#i discovered that you can get procreate for phone so i’ve been doing all of these with my finger on my phone

[sketchy-panda]

Doodles for my Timestuck AU

[driftwork]

prisoner, capture, the end, collision

They didn’t like this when I submitted it, preferring the other things... looking at it now, I do. I never understood why they didn’t

It has always been a matter of getting started and then to go. The first line of this text will make you crash into everything because you can't accept that she is in love with him. In fact you only learn this a few lines later on, but time is different here. So you start to read this page and find out that I don't really agree and so you will learn that he has fallen in love with her, but maybe that is not it, you aren't ready yet (nor the text) because he was my lover, Me I'm not here yet either, like the cheshire cat which is perpetually a virtual cat. But this is only peripherally the theme of the text and I have very little to do with what happens when he goes to the National Theatre to see The Alchemist and discovers her lonely legs beside him and in the same way Durrell describes it a strange fusion begins. (Durrell describes it as passion and desire but he is just a fetishist). Anyway project this text; I would state that he is putting us all on as well, it is clearly implied.

So you are being teased and misdirected as well since you are reading this page and if this is not enough for you, she who doesn't yet know that he is her lover or even (yet) that he knows nothing about women although in the National he appears to know everything a man should and indeed appears even as one may caring… How can one accept that as they leave and in before that even, in the interval when they are talking about Johnson, Bunuel and of women. (They have both recently read Bunuels' memoirs and of course spend some minutes discuss with the barman the theme of making the perfect martini…. And the great libidinal-aesthetic mixing it about. "So easy to be a male artist" she complains "No drama of the woman who wants to be a mother and remain an artist whilst prototyping with fantastic sons of bitches on the procreatal frame…" All this of course goes on close to midnight, then about to part and travel their separate ways… They exchange phone numbers, email addresses.  Then no not like that. She says "I've got to go home, I've had a really nice time… Thanks." "I'll take you" He says  "I've got my car parked off Upper Ground on the Rue du Pommes." "O.K." Her warm naked arms in her sleeveless Agnes B. little black summer dress that she stole from her flatmate. Yes that is what it says just three little words that signify so little but are so important, 'warm naked arms'. Just that. So they get into the Volkswagen Golf which has so many qualities (like Robert Musil's hero), but most important of all is that its Mine. So he drives from the left bank to Ladbroke Grove, she is not a suburban woman, wasting my petrol, the shit, She introduces him to her flatmate who looks daggers at her dress, the removal of which is beginning to fixate him, who is not sure if its the bare arms or the breasts moving beneath the oh so perfect black cloth. The flat is a duplex really, stairs rising up to bedrooms that call to him. Her flat mate is mousy with a flat chest, he misdescribes her. But she knows Joan Miro, vodka and coffee.

It is obvious that one cannot modify the deepest realities. Neither you nor I can deny the facts surrounding the inevitability of the their clash in the night. Nor can we deny that they are waiting even now to speak on the phone, about what ? when ? where ? and so on. Even though this is a text that is still feverish with the events of the day the text is still trying assure me that everything is going to be alright. But i cannot believe this. Must i accept a text simply because it is a text ? I can accept what part of me considers to be ambiguous,  but the phrase take "He goes to east or west London where he leaves the car double parked coming up the art deco lift" at the end of this sentence, that is obviously far too long for a short attention span world, as is the time I  have taken waiting for him and then after he returns and has a bath washing off her scent, then re-emerges dressed in the Japanese robe I brought him from Tokyo last year for his birthday. He leans back against the divan and avoids looking at her breasts as her robe falls open as she, I bend over to kiss him and then sits down her head on his chest and asks him about his evening. Then a glass of Grand Marnier and the last cigarette of the day, his naked thigh on which I play my fingers bringing out that soft dreamy moan, without her or the Alchemist (how nice to see it as without) until that point where I untie my robe, hands running over his body, the first convulsion and together we go off to the bedroom and fall together onto the duvet and then as I move towards those parts of the body that demand attention he says – wait, just a moment I've got to make a call, send a fax, post an email. To her of course – I'm back of course it was fine, I'll see you tomorrow, lunch yes, no it was wonderful I feel as if we have known each other for ever. They talk some more I get off the bed and put on my robe, go past him into the other room and scan CDs, stroke the cat, the text says 'stroke the cat' dream of heroic acts killing terrorists in the office, causing him pain, the text says go past him still on the phone to her, there is no point in re-reading it making sure, that is what it says, I go back to look at CDs stroking the cat whilst he is on the phone to her. Instead I go into the kitchen and make tea turn on the radio, it's so late now that the jazz concert has finished and they are playing some well tempered Bach on radio three. I know,  longer, I don't feel like bed, sleep or anything else. Though the text wants me to stay still drink Grand Marnier and return eventually to the bedroom for want of anything else to do, but I don't see how that is possible as I drink tea instead the robe falling open as the tea pours and I turn and stare at my body in the hall mirror. He has returned to the bedroom. I turn the music up a little and lie down on the sofa thinking of the Francis Bacon paintings I'd seen yesterday.

This was years ago, another century, another universe. Denying the second law of thermodynamics, the unidirectionality of things was never my thing. I went with the flow and vanished a few days later with my clothes and library in the golf. Following the line of flight to another part of london, to a flat near the park. I never saw him again.  Now I wonder if he ever saw me again, perhaps walking along Old Compton Street, through a bookshop window, in a cinema queue, holding hands with the person I love.  All of this was predetermined when the sun formed, from the cataclysmic violence that caused the earth to form...

[bnha-scenarios]

Okay, so, first thing first. The second half of September and the whole October has been a wild ride.

Apparently this game blew up on TikTok (and probably some other platform or something?), and now I could see that there are tons of you who downloaded the game. That's just... so... unreal, at least to me. I didn't think this project would get so much attention. Even now, I’m still waiting to wake up from this dream 🙃

Anyway, if you’re new here: welcome! Sit back and relax, ‘cause this is gonna be a long ride!

I want to take this opportunity to say that due to the amount of comments, especially on itch.io page and my Tumblr, I won’t be always replying personally one by one to everyone anymore. I'll still try my best to answer questions and all, but I think by now everyone's common questions should already be answered in the FAQ page. So, moving forward, questions I have already answered inside that page will be ignored.

Still, I want you to know that I do read and treasure every single one of your comments. Thank you so much for your encouraging words, support, and suggestions! I'm sorry I can’t reply to those writing in languages other than English and Indonesian. While I can throw simple comments into Google Translate, every now and then the translator butchers long sentences and gives me garbled translation which I can't understand 😥

  ☕️ Special Thanks ☕️ 

I'd like to also take this chance to say, many, many thanks for the coffee, you all amazing, generous people:

M.L. | Dominique | Genki | Sara | 1 Anon

Even in this hard time, you’re all so kind. Again, I can’t really do much, but as my way of thanking you, your names will be put under Special Thanks in the game ♡ 

Alright, now, to the real essence of this post: progress update.

My work had been pretty demanding nearing the end of this month, and it made me get really sick of doing coding in general. Still, there is some progress on the game, and that’s good enough for me!

More details below ↓

Character Sheet: You / Player / Main Character

Before I get to anything else, let’s talk about ‘you’ first, shall we?

Although the main character's name is changeable, if you don’t wish to pick a name for them, ‘Suzuki Kaede’ is set as the default name.

Why Suzuki? I figured I would just take from one of the most common Japanese surnames.

Why Kaede? I chose it because I wanted a common Japanese unisex name, because the main character themselves is supposed to be gender neutral. So, the name came up as one of the results in Google, it has a somewhat nice and neutral meaning (maple), and I find that it sounds pretty nice, I decided to use it.

To reiterate, throughout the game, I try my best to not mention any physical characteristics and avoid elements which leans heavily to a specific gender in the story. All the characters in the game will also call you with your last name, and only neutral suffix (-san) is used at first. But you could get an event where you would be able to pick how the love interest will call the player, starting from that point in the story (on top of neutral options, there will be choices with gender-specific suffixes which you could pick if you want to). Other than that, all characters will always refer to the MC as ‘they/them’.

Now, moving on to the thing which people has asked about -- the player's Quirk. Here's a text version in case you couldn't see it in the image above for some reason:

What happens when a woman with Enhanced Learning quirk and a man with Camera Vision procreates? A child with exemplary learning ability and a pair of exceptionally observant eyes, apparently! The hereditary Vision you got from your father enables you to focus or scan an object or landscapes. With all the cues and information from your eyes, it seems that you're able to analyze and 'see' particular details of your object of interest in the form of numerical data. Due to the mainly passive nature of your quirk, you have to rely on the traditional weapons for offense, which might not be useful at all depending on your opponent's quirk. It's a plain and nonoffensive ability which isn’t so suited for a hero according to most people, but whatever - you’ll show those noobs the power of a gamer!

In other words, the information in 'Stats',  ' Weapon Proficiency', 'Special Moves', and even the 'Affection' meter, are actually part of the MC's Quirk. This also means, the more you hone your Quirk, the more it could affect your gameplay. I'll talk about that on the Gameplay section below.

There is one thing that’s kind of related to the MC's Quirk and I wanted to clarify. Bakugou did call you this in the demo, and yep, you might have guessed it: “crosshair eyes”. Reticle, crosshair, whatever you want to call it -- it’s that symbol you usually see in the center of your screen whenever you play FPS games. This is the only physical feature of the player's character that I specified (and yes, canonically, Hatsume has a pair of similar looking eyes in the original work). In relation to this, the icon for ‘activating’ your Quirk matches the same symbol.

Gameplay

Introducing: Stats, Special Moves, and Video Games!

Stats

There are 5 basic Stats for all of the characters in the game (brownie points if you recognize where they're taken from!): Speed, Technique, Power, Intelligence, Cooperativeness.

Your own Stats start off low, but you will be able to increase it by doing various activities, such as studying, playing games, winning on Heroics lessons, going to certain places, etc. Different activities raises different Stat, and you're free to choose which particular Stat you want to develop.

What are Stats being used for?

Certain Stat will increase a certain character’s affection, though it won’t be as much as if you hang out with that character.

There are certain places which you can only unlock when a specific Stat reaches a certain point. I’ll talk about hang out places and characters’ schedules in another post.

Weekly one-on-one training matches in Heroics lessons will test a specific Stat or Special Moves each time. Depending on who you chose to become your opponent, that specific Stat will determine the outcome of that match. On one hand, winning these matches can increase your Stat, but on the other hand, there are also special events you could possibly unlock when you lose. Again, I’ll probably talk more in detail about this in another post, since I still don't have the coding part down, so things might change.

Special Moves

Every hero has a Special Move in this universe, and so does the player’s character! While they might not be as flashy as All Might’s iconic United States of Smash, some of your Special Moves will have a direct effect on the gameplay. For example, a certain Special Move could unlock more answer choices for certain scenarios. Another Special Move could be activated to give you hints on how many affection points will be added to a character for the available choices.

You have a total of 5 unlockable Special Moves, and it will be up to you to use this feature: do you spend your time trying to unlock all of it in hope to make your gameplay easier, or ignore them completely in favor of balancing your Stats while pursuing the affection of your chosen love interest? It’s your choice!

(More brownie points for you if you got the reference in that picture lol)

Another use for Special Moves would be in the Heroics lessons, seeing as it might test how your Special Move fares against the opponent you picked.

Video Games

I would say that this particular element plays quite a big role in this game, since the MC learns and develops themselves by playing games. While you do have a set of games which you’ve owned, you’re able to purchase new games from the Video Game store. I would recommend doing this, as there are some neat ones which will help you greatly in your playthrough. But if you're not interested to explore them, that's fine too!

Each video game has a different effect, and it’s up to you to discover them! Or, perhaps, you could unlock a Special Move that allows you to know what effect each of the game has? 😉

What are Video Games being used for?

Most games will only increase specific Stat(s), but there are also others that can unlock Special Moves.

There is one game which helps you to unlock Stats or Special Moves of your classmates, which you can use in the Heroics lesson to pick a suitable opponent based on your current Stats.

In addition to all that, there are 2P games which require more than one person to play, and you could play them with your romance target when they’re available. On top of building your Cooperativeness, choosing the right answers during the gaming session will increase that character's affection.

Others

The basic functions behind some activities like studying, buying video games, and playing video games are done. I will probably move on to code the functions handling the Heroics lesson’s battles and the behind-the-scenes of when the player chooses to go to certain places.

I've also finished the two main custom screens, which is the Quirk and Games page. If I have time and the motivation, I'm guessing I'll be adding the two other additional screens I had thought of doing. We'll see.

Assets

This part is my nightmare, because I’m a perfectionist who’s far too picky when gathering resources…

But no assets = no game, so I did find several assets which I did like. This includes backgrounds, audios, background musics, and some sprites I was planning to use for developing the phone call function. I’m not going to list down all the things I found here, because I don’t think any of you would be interested in a long-ass list, but here’s an amazing background picture which I stumbled upon searching the dark abyss that is the internet:

Full credits to the artist: https://arsenixc.artstation.com/

Writing

I would have to say there isn't too much progress on this side yet, but I did decide on some story elements I want to insert into the game and scripted in a few scenes for the first day. I also managed to code in the dialogs for some common activities / places, like the video game store and a small part of school lunch time.

Honestly, I should probably create a sheet to identify how many scenes I would have to write? So all of us know the progress for this part of the development? ..... Let's see how it goes when my OCD flares up...

Disclaimers

All assets included in the devlogs are not mine, and credits to the asset owners / websites will be included in the game! My Hero Academia / Boku no Hero Academia ⓒ Horikoshi Kouhei

[acaseforpencils]

Evan Lian.

Bio:  I've been drawing for The New Yorker since 2018. The year prior, I had watched Very Semi-Serious, the documentary about New Yorker cartoonists, and thought it'd be a fun distraction to try and submit a few cartoons. I didn't really have any serious aspirations for it, and stopped trying once I got the first form rejection letter. It took me almost a year to come up with ten more ideas, but I was lucky enough to get a personalized rejection that time.

Since then, I've been moonlighting as a cartoonist, and have landed cartoons in Reader's Digest, Alta, and Vogue Korea. 

Find this print here!

This one will always hold a special place in my heart, because it's the first cartoon I sold, and my first in print. I happened to be at the airport that Monday, and probably looked like a crazy person buying six copies from the newsstand. Also, does anyone need a copy of the May 6th, 2019 issue because I have, like, six...

Tools of choice: These days, I've transitioned entirely to drawing digitally in Procreate, on an iPad Pro. It's just such a monumental time saver, although there's something to be said about having the physical memento of the original artwork. 

For the first six months or so, I'd sketch everything out on paper, go over my lines with a .005 Micron pen, then scan it into Procreate Pocket on iOS to touch it up. It was tedious, but if you're a novice artist, spending five dollars for a phone app is a much more appealing proposition than shelling out hundreds for an iPad. 

My work station is usually me slouched over my iPad, drawing on the couch while I half-watch tv. I just moved into a new place literally yesterday, and have yet to designate a work space, but look at all the natural light by this window!

Tools I wish I could use better: When it comes to art supplies, I mostly nod and pretend I understand. I only just heard the correct pronunciation of "gouache" like two months ago. Understanding the physical mediums would certainly help with using them digitally. 

Find this print here!

(A daily cartoon in which I used gouache, whatever that means.)

Tool I wish existed: A FaceApp-type thing that translates photos of celebrities and such into my "style."

