole, so if you enjoy it, please leave some feedback! Thanks~

Nanami toes the line he's sketched in the sand - and you keep scuffing it. Because it is sand, not cement, as much as Nanami would like to believe that. The grains keep trickling through the hourglass, and his throat gets ever more parched around you.

He used to be able to call you to the side of a sound stage in between takes to murmur his corrections. Now he just scratches them out on a clipboard, cursing PAs and sticky notes that aren't at all adhesive.

"I miss you."

Glue floods his throat. Nanami glances at your reflection, eclipsed by a bevy of stylists coiling your locks into perfectly tight, period-accurate ringlets.

"Bunkering down in that cramped trailer, discussing stories. Have you seen Sangsoo's latest by the way?"

You catch sight of him in the mirror and smile, but someone tuts at you to "stay still". Nanami watches your lips go taut as the gloss swipes over, but he knows where to look. Sure enough, there's a matching shimmer in your gaze, locked in on his. Nanami swallows, his eyes dropping to the papers in his lap.

"Been too busy," he grunts.

"Right Now, Wrong Then remains my fav, but you should make your own assessment. I wouldn't mind seeing his new film twice. Maybe over the weekend, we could-"

"I'll be holed up with the rewrites. Studio's orders. I'm leaving your new lines here."

Nanami doesn't so much hear you sigh, as glimpse a small corner of the glass getting fogged up. He feels your stare slide from the rear view to his retreating silhouette as he turns and walks away from your pout, from the memory of a puff of air tickling his mouth.

Every day you seem more like a mirage, less an oasis.

But these are the desert dunes he's chosen to trek through, grounds ever shifting.

Framed by ink strands, jet stone irises cut across steepled ivory hands, with a gleam that renders the lamination of the page redundant.

[And would you like to address the rumours-?]

[Talent's drawn to talent. That's all.]

[The final say?]

[Your next soundbite - until another distraction from our craft comes along.]

The black and white portrait rustles, a splotch of darkness seeps over those eyes, coloured grey as the super-sized quote [DRAWN TO TALENT] is imprinted across the ravines of cheekbones and deep recesses of sockets, now thinned with text.

He's well aware of your history with Geto, the inaccuracies of the accounts on both sides, the way the two of you are the darlings of the gossip columns, as cyclical as the seasons and heroin chic coming back in vogue, appalling as it is.

"How's the fluff piece for our auteur extraordinaire? He opt for self-flagellating or self-fellating?"

So, trouble in paradise then, Nanami thinks.

He shrugs. "The box office'll be happy."

"Oh, hooraay. Praise be for the ultimate - nay, the only metric and arbiter of art."

"Nay?"

His tone is withering, but not enough to stop your belligerence from sprouting. Or spouting.

"Hey. Do you think I got where I am based on sheer luck, or looks?"

You're a few too many whiskey neats in.

"Clearly they weren't stumbling blocks," he says drily, gesturing for his refill. Normally you'd find his diplomacy coy. Now it's just tiresome.

"I expected more than this calibre of flattery from a BAFTA nominee," you sneer, fingers creeping along Nanami's taut wrist. He steadies his grip around his bourbon.

"I'm off the clock. You'll have to get your one-liners elsewhere. Union rules."

You lean in, the cloud of alcohol and your perfume shrouding Nanami.

"Such a stickler," you whisper, the taunt gusting warm and wet against his lips. Through the fog, just barely, Nanami telescopes in on the gleam of your maraschino-red mouth, the gimlet glint of your eyes.

Not chandeliers, but stalactites, the notion coalesces somehow, despite your distractions. Nanami's brain churns, scrambling for a deflective quip, only to short-circuit when he feels your other hand land on his thigh.

"You know, in these scenarios, the rulebook gets thrown out - if one even exists in the first place."

A rough palm clasps your hand, but your forehead brushes Nanami's.

"My point is, I don't give up. I always get what I want."

"Assuming you know what that is."

You freeze.

It's better this way, Nanami thinks, watching the shards twist in your eyes. There is still barely an inch between you and him, close enough for him to feel the breath and consequences you hold in the quiver of your lips. At arm's length, and a lifetime away.

At least like this, he has a front row seat to the fracturing story.

He was never meant to be the protagonist, let alone a hero.

"Are you really coming after me, or are you just trying to get away from Suguru?"

[lotus-flower-writes-history]

The Unofficial Black History Book

Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner (1912-2006)

Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner is a forgotten black inventor who changed the way menstrual pads operated, but her idea was turned down because of the color of her skin, and she was later not given credit for her invention.

This is her story.

Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner was born on May 17th, 1912, in Monroe, North Carolina. She came from a family of inventors. Her father, Sidney Nathaniel Davidson (1890–1958), patented a clothing press that would fit into suitcases but never made money off of the invention, which failed. Her grandfather invented a light signal for trains, and her sister, Mildred Davidson Austin Smith (1916–1993), invented and commercially sold board games.