Find this print here!

(A Daily Cartoon of Greta Thunberg in which the resemblance is shaky at best.)

Tricks: Simple shading can add some polish to your cartoon. Just pick where your light source is and fill in everything that's 180 degrees from that. And seriously, Procreate Pocket, folks! It's a robust drawing app for $5 on your phone! I use the full version now on my iPad, but to be honest, I don't really know the difference in features between the two.

Misc: The biggest secret I've discovered about cartooning is that you have to be a better writer than you are an artist. 

Website, etc.:

Website

New Yorker Prints

Instagram

Twitter

…………..

If you enjoy this blog, and would like to contribute to labor and maintenance costs, there is a Patreon, and if you’d like to buy me a cup of coffee, there is a Ko-Fi account as well! I do this blog for free because accessible arts education is important to me, and your support helps a lot! You can also find more posts about art supplies on Case’s Instagram and Twitter! Thank you!

[bcdaily]

Thirty, Flirty, and Aubergines (Lily/James, Bakery AU)

A/N: Here’s my “Valentine’s Day drabble”...five days and five thousand words later. This is a gift for my funny little valentine @ghost-of-bambi, even though I spoiled this whole story for her forty-five seconds after I had this idea, and even though I make her stay up way too late all the time, and even though I have not yet booked my flight to visit Flamingoland. You are a star and a wonder and my heart explodes at your friendship and also that you laugh at my jokes. Kissseshugs&etc

When one is co-owner of bakery, it's an integral thing not to overindulge in treats.

Usually, Lily is quite good at this sort of thing. Even when said sweets are some of the best England has to offer (in Lily's own humble opinion). Even when she's come up with something fantastic and new, and has spent hours upon hours perfecting it, and its eventual shiny, delicious presentation begs bite after bite. Even when it's been a grueling shift, she's been elbow-deep in flour and buttercream since four, and collapsing atop a giant mound of shortbread seems just the thing.

And even on days like today—Valentine's Day—when the bakery door seems to be on endless revolve, welcoming in a steady stream of cloyingly sweet lovers, breezily nonchalant boyfriends who poke at the first red confection they see in the display case and beam with pride as if they've done something mighty, and the occasional single saunterer who—like Lily herself, no matter how content they are with their current relationship status—may need the bolster of a beautiful little bon-bon to make all the rest seem a bit more bearable.

Yes, Lily is quite good at tempering her consumption of sweets…except when the treat comes in the form of one tall, sumptuous, messy-haired patron.

Then, quite frankly, she immediately goes to slosh.

"Li-ly," Mary sings, poking her dark head in through the swinging kitchen door. Lily is just finishing sprinkling a dash of edible confetti atop a fresh two dozen heart-shaped cupcakes. "Can you pop out here quick?"

"What?" Lily replies distractedly, frowning down at the single cupcake whose frosting teeters off to the left. She tries to nudge it with her piping bag, then gives up and moves that one to the back of the tray. She turns. "Mary—"

But her partner is already gone, vanished to the front of the shop once more.

Lily sighs, grabbing the fresh tray with both hands and stepping forward until she's pushing out the swinging kitchen doors—which hits her arse with a sturdy smack as she skitters to a halt at the sight of James Potter leaning against the bakery counter.

"Hi," he says, giving her that swoon-worthy, lopsided grin of his, the tiniest of dimples creasing in his warm brown skin.

Yum.

Lily stands up straighter, telling her thrumming heart to cool it, and gives a jaunty smile of her own.

"Hi there." She steps forward on her comfy trainers, suddenly inordinately grateful that she'd thrown on a cute top and some perky red lipstick earlier to fit with the holiday spirit. She bends, sliding the tray into the cupcake display, ignoring Mary's amused smirk from the other end of the counter. Lily takes her time before facing him again. "This is new," she says, and checks her watch. "I've never seen you in here past nine."

"Glad to see me?"

"That pretty face of yours? It'll do. Abruptly keen on a four p.m. latte and scone, then?"

"Close," James says, leaning his luscious forearms—revealed by the artlessly ruched up sleeves of his white button-down—against the counter. "As it happens, I am in dire dessert straits."

"Oh?" The bright, happy thing that has been spiraling inside Lily's chest at his unexpected arrival abruptly pops and throbs. "Let me guess—girlfriend isn't pleased with her Valentine's Day gift, and you're hoping to buy a dessert to compensate?"

In the approximately two months since James Potter had first dropped into the bakery one harried winter morning for a latte and breakfast pastry—and during his subsequent numerous visits, at least twice a week since then—Lily has managed to glean a healthy dose of information about him. More than just that he likes his lattes strong and his pastry fruity (though he does), she also knows he works up the road in the big posh building made of full glass doing marketing for his family's company. He likes dry humour comedies and the theatrical wonder of professional wrestling. He has a brother named Sirius, a cat called Algernon, and a phone filled with pictures of both, which he shows off generously. His birthday is in March, his favourite colour is green, and in all this time—all this time—that he has been coming into Lily's bakery and flirting shamelessly with her, he has never once mentioned a girlfriend.

Lily's not-so-small crush has thus flourished with great gusto, gentle winds of affection feeding the flames with each tempting interaction, only to be brought up short here, now, with one single afternoon's visit and the possibility that this may not be what she'd thought.

James tilts his head, giving her an accessing look. "Is that the sort of bloke you get in here today?"

Lily gives a jerky shrug. Answer the question. "One of the sort."

"Your art is wasted on them," he declares, and says it with such firm earnestness, Lily is certain a scarlet flush begins to creep up her neck. He does not seem to notice as he reaches an arm around to pull his phone from his back pocket. "Alas, this is woman trouble, but my specific lack of a girlfriend seems to be a key part of the issue. See?"

Lack of a girlfriend, Lily hears with something akin to relieved euphoria, and she takes the phone when James passes it over to her, glancing down at the lit-up screen.

It's pulled up to a text conversation. At the top, the contact is in big, bold letters.

M U M

"A-ha," Lily says, heart beginning to bubble again, though that in itself is exasperating. This is meant to be a light, easy little crush—she should not be this relieved. "That sort of woman trouble."

James nods solemnly and motions for her to read.

At precisely 14:39, he had sent the following:

happy v day mum

Lily's lips quirk. How predictably James to toss out the offhand sentiment, and how greedy Lily would be for even that much...though lord knows he isn't going to be winning awards for his artful texting prose or brilliant grammar any time soon.

At precisely 14:41, he'd received back:

No day is a happy day when I am squandering my best grandmothering years because my feckless children have denied me the greatest joy a person can know. You are too handsome to be this cruel.

Then there are three emojis: a weeping face, an angry face, an aubergine.

An aubergine.

Lily snorts loudly.

"Ah—ah." She covers the sound with a cough, burying it in a daintily curved knuckle. "That's...quite a guilt trip you've got there. Your mum has a way with words."

"And emojis," James mutters, taking the phone back as Lily laughs in earnest. "So now you see what I'm up against."

"At least she's called you handsome."

"She takes full credit for that, too. Something about the privilege of procuring her prime genes and how grateful I ought to be that she only dropped me on my face as an infant the once." He slips the phone back into his pocket, gives her a cheeky head tilt and a twinkle of warm brown eyes from behind thick-framed specs. "So this is where you come in."

"To agree that she dropped you on your face the appropriate amount of times?"

"To provide me with something that might make her momentarily forget that I haven't yet replicated that face in the form of a human spawn," James corrects, but then he pauses, leaning forward. "Though, by all means, that first one too."

Lily's chest squirms happily. She gives his undoubtedly handsome cheek a playful little pat, but spins on her heel and keeps her red-stained lips shut. She grabs a take away box from the shelf behind her, then turns back to James, whose smiling face is lit up by the dessert display case.

"So"—she prods open the cardboard box, pushing in the tabs—"exactly how many desserts do you reckon make up for your severe lack of procreation?"

James plays at pondering this.

"Well." He taps at his chin. "See, I reckon this is more a 'quality' than a 'quantity' issue, actually."

"Is it? Well, then you have come to the right place." Lily grandly waves a hand over the case. "I am very talented, see."

James smiles. "I'm aware." Then he claps his hands together. "So. One of everything, please."

"One of—" Lily snorts. "Hilarious. What happened to 'quality not quantity'?"

"That's what I'm doing," James returns, and Lily squints in amused confusion at how straight he keeps his face while continuing the joke. "As we've already affirmed, you're very talented. So how am I meant to discover which desserts are the best of the best if I don't try each and every one and choose from there?" He reaches into his pocket again, this time pulling out his wallet. He plucks a jaunty blue credit card out and thrusts it towards her. "One of everything, please."

Lily pushes away his card, rolling her eyes. "Ha-ha. Very funny. What's she keen on? Maybe a tart? Chocolate—"

"One"—jab, jab goes the card again—"of each. Please."

"James."

"I'm good for it. I swear. Go on, swipe through. I'll sit right over there"—he pokes the card briefly towards one of the few tiny tables in the corner of the shop—"and try each and every one."

Lily drops her hands to her hips. He's still not breaking. The stupid handsome face is watching hers in expectant pause. But he can't be serious.

"You're going to sit right there"—she cocks her head towards the table—"and eat thirty different desserts?"

"Sample thirty different desserts," James amends, and pats his slim tummy. "Must be mindful of what will fit, naturally. But it's a scientific thing. Very methodical. Has to be done proper. One by one, each and every one." He lifts an eyebrow at her. "For my mother. To stop the aubergines. I have to stop the aubergines, Lily."

"That's—" She lets out a laugh. Shakes her head. But still—still—he remains unmoved. She lifts the cardboard box again. "I'm packing you four desserts. A perfectly reasonable, high quality sampling—"

"Mary," James calls, eyes never leaving Lily's. He lifts his credit card higher. "Your partner is refusing to sell me thirty desserts."

"You—"

"I'll take that!" Mary cries, swooping in from the other end of the counter, bumping Lily aside so she can pluck James's card straight from his fingertips. She turns to Lily with a gimlet-eyed stare. "Are you out your mind? Serve the man!"

"Yes," James agrees. "Serve the man."

Lily glares at them both, lunging for James's card. "He's not—he's being a loon, he doesn't want thirty desserts—"

"I do," James says again. "I really do."

Mary waves her hand about, determinedly keeping the card from Lily's searching grasp. "Do you hear that? He's confirmed his order. We are a fledgling business, Lily Evans. We do not turn away a good man's good money."

"Thank you," James pipes in again. "I am a good man. I have good money."

"Shut up," Lily returns, huffing in exasperation. "This is so—"

"I'll just pop over there, shall I?" James says, eyebrows raised at her. "To the table? I imagine you have some kind of tray for this sort of thing."

"As a matter of fact—"

"Go on, we'll bring everything right over!" Mary chimes in, looking positively delighted by all of this. "We're even running a Valentine's special: Buy thirty desserts, get one gorgeous, stubborn redhead free."

"Perfect," James says, and though Lily still cannot understand what kind of extravagant nonsense stick slapped him upside the head that afternoon to make him think this was even a remotely sensible idea, she feels her skin prickling with a rosy blush anyway. But James has already turned for the table, marching to the corner of the room with determined strides.

"What are you doing?" Lily hisses to Mary once he's out of earshot.

"What are you doing?" Mary hisses back, poking Lily in the side with James's card. "Your swoony treat of a man wants to buy our shop out of pastry, and you're saying no? I can't decide whether that's a worse business decision or a worse romantic decision!"

"It's not either! He's just...well, honestly, I haven't the faintest what he's doing, but it's not—" Lily waves her hands in irritation, taking a quick glance over her shoulder to see that James has indeed sat himself down at the table in the corner, folding his hands neatly upon the tabletop in a patient pose. He looks delicious and adorable and he's buying all her desserts which he thinks are art, and she wants to snog him more than she wants to breathe. "This is ridiculous. Give me that card."

"Not a chance," Mary shoots back, and whips her hand behind her back again. "For fuck's sake, Lily, I heard the word aubergine. So go get the man his desserts, and maybe you can finally enjoy yourself a bit of fruit!"

"Shhh—god, Mary—" But her partner has already flounced back over to the register, where Lily sees she is quick at work in charging James's card.

Thirty desserts.

He wants thirty desserts.

He's clearly gone mad.

But with Mary swiping a black hole onto his charge card, Lily can't very well refuse to serve him, even if she can't figure out his game. After a moment's huff of frustration, she grabs one of the empty baking trays from the kitchen and heads for the display case. The four-tiered unit is packed full with Lily's hard work from the morning—tartes and chocolates and confectionaries with elegant designs and perfectly coiffed decor (save the one clumsily frosted heart cupcake—James is getting that one, because she's spiteful). It's a lit up pedestal for her daily achievements, and she carefully picks out one of every dessert they currently have on display.

The collection makes up a rather dazzling tableau. With all of them standing together, Lily gets a little burst of pride. She is an artist at work, and it tickles her straight down to the heart that he's been impressed enough to notice it, to make the comment. All of this tickles at her in a way that she was not expecting to be tickled on a busy Valentine's Day afternoon with a dish of a man, his guilt-tripping mother, and an emoji aubergine.

But she's already given her protests. What else is a girl to do except roll with it?

James stands up to help her when he spots her coming over with the tray, but Lily deftly outmaneuvers him to drop the full platter atop the tiny tabletop herself. His long fingers casually fall to the small of her back as they stand beside each other and marvel at the table full of desserts. Lily turns her head to look up at him, only to find him looking at her too.

Their faces are close. So close.

She looks away first.

"Your good money has procured you good desserts, my good man," she says flatly, slipping an errant strand of red hair behind her ear.

James chuckles. "Excellent. Now if I only had someone to taste them with…"

Lily plucks a single plastic fork from her pocket, jabbing him lightly in the chest with its flimsy prongs. "Sorry, old chap. Science is a lonely game."

James lifts a hand to catch the fork—but catches a few of her fingers along with it.

Lily's whole arm immediately feels encased in pure, tingling warmth.

"What was this I heard about a free gorgeous redhead?" he inquires with faux innocence. "I think I ordered one of those, as well."

"Reckon that one's out of your budget, mate," Lily returns, though her fingers curl beneath his.

"I have incredibly high limits on my card," James says, but when she gives him a quelling look, he only lifts the hand that's not still—still—holding hers, and splays its fingers wide. "Five minutes," he requests, brown eyes pleading. "I need someone to explain what everything is. I'm hopeless. I'll just call every one a pudding and and never get the right one."

"You're not nearly as hopeless as that," Lily argues, but her protest sounds flimsily wain even to her own ears.

But, really, why shouldn't it? Of course she wants to cosy up with James at this table and watch as he samples all her delicious hard work, wants to see his eyes light up with each taste, wants to grin as he dives back in for second spoonfuls of his favourites, wants to listen to the cool, syrupy sound of his voice as he sorts through which treat he thinks his mum will fancy most.

She glances over her shoulder at Mary, who is presently ringing up one customer's purchase, with a second queuing patiently behind. There does seem to be a brief lull in the mad Valentine's rush. And those cupcakes were the last of Lily's afternoon baking shift. The display cases should remain decently stocked for at least another few hours. If a sudden onslaught of new customers arrives, she can always pop back over there.

She turns to James, who watches her with hopeful expectation. His face is still so close, she can nearly taste the little dimple. Could just lift up on her tiptoes, drop the smallest of kisses—

Christ, she's far gone for this one.

"Fine. Five minutes," she says, and feels the rush of heady affection as he grins widely, beaming at her. "But if it starts getting busy, I'll have to—"

"Hop to, absolutely." His fingers drop hers, but only so he can reach down and guide her from the back once more. He kicks out one of the chairs with his foot and calls, "Mary, Lily's taking her break!"

"Five minutes!" Lily corrects, and gives James a look as he seats her, then slides into the chair across. "Five minutes," she warns him again.

His only response is another grin.

Five minutes, she's said, but of course it's not five minutes. At five minutes, she's hardly gotten through naming even half of the desserts presented, gets caught up when James asks, "Where did you learn all this? You're a bloody marvel." And Lily explains about her grandmother, the one who had kept Lily in the kitchen at her knee for most of her childhood, and then the brief stint in culinary school after that, though when that same grandmother had passed and left Lily a healthy little inheritance, she and Mary had decided to take the plunge and open the shop.

So five minutes turns to ten, and ten to fifteen, and then time means something else because they're talking about James's mum and her laundry list of hilarious antics and the way James so clearly adores her straight down to his toes—adores his whole family, and the stories he has!—but then Lily has to pop over to help with a growing rush of customers and returns to the table to find that James has somehow recruited five adorable little girls and their jolly father chaperone into his scientific study, six new forks diving into numerous delicacies, and Lily is left preening as James announces that she is their creator and all six newcomers babble and bleat their lavish praise upon her. The little girls do not seem to notice or mind that the frosting on their heart-shaped cupcake is lopsided, and end up ordering half-dozen more before they depart the bakery with waves and frosting-coated smiles. Lily rings them up herself with her own giddy grin, and turns to find that Mary has foisted a rag and cleaner spray on James, who is diligently scrubbing little girl finger prints off the glass display case. Then they're back at the table, and how can they not start to discuss which Fyre Festival documentary is better? It's the only natural progression of the afternoon, and the perfect complement to casual fork dips into the red velvet cake. And the strawberry shortcake. And—

"A pudding!" James declares in delight.

"A pudding," Lily confirms, smiling fondly.

She's so very very fond of this man, and each five minutes by five minutes that passes does nothing to temper that. It's a mighty thing, this deepening crush of hers, and it's suddenly being augmented all the more by the growing suspicion that she's almost certain—really, nearly positively certain—that it's not an unrequited affection. She's considered it before, of course. All these weeks, all these mornings. But today...it's different. He doesn't say anything more flirty than usual, doesn't try anything cringeworthy like feeding her food off his fork or asking what desserts are best eaten directly from the skin. Lily has had a few of those sorts in her past, and James is neither. But he does lean into her across the table at every available opportunity. He does make nudging his fork against hers as they dig into a fruit tart seem like foreplay. He does…

He does fancy her.

It's....really, she's certain—

"All that talk about pudding, and you hardly even tasted it!" she cries now, because she can't bring herself to say, All this chemistry and flirting, and you've hardly even touched me!

James responds to neither spoken nor unspoken exclamation, instead scraping a spoon once again inside the effectively empty glass of caramel pretzel mousse, which has quickly surpassed all other desserts on the tray in his estimation.

"I want to be buried in this," he declares, lavishly closing his eyes as he licks the spoon for the last sparse remnants of mousse streaks. "Better yet, cremate me and mix me in with the batter. Please. It's the perfect way to go."

"That would most certainly affect the consistency," Lily mutters, but she's pleased—so very smug and proud and pleased—that he's so enamoured of something she's made. He's been rapturously complimentary about just about every dessert he's sampled, but he's clearly got a new favourite and it delights her.

"I want this for every meal," he says, and stares down at the mousse glass like he's strongly considering circling the rim with his finger so he can lick up whatever his spoon has failed to catch. "I want—"

"Another one?" Lily asks, laughing. "You're allowed to pick out one for yourself along with your mum's, you know. I'm sure there's plenty left—"

But as Lily swivels in her seat to view just how many caramel pretzel mousses are left for James to hoard all his own, it's to find a much emptier display case than when she'd last left it. In fact, the whole bakery is emptier. And it's darker. Much darker.

"Shit." She checks her watch—shit. "It's nearly closing. How did it get so late?"

"Hm?" James murmurs, but Lily rises to her feet, suddenly incredibly skittish.

She knew she'd wasted a bit of time this afternoon, tasting and laughing and chatting with James. She just hadn't realised how much time had gone.

She glances up to see that Mary is taking care of another customer at the till, and the one other woman they have running this shift is tidying in the kitchen. Neither seems bothered or overwhelmed by Lily's absence, but she still feels like a wretch. She makes it to the display case to find that a solid half of the stock has been thoroughly cleared out. There are no more crème brûlée biscuits. No more double chocolate mini cakes. No more—

No more caramel pretzel mousses.

"Shit," she says again, squinting in the glare of the display case's lights. She glances over her shoulder at James, who has risen to his feet too and is slowly following her towards the desserts. "We took too long. Look—half of the best stuff is already gone. You and the girls wanted to include the graham cracker shortcake. And there's only one of the praline pieces. And the mousse—"

"It is a shame, about the mousse," James says, and stops when he's standing next to her, gazing down at the empty tiers, as well. He pauses, and then there's the warm pressure of his fingers at her back again, soothingly stroking. "Don't worry about the rest."

She feels impossibly guilty. "What do you mean 'don't worry about the rest'? The whole plan—"

"There's been a change in the plans," James says, nodding firmly. "A big reveal, if you will."

"Big reveal? What does that—"

"I realised quite early on that it would require approximately six stone of desserts in order to have my poor mother forgetting about her lack of extended progeny for even the smallest productive period of time." He tips his chin at her in acknowledgment. "Even if they are the best desserts the world has ever seen."

She narrows her eyes, wondering where this is going now. "That's very flattering, but what then—"

"Euphemia Potter is a woman of action," James interrupts again, simply and crisply. "She likely could never be bribed with sweets or treats. Instead, I plan to earn back far greater favour by stopping round her house later, giving her a strong cuddle, and saying, 'Mother beloved, I am sorry I do not yet have a child for which you may dandle upon your knee, but I did just spend the entire afternoon finagling my way into a dessert-themed date with the woman I've fancied something fierce for the last two months—and I think it actually went really well—so I hope you'll take that as strides in the correct direction and strive to be content for now.'"

What had he just—

...finagling my way into a dessert-themed date...

...woman I've fancied something fierce…

...went really well…

Lily stares at him.

She stares at him, she blinks rapidly, feels her pulse racing...and then she tries not to smile.

Date.

Fancy.

Thank god.

"You sly little shit." She elbows him in the stomach, beginning to laugh as he laughs. "You tricked me."

"Only a smidge," he insists, and holds up his thumb and pointer finger, measuring out a minuscule centimeter. The other hand still drifts along her back. "And only because every time I come in, you seem so busy, so I chatted with Mary—"

"Mary was in on this?"

"—and I know Valentine's Day is the worst, but I wanted to see you, and I didn't know—that is, I wasn't sure if…" He trails off, wincing some, looking for the first time a bit bashful and apologetic for his elaborate machinations. Lily still can't believe she'd been so neatly shepherded into it like one of the blind herd. It's grating, being fooled this way. But also…

But also…

Woman I've fancied something fierce.

Lily turns toward him, stepping forward until the space is gone between them, until she can wrap her long arms around his middle and squeeze his torso in a tight, thrilling little hug...all while stomping very firmly on his left foot with hers.

"Next time, just ask, you prat," she grumbles, then snuggles her face against his chest.

She can feel his heart pounding against her ear. His body—so soft and warm—huddles around hers as both of James's arms wrap around her too. He squeezes her—strong, tight, delicious.

"There's a next time?" he asks hopefully.

Lily makes a vague little humming noise, burying her smile into his button-down.

There would be a next time. There would most certainly be a next time.

After all...someone still had to do something about those aubergines.

[mellicose]

That Woman Over There - Chapter 24

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: Teen, for some mature themes

Word count: 3323

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7| Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23 |

He looked at Connie with adoration.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the one passing out after sex?” he whispered in her ear, then kissed her cheek.

“Stereotype,” she muttered, and rolled over to lay her head on his chest. Soon, she was snoring.

He gently inserted her mouthguard, and went down the stairs to the kitchen. He wondered whether he should make them a romantic dinner. He looked in his fridge for something to cook, but there wasn’t much in there. He’d been busy in the last week, and grocery shopping was the furthest thing from his mind.

He poured himself a glass of almond milk and squirted chocolate in it. It was one of his favorite tea time treats. As he savored it, he noticed the light on in Olivia’s kitchen. His sense told him not to bother her. But he couldn’t avoid her like she was the one who had done something wrong. Also, he missed Monty.

He ran across the back yard. He knocked on her door, bracing himself for possible verbal abuse. She wasn’t that type of woman usually, but maybe he deserved it.

She saw him and opened the door. She was silent, but her energy wasn’t negative.

“Hey, John. We're getting our things together. We’re going to gran’s house, aren’t we?” she said to Monty, who whizzed by in his walker.

“JUN!” He yelled, and waved his hands to be picked up.

“You’re going to your ma’s?” he said. He bounced Monty in his arms, and the baby tucked his head into his neck and smacked a kiss there.

“Sweet boy,” he said, and kissed the top of his head. “Have you had foods yet?” he whispered to him. He was a bit low energy.

“I haven’t had time to properly feed him something when he woke from his nap,” Olivia said. She folded clean laundry and put it into a large wheelie suitcase.

“How about some spaghetti?” he said to the baby. “With butter?” Monty didn’t like tomatoes.

The baby pursed up his mouth. “Mmmmm.” He looked exactly like Liv.

“Mmmmm,” he repeated, and nuzzled him. “Yum.”

He confidently went into the cupboards for the pasta and the pot, and put the water on the stove to boil. He carried the baby into the living room and sat down.

“Thanks for feeding Monty,” she said, folding a blouse and shoving it into her overstuffed suitcase.

“Have you eaten today?” he said.

Her mouth was in a straight line, and she was entirely too pale. “Now that I think about it, not really. Just tea and cigarettes.”

“Let me make you something before you go. It doesn’t have to be pasta.” Monty crawled out of his lap and to his toys on the corner.

She gave him a bruised look. He stood up to check on the water, and she threw down the pair of jeans she was folding and put her arms arounds him, hard. He gasped. It was the first time she had ever hugged so hard.

“Livvie,” he said, using the nickname he rarely used. She sniffed into his chest, and her shoulders shook. Even her tears were quiet. He held her closer.

“It’s over, John. She’s gone,” she said.

“I’m so, so sorry,” he said. She pulled away, and patted his chest.

“I’ve cried so much in the last few hours my eyes hurt,” she said. “I can’t do it anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do, though. It’s terrifying.”

“What’s happening at your parent’s?” he said. He went to put the pasta in the boiling water.

“Closure, I think.” She sat down. “I’ll have to bite the bullet since they told me I rushed into things-”

He chuckled. “If 10 months is rushing it, I’m going light speed,” he said. “Anyway, please continue.”

Olivia bit her lip. “She told me I should’ve let her go the first time, when I was pregnant. They offered to let me stay there until I was ready to get back to work, but I refused their help. Then, of course, there was that nosy weirdo coming around to bother me all the time,” she said, and gave him a crooked smile.

“Any old excuse to visit a posh house,” he said.

Monty threw something that made a discordant tinkling sound. He wanted attention. John held out his arms for him, but instead of crawling, he pulled himself up by a large stuffed animal and stood there, staring at him intently.

“Uh-oh. You doing a dirty?” he said, and chuckled. The boy huffed as if insulted he would poop in such an august position.

“Don’t you be posh about it. If you gotta go, you gotta go,” John said.

“Tak,” Monty said indignantly. It was a nonsense word, but it felt a lot like hush. He pooched out his lips and flexed his chubby toes.

“You’ll make sure Alex is okay when she comes back and doesn’t see me?” Olivia said. He sighed. She bit her lip. “She told me what happened today.”

He crossed his legs and remained silent.

“She also told me what you said,” she said, searching his face. “About Monty and I.” He curled into himself. She put her hand on his shoulder. “I didn’t know we meant that much to you.”

“Of course you do,” he said, taking her hand. “You’re like family. I love both of you.” She let him hold her hand. After such a horrible day, it felt good. She remembered again that men provide a different kind of warmth than women, but it was no less necessary. She discovered it young with her father, but since she wasn’t attracted to men, it had slipped her mind. She squeezed back. “You changed my life.”

“You keep saying that, but I fail to see how,” she said. Her tone was gentle.

“I was a sad, lonely involuntary bachelor. Knowing you reset my mentality about what relationships with women could be.”

She sighed and looked away. He ran away to take the pasta off the boil. “Are you sure you don’t want anything, Liv? You should eat something. You’re feeding Monty.”

“A tomato sandwich, then?” she said, walking into the kitchen. He smiled.

“How does Monty hate tomatoes so much? You eat them like apples.”

“I suppose the father isn’t partial,” she said, and shrugged. “It’s so strange I don’t know things like that. I know his IQ and what hereditary diseases don’t run in his family, but not whether he bites his tongue when he’s concentrating. It’s a mystery.”

He drained the mushy noodles, and cut them into bite-sized pieces. “Would it be rude if I asked how it goes?”

“How what goes?”

“The process,” he whispered. He put a pat of butter on the hot noodles. Monty wobbled by on unsteady legs.

“Are you asking about a biology lesson?” Olivia said, suppressing a smile.

“No – I mean, I know how everything works, in nature. But do they bring a cup of … you know what and shoot it up there?” Monty fell on his bottom, and quietly pulled himself up with a kitchen chair.

“More or less. With insemination, the magic of procreation happens in an aseptic examination room with a deep breath, a prayer to your deity of choice, and a turkey baster.”

“Romantic,” he said, stirring the butter into the pasta. With a grunt, Monty pushed off and walked to his high chair.

“And you did it all alone,” he said, shaking his head.

“Does a doctor count? They suggested that I bring a partner to help make the way easier for the swimmers,” she said. “But that was a no-go.”

“Eh?” John said.”Make the way?”

“You know,” she said. “Fool around. Apparently, arousal ups the chances of conception.”

“Oh,” he said. He went into the refrigerator, and found some mashed squash for the boy. He dumped it in the still-hot pasta pot. “If I add some fried sage, you’d be eating as well as a prince,” he said. It was too silent.

“Where’d you go, boy?” he said.

He made a sound from the living room. When they looked, he stood by the window, holding the sill. He held his head high.

“Jun,” he said with finality. And he took a few perfect steps to the desk.

Olivia and John looked at each other, eyes narrowed.

“In the kitchen,” John said. He walked his fingers across his palm.

“Did we miss his first steps while talking about insemination?” she said incredulously.

Monty screamed to get their attention back. Then, he bit his little tongue, and walked to the sofa.

“Uh?” he said, looking at them. They started to laugh.

“My sweet, clever boy!” she said. She knelt to hug and kiss him. “Walking around like the lord of the manor. Do it again for mum,” she said. Both of them pulled their phones out. Olivia walked by the door. “Walk to mummy,” she said. He smiled, squared up, and took the wobbling steps to her legs.

They burst into fresh cheers. Monty squealed along. They kissed him until his cheeks were rose, and Olivia posted the short video on her Facebook.