As a child, Kenner was interested in creating tools to make everyday life more convenient. She had her first idea when she was six years old—a self-oiling door hinge—but the idea never came to fruition. She would draw her ideas throughout her childhood. One of her ideas was a portable ashtray that would attach to the cigarette carton and a sponge tip that would soak the rainwater off an umbrella.

When Mary turned 12, her family moved to Washington, D.C., and she would often visit the United States Patent and Trademark Office to see if anyone had beaten her to patent any of her ideas.

Side Note: The Patent System - that started in 1787, was not open to African Americans who were born into slavery, even if freed, as it did not consider them citizens.

After graduating high school, Mary enrolled at Howard University but later dropped out when she couldn't afford tuition. She took on odd jobs and became a federal employee during WWII. She worked for the Census Bureau and later for the General Accounting Office. Mary also chaperoned younger women who attended dances at military bases in the Washington, D.C., area.

She met soldier and renowned boxer James "Jabbo" Kenner and married him in 1951. They adopted five boys but had no kids of their own. She retired from government work and opened a flower shop while continuing to work on her inventions.

By 1957, Kenner had saved enough money to file her first patent for an elastic belt that held sanitary napkins in place. Adhesive Maxi Pads didn't exist at the time.

How the invention worked was that a moisture-proof napkin pocket was built into the belt, which prevented more leaks than the cloth pads and rags women were using at the time. 

One company. 'The Sonn-Nap-Pack' was interested in her invention and offered to market it. But when they discovered she was a black woman, they turned her down instantly.

"One day, I was contacted by a company that expressed an interest in my marketing idea. I was so jubilant...I saw houses, cars, and everything else about to come my way. Sorry to say, when they found out I was black, their interest dropped." She said in Laura F. Jeffery's Book, 'Amazing American Inventors of the 20th Century'

Because of racism, they did not patent the sanitary belt until 30 years after Kenner introduced it. But her invention was a crucial step for women's comfort and revolutionized menstrual hygiene during a time when women had limited options.

Between 1956 and 1987, Kenner received five total patents for her household and personal inventions. A backwasher that one could mount on the shower or bathtub wall was among Kenner's inventions for which she received a patent. When her sister was confined to a bed due to multiple sclerosis in 1976, it inspired her to file her third patent.

A special attachment for a walker or wheelchair that included a hard-surfaced tray and a soft pocket for carrying items. Also, a toilet paper holder that made sure the loose end of the roll was always reachable. 

Kenner never became rich from her inventions, but her ideas centered on accessibility and ease and paved the way for more inventions in the future.

Mary Beatrice Davidson Kenner died at the age of 93 on January 13th, 2006.

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Previous

Juneteenth

Next

The Tulsa Race Massacre

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My Resources

https://www.diversityinc.com/womens-history-month-profiles-mary-beatrice-davidson-kenner-inventor/

[asenloby]

5 DIY Neon Sign Home Decor Projects you can do at Home

by Nisha Jangir

Neon signs have been a popular trend in home decor for quite some time now. They give any area a dash of retro charm and can make it into a hip, modern setting. A personalised neon sign, yet, can be pricey to buy. The good news is that you can create neon signs at home using a few inexpensive materials and tools. These are five ideas you may complete at home to decorate using neon signs.

Neon LED sign and wire: Flexible LED Neon tubes are among the simplest materials that can be used to make a neon sign. These lights come in a variety of colors and are twisted to create the design you want. All you need to get started is some wire, pliers, and LED neon lights. The wire can be used to form words, symbols, or even shapes, to which the neon tubes can then be attached with glue or tape. Plug in the lights when you're done and watch your creation come to life.

Electric neon sign: Another excellent alternative for creating your own neon sign is EL, which stands for an electroluminescent wire. When an electrical current flows through it, a thin, flexible wire turns on. If you bend the wire and attach it with tape or glue, you can create the design you want. You'll need a battery to power the EL wire, which you can attach to the back of your sign, to power the EL wire. EL Wire is available in a variety of shades and can be a wonderful way to add a splash of color to your decor.

Neon Colors: A vibrant splash of color to your decor can also be achieved with neon paint. It can be applied to a canvas or even a wall to make your neon sign. You can use stencils or draw your design by hand to create it. Once your design is complete, let the paint dry before adding a black light to make it shine.

Neon-tape artwork: An excellent substitute for conventional neon lights is neon tape. It is simple to use and offered in a number of colors. Either use the tape to draw your design directly on the wall or draw it on a piece of paper and then tape it to the wall. Because the tape is self-adhesive, it is simple to apply and remove without leaving a mark on the wall. If you want a temporary neon sign, this is a wonderful choice.

String Neon Art: String art has been a well-liked DIY craft for a while, but utilising neon string will up the ante. You can draw your design on a canvas or even a wooden board. Once you've finished designing, hammer some nails into the design to hold the string in place. Watch it glow after you're finished by hanging it up.