“You’re gonna have to baby proof everything at your parent’s house now,” he said as he put the baby in his high chair.

“Why does he wait until you’re around to do these things?” she said, smiling. “You’re a good luck charm.”

“It’s chance,” he said. “This has been a week of milestones.”

“He really loves you. You’ll come to visit the house, right?”

He put down Monty’s food and held her hand again. “Of course. You’ll have cream tea ready for me on the patio?”

“You’re insufferable,” she said, smiling.

His smile faded. “I hope you know that regardless of what happened, you can count on me. For anything. You say the word, and it’s done.”

Just a year ago, she would’ve slapped him silly, thinking him a disingenuous twat. But so much had changed.

“I know,” she said. One last question pricked at her. He sat down and blew gently on the squash. Monty slapped the tray, eager to eat.

“John…” She sat down beside him. “You loved her,” she said, searching his gaze. “Alex. I knew it, since I love her.”

He tied the giant plastic bib and handed Monty his special spoon. “Do your worst, mate,” he said. Monty giggled and dug in. He rose to get him his sippy cup. Olivia wondered whether he would say something. When Monty had his juice, he sat closer to her.

“My love was selfish,” he said.

“Isn’t most love, though?” Olivia said.

“I don’t know. It’s jealous, sometimes. Selfishness hints at something else.”

“You said at mother’s that you loved her, at first sight. Although it felt like a punch to the chest, I recognized the feeling in myself. That’s how I knew it was real.”

“After 13 years of Mara, my perceptions were a bit skewed,” he said. He opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“At this point, you can’t hurt me much more,” she said. “Speak.”

“She shines. It’s something about the way she doesn’t care about what anyone thinks. Being around her is like getting carte blanche to be yourself too. It’s addictive,” he said.

“I suppose,” she said. He made a good point. It was also the first thing she noticed about her. At first, it was charming. As time passed, it grated on her nerves, since it started to feel like callousness.

“After a decade of being cowed into misery, it was a change,” he said. “There’s no silence with her. No mystery. Everything’s right there in the open.”

“Yeah,” she said.

Monty coughed, and they both turned to him. He took a deep drink of his sippy cup and kept working on his noodles.

“I wanted her, Olivia. I was honest with you about that. Really honest. I knew you were together, but it didn’t matter to me. And when the opportunity presented itself, I took what I could get.” She sniffed. He wiped squash from Monty’s cheeks. “I wasn’t always that kind of man. It’s not what I was taught, but I was angry at all the world and I didn’t care who I hurt to get what I felt I deserved.”

“Her and I weren’t married,” Olivia said. 

“I don’t mean to sound like a jerk, but it wasn’t about you two. It never was. It was about me, and what I wanted.”

“That’s love,” she said.

He tilted his head.”I hate to quote Holy Writ, but love is selfless. Sometimes to a fault. Like, irritatingly so,” he said, thinking back on all he endured for Mara. And, given the opportunity, all he would endure for Connie.

“I dunno,” she said. “I think the first symptom of love is clinging on to what you love, no matter the cost.”

“Perhaps, but I don’t think it counts if the person you love isn’t clinging just as hard to you,” he said. “That only counts if you’re battling together against outside circumstances. Not if, internally, your desires are at odds.”

She gave him a surprised look. He was much wiser than he let on.

“I wanted her,” he repeated. “But when I got to know all of you, the selfishness faded into something real.”

“I don’t understand how it works,” she said. She knew she was possibly being obtuse, but she had to know.

“It’s almost as if you’re upset I rejected her,” he said, his brow high.

She shrugged. “You won. After all this time, she chose you.”

“She wants me, yes,” he said. Monty threw his sippy cup to the floor and whimpered. He was done. “Are you sensing a pattern?” John’s face began to transform. There was hurt there now, clear as day. “I got a taste of my own medicine, and it was mighty bitter,” he said.

Olivia took off Monty’s bib and cleaned him with a wet wipe.

“I don’t get it.” She went upstairs to prepare a bath for Monty. He stared from the landing. “You can come up,” she said. He followed her like a wraith to the bathroom. Monty squealed. He loved bath time. She started a bath, and threw in the little ducky with the thermometer on it. The baby stood by the tub and did his bath dance, beautifully oblivious of what was going on around him. John sat on the lip of the tub and patted his head.

“I recognized the look, even before she told me,” he said. “It was the same eyes you and I had for her.”

She pulled off Monty’s clothes. He sighed happily when she took off his diaper. He rubbed his bare bottom pensively and waited for the water to be ready.

It took a couple of beats for what he said to sink in. She sighed.

“You get me now?” he said gently. She put her hands in the water and swirled some baby soap into it. Monty raised his arms, and she put him in the bath seat. He giggled and splashed around. She handed him a cup printed with cartoon sea animals. He put it under the water, then poured it over his own head. He took a whooping breath, then laughed.

She washed his hair, working the berry-scented suds through hair nearly as pale as the bubbles. He cooed with irritation, but didn’t fidget. John walked to the stairs.

“Don’t go. We’ll be right down,” she said. She put her hand over his eyes and rinsed his hair. He went into the kitchen and began to clean up. As he scraped the remains of the spaghetti into the trash, he realized how much things were going to change. The idyll was over.

His bedroom light came on, and the blinds shivered. Connie stuck out her tongue at him. 

He texted her. I’m fixing things with Olivia. I’ll be there in a moment.

His phone buzzed. You actually wrote all those words out? Ilysm

I don’t do the omg brb roflcopter thing.

Yr fingers r gonna b sore then 

She disappeared from the window.

I can’t wait. Have a drink on me until I text you. We’re almost done.

K

She appeared at his kitchen window, wearing a pair of boxers and a t-shirt. She waved a beer bottle at him. He blew her a kiss. She bit her lip, then lifted up the shirt and jiggled for him. He put his hand over his heart.

Saucy wench.

For you always 

She pressed the cold bottle to her nipple.

That’s gorgeous. 

He leaned over the sink and blew her a kiss.

“Anyone walking by can see you two,” Olivia said.

“Holy mother of balls,” he said, twisting around. Connie dipped out of view. Monty was brushed, sweet smelling, and in his pajamas. He sat down quickly to hide his semi, but he still blushed. “Sorry.”

Olivia shrugged. “I’m leaving. I don’t care about what the neighbors think anymore. I was watching out for you.” She sat down. “What about my sandwich?”

“Of course,” he said, bursting into action.

She put Monty in the walker, and he began to run back and forth between the living room and the kitchen. He found a crusty loaf in the bread box, but she stopped him. “It has to be soft bread, or it will crush the tomato when I bite into it and make a mess.”

“Ah,” he said, and grabbed the pan loaf bread that Alex preferred. “Butter or mayonnaise?”

“Mayonnaise. Butter’s not terribly good cold,” she said. He let himself be directed. “Cut the tomato thick. The slices have to have some body.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said. He felt traces of Connie in her.

“Spread both slices of bread with the mayo,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “And after, cover them with very thin slices of cheddar. Last goes the tomato, with generous grind of black pepper and salt.”

He went through the steps, then cut the crusts from the bread. “Do you prefer squares or triangles?” he said.

“Triangles, remember?” she said.

He put the plate in front of her and sat down. She bit into a corner and sighed. Monty ran by and giggled. She picked up a small plushie on the tray of Monty’s walker, and threw it at the kitchen window.

“Eh?” he said as it flew over his shoulder.

“Connie’s making funny faces at me,” she said, and smiled.

He turned and blew her a kiss. She pointed at Olivia, then mimicked biting into a sandwich. She pulled up her shirt and sucked in her belly until the slats of her ribs showed. Hungry. Olivia stuck out her tongue and took another bite. Her eyes focused on John.

“You’re right,” she said finally. “I held on too tight. I suppose I wouldn’t have had to hold on at all if it was right.” She put her hand over his. “I’m sorry. For vilifying you.”

“I was a twat for a bit. I don’t blame you.”

“But you’re not one anymore. Most days,” she said, and smiled at him. “We’ll drive out tomorrow after Connie’s taxi. I will send a van for the desk. Will you watch the house if Alex decides to stay with her mum?”

The corners of his lips trembled. It was all too real. He hugged her tight.

“Alright, alright. We won’t be far. In any case, it’s looking like I’m just the first to move on,” she said, patting his back. When he pointed up, Connie was looking at them through the door. Olivia waved her in. John opened his arms to her, but she walked by and stole the other half of the sandwich.

“Nice,” John said.

“What? I love you, but I’m starving,” she said through a squishy mouthful of bread.

“John, can I order a couple more?” Olivia said.

“Coming right up,” he said, and stood with a smile.

[aetherictree]

Just Avoid The Mole People

You can make anything into an adventure, if you spin it in the right way. It’s all a matter of perspective. The purpose of an author - of any artist - is to show a different perspective, to draw out the amazing from the mundane. Any city is a city of adventure, if you dig deep enough.

Just avoid the mole people.

Lol joke.

No-one can avoid the mole people.

_________________________________________________

Seriously, who wrote this stuff? ‘Mole people’? He’s joking, right? Right? - excerpt from a diary found by the entrance to an abandoned underground station

_________________________________________________

If you wish to find adventure, just search for it - like Mother Russia, it has a tendency to find you. But be careful when you do, because adventures are usually a lot more fun in the retelling by a fire than they ever are when you’re being chased by feral humans who live off the rats they’ve managed to catch in the darkness.

Just another of my jokes.

They feed on people.

_________________________________________________

Right, I’m checking out this underground this guy is on about. It shouldn’t take me that long. Bob said he’ll come, but Dave is too much of a chicken.

_________________________________________________

A sad fact about a lot of people is that they’ll never prepare for what life may throw their way. They go to school to prepare them for a job, but they’ll never learn any kind of defense skills or first aid whilst they are there. It really is a shame. You never no when you have to fight of a mugger or bandage up a friend who’s fallen on to a pane of glass.

Or defend them from cannibal human underground dwellers.

________________________________________________

Okay, I’m ready to go in. I’ve got my torch and my phone; I don’t think I’ll need anything else. Just go in and prove Dave wrong. I’ll take this as well, write down anything interesting.

________________________________________________

How many deaths could have been avoided if people had taken warnings seriously? Every winter, without fail, someone dies because they’ve dove into a river to save their dog, after being repeatedly told not to. Usually the dog survives, but through no help of the owner. Maybe people just think they’re exempt from warnings, that those warnings are meant for other people.

Like warnings about underground cannibals.

________________________________________________

Okay, maybe Dave had a point. This place stinks, and sounds funny. Like there are other people walking around down here. Probably just our echoes, though. Maybe homeless people sleeping down here.

________________________________________________

There are awards, called the Darwin awards, awarded to people who have, through their stupidity, either removed themselves from the gene pool without procreating, or else removed their ability to procreate. The sort of person who thinks that lions are just big kittens that want to play, or accept a dare to chop their own head off.

Or who walk into dark, abandoned tunnels, without the appropriate equipment, in an attempt to prove a point.

________________________________________________

Damn, can’t get any phone signal down here. I don’t know where I am right now. Bob has disappeared off to try and find his way out. It shouldn’t take me that long, I think. I took the... left turn back there?

_______________________________________________

Ariadne had the right idea - when entering a labyrinth, always mark out where you’re coming from, so that you can find your way back. That trope is older than feudalism. Unfortunately, characters in horror movies never seem to apply it when investigating abandoned structures, something which usually leads to their downfall when they inevitably wake the masked killer...

...or, you know, the cannibal horde.

_______________________________________________

Somehow, writing down stuff makes me feel calmer. Okay. Here we go - I just found a corpse. I really think Dave had a point now about not wanting to come down here. Wait- screaming? That sounds like Bob! I really need to get out of this place...

_______________________________________________

Perhaps we can apply something of the anthropic principle to stories of adventure. Only those who survive, by luck or by skill, manage to pass on their stories, which is why we end up with characters who appear to be either superhuman or the plaything of Lady Luck. Those who don’t end up dead, and are thus unable to tell anyone about their tales

Though that does not quite hold when people can record their adventures as they happen, leading to their stories being discovered half written, terminating at the same point as their life does.

[hellolightbulbmoments]

Game development as a hobby

Despite being a programmer, and someone with an interest in computer games it has never crossed mind to make a game. Well–I've helped make a small game in the past by contributing 3D assets and I have, kind of, made games before. One game, but it was really basic. A game that required clicking a moving target which got faster each time it was clicked. I've never thought about programming my own game from scratch, a game that could work on computers, maybe phones, or even game consoles. I always thought that was for the realm of the super talented, those who have experience in the gaming industry or have graduated in computer science. Nevertheless, after creating a Udemy course teaching people how to write fairly complicated web development code I thought, maybe I'm ready, maybe now I'm good enough to try and make my own game. I spoke to Hannah about this idea and she was incredibly excited, she had all sorts of ideas on what we could make. We had plenty of discussions on a 2D adventure game we could make called, 'Yaa and the Golden Stool'. The story would be based off Yaa Asantewaa, a Ghanian woman who fought back the British opposition trying to capture the sacred golden stool. We came up with a storyboard, some mechanics, and talked about some of the bosses fights. 

In the end–we decided to archive that idea. It was far too complicated for two people who had never built a game before. We came up with something more simple, an infinite runner (like Temple Run or Jetpack Joyride), where you play as an armadillo and collect bugs. Hannah was really excited about designing the environment and animating the characters. We later discovered there are loads of games with armadillo's in them already, so the animal changed to a pangolin. A bit like an armadillo but more prehistoric and endangered. In fact, the pangolin is the world's most trafficked animal. We also thought it better to make a platformer ( like Mario or Sonic), instead of an infinite runner since we wanted the player to control their direction. Hannah quickly began sketching characters and environments using Procreate on her iPad, then transferring them to Photoshop for sprite and tilesheets. I looked into what game engine to use. Unity and Unreal are the big ones most people gravitate to but I didn't have that luxury. I planned to programme the game during work hours (we're given 10% of our time to work on whatever we want), which meant using the work laptop, and finance companies are pretty strict about what bits of software you can install. So instead of getting a piece of software I got a programming language instead, one called Haxe. I chose to use Haxe because it is lightweight, and can be exported into other languages (useful for running the same game on different platforms). The game engine I went with was one called HaxeFlixel, mainly because it had good documentation and people had made multi-platform games with it before. 

It has been over a month of working on this game now I'm still very much enjoying the process. It's what I think about doing most when I'm at work or commuting. I enjoy coming up with ideas and bouncing them off Hannah, hearing some of her ideas and seeing new artwork she produces. We've both watched a lot of indie game documentaries to inspire us and give us tips on how to fine-tune our workflow. Our favourites have been the Hades series from NoClip and Building the Bastion.

Trello and Slack have been our main project management tool for communication and sharing assets.

And we're currently testing the game in a web browser, but we plan to have the finished game running as a native application on PC, Mac, and Linux. No mobile platforms at the moment.

We're aiming to keep the game short, no longer than an hour, it's kind of a test bed for us to see how difficult it is to make a game. It's been good to go back and watch old videos, to see how much we've learned, and what we can do to improve the game.

I'm super thankful to Hannah for creating all the design assets so far, there's no way I could make the game look as good as it is without her. Gaming creation was _my_ interest and now it's become our interest. I'm glad she's taken it on board as her own and has as much passion and enthusiasm as I do when it comes to game creation. 

Most developers say the first game you make won't be good, but even if this game won't be good, I certainly will have a lot of fun playing it and watching others play it as well.