In conclusion, creating your own neon signs at home is a fun way to give your interior design some individuality and color. Your own personalised neon sign can be made at home using a few basic pieces of equipment and supplies. These tasks are enjoyable, simple, and only take a few hours to complete. Why not try it out and see what kind of neon sign you can produce?

[esoxy]

The fabled blue UK passport is 3 years old today

So this is the perfect time to do a proper, page-by-page comparison of both the old and the new passports, to see how much better the new one is.

Let's start with the front cover

Although neither of them says anything about the EU anymore, the new one contains the words "BRITISH" and is also (a very dark shade of) blue. 0-1 so far to the blue one

Opening up the pages you can start to see some changes.

The first thing you'll notice that the second page is now in HARD plastic, hard as the Brexit that allowed this passport to become blue.

Since EU rules don't apply anymore so you could also remove all of those 22 extra pesky translations of our great country, only leaving English, Welsh, Gaelic, Irish, French and Spanish freeing up the space to include your face not just once, but two times!

We also got rid of the map of Cardiff in the background, and the references to seafaring. The latter was recently banned anyway.

2 points to the blue one so far

Not much change on the next page, apart from the use of hard plastic on the photo page, and the fact that I gained weight. Getting rid of the map of the UK was also a nice change as it was showing Scotland too prominently. They don't deserve this.

In any case this is a tie, so 1-3 points so far

Next one up some notes and some security notes on the old passport, while the translations of the previous page on the new one. There is a watermark of Shakespeare on the old old one, and a map of Edinburgh, both which were replaced with a watermark of the floral emblem. This at least contains reference to all four countries, so that's definitely a nice addition, but so far this is also a tie. 2-4 points so far

Next up on the old design we had to fill up two whole pages with translations. Completely superflous, we could have just used up the same space to allow for extra visas to be added to the passport. With the abolishment of the Freedom of Movement having two extra pages for visas is definitely a worthy addition, so 1 point extra for the blue passport. 2-5 so far.

(We also got rid of the map of London and Belfast. Who needs them)

Page 8 and 9 shows John Harrison and his invention of the marine chronometer that revolutioned sea travel. On the other hand sea travel is dangerous and we just recently banned it, so it's good that this has been removed in favour of a much more stylized clock-like image. Note that it's hand aligns nicely with the page number, showing 8 and 9 respectively. This is definitely a nice touch, much more self-referential than the image of John Harrison, so a win to the blue one. 2-6 so far.

On the old passport the next two pages show John Constable, someone who pursued a lesser career like painting instead of becoming a much more important member of society, like banker or a CEO. There is no need for this kind of vice in our society, so thank this has been removed.

On the new design you can see that the hand of the clock jumped to the 1 position, instead of pointing at 11 and 12 respectively! And it remained in the same position on both pages. This choice must have saved the artist designing the passport some work, so extra points for keeping the design cheap and affordable. 2-7 so far

Next two pages show references to the Royal Mail including the iconic post box, and the first adhesive stamp, the Penny Black. On the other hand spending two pages on this archaic institution is just a waste of paper, especially as they do nothing just strike all the time nowadays.

On the new design? Look, there are now TWO HANDS on the clock! What a lovely addition, it definitely took me by surprise, 2-8 so far.

Next up on the old one are trains, you know that things that are always late, if not cancelled. They are also expensive as hell compared to car ownership, so no need to promote them anymore.

Look a magical line of UNITED KINGDOM has appeared in the background. Hats off to yet another surprise change in design, 2-9!

Next two pages feature Sir Giles and his architectural designs. Unfortunately for him he designed too many well known things and therefore now the page simply looks too cramped for the average viewer.

Unlike the new design, which is still clear, spacious and easy to understand. 2-10

Next two pages feature the London Underground, which will definitely give PTSD to anyone who ever used it during peak hours. London was already featured in the passport with Greewinch and Battersea already anyway, while we haven't seen anything from Wales, Northern Ireland or Scotland yet.

No such issue from the new passport, clean and clear with no surprises, and representation from all corners of the UK inside the watermark. 2-11 of course

Architecture yet again, this time from a woman. Also England again, Triple boring.

Seall! The design on page 21 is the same as the one on page 12 albeit the colour difference. This duplication hopefully has yet again driven down the design costs! 2-12!

Antony Gormley. Yet another useless artist who could have become something great during his lifeteime, like I don't know, a Conservative MP, but has chosen not to.

On the other hand we have yet another page where we have design reuse - with page 20 and 22, but this time the colours match as well! Must have been some great savings, 2-13

Come on, didn't we have enough artists so far? And featuring one of the most hated artist of all time? And he is also an immigrant? Yuck!

Thank god we got rid of all of this perversion! 2-14

Arts, Architecture, Shakespeare and London, all on the same page. Everything we have seen so far. Space could have been used for something much more important.