[rodan-flyingmonster-blog]

REVIEW - Godzilla (2014): The Dialogue is Expository and the Action Looks Nice

Dir. Gareth Edwards, Screenplay by Max Borenstein, Music by Alexandre Desplat

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I’ll be up front about the fact that this is a bit of a lame-duck entry for me, though I was surprised upon rewatching it to find it succeeds and falls short in different ways than I’d remembered. I’ll also put out there right now that this may be the one tentpole movie I could genuinely say I followed with enough personal investment to feel disappointed by. I kept up with the production in a way I rarely do Hollywood films. I sat in awe of early teasers that promised to deliver on the long-missing angle of Godzilla’s nuclear horror. I watched as Godzilla’s foggy silhouette roared over a static-riddled recording of the famous Oppenheimer “Now I am become death” speech. I was a bit crushed to have put myself in a theater opening day, having dragged a girlfriend along at the time, only to find a final product that fell so far away from my expectations. All of that undoubtedly colors my feelings on the movie, and I want to acknowledge that up front. However, I hope to also address what I think works, and what I think really doesn’t, in America’s second take on the iconic monster as a movie in its own right.

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In 1999, two scientists from clandestine monster-tracking organization Monarch (Ken Watanabe’s Dr. Serizawa and Sally Hawkins’ Vivienne Graham) find the remains of a gigantic terrestrial lifeform. The animal appears to have been killed by grotesque, H.R. Giger-esque parasitic pods hanging from the ceiling of the cave its skeleton is discovered in. In Japan, near the Janjira nuclear power plant, Joe Brody (Bryan Cranston) is concerned about unnatural seismic activity. On the day he plans to force the issue with his superiors, the seismic activity destroys nearly the entire power plant, killing Joe’s wife, who he’d sent to lower levels to investigate. The main story picks up fifteen years later, as Joe’s now-adult son, Ford Brody (Aaron Taylor Johnson), returns home to San Francisco from military deployment only to be alerted that his father has been arrested for trespassing in Japan. Joe is convinced the government is hiding something in the quarantine zone surrounding the abandoned nuclear plant. Long story short, Joe is right, and two insectoid giant monsters codenamed MUTOs (massive unidentified terrestrial organisms) emerge to feed on modern nuclear energy and procreate, one from a cocoon discovered under Janjira, another from a waste-disposal facility in Nevada. Joe is killed in the MUTO’s initial attack. Ford is left to find a way to return home to his family after a monster attack cancels his flight out of Hawaii, teaming up with various military operations along the way due to his background as an EOD officer. Eventually each of the movie’s driving forces—the MUTOs, Ford, Monarch, and a reawakened Godzilla, here reimagined as an ancient predator and a natural enemy of the MUTOs—converge on San Fransisco for a final, climactic fight.

The visuals here are impressive, but they can’t raise the film above its flat characters, muddled themes, and some of the most embarrassingly expository dialogue I’ve heard in a contemporary Hollywood film.

The movie’s main failure for me is that—as breathtaking as its visuals and sense of scale often are—the content surrounding them is amazingly, terribly schlocky, completely at odds with the level of investment the film asks of its genre-savvy audience. I’d be retreading old ground if I pointed out that Ford’s story often feels incidental, that he doesn’t have character motivation outside of wanting to return to his stereotypically rendered family in this specific situation, that Johnson’s acting is wooden. The fact the movie’s interesting characterization tends to shuffle off with Cranston is a fault admitted even by its most ardent fans. Watanabe is given a bit of spotlight as a Japanese native who argues against the employment of nuclear weapons due to his father’s experience in Hiroshima, but it all comes off a little limply—most of his dialogue is relegated to delivering almost mystical proclamations about the true purpose of Godzilla, and it’s all very silly and unscientific and seems to come from nowhere germane to his character. This problem is shared with Hawkins’ scientist character, for that matter, who takes a moment early on to remind the camera that the movie’s titular monster is “a god, for all intents and purposes.” Sometimes they’re scientists, sometimes they’re the Cult of Godzilla; one-hundred percent of the time they’re delivering whatever dialogue will sound coolest before the scene cuts. There are no substantial characters in this film, despite the movie being entirely rooted in them, following them, relying on their individual conflicts, rather than taking a more distanced, intellectual approach.

I want to be very clear that it asks the viewer to treat it with absolute seriousness; look at any of the film’s visuals, its marketing, etc. But, as I pointed out in a one-off comment a week or so ago, the movie is filled with outrageous schlock from the get-go. The credits open over stock footage of nuclear tests, a tired trope of American B-movies, rather than this film’s Japanese source. The sequence ends on the image of a bomb with a little Godzilla face painted on it in the middle of a “No” circle, which is absolutely hysterical. The dialogue, even were the characters not the ciphers they largely wind up being, is shockingly, consistently expository. This colored even Cranston’s scenes in a way I didn’t remember.

In his earliest scene, Cranston carefully states his position and the nature of the unusual seismic activity while on the phone with a Japanese colleague. His wife has to remind him that it’s his birthday. He responds immediately that when she arrives at the plant, she’s to go to the lower levels. All of this happens in a quick rhythm, with no bits of believable or characterizing dialogue in between. It is monstrously, almost comically, efficient. This never lets up. Later, when Ford visits his father in Japan, they both state their jobs (English teacher, in Joe’s case, military in Ford’s) within seconds of getting through Joe’s doorway. Joe revisits the time line of events in Ford’s own life for the audience’s benefit. He even puts a tea kettle on mere seconds after walking through the door simply so it can boil over at the moment of highest tension between the two characters; they never drink the tea. As mentioned above, Watanabe and Hawkins’ dialogue comes in two flavors: exposition on the nature of the monsters, and wild, prophetic statements about ancient gods and natural balance, neither of which at any point feels remotely natural.

Perhaps the scene I find most emblematic of the movie’s glaring dialogue problems is the introduction of Admiral William Stenz, a naval officer tasked with tracking the MUTOs and liaising with Monarch’s scientists. In his first appearance, he plays a clip of the newly escaped male MUTO on an array of monitors, expositing on its origins, its abilities, the fact that they must track it, the idea that their cover story may no longer apply, etc. Presumably, he’s talking to the crew around him, though at no point do any of them look up from their monitors, seeming to be already engrossed in their work in a way that would require familiarity with all the information Stenz is delivering. The viewer’s next thought may be that he’s speaking to the Monarch scientists behind him, but he never so much as glances at them, and they seem to be aware of all the information he’s repeated as well. So, who is he talking to? The only possible answer is the audience, and the construction of this scene, in which  a newly introduced character sternly repeats exposition to a room full of subordinates who aren’t listening, speaking candidly and urgently to no one, is truly comical if you catch onto this issue.

It may seem like I’m harping on the dialogue too much, and I certainly don’t want to get into CinemaSins territory where I’m scrutinizing every line for small inconsistencies in a way the overall film or genre can comfortably ask audiences to ignore. Indeed, some viewers may be able to ignore the exact moments, or rather the truly unending nature of the film’s expository dialogue, that so get under my skin. That’s fine; we all have different tolerances for these kind of breaks from reality. I simply want to point out that, again, this is not a film content to sit in B-movie territory. It is not a colorful 1960s Japanese monster film, nor a dour ‘50s American one. It is an attempt to ask American audiences in 2014 to take seriously a long-maligned genre concept. Its visuals and tone cry out for the audience’s benefit of the doubt. It’s unfortunate, then, that its script, from limp characters to its handling of dialogue, falls so close to the B-movie trappings of old. If, like me, you have an internal “bad dialogue” alarm that goes off frequently when watching Hollywood movies, your ears are going to be ringing through the entire two-hour film.

The movie’s highlight—credit where credit’s due—is absolutely the visual style it brings to its special effects scenes. Rendered largely in a black-and-red palette, the film carves out a visual niche for itself in an era of competent CGI action blockbusters. It’s impossible to mistake this film’s special-effects sequences as being from anything else. There is a fantastic sense of scale to the monsters here, and to their destruction sequences, and I find myself smiling any time those elements are on screen. I actually found myself, this viewing, agreeing with a widespread sentiment that I’d always considered a little juvenile: the idea that the monsters don’t appear enough in this film. If the scenes stringing the special-effects sequences together were more engaging, I doubt I’d feel this way, but I really was hungry to spend a few minutes with Godzilla fighting a MUTO at the hour-mark, especially after fantastic build-up to their arrival. If the audience has just come to terms with the idea that they’ll be spending the rest of the movie with Ford, with few interesting larger ideas, I don’t think that’s too much to give them. I’d love to see the female MUTO’s destruction of Las Vegas, rather than just the aftermath. The effects sequences are so well done, and the drama so half-baked and perfunctory, that I’d happily take much, much more of the former. In fact, upon this viewing, I almost felt starved for it.

I’ll touch on Alexandre Desplat’s score for just a moment. It’s serviceable. I don’t love it. If anything, it sounds around ten years out of date in terms of Hollywood tentpole movies—think something that would have accompanied a Spielberg film rather than the Hans Zimmer derivatives that have been so popular lately—which may be a positive for some, but isn’t an approach I feel meshes particularly well with the film. I think the movie’s visuals ask for something a bit more bold and atmospheric. This is one of those cases where I wish the studio actually had ridden the wave of Zimmer derivatives, as unimaginative as that approach would have been.

In terms of themes, the movie is muddled. This is going to be a recurring area to check in on throughout my Godzilla reviews, as I feel intellectual commentary is an essential part of what makes the series and genre tick (yes, woke internet critics, even outside of the ’54 film). There’s a bit of commentary on nuclear weaponry delivered through Godzilla and the MUTOs’ ability to feed on radiation and Serizawa’s plea to not use a nuclear bomb to lure the monsters in and destroy them, but it’s hardly touched on outside of one truly on-the-nose scene that manages to say little more than … nuclear bombs are bad, and we should try to avoid using them if we can. In the end, a bomb still explodes in San Fransisco Bay with little in the way of negative repercussions, so whatever, I guess. That pocket watch device is straight out of Fiction Writing 101.

I’ve seen it put forth recently that the film tackles the idea that mankind is still at the whims of natural forces in ways it would rather not consider. This idea at least offers a cogent thematic reading that tracks through the film—the MUTOs and Godzilla are ancient beasts; interference by way of trying to lure the MUTOs away with a nuclear bomb complicates the situation rather than solving it; Godzilla has to enter the fray, etc. It is, at the very least, a coherent reading of the movie’s major plot points. However, it requires the viewer to almost wholly ignore Joe and Ford’s contributions to the plot. I’d argue it’s still something of a failure to have a thematic throughline that doesn’t dovetail with the motivations and actions of the film’s protagonists. Mankind’s place within nature is also not a very urgent or uniquely contemporary thematic subject. I hope to eventually argue that both those elements, the dovetailing and the urgency, do hold true within the series’ most successful entries.

If you watch only the film’s action and spectacle scenes, you might come away convinced Godzilla (2014) is a bold reinterpretation of long-running monster iconography for contemporary Hollywood audiences—a visually distinctive, weighty, and all-around sober affair. If you watch the drama scenes, it’s perfunctory spectacle schlock, and it is this later identity I find dominates the film. Unfortunately I can’t bring myself to fully the separate spectacle scenes from the story around them. This identity—perfunctory spectacle with an almost embarrassing disregard for story and dialogue—is one I’m rather sick of seeing from Hollywood tentpole films. Yes, the Godzilla on display here is recognizably, crowd-pleasingly Godzilla. But it’s okay to want more from a script.

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Series Overview

As I review each Godzilla movie, I plan to put them into a tiered list that helps catalogue my feelings on the series as a whole. Everyone loves series rankings, right?

Love:

The Lesser Works:

Mostly Bad:

Watch for the monster scenes only (Hell):

Godzilla (2014)

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If you’ve stumbled across this and have any feedback for future blog reviews, or simply want to offer your take on the film, feel free! Leaving this open for comments.

[therealimpala67]

Hung Up

A/N: Hey guys it’s been for freaking ever in a day!!!  I’m so sorry about not updating in literally a god damn year as many excuses as I have I can’t using them as an excuses!!!  Anywho I’ve been working on this fic for over a year and every chance I got to write, I always had to stuff to do, I was tiree, or I got writer’s block (which is fucking annoying by the way). I dont know why I finally got my groove back tonight of all nights but I had to take advantage of it because I was on a roll and had to stay up to finish it.  I really am proud of this 1 and while I miss writing smut (I promise I’ll do a smutty fic next) I just loved the prompt and thought it writing it through Crowley’s pov would be fucking hysterical!!!  So here ya go peeps!!!  Hope you enjoy and please, please, PLEASE, feel free to give me feedback of any kind because we all know I need it!!!  I love you guys so much and am glad to be back!!!  :D

Here’s the prompt: Prompt:  Crowley calling Dean to talk to him about some business but then hears your voice in the background. 

8 hours, 8 fucking hours you’ve been attempting to get in touch with them now and by them you mean, those bloody Winchesters.  All of hell knew that you were practically besties, let’s face it.  You were constantly working together and while you have your moments: fighting and almost killing each other because of the whole Heaven, Hell, Winchester feud, you’ve definitely grown to hate them a little less, even though you didn’t want to admit it; however, this doesn’t excuse their actions; I mean, honestly, how hard was it to answer the damn phone?!  You kind of expected this type of move from Moose, considering his girly haired head was always shoved in a book but not from Squirrel, you have each other on speed dial after Demon Dean days and you were feeling a wee bit fed up by their lack of attentiveness.  You could only angrily pace around hell’s premises and take your anger out on your henchmen for so long before waiting for a response.  You felt like a bloody school girl waiting for the boy next door to ask you out.  You decided to check and see if your daughter Y/N was home in the meantime, you haven’t heard much from her lately and she always knew how to take your mind off of these things.  You walked down the corridor to her room, knocking on the door.  No answer.  Strange.  You knocked again a little more impatiently this time.  She couldn’t have snuck out, she knows better than to disobey your rules.  Finally you decided to force the door open, you’ll replace it later, and realized that your precious angel wasn’t there!  

You were steaming at this point now trying to get in touch with her and just like those damn Winchesters, no fucking answer!  Why the hell is it so damn hard to answer a bloody phone call?!  Do people not know who you are, yet alone what you’re capable of?!  Just as you were about to start a manhunt for your little girl, your phone beeped.  You immediately swiped left and discovered a text from Y/N:

“Stayed over at Grannie’s.  Will be home later tonight for dinner, love you!” You knew you raised her right and while you’re relieved knowing where she’s at, you always questioned why she loves her grandmother so much.  Even though you hated your mother for not being the mum you always needed growing up, at least she was able to be for your daughter.  When she first found out about Y/N, she was definitely stunned to say the least saying she never expected her little Fergus to successfully procreate and despite knowing your mother abandoned you and her history with the Coven, Y/N made quite the impression and just as you first fell for her, so did your mother, who had a lot of lost time to make up for.  While you both had different parenting views over your daughter, Y/N always made it very clear that you were a family and that it was high time you started acting like one so you both put aside your grudges for her, at least while she was there.  You left her room walking back to your throne room when your phone started buzzing.  

Would you look at that: Dean Winchester, it was about bloody time!  You exhaled loudly as you clicked the answer button preparing for the inevitable conversation. 

“Only 9 hours late, Squirrel.  Were you busy stocking up on nuts for the winter,” you taunted.