Like this nice and plain design we can see on the new passport. 2-15

Edinburgh Castle? Bagpipes? Who allowed Scotland to be present in the design, we definitely need to fire them and never let them design passports anymore. Also the dragon on the corner looking at the girl like that? That is definitely sexual harassement, let's get rid of this carnality!

On the other hand we can see another clean and nice design, a perfect place to put your last remaining few visas before you need to get another one for £82.50 + shipping fees. 2-16

Finally no more arts or achitecture but something useful: Computers! Internet! The stuff bankers use to do important stuff! No idea why they had to put a women on this page though, but let's just disregard that.

Watch that elements from new design can be seen on the computer screen in the old one. This must have been some great foreknowledge. Let's make this one a tie! 3-17

Buildings? Again? And why so many? Ah, yeah we forgot to include Wales and Northern Ireland in the designs yet, so let's quickly sort them out, before the nationalists notice! Let's still make sure the London eye is centre and front, not to give them too much credit though.

The new one? Same old same old. You can see some art reuse on page 33 (vs page 30) as usual.

However since both designs feature all 4 countries, let's make this one a tie as well: 4-18

Final page! Yet again, only Scotland and Northern Ireland above, but the whole of the UK on the new one. Blue one is a clear winner here: 4-19

And finally the back page. Plain burgundy on the old one, a nice embossed floral design on the blue one. The winner is clear.

So this takes our total to 4-20! A clear and massive victory to the new passport, an exquisite masterpiece, perdectly designed and ideal to the new place of Global Britain in the world, far away from the woke dictatorship of the European Union, and the best Brexit dividend so far (apart from being able to buy cheep booze at airports again)

[vixnovacoda]

Doctor's Medicine || Chapter 3

Hannibal Lecter x Original Character

Word Count: 3.6k

CW/TW: NSFW 18+, graphic, disturbing content, dissociation, canon-typical violence.

Summary: Amongst his list of patients, Doctor Hannibal Lecter finds an interesting character in his latest, Emma Darcy, the author of a bestselling crime series whose mind is host to something clawing to be free. The two become inexplicably drawn to each other and things progress as Emma encounters a world of death. But the question is, who will change who?

[Chapter 1][Chapter 2]

[ao3 version here]

Blood.

Red seeped onto a white sheet.

A tiny dot. A pile of paper.

A big fuss.

“It’s just a paper cut.” Emma. “You worry too much,” she declared.

“I worry too much?” A woman – this one known to her – hovered over Emma. First aid kit opened. “You don’t worry enough. You got blood on my brand new manuscript,” she said, applying a fetched bandaid to Emma’s index. The woman continued, saying with small annoyance, “I swear, your day job has made you immune to blood. All those dead bleeding out.”

Emma disagreed. “Actually, most bodies I examine don’t bleed on account of them bei—”

“Don’t correct me,” babbled the brunette. “Correcting is my job, not yours.”

She glanced at the woman as the adhesive attached itself to her.  “I’m just saying—”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Unless I was on anticoagulants—”

She stared down Emma broodingly.

A sensitive matter. Blood always had been. Real gore, medicine, hospitals; the whole lot. It took that nostril flare to remind her. Emma knew her well; knew that the black hairs on her V-neck were from her cat; knew that she hadn’t recently washed it; knew how her grief spiralled. Emma knew her by their differences. It’s why they suited each other. A difference that she sometimes forgot as a result of their relationship. Her shoulders dropped with a sigh. “Thank you for your concern, Alex,” she strained, “for having clean sheets of paper to edit instead of bloodied ones. How will I ever cope without you?” Emma’s voice played a joke – how could she not? They were friends, after all.

Alex’s bright whites bared themselves, a chuckle escaping past the gaps. “You know, sometimes, I ask the same thing.” A shake of the curly head.

Joke or not. 

Neither party knew.

———

Rooms often spoke. They were fractioned halves of the dweller, Emma learned. Jack Crawford’s office was cold. Not professionally cold, but air pressure cold. The FBI – mainly Crawford – placed high pressure on catching their killer before he struck again and sought probably the two most unstable minds under his care, Will and Emma, to pinpoint the who.

Emma noted the few dozen faces they had narrowed it down to. Men, middle-aged, medical backgrounds here and there. Anyone who bought surgical equipment. Anyone who bought a Le Belle Mort book. Anyone who was a fan.

They were scrambling for connections.

Then Agent Crawford drew up a plan. Interviews. Though he spoke to both of them, he angled towards Will, face dropped and slanted. Pressure bred trust issues (professionalism called equality); he preferred Will, for the matter. Not that Emma opposed. If anyone were to conduct talks about possible suspects, there should only be one non-FBI agent there. Unnecessary to drag another outsider in. She’d be better off that way. Easier to push Will from her field of view from the outside than be too involved in their conversation.