“Ya know some of us need this thing called sleep, I don’t know if you’ve heard of it before,” Dean groggily remarked.

“I don’t care if you’re on your bloody death bed, you answer when I damn well call,” you hissed throwing a wine glass shattering it against the brick wall.  Your guards awkwardly stared before quickly showing themselves out, smart.

“Yes dear,” Dean sarcastically rebuttled.

“Don’t sass me,” you growled, “That’s Moose’s job and you are well aware that it’s around noon.”

“And,” Dean yawned as he got up and put on his robe leaving his room. “And normal humans like yourself are up around this time doing something somewhat more counter productive than laying around,” you lectured.

“Look I had a late night last night,” Dean sighed as he walked into the kitchen and started making coffee, “So please spare me the lecture.”

“The point is I’ve been calling you and Moose the past 9 hours straight to no avail until now when you suddenly decide to be available to your own liking not mine and if it obviously wasn’t important,” you started.

“God damn it then Crowley, get to the god damn point,” Dean barked slamming his fist roughly on the counter accidentally causing a coffee mug to slide off and shatter on the floor, “Son of a bitch!”

“You know, I don’t like your attitude Winchester,” you stated very matter of factly while Dean was trying to clean up the mess from the shattered coffee cup, “All I’m trying to do is relay some important information that could potentially help you and Moose stop Amara and this is what I get?  I’m going to make this very quick and hope that your acorn sized brain can understand everything…”

“Yea yea yea,” Dean ignored before hearing footsteps approaching the kitchen, “Hey give me a sec.  Sammy just found a case,” he halted you before you could continue and quickly hit the mute button and put his phone in his robe pocket.   You have got to be bloody kidding me.  Doesn’t he know by know that nobody puts the King of Hell on hold?  You’re not their booty call and the fact that he’s treating you as such infuriates you even more.  You sigh in frustration angrily drumming your fingers against the arm of your throne hoping that he makes it quick because you’re a very busy man with a kingdom to rule.

“Hey is everything alright,” a feminine voice asked in concern.  

Didn’t he mute you and as much as you joke about Moose’s girlishness that voice sounds way to feminine to be Moose.  Very strange indeed but you proceeded to listen in since you had the opportunity.

“Just a broken coffee mug, everything’s fine.  Sorry baby I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Dean apologized before the woman wrapped her arms around his neck.

Baby?  That’s what he meant by late night, he brought home some hussy and showed her his “family business.”  Repulsed by the thought you shook your head in disgust while trying to remain as quiet as possible to continue your eavesdropping.

“Don’t worry about it,” she smiled as she started pressing light kisses along his neckline, “I’ve woken up to way worse, trust me and I’m just glad you’re okay.  Are you hurt anywhere,” she asked checking up and down to see if there were any cuts on Dean’s body. “Not at all and you know I’m tough,” he chuckled before nibbling gently on your earlobe as she sighed in pleasure, “Although I don’t mind playing doctor again,” he winked as he squeezed your breasts in his hands as she moaned and threw her head back..

You rolled your eyes, he’s like a horny teenage boy trying to get into some girl’s pants with cheesy one liners.  

“Just call me Dr. Sexy,” she grinned as she untied his robe, “And based off of that phone call, you sound pretty stressed so I’m ordering you to bed rest for the rest of the day,” you trailed your fingers all the way down his chest stopping right above his package. 

There was something familiar about this woman’s voice and you just couldn’t put your finger on it.  Maybe because it was so muffled and couldn’t hear much of what she was saying but you were kind of curious as to who this mystery woman was that has Squirrel so wrapped around her finger. 

 Dean bit back a moan and and wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you closer, “Oh sweetheart, as much as I’d like that Crowley has some news about possibly stopping Amara.”

“Psh yea right,” she scoffed while scratching her nails down his back, “He’s just telling you that in hopes that you could do his dirty work for him and he can take all the credit.  Believe me, I know how my dad works.”

“Very true the fact that he still hasn’t caught onto us yet is pretty fucking hysterical if you ask me,” Dean grinned as he squeezed your breasts in his hands as she moaned and threw her head back.

Who hasn’t caught onto what yet?  You suddenly had a very bad feeling about eavesdropping onto this conversation.

“I told him I was staying with Grannie Rowena and he fell for it hook, line, and sinker,” she giggled as Dean slid his hands down her hips resting on her clothed pussy, “Daddy’s overbearingly overprotective but he’s also very gullible.  The only way he’d ever find out about us is if he overheard us or saw us which I doubt will ever happen.”

That better not be who you bloody think it is.  You’ve never prayed a day in life up until this moment but for the love of Chuck please don’t be…

“Hey Y/N,” Dean smirked wiggling his eyebrows at you while slamming your back against the fridge as you gasped at the roughness, “Who’s your daddy?” 

Oh.  Hell.  No.  

Dean was suddenly thrown against the wall and being beat in face repeatedly.

“Y/N,” Dean yelled between each punch, “What the hell is going on?!  So my joke went a little far but is it worth trying to fucking kill me?!”

“Are you bloody serious right now,” she yelled in disgust as she kept slamming her fist into his face, “Out of all the people you decide to boink right now you choose my fucking daughter you bloody cocksucker,” her eyes flashed red.

“Oh fuck,” Dean gasped in realization, “Crowley.”

“Damn right it’s me in here,” you spoke through her vessel.

“Crowley this has gone too fucking far man,” Dean projected.

“This has gone too fucking far,” you scoffed in disbelief, “You’re seriously going to accuse me of going too far when you’ve been sleeping with my god damn daughter?!”

“Look Crowley I can explain,” Dean started before you grabbed him by the throat lifting him up so his feet were dangling.

“Explain what,” you hissed, “That you’re using my little girl for your own sick, twisted pleasure?!  I know you Dean Winchester, I know your type, I know your life.  You’re just a play boy looking for a new toy until you get tired of it and toss it aside like trash!  Your life never allows for settling down, yet alone happy endings, look at your bloody family and the rest of your loved ones you let die!”

 “Don’t you dare speak for her,” Dean coughed out his face starting to turn purple, “She’s an adult Crowley and can make her own decisions, including who she wants to be with!  Let her out to speak for herself and we’ll talk this out!”

“Like hell we will,” you spat out in rage, “She’s my little girl Dean!  If you think for one second I’m going to let you use or hurt her you’ve got another thing coming!  I’m not letting you put her in more danger than she’s already in being my daughter and if that means staying in her vessel the rest of time I damn well will!”

“Well I’m not going to let you use her and destroy her fucking life just because I’m in love with her,” Dean professed.  A tear slid down her face and her grip slowly loosened as Dean fell onto the floor gasping for breaths.  You felt her fighting back for control as you increased your restrains. 

 “I’m in love with your daughter.  I know I’m not worthy of her; hell, I don’t come fucking close but she’s the greatest woman I’ve ever met and the best thing that’s ever happened to me!   Look I get it, she’s your little girl and I have no idea what that’s like but I would do absolutely anything for her: die, go back to hell or purgatory, lose my soul, face you, you name it!  I just want what’s best for her and for her to be happy whether it’s with or without me and even though I’m scared outta my fucking mind I’ve never wanted something so much in my entire life!  So don’t think for one second I’ll ever stop loving her, because I won’t so please just let her out.”

God damn it.  He gave a fucking romantic speech and everything and you can feel your daughter coming undone.  It was only a matter of seconds before she broke free of your control.  You quickly fled her vessel and quickly transferred back to yours and poofed back into the bunker.

“Dean is what all you said true,” she asked still in complete and utter shock over his confession.

“Meant every damn word,” he confessed as she looked over towards you. “Y/N, darling,” you started.

“Don’t,” you stopped him, “I’m talking now.  I really should hate your guts your taking advantage of me like that.”

You looked down.  This was the moment you were always afraid of: the one where you pushed your one and only daughter away.

“But I won’t,” she sighed, “ Look daddy I know that you’re just looking out for me but I’m a grown woman and can take care of myself now and just because I’m growing up doesn’t mean I’m not your little girl anymore and that I won’t need you anymore.  I love him so much daddy.  Will you please give him a chance?”

“You’re not little mermaiding me right now.  I don’t want you dating a bloody Winchester and that’s final,” you order before she looks up at, “Don’t you dare give me the hell hound eyes.”

“Please daddy, for me,” she begs.

You’ve always been the one to give your little girl any and every thing she’s ever wanted and even though the thought of Squirrel being romantically with your daughter completely and utterly disgusts you…

“Fine,” you admit begrudgingly under your breath.

“What was that,” she grins, “I couldn’t hear you under your complete and utter defeat.”

 “Don’t make repeat myself Y/N,” you counter back as you walk over to Dean, “I will be doing routinely visits to see if you’re treating her to my liking.  Oh and if you hurt her in anyway shape or form Squirrel I swear Amara and Lucifer will be the least of your worries,” you quietly threatened before looking over at your daughter, “I expect you at dinner tonight.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” she smiles as she walks over to you and gives you a hug, “I love you daddy, thank you for everything.” Normally you would show more affection around your daughter but you had to keep your King of Hell persona up.

“See you at home,” you departed and poofed back to your lair.

“So that was a thing,” Dean stated uncomfortably.

“Yep,” she sighed in relief as she walked over to him and gently caressed his face with her hand, “Man he really got you good.”

“Don’t remind me,” he winced, “You have a killer left hook by the way.”

“Like father like daughter,” you grinned as you grabbed him by the hand leading him to his bedroom, 

“Come on let’s get these patched up, daddy.”

“Oh I’ll show you who’s your daddy baby girl,”Dean smirked as he shuts the door and pushes you onto the bed.

“Hey guys what did I miss OH SWEET CHUCK!” 

[conartistnyc]

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Illustration Residency Interviews

The Illustration Residency is a 3-month residency starring artists Alice Skinner, Luz Dager, Anna Marcelo and Rosa Chang. These artists were picked by a jury of:

Ian Bertram, an American comic book artist and SVA graduate who has been published by D.C. Comics, Marvel and Dark Horse. Ian is a long-time Con Artist Collective collaborator and has had solo shows at our sister gallery Lazy Susan Gallery, and the Barefoot Gallery in Colombo, Sri Lanka as part of a Hot Butter Collective artist residency.

Victor Ocoa, an artist from Brooklyn, and studied Fine Art at The Cooper Union for the Advancement of Science and Art in New York City. After graduating he established a career as a graphic designer for companies such as Scholastic, HarperCollins, and Marvel Entertainment. He is the founder of the independent comic publisher DRAWMORE INC., where he worked with artists from around the world creating original sequential art. He is currently an Art Director for Crunchyroll in San Francisco, California. 

Richard Miller  has over 20 years experience as an illustrator and fine artist. He graduated from the Joe Kubert School of Cartoon Graphics in 1994 and was recruited by DC Comics, where he worked on producing comic books including Superman, Wonder Woman, and Batman. His expertise includes illustration, toy design, and animation.

Interviews

Alice Skinner

Alice Skinner is a 25 year old artist originating from London. She comes from London and is currently based London and New York City. She earned her BA with honors in Illustration and Visual Media at the London College of Communication. Her work often touches on topics like gender, sexism, and sexuality.

A bunch of your works are inspired by Pablo Picasso, when did you start doing this and why?

So I wrote my thesis for the last year of my degree on the gender gap in art and out of like the top ten most expensive works of art in the world, like 6 of them are Picasso. And for me, it was all about depictions of women are worth so much money but then work created by them is not. So I just wanted to start taking recognizable images and giving these women narratives, and modernize them for our generation. And also, the meme captions are there because the young people need relatability so they can see themselves in popular culture and in art. Where as I feel like for many many years art is very elitist. I’m just trying to change that.

As a high school student, I’ve noticed that the arts are in my opinion, unappreciated. Do you fear that such revered artists will eventually be forgotten by the youth?

Yeah, and I think it’s important that even if we disagree with the person - as a person I hate Picasso, he was a sexist, racist, horrible man - but he still paved the way in art. I don’t really like classical art and that’s why it was interesting doing this project because it gave me a new appreciation of how we’re here. But sort of changing it and veering it in it’s own direction.

You said the depiction of women is very popular and sells well but the art that women create isn’t. How do you think that can change and do you think it’s already changing?

I do think it’s changing. Instagram is like one of the biggest tool for female artists right now. I’m also in an exhibition in London this week that is all about women who have furthered their careers with just Instagram. I think because we’re taking it outside of the gallery, and not just women but all minorities are having more of a chance at being able to be artists because the way we are consuming our art is changing. I think it’s the best time so far for women and minorities to come through.

In one of the pieces you’re showcasing, the caption is “How I sleep at night knowing that strange men on the internet hate me for existing.” What kind of hate have you been receiving? And how frequent is this hate?

It comes in bursts. It was very overwhelming after the women’s march. A piece of mine, which I completely stand by, said white silence equals white consent and a lot of white people, especially men, did not like this. I had like 4 days of being trolled by the alt-right and nazis. [They were saying] I shouldn’t be able to live, I shouldn’t be able to procreate, n-word lover, all of these crazy things. That was the big incident but it does happen quite regularly, I’ll just get some man in my inbox telling me how awful I am and sexist doesn’t exist and all of that crap.

Does it ever scare you?

Yeah, when the women’s march happened it was real bloody intense. I got like 700 new followers in a day and then like 700 haters and my phone [was going crazy]. They found my twitter as well and it was everything to “you shouldn’t be able to procreate” to just “eat shit.” I can find the humor in these things because these people are just close-minded ignorant fools.

You said it scares you, but does it also excite you?

I was with my mom when it happened - we don’t live together so it was quite rare that we were together - she was getting excited because she said “isn’t this what artists try to do their whole lives? To start a conversation, and you’ve started a conversation, cause like - some of it’s good and some of its bad, but people are talking.”

Luz Rodriguez Dager

Luz Dager is a 27 year old artist originating from Ecuador. She is based in Ecuador but comes to New York often. She earned her Bachelors in Graphic Design and Visual Communication at the Universidad Casa Grande in Ecuador. Her work often touches on female empowerment, and body positivity.

I’ve noticed that many of your works have been on the topic of body positivity, has body positivity been an issue for you growing up?

Yeah, I wasn’t the skinny girl in my college. So it was hard because I always wanted to be more skinny, more pretty, I always wanted to have straight hair because I have curly hair and all those kind of things [made it a] really hard time. So yes that is part of what I’m doing right now. It’s not the whole thing but it’s a really big part of it. Also I realize little girls like my cousins and the daughters of some of my friends who are 5 and 6 years old  are already worrying about what they look [like] and what people think about them, and I don’t think it’s a stupid thing but it’s like “why are they doing that? They are just kids.” So this is part of how I can speak aloud what I feel, and demonstrate the physical is not everything.

In all of your pieces that you’re showing it's black and white, but then there’s a bundle of color somewhere. Do the colors represent anything?

Yeah, they actually represent who you are inside. The series of illustrations are about self love and how you can improve or achieve self love. And I think these 16 years I’ve been in New York I have tried to do that, even though I didn’t realize it until now. They are black and white illustrations and the colors that pop out aren’t the “physical” illustration. Every single piece is of a girl doing something, in the first piece it’s a girl discovering what’s wrong with her, but she realizes nothing wrong. In the second one is helping herself to improve, to realize things can be better if you love yourself first and not to let everything get her down. Not for anyone, because they are many things you can’t control, but you can control yourself, if you can do that you have resolve.

In your piece, “Forgive,” who are you telling to forgive and who should she be forgiving?

She has to forgive herself. She’s like punishing herself because something happened or something different happened. She tries really hard and she does things wrong and things come out wrong, and she does things right and things still come out wrong, so it’s all these situations she can never forgive because she always feels [she is wrong]. But the flowers start coming up and she starts forgiving herself for the things that happen and don’t happen that aren’t her fault.

Anna Marcelo

Anna Marcelo is an artist who originates from the Philippines and is currently based there and in New York city. She is studying Graphic Design at Pratt Institute. Her work often touches on technology and mental health.

Some of your work involved modern technology and how it affects modern technology and how it affects relationships. Do you think the effect is positive or negative.

What I wanted to talk about was how we always think about how digital things are fake, but technology has evolved in a sense that it’s become an extension of ourselves and we have to question, “is it reality at this point?” because our social media, like snapchat, and instagram, in a world of everything to our nudes to our breakdowns they become documentations of our most vulnerable selves. So that’s what I wanted to talk about when it comes to digital intimacy. This can be both bad and good. I’ve done art experiments where people have sexually harassed me, but also there are such good things like intimate stories. Intimacy is just a positive thing, but there is vulnerability.

Do you think younger people are more likely to be affected?

Yeah, of course because we grew up with it [technology]. Like I grew up having internet friends and that whole thing. It becomes an extension of ourselves and that’s not necessarily a bad thing but there are effects to it.

It seems like you are trying to showcase the power of women in your pieces tonight, is that right?

Not exactly, it was actually about body politics and erotica. I wouldn’t call it positive but it is a commentary on it. You can freely interpret it - that’s like the whole art thing but when I created it, it was supposed to be a play on two types of binding that society creates on us. Most of them are filipino porn stars and most of them actually change their names into soda names, so there’s a girl called Pepsi Paloma to create this fantasy. And she was in the business since she was like 14.

Is that legal in the Philippines?

It’s not now, but it was the 80’s and it was legal back then. It was purely fucked up, they were forced to be stereotyped. It went to an extreme that this girl 3 years later kills herself at 17, and in her diary she talks about the violence in the porn industry. There’s nothing wrong with porn, but like the creation of it. That’s why I wanted to use binding because it symbolizes what society forces us to be physically.

Rosa Chang

Rosa Chang is an artist who originates in Seoul, South Korea. She regularly works in New York City and earned her Bachelors of Fine Arts at the Maryland Institute College of Art. She is currently enrolled in the Visual Narrative graduate program at the School of Visual Arts (SVA).

In your Weeping Tree Story, you say the use of abandoned objects, old garments, and denim serves as a metaphor for the feelings of those who feel socially abandoned and rejected, have you ever felt that way?

Yeah, of course, especially in my first couple of years surviving in a different country as an immigrant. Also I’m [a] minority [and] also [a] woman and English isn’t my first language. But I think these kind of things unconsciously inspired my art. But I kind of wanted to create something positive. I really like the idea of reusability, we recycle used stuff that can’t be used anymore but can turn it into something very cool.

When did you start caring about recycling? In America I’ve noticed it’s not really a big deal to a lot of people.

So I was working in a natural indigo dyeing studio two years ago where I was an apprentice. I learned how to dye fabric and realized that there is nothing to be wasted and the whole process taught me that everything comes back to the earth. And it helps regrow the earth, so it’s a cycle. I thought it would be nice to apply that whole process to my own artwork. It’s too long to explain the whole process of dyeing but the plants, water, and other resources are super precious.

Why did you choose cactus for this past exhibition?

Aside from this exhibition I’ve also been painting this series called, “I am not your comfort zone,” where I choose things like a cat or pillow, it can be something useful or something small and cute, and I thought maybe they want their own voice. For example, a cat that’s very cute but it doesn’t really want you to pet it all the time, so the pet wants the power to express this emotion. The items are usually fragile and have no voice to give them a power to express themselves. So as an alternative I decided to add needles on their surface so it turns into a cactus.

[driftwork]

ways of being a prisoner

It has always been a matter of getting started and then to go. The first line of this text will make you crash into everything because you can't accept that she is in love with George. In fact you only learn this a few lines later on, but time is different here. So you start to read this page and find out that I don't really agree and so you will learn that George has fallen in love with a woman, but maybe that is not it, you aren't ready yet (nor the text) because George is already my lover, Me I'm not here yet either, like the cheshire cat which is perpetually a virtual cat who is vanishing. But this is only peripherally the them(e) of the text and I have very little to do with what happens when George goes to the National Theatre to see The Alchemist and discovers the lonely legs of the woman beside him and in the same way Durrell describes it a strange fusion begins. (Durrell describes it as passion and desire but George is just a fetishist). Anyway project this text; he feels trapped and annoyed, because he is not even the person who is constructing and writing this text. The other she (who is I) thinks that George is putting us all on as well, its clearly implied. So you are being teased and misdirected as well since you are reading this page and if this is not enough for you, she who doesn't know that George is her lover or even (yet) that she knows nothing about women although in the National he appears to know everything a man should and indeed appears even as one may so sympathetically… How can one accept that as they leave and  before that even, in the interval when they are talking about Johnson, Bunuel and of women. (They have both recently read Bunuels' memoirs and of course spend some minutes discuss with the barman the theme of making the perfect martini) And the great libidinal-aesthetic mixing it about. "So easy to be a male artist" she complains "No drama of the woman who wants to be a mother and remain an artist whilst prototyping with fantastic sons of bitches on the procreatal frame…" All this of course goes on whilst the performance continues, then about to part and travel their separate ways… after exchanging their numbers.  Then, no not like that. She says "I've got to go home, I've had a really nice time… Thanks." "I'll take you" Says George "I've got my car parked off Upper Ground." "O.K." The warm naked arms of the woman (whose name is Bessie) in her sleeveless Agnes B. little black summer dress she stole from her flatmate Juliet. Yes that is what it says just three little words that signify so little but are so important, 'warm naked arms'. Just that. So they get into the car which has so many qualities, but most important of all its Mine, his. So George drives from the Southbank to Ladbroke Grove, not a suburban woman this seductress, wasting my petrol, she introduces him to Juliet who looks daggers at her dress, the removal of which is beginning to fixate George, who is not sure if its the bare arms or the breasts moving beneath the oh so perfect black cloth. The flat is a duplex really, stairs rising up to bedrooms that call to George. George mis-describes her. But she knows Joan Miro, vodka and coffee. It is obvious that one cannot modify the deepest realities. Neither you nor I can deny the facts surrounding the inevitability of the George and the woman in the night. Nor can we deny that they are waiting even now to speak on the phone, about what ? when ? where ? and so on. Even though this is a text that is still feverish with the events of the day the text is still trying assure me that everything is going to be alright. But he cannot believe this. Must he accept a text simply because it is a text ? I can accept what part of me considers to be ambiguous but the phrase takes George to east or west London where he leaves the car double parked coming up the art deco lift at the end of this sentence, that is obviously far too long for a short attention span world, as is the time he has taken waiting for him and then after he returns and has a bath washing off her scent, then re-emerges dressed in the Japanese robe I brought him from Tokyo last year for his birthday. He leans back against the divan and avoids looking at her breasts as her robe falls open as she, he bends over to kiss him and then sits down her head on his chest and asks him about his evening. Then a glass of Grand Marnier and the last cigarette of the day, his naked thigh on which I play my fingers bringing out that soft dreamy moan, without her or the Alchemist (how nice to see it as without) until that point where I untie my robe, hands running over his body, the first convulsion and together we go off to the bedroom and fall together onto the duvet and then sleep.... I move towards those parts of the body that demand attention he says – wait, just a moment I've got to make a call. To her of course – I'm back of course it was fine, I'll see you tomorrow, lunch yes, no it was wonderful I feel as if we have known each other for ever. They talk some more I get off the bed and listen at the door,  and put on my robe, go past him into the other room and scan CDs, stroke the cat, the text says 'stroke the cat', I think of causing him pain, the text says go past him still on the phone to her, there is no point in re-reading it making sure, that is what it says, I go back to look at CDs stroking the cat whilst he is on the phone to her. Instead I go into the kitchen and make tea turn on the radio, it's so early that they are playing some well tempered Bach on the radio. I feel like nothing or anything else. Though the text wants me to stay still drink Grand Marnier and return eventually to the bedroom for want of anything else to do, but I don't see how that is possible as I drink tea instead the robe falling open as the tea pours and I turn and stare at my body in the hall mirror. He has returned to the bedroom. I turn the music up a little and lie down on the sofa thinking of the Francis Bacon paintings I'd seen yesterday. George vanishes into Sweden with some her or other. Decades pass. 

I live in the country with another person unmentioned here entirely. No longer young, young-old, not quite old-old, grandchildren in a small town 6 or 9 miles to the north. The unmentioned person is reading Uwe Johnson in one of the libraries. The fan of the computer hums. A dog barks. I cough. Happy, I wait for a client to arrive.

[anavoliselenu]

Anchor me chapter 4

I know that my pitch is spot-on; I spent well over a week proofing the thing, and several more weeks before that doing the actual work of putting the proposal on paper and making sure I didn’t promise more than I could deliver, both in terms of technological prowess and manpower to make it happen. Right now, Fairchild Development employs exactly one person—me. And if I get this contract, I’m confident that I can handle the work. But Greystone-Branch is a multinational consulting firm, and with their business locked in, I’d not only make enough off the contract to hire at least two developers, but my little company would also be settled more firmly on the map. Which would mean more customers. Which means more employees. And more income. And on and on and on. Planning for the possibility of rapid growth makes me nervous, so all my projections on paper are conservative. But I’ve reviewed every nickel and dime and decision with Justin, and when a man like Justin Stark says that my overall plan for growing the company looks dead-on doable, then I’d be a fool not to at least be cautiously optimistic about my little company’s chances. I’m scribbling some bullet points on possible tweaks to the user interface I’ve designed when my phone starts to blare out The Dixie Cups’ classic Chapel of Love at full volume. “You are a such a brat,” I tell my best friend Jamie after I’ve dug my phone out from under my backseat pile of papers. “I told you to take that ringtone off.” “Why would I do that? It works, doesn’t it? You totally knew it was me.” I roll my eyes. She’d been completely wasted when she grabbed my phone and fiddled with my ringtones not too long before she and Ryan got married. “What’s up?” I ask, making a mental note to change the ringtone myself. “Not a thing.” Her voice is bright. A little too bright. I slump back against the leather upholstery and cross my arms over my chest. “Give it up, James,” I order, using the familiar nickname. “I know you too well.” She exhales. “It’s just that you’re in Dallas.” Her words are almost tentative. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” “I’m okay. Thanks.” “Oh, please,” she says. “That’s what best friends are for.” But there’s still something odd about her voice. “Jamie?” She sighs. “Sorry. I’m just having one of those days. But you’re really okay? It’s not weird being home? You’ve been so obsessed about your mom lately.” “I haven’t been obsessed,” I correct. Jamie’s been with me at least once when I saw my mother in Los Angeles. Except it had to be my imagination. Because there is no reason for my mom to be in Los Angeles without wanting something from me. Even when she’d arrived unannounced to supposedly help with my wedding, she’d really been angling for a chunk of Justin’s money. So I knew damn well that she wouldn’t come to LA to simply watch me from a distance. I’d told Justin after the first sighting. At the time, I’d been working on the Greystone-Branch proposal, and he’d suggested that I was worried about coming to Dallas if I landed the contract. A reasonable theory, and one that I considered accurate when weeks went by without seeing her again. The next time, though, the proposal hadn’t even been on my mind. “Well, duh,” Jamie had said when I’d met her for coffee and consolation. “I know exactly why you’re seeing her.” I’d almost choked on my latte. “You do? Why?” “Because you have mommy issues.” “Don’t be absurd.” “Oh, come on. You and Justin have been together longer than Sylvia and Jackson. They have two kids, you and Justin have a cat. You adore Ronnie, that’s obvious. But when you hold little Jeffery, you light up so much it’s blinding. Justin’s the same way. It’s like you guys are primed to procreate.” “He’s our nephew, and he’s adorable,” I’d said defensively because kids weren’t in the cards for us. Not then. Not yet. But she’d been right. About everything, really. And now I’m sitting here in the back of a hired car with my hand over my belly, wondering if my mother’s been in Los Angeles all this time, and thinking about why I was so nervous about having a baby when clearly Justin and I are more than ready to make this work. “—how did that go, anyway?” I straighten, realizing that I’d zoned out. “Sorry. What?” “Your mom,” she says. “Oh.” I exhale loudly. “I think I was right all along.” “You went to see her, right? How did—” She was speaking over me, but she cuts herself off sharply. “Wait. What?” “My mom’s not here. She sold her house. She’s gone, Jamie.” “So you really think she’s been in LA all this time?” I sigh. “I don’t know. But at least that would mean I haven’t been seeing things.” “Fuck.” “Yup,” I say, because honestly, that sums up the situation nicely. “Are you okay?” I hesitate because what on earth am I supposed to tell her? The news about my mom is all mixed in now with the news of the baby, and even though I desperately want to share that with Jamie, I don’t want to tell her from fifteen hundred miles away. “Nicholas?” Her voice is firm, and she uses her nickname for me in emphasis. “Are you okay?” “Yes. Yes,” I repeat more forcefully. “Honestly, James, I’m great. Justin’s here and—well, everything is fine. It’s good. I’ll tell you all about the trip when I get home. And, hey,” I say brightly, because I am totally changing the subject, “was there some other reason you called?” “I—what?” “You just sounded weird when you called. Like there was something else on your mind.” “Oh! Well, actually, yeah. Um, you’re still coming to the premiere on Friday, aren’t you?” Our friend Jane’s book has been adapted into a movie, and the red carpet premiere is Friday at the Chinese Theater. “Are you kidding? Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” “I don’t know,” she says vaguely. “I just wanted to make sure.” I frown. “You still sound weird. Is something wrong? There’s not trouble between you and Ryan is there?” “Are you kidding? I’m drowning in marital bliss. Apparently, to my husband, a wedding ring is an aphrodisiac. I mean, everyone said the honeymoon phase would be over by now, but they were so wrong. Seriously, I thought I was well-fucked before we tied the knot, but now I—” “Got it,” I say, cutting her off before I have a visual picture that I’ll never be able to un-see. “Ryan’s going early to oversee security, right? Do you want to share the limo with us?” “Normally, I’d jump at it. But this time, I’m turning you down cold.” “Really?” I can’t help but laugh at the tone of her voice. “Why?” “Because this girl is going to be on the red carpet interviewing celebs as they come traipsing into the theater. Live on camera in a seriously awesome dress.”