Those few things contained all she recalled that morn. That is, other than passing by the psychiatrist, who went into the office after her and the shuffling of her injured hand from behind the other to a pocket. In fewer words, Emma was a blur; hardly of note.

Doctor Hannibal Lecter – on the other hand – stood sharp in the minds of whoever saw his eccentric European self, plaid suits cutting scars. Worth never forgetting. It was him who Crawford wanted to hear. He, that was Emma’s evaluator. Besides the good words of others, Jack Crawford didn’t know what to make of Emma. He didn’t want to break all the fine china.

———

The office – still cold – hung high-tensioned wires upon Hannibal’s arrival. Remnants from the previous arrangement were meticulously strung. Pressure had made well-tuned strings. Take Will, for instance, as he moved around his seat, with great effort, to draw distance between his and Emma’s exits. His action was a precarious note.

“Actually, Will, stay. I could use your perspective on this,” said Agent Crawford while Hannibal sat down.

Will shifted. “On what?”

The soul-patch-wearing agent shared a glance with the psychiatrist; permission.

“The matter of Emma Darcy,” answered Dr. Lecter.

It was his turn to look at Hannibal and then Crawford, head tilted. “I’ve already said my thoughts about her. She’s not the killer,” said Will, perplexed.

“This isn’t in terms of the case.” A hand motioned towards the remaining seat as Crawford finished. “But Emma as a person.”

“That’s not my department, Jack. I’m not her friend.”

“That’s already clear. The two of you have been distancing yourselves from each other.” Crawford leant across, elbows propped up. “You’re supposed to be working together. No one’s asking you to be friends,” he told Will, his tone analogous to that of a father reprimanding a child.

It irked him, Hannibal noted. Strained Will’s voice. “She is distancing herself from me.”

“Why?”

“I… I don’t know.” Guilt twisted his throat and pulled at his jaw. “Maybe…” His mind drifted to an answer.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Will,” declared Dr. Lecter, jumping to Will’s defence, who ran a hand through his messy hair out of habit (Emma had the same tendency lately).

“It feels like I have.” A hard swallow. His words got the better of him. “People barely tolerate me as is. Emma doesn’t acknowledge me. She avoids crossing my path when she can and speaks only when she has to. I’m some sort of ghost to her.”

Scrutinising eyes watched each bated breath. “It is possible, given the circumstance of your abilities, Will, that she sees what you do as you dive into this killer’s mind. You assume a shed skin, a ghost of the killer during the execution of their hunt. As far as Emma’s concerned, this person very well seeks to add her to his collection and is unable to look past the form you adorn,” Dr. Lecter explained with an unwavering inflexion in his description, “it is not you she is scared of, it is this killer.”

Will’s fingers stretched along the armrest and slowly retracted. A new perspective created an uneasy silence.

“Do you think she’s stable, Dr. Lecter?” queried Agent Crawford.

Position changing, Hannibal took a stance which faced Agent Crawford and Will. “There is not much I can say without breaking patient confidentiality. However,” he declared, fixing his tie ever so slightly. “Her life hangs in the balance; she is afraid.”

“The frightened often make brash decisions. Are you saying she’s unstable?”

“She acts as anyone of us would in such a scenario. I’d say that makes her stable, wouldn’t you?” Hands clasped. Lips pursed. Today, his person suit was tailored to adjustment. None could see the seams he kept hidden. None had reason to question his judgement.

Broken free from his thoughts, Will held his mouth agape to question what had bothered him from the moment he had been pulled into this meeting. “I thought you already cleared her, Jack. What is the point of this?”

Crawford rested his back against the chair, staring down the two in renewed seriousness. “I got her cleared because we have nothing. She has a good track record, she’ll see something we cannot, and we need all the help we can get. The point of this is – after the event at the crime scene – I need to know whether she won’t be a liability out in the field,” he clarified.

Tension dominated the room. Carried with it was a smell – emotions and sensations often did. The notes contained trace amounts of iron and sweetness. Tension smelt like blood. It stained whatever it touched. “I’d advise against not letting her back out. The mind is best put to rest when it has a full picture. It will only make things worse to let her see the partial and not the whole.” Hannibal broke the quiet first, his answer; precise and ready.

“Well, I disagree.” Will snapped his head at Hannibal. “She could come out worse.”

“Isolation makes for a fonder fear. Keeping her here could create equal damage.”

“Then she shouldn’t be on the case at all.”

“Neither should some of us in that case.”

A long blink; Agent Crawford had hoped they’d agree. “Honestly, I’d much rather she didn’t, in case she contaminates the evidence again. However, I find myself inclined to trust your word, Doctor. If she is to go, then she is to do so while accompanied,” he resigned, his mind made up. He had heard enough and dismissed them as a drawn-out note played. Sombre and conflicted.

Will examined Hannibal with uncertainty. He had glimpsed what Emma’s mind was like. He had to object to the Doctor’s opinion on the matter. There was no knowing what would happen the next time; her desperation made unpredictability. Surely the man who had her mind served on a silver platter could see that as well.

None could tell what note Hannibal’s actions played, for there wasn’t one. He did not play anything.

He conducted.

———

Outside, pen scratched sprawlings onto paper, churning out words from chicken scratch. Breeze dared to disturb the contents of Emma’s notebook and sought peeks into her mentality. It reminded her of home. It reminded her of a dear friend – which didn’t help, considering how she was trying to avoid checking her phone. Except here, she retained a certain anonymity. Passersby didn’t recognise her at a glance (her town was small, the type where everyone knew everyone and you always had something to say, usually about the weather). They didn’t question her need to write them out on paper. They simply let her be.

A shadow cascaded beside her (tall, six foot, she wrote). “Lost in thought again, are we Emma?” said the shadow (Hannibal…).

She bookmarked the page using her thumb. “Getting an actual breath of fresh air, this time,” Emma rectified slyly as she peeked at Hannibal’s impressive figure. Striking and welcoming. It grew hard for Emma to tear her polite gaze, finding only blurred edges while he blended into the sky. His tie: pale blue with a paisley design that drifted like clouds – the suit was a deep navy in contrast. Today was a sky day, always in sight but never within reach.

“May I?” Hannibal motioned to the bench she occupied.

She shuffled further along, and he took the vacant spot.

There was a greater difference between how close they had sat now and the night previously. A difference Emma found less distracting. Less static inducing. More open. It made for less awkward observations and, in that moment, the Doctor became a sight to decipher. His back held upright and, yet, not stiff. His brow stayed relaxed, and his hair affixed and unmoving. Hannibal Lecter had a natural disposition that tore him apart from others. 

“When I am stuck, I partake in the hobby of people-watching. The fresh air helps too,” said Emma, head turning. 

He followed her line of sight as her vision glided to the hustle and bustle of everyday life, keen on the exteriors people exhibited. “An engaging practice, watching the inside melt through to the outside,” commented Hannibal.

“A hobby of yours too, Dr. Lecter?” remarked Emma.

“It is,” he stated. “Though I confess, it had begun to be quite dull. The mind is a fascinating specimen and few contain a distinct one that suits my tastes.”

“There are many intriguing people in the world. Albeit they are rare to meet.” These were her thoughts about him. Ones she would have jotted down had he not been where he sat.

“These people are bound to make intriguing characters.”

The notebook shifted.

“Tell me, have you met any?” asked Hannibal, inquisitive.

Emma didn’t need to ponder. “Yes.” Doctor Hannibal Lecter: an intriguing character indeed. “You said begun, have you met someone who awoke a new hunger for you?” she pointed the question back at him with equal interest.

“Perhaps. I’ll tell you when I do.” No longer did the rest of the world occupy his sight. Hannibal landed his eyes on her. Intent. “Hobbies are often misused as a distraction and not clarification. What thought plagues you, Emma?”

The wind buffeted. “Mortality.” She put the book aside. “I have been pondering my mortality. Reflected on regret and sought to change things.” The phone lingered in her pocket. Her hand itched for its shape in her palm. Emma had to dig her nails through skin just to silence the urge. “I can feel it already, my mind cracking, bones reshaping, transforming. Slow and painful. I don’t know when it – I – will end.” A quake betrayed the stillness of her voice. She almost sounded sane – that was his doing.

“In our greatest moments of fear, we all seek a latch which we can grasp; to obtain control while the storm thrashes us apart. But, like the storm’s aftermath, change is inevitable.”

“Holding onto something implies being able to survive.”

“And are you surviving? Do you feel the adrenaline that life drips or the dread which death bleeds?”

Leaves fell under the harsh-turned weather. “I—” Emma faltered. 

The temperature dropped, and eerie grey clouds rolled in overhead. Time stopped and sped up; it all happened so fast. Where once a bright day existed, thunder and rapid winds took shape. Not a note came from her. Not an answer was necessary. Hannibal knew just as she did. She feared what came after the storm. His hand extended outwards to her.

When rain pelted against glass, hitting a window placed inches from her. Thin, sheer curtains further separated her and the outside world. Dazed, Emma twisted around to find herself in the large enclosure recognisable as Hannibal’s office. Hannibal stood a few feet away, donning new attire. Reality hit her when she felt the uneven weight on her arm, his coat wrapped neatly around it; Time had passed without her consent. “I—” Emma stopped again. She ran a hand through her styled, scarlet waves and light showed cause to showcase the bloodied, bandaged knuckles.

An expression crossed Hannibal’s face, concentrated and questioning.

Emma doesn’t notice his reaction. She didn’t notice when he inched closer. Instead, she assuaged herself that nothing had happened and held out the dry-cleaned coat. “I thought you should have this back,” she carried on, seamlessly picking herself back up.

Not a word came from him as he reached.

“I would have handed it back sooner, but I didn’t want people gathering the wrong impression.” Here, when their hands brushed (his elegance and subtle harshness making contact with her smoothness), did she notice the distance which almost no longer existed, and she stepped back; abrupt. “I didn’t want to discredit you, Dr. Lecter.”

His hand did not leave her wounded one. Nor his evaluation of the tainted gauze.

“Don’t worry, not a drop got on it. I made sure,” Emma assured with a faltering smile, despite his lack of interest in the coat’s condition. The stillness felt akin to punishment or some twisted karmic justice that she probably deserved from an act committed long ago. They stood there, seconds passing, and she wanted him just to say something already so she’d have a hint of what went through his uncategorised mind.

Then: “This therapy only works when we don’t lie, Emma,” he uttered.

“I’m not lying.”

“Yes, you are. You are lying to yourself.”

Her hand returned to its lonesome self as Hannibal moved across the room, coat put away. He had seen through her. How many other times had he been aware? It drove her crazy how he knew more about her happenings than she did. “The dressings need to be changed or you will risk infection.” The thud of a cabinet opening followed Hannibal’s voice. She watched him collect a roll of gauze and alcohol-free wipes while her legs confined her to the same spot. Too busy contemplating his character, Emma did nothing to stop him from grabbing her hand, undressing the bandage, and peeling away the wrapped material.

“Where did your mind take you?” Dr. Lecter broke through the loud noise inside her head.

“Quantico.” Pain winced forth between words. Gentle though he was, the cuts stung with each wipe. “The Behavioural Sciences headquarters. We were discussing my thoughts and people-watching,” finished Emma. Trying to gauge how much time she lost, she peeked at the mess her emotions got her into. Judging how far along the wound had healed up – and according to how long it took for her immune system – the conversation was a mere few days ago. The pain which hitched her breath now was both physical and emotional. So much time went unaccounted. Time; such an intangible thing to begin with, and now it slipped out of her grasp.

“Good. Do you know what day it is?” his hand eclipsed hers, wrapping taut gauze.

Emma hesitated, “um… Wednesday.”

Mental notes jotted themselves down as he instructed her to the designated seat, the dressing complete and clean. “This is your second appointment, Emma,” he stated with a tone that indicated concern.

“And yet, we’ve seen much of each other,” she responded, half-jokingly.

He raised his shoulders in defied agreement. “Had I known it was your case, I would not have gone.” Nevertheless, he remained, and so did she.

The change of topic brought her back entirely. “So, let’s not make this awkward. Here, and only here, I am your patient. On the field, we are coworkers, acquaintances at best. Outside, we do not know each other.” Direct. Emma cut to the chase. Awake and alert while he sat across from her. “I don’t want to know your personal life.”

“Want?” he assessed the choice of word.

“I don’t want to know you beyond what is necessary,” she reiterated. It was less about convincing him and more about convincing herself. From his unbotheredness towards her fear confession, there grew an interest. Finding him interesting became a liability. It led the way to eventual ruin. She had to draw a line for her sake.

A rolled lip, contemplation. “Agreed.” and they sat in that agreeance, waded in its waters together, and casting away moments that should not reoccur, for her sake. “What do you wish to discuss, then?” Dr. Lecter, as always, began the new conversation.

“People-watching.” From Emma’s recount, the topic previously escaped them for the favouring of a storm.

“A choice topic.” He crossed his leg. “You think of it as a hobby, while for others it’s a sport. A livelihood even.”

The thin eyebrows on her face lifted themselves. “Sport?”

“In the human sense, yes. However, in nature, livelihood. Predators will stalk their prey. Some observe their chosen meal for weak links. They might even watch the prey go about their life to understand their patterned behaviour and, all the while, they remain at a distance so as not to cause alarm.” Hannibal focused on her, giving her the once over. “Are you a predator, Emma?”

“Humans live in the weird spot of being both predator and prey, though mostly we stopped being predators as we evolved and civilisation grew. We’re barely even prey any more. In this current age, we do not need either term,” Emma responded. “But, if I had to choose... I don't know what I am.” Honest. She added an observation. “You evaluate people all the time as a psychiatrist, figure out our weaknesses, keep a distance from us. Are you not a predator, Dr. Lecter?”

Heavy darkness dragged down above them. The storm outside got worse, and Hannibal’s chest showed no movement as he gave his answer. “No. Nor am I prey either.” His shadow grew behind him. Angular. Pointed. Light had a habit of distorting reality and creating shadows of truth. It created falsehoods. Under rays, he appeared normal while something hid beneath.

What Emma comprehended was limited. Hannibal’s knowledge was not, and in this space, she trusted him. For some reason, whatever it may be. Perhaps it was because the shadows she could not see (his and hers) took similar shapes or the honesty he showed her. His presence just had that effect on her subconscious.

“What did you discuss with Agent Crawford?” she requested.

“According to your terms, this direction of conversation verges on breaking our agreement,” he said. “It is best saved for coworkers, not doctor and patient.”

The muscles and tendons tensed in her freshly bandaged hand. “Unless it has something to do about me as your patient,” Emma rebutted.

“Then you already know.”

“I believe I do. I need to hear it from you directly, anyway, to be sure.”

Outside, the rain struck harder. Hannibal kept his chin up. “Jack Crawford wished to know if you were stable.”

Static fizzed stagnant air particles. Emma kept her gaze. “What was your answer?”

“That you are indeed stable.” Lightning struck a tree as he finished. Stable; an honest lie. 

“And Will?”

“Will is unsure. He blames himself for your avoidance of him.”

“He does?” her volume shrunk; quiet. She hadn’t considered that.

Immediately, Hannibal went back to deconstructing the patient in front of him. “Tell me, what happens to cause this thoughts assembly?”

“I can’t help it,” Emma starts. “When I look at him, something changes, and it hurts to look at what fate stands there in his place.” Away from him, and even now, the image of that day was clearer than the current one. She could still see the monster.

“He cannot control the change any more than you,” Dr. Lecter advised.

“Will Graham doesn’t change. He mirrors,” she emphasised.

“And what if there was a way to make the mirror less painful to look at? Would you take it?” Hannibal inclined himself forward, and through the storm, a hand reached out. An offer of stability. She dared to take that metaphorical hand. Desperation wanted nothing else than that sense, but it didn’t feel right. Even still, the case needed it.

Emma Darcy craved stability.

She reached across, meeting him halfway, keeping him in sight and within reach.

[atplblog]

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https://a.co/d/ciHBPhz

Let’s face it, most chairs and couches have no back support. If you have back pain, you’re gonna want to get a lumbar pillow. I take mine everywhere in a tote bag or straps to my back. Depending on the chair or bench, I will use it for back comfort even sit on it if the surface is wood or stone.

ComfiLife Lumbar Support Back Pillow Office Chair and Car Seat Cushion - Memory Foam with Adjustable Strap and Breathable 3D Mesh (Black)

https://a.co/d/4pHeCCP

This multifunctional storage cart on wheels lets you keep everything you need right next to you so that you don’t have to fetch the items that you use most often.

Keep your meds, tissues, games and drinks directly in your reach wherever you might sit in your home. I even have my phone and tablet mount attached to it so I don’t have to hold my phone while resting.

SimpleHouseware Heavy Duty 3-Tier Metal Utility Rolling Cart, Red.

https://a.co/d/bOsu9MW

Are you tired of losing the tip of your phone charger? If you have lots of

different chargers for your iPad, phone, other items that use charging cords, these cable clips are perfect for you. Attach one or two of these clips to your side table and I even put them on the side of my rolling cart.

Cable Clips, OHill 16 Pack Black Self Adhesive Cord Holder, Ideal Cable Management Cord Organizer Wire Keeper for Phone Charger, Computer, Desk, Home, Office, Car, Nightstand

https://a.co/d/fJNTPOU

For those who have trouble bending while in the shower, use a loofah or brush on a stick. Trust me, you’ll be happy you did. This is the loofah I currently use, and there are different styles available with longer handles.

2 Pack Back Scrubber for Shower with Long Handle (2Pack Blue)

https://a.co/d/6IKQKm7

This reacher is perfect for picking up light items nearby that might be out of reach. Perfect for grabbing toilet paper off of a shelf or clothing off of the floor this reacher has so many different uses you’ll want to get one for each room in your home.

DMI Reacher Grabber Tool for Elderly, Disabled or After Surgery Recovery, Claw Grabber, Reaching Assist Tool, Trash Picker, Hand Gripper, Arm Extension, 32 Inches, Non Folding, Magnetic Claw

https://a.co/d/bwpfYi3

If you like me and get tired while in the shower, you’ll want to get an adjustable shower stool. This particular stool has a rotating seat so if you need to turn left or right, it’s easy to do. This seat is also perfect for shaving your legs and washing your feet.

Adjustable Tub Chair and Bathroom Stool with Storage Tray for Seniors, Elderly, Bath Handicap & Disabled

Green https://a.co/d/5jjwC8T

The most difficult area for me to wash is my feet. I found a really great foot scrubber that attaches to the bathtub surface with suction cups. When you’re finished using it, just hang it on the bath tub faucet.

Fresh Feet- Foot Scrubber With Pumice Stone, Cleans, Smooths, Exfoliates & Massages your Feet Without Bending in the Shower or Bathtub

https://a.co/d/4JmWfB0

I really hope that these suggestions help you navigate your life with disability as they have mine. I will add more mobility items as I use them.

For any questions you may have, please message me at any of my social media sites.

TikTok: @itsthebigh

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