“Jamie! That’s amazing!” Jamie’s been working as the weekend anchor job for a local news affiliate, but she’s been gunning to get out in the field and do entertainment reporting. To actually be on a red carpet interviewing A-listers is pretty much her dream come true. Jamie’s got the kind of A-list good looks that the camera adores. If the industry hadn’t chewed her up and spit her out, I really think she could have made it as an actress. Fortunately, she got over the acting thing quickly, and she discovered she loves journalism. Especially if it involves reporting about Hollywood. But the fact that she loves it means she has something to lose. “I know, right? Totally amazing. And I didn’t even ask for this. I figured I had no chance—I mean, who starts with the red carpet? But they just plucked me out of the massive pile of desperation, dreams, and sweat.” I laugh. “I think they plucked you from a pile of talent.” “Pfft. You’re just saying that because you’re my best friend.” “Absolutely,” I say deadpan. “You really suck at your job, and I’m just being supportive by lying to you.” “Bitch.” “Love you, too. And, James? Congratulations.” “Thanks.” I can practically hear the grin in her voice. “Okay, I should let you prep. When’s your interview, anyway?” “I’m in the car on my way there right now.” “Oh, shit. I didn’t mean to interrupt you. Good luck. Are you pumped up? ’Cause I can pump you up. I mean, come on. High school valedictorian. Double major in electrical engineering and computer science. Four-time recipient of the Stark International Science Fellowship. CEO of Fairchild Development. Designer and engineer of over two dozen web and mobile apps. Amateur photographer, superior poker player, and all around awesome best friend.” She’s rattled all of that off at the speed of light, and now she draws a deep breath. “Whew! Did I miss anything?” I can barely talk, I’m laughing so hard. “You freak. Do you have my resume in front of you?” “Don’t be silly.” Her voice takes on an unnaturally high pitch, and I assume she’s still teasing me. “Why would I have your resume in front of me? You’re my BFF,” she says, now sounding much more normal. “Of course, I know your resume. I sleep with it by my bedside and pay homage to it every time I remember how much better your college grades were than mine.” “I love you, James.” “Back at you, Nicholas. Good luck, okay?” “Thanks.” I frown, still thinking of that odd tone in her voice. “And, James? “Yeah?” “You’re sure there’s nothing else?” “Not a thing. Why? Have you got something else?” I press a hand to my belly. A lot, I think. But nothing I’m willing to tell her over the phone. 8 After two hours of interviews and meetings, I’m exhausted but euphoric. Exhausted, because I’m pretty sure that I’ve now met every single person who works at Greystone-Branch, from the mailroom all the way up. Euphoric, because I know from Justin’s own policy that it’s only candidates the company is seriously considering who get the full-meal tour. Time is too valuable a commodity to waste precious employee minutes interviewing an unlikely candidate. In my case, I’m not applying for a job. I’d be an independent contractor. But the nature of the project—the creation of proprietary web and mobile software to link company communications and resources across the globe—will require access to not only the company’s network but also the employees. I need to understand how they currently work in order to make sure that I enhance their productivity, not detract from it. In other words, if I get this contract, I’ll be here a lot. In this office. And in Dallas. The memory of my mother’s house distracts me for a moment, and I miss something that Mr. “Please call me John” Greystone is saying. “I’m sorry? My mind was wandering. I was thinking about the architecture of your website.” “I only asked if you wanted some coffee. I thought we could talk for a few more minutes in my office, and then we’ll get you out of here.” “Just water, please.” Mr. Greystone’s assistant soon enters with a bottle of water, followed by the Vice President of Operations, Bijan Kamali. We settle in the sitting area, a corner of the large office set up with a small couch, two leather chairs, and a chrome and glass coffee table. The area reminds me of a similar section of Justin’s office, and I allow myself to relax a little, letting hope settle in. After all, they’ve taken a lot of time with me and paid a lot of attention to me. That has to be a good sign, doesn’t it? “I’ll be honest with you, Selena,” John says. “Bijan and I are very impressed, as was everyone you spoke with today.” “I’m very glad to hear that.” I keep my voice steady, but inside, I’m turning gleeful cartwheels. “I’m impressed, too. You have an incredible operation here. I’d love to play a part in helping you streamline your communications processes.” That’s not an exaggeration. Working with Greystone-Branch would be a huge opportunity for me. Not only in terms of building my business’s reputation, but also for learning how to organize and operate a business. Yes, I have Stark International as a model, but I don’t ever anticipate running a business with that many divisions. Greystone-Branch is considerably smaller, and yet still global. As far as corporate structure is concerned, I could learn a lot by working with this team. John glances toward Bijan, who nods subtly. John clears his throat and smiles at me, but this time the expression seems a little strained. “Frankly, we’re down to three candidates, and you’re all extremely qualified. At this point, we’re looking at additional factors.” “Of course,” I say, though inside, my heart is racing. What does he mean by “additional factors”? “We were hoping you could shine some light on the issue of proximity. We know you live in Los Angeles . . .” He leaves the question dangling, and I grab onto it eagerly. If this question represents the nature of their concerns, then I’m golden. “As you know, I grew up in Dallas, so coming back frequently is no hardship at all.” That, of course, is an exaggeration. But as I’m determined to exorcise the ghosts of my past, if I get this contract I’ll totally make that happen.

“Travel isn’t a problem either. I’m fortunate to have access to my husband’s personal fleet and pilot. I can be in Dallas within a few hours. And travel to other locations is just as easily arranged. Of course, if I get this job, I’ll also either buy or rent a condo nearby for the duration of the project.” I don’t usually flaunt Justin’s money—our money as he constantly reminds me—but in this case, I want John and Bijan to understand that my presence at their various locations isn’t subject to the timetables of the commercial airlines. And while it would certainly be reasonable for me to ask for reimbursement for travel costs in addition to my contract bid, because of the benefits to Fairchild Development should I land this project, I’ve already talked with Justin about not doing that simply because it makes my proposal that much more appealing. “That’s excellent to hear. And you know that we’re looking at a relatively fast time frame. You’ll be working with a team?” “I will,” I say, and I fight to keep my smile from faltering. I’d been hesitating to hire additional help until I found out about this job. Unfortunately, now it sounds as if I need the team in place in order to secure the position. “I’m looking at a team of three, including me.” I’m hoping they don’t ask for resumes of my two associates. While I’ve done preliminary interviews and have found a few promising candidates, I haven’t yet made offers to any of them. “And you’re confident about the time frame? Your recent news doesn’t change anything?” I frown, confused. “My news?” He glances again to Bijan, who slides him a manila folder. John opens it, takes out a single sheet of paper, and passes it to me. It’s a printout from a web page, and the moment I see the headline and the photograph, I freeze. “Oh,” I say stupidly when I’m once again capable of forming words. “This is—” I swallow and try again, but words aren’t coming. My head is too full of what’s on the paper I’m staring at. The headline is absurd—Soon a Starkling!—but the photograph is even worse. It’s me, passed out on the lawn of Misty’s house, my head in Justin’s lap. Suddenly, my whole body ignites as if embarrassment is a bonfire and it’s burning me alive. But what the hell do I have to be ashamed of? I know enough about photography to know that someone standing across the street took the picture with a long lens. That person should be ashamed—being nosy, selling private photographs. And the only people who know I’m pregnant are Justin and the staff at the clinic. I’m certain Dr. Cray isn’t the “unnamed source” identified in the article, but I bet the receptionist who didn’t meet my eyes when she passed me a pen to sign out yesterday earned a few extra bucks. Bitch. I swallow, draw a breath, and meet John’s and Bijan’s eyes in turn. “I didn’t realize any of this had made the papers.” “So it’s true.” The two men exchange a glance. “We’re concerned that your pregnancy may impact our timetable. Not the quality of the work,” he hurries to add. “But I’m sure you understand that we’re on a tight schedule. And with a pregnancy, things aren’t always certain. You could end up on bed rest.” “I won’t end up on bed rest,” I insist, but I see him glance down at the paper. At the image of me on the ground. You hadn’t expected to pass out, either, he seems to be saying. So how can you possibly know what’s to come? I stand, though I feel decidedly unsteady, and the fact that I’m so off balance pisses me off. Especially since when I entered this office, I believed I had the job nailed down. Suddenly, I wish I were applying for actual employment. Then they wouldn’t have even been allowed to ask about my pregnancy. But Title VII doesn’t apply to me, and if these men want to hire another candidate because my pregnancy lowers their confidence in me, then that’s their prerogative. “Gentlemen,” I say, lifting my chin. “You’ve seen my work. You’ve reviewed my proposal. I have every confidence that Fairchild Development can get this project in on time, under budget, and with exceptional quality. I look forward to hearing from you.” I nod my head, pick up my satchel, and stride from the office. If nothing else, I want the last goddamn word. More than that, though, I want to get out of the building before the tears come. Because I can feel them pressing against my eyes, and I jam my finger on the elevator button and hold my breath, praying that neither Bijan nor John follows me out. Only when I’m safely in the elevator car do I let my body sag and frustration take over. I cry all the way from the thirtieth floor to the lobby, and when I step out, I wipe away my tears, lift my head, and go to meet my driver. If he can tell that I’ve been crying, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he opens the door for me and says simply, “Back to the hotel, Mrs. Stark?” “Yes,” I say, then immediately contradict myself. “No, actually. There’s somewhere I want to go first.” I’m in a funk as the driver maneuvers the Dallas streets, and not just about the possibility of losing this contract. No, that’s only one tiny blip on a much larger radar screen. The truth is that even though I’ve been front and center in the press ever since I started dating Justin, I still haven’t developed the knack of knowing what’s going to trigger tabloid interest. And it never once occurred to me that this pregnancy would be news. Or, not news, but gossip. The kind of gossip that sells magazines, makes the rounds on social media, and has over-eager paparazzi gathering outside my office or trailing my car or lingering near the gate to our Malibu property. I made the decision to put up with it when I married Justin, and I’ve become much more adept at handling the press. For the most part, they don’t even bother us anymore. We’d been in the spotlight when the news leaked that Justin had paid me a cool million to pose nude for a portrait, of course. And then again when he’d been arrested for murder—and when the charges were dropped. Later, they’d been in our face yet again when Justin had decided to publicly reveal the history of abuse that his tennis coach had inflicted on him for so many years. That’s when Justin turned the tables and used the tabloids’ interest in him to drive sympathy toward the Stark Children’s Foundation, a nonprofit he set up to help abused and traumatized children through sports and play therapy. There’s been more press since our marriage, too, of course. Certainly, our wedding was big news, as was all the publicity and crises surrounding the Resort at Cortez, the island resort that Jackson designed for Stark Real Estate Development—and the project during which Justin—and the press—first learned that Jackson Steele was Justin Stark’s half-brother.

There’ve been blackmail attempts, too. Assholes who tell us that all we have to do to keep things like racy photos out of the public eye is pay. Justin hasn’t—not yet—choosing instead to use his resources to fight back. So far, he’s been able to thwart the threats. But one day, he might not be able to. One day, it might be our child at the center of a blackmail scheme. Our child that the paparazzi constantly follows. Our child who will be constantly watched. Constantly judged. Reviled for coming from money. Accused of being spoiled and out of touch. And as for Justin and me . . . Well, our every decision will be scrutinized, all our choices hashed out publicly. And God forbid our child ever does anything foolish, because the tabloids will eat her alive. I draw a breath, then sigh as I wipe my eyes once again. The press had shined the spotlight on Justin even before he won the Junior Grand Prix at fifteen. He was too young, too talented, and too good-looking. Perhaps they would have looked away once he retired, but then there was scandal. And after that, money and the empire he built. Every step in Justin’s life has drawn scrutiny, and I can’t imagine that will stop any time soon. Justin’s wealth is a blessing in so many ways. A concrete manifestation of his incredible talent and intellect. And it’s so damned unfair that what should feel like a boon—the ability to provide for a child in every way possible—feels so much like a curse. My phone pings, signaling an incoming text. I scramble in my leather satchel to grab it, hoping it’s Justin, but I can see immediately from the message on the lock screen that it’s not—What makes you think you can handle it? I stare at the cold, hard words and my insides twist as bile rises in my throat. I hesitate. My instinct is to just throw the damn thing back into my bag. But I don’t. I open the app so I can see who sent it. But the number is blocked, and all I have is the horrible text. I have no idea who sent it. I’ve never been particularly precious with my cell number. Mostly, I only give it to friends, but I also frequently use it for after-hours business or pass it along to important contacts. In other words, it could be anyone. Maybe it’s some bitch who resents me for having married Justin. For being pregnant with his child. Or maybe it’s one of the potential contractors for the Greystone-Branch job, pissed off after hearing the rumors that I’m one of the final candidates. Maybe it’s Sofia, and she’s not as healthy as everyone seems to think. I don’t know, and I don’t care. Except that’s a lie. I do care. I care too damn much. And as I fight back tears, the words of the text rattle around in my head, banging up against my own dark thoughts. You, a mom? You, jugglework and a family? What makes you think you can handle it, Selena? What makes you think you’re even remotely prepared for this? For any of this? “Mrs. Stark?” I jump, so startled by the driver’s words that I actually yelp. “What? What is it?” He’s turned around in his seat, facing me, and though he’s working hard to keep a professional demeanor, he can’t hide the concern on his face. He doesn’t comment on my distress, however, and I’m grateful for that kindness. “We’ve arrived,” he says as he gestures to the cemetery outside the car. “If you need me for anything at all, I’ll be waiting right here.” I smile in thanks, understanding the depth of his unspoken offer. Then I draw in a breath, grab my satchel, and step out of the car and into the Dallas heat. The cemetery covers several acres, but I know where I’m going, and I hurry along the stone path through the manicured lawn with an almost desperate determination. I don’t know why I’m so compelled to be here; all I know is that right now I need to be near my sister. I don’t realize I’m crying until I finally reach her grave and discover that I can’t read her headstonebecause my tears have blurred my vision. I brutally wipe them away, then collapse onto the damp grass right in front of her tombstone. Ashley Anne Fairchild, Beloved Daughter. I trace my fingertip over the words, a familiar frustration rising in me. I’d wanted the stone to say Beloved Sister, too, but my mother had flatly refused, saying it wasn’t appropriate. So that even now, after her death, my mother has come between my sister and me. “I miss you, Ash,” I say, as hot tears cut tracks down my cheeks. “I miss you so damn much.” I lean back, trying to control my breathing. “I’m pregnant,” I tell her. “Justin and I are going to have a baby. And you should be here, Ash. You should be with me when she’s born. You should be here to help me decorate the nursery and pick out maternity clothes for me, and tiny little baby outfits for her.” I choke on a sob. “You should be here,” I say again, my throat thick with tears. I turn away from the stone to wipe my tears, as if I don’t want her to witness the depth of my misery. And as I do, I see Justin walking between the graves toward me, his stride long and full of purpose. I say nothing. Just sit there, amazed and relieved, until he’s just inches away, kneeling on the grass in front of me. I know the driver must have contacted him, but even knowing that, his presence here feels like a miracle. “You’re here,” I say. “Where else would I be?” He brushes my tears away with his thumb. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” “Yes. No. I don’t know.” I lean against him so that his chest supports me. His arms around me give me strength, and my eyes on my sister’s grave give me purpose. And then, with a sigh, I tell him about what happened at the interview. “It was great,” I conclude. “Or it was great until they started asking me about the baby.” “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” He kisses the top of my head, and I shift in his arms and lean back, wanting to see his face as I try to explain all the thoughts and emotions that are crashing around inside of me. “The thing is, when I left their office, I felt all twisted up. Like I was exactly where Mother wanted me to be.” I think about the text message and its suggestion that I’m not capable of handling anything now that I’m pregnant. I haven’t told Justin about it yet, partly because I don’t want him to worry, but mostly because I simply want to flush it from my mind. But the message is like something my mother would say. “Barefoot and pregnant,” I murmur. “That’s all she wanted for me. All she wanted for Ashley, too. No career. Just a husband to pamper, two kids, and a dog. So long as everything is picture-perfect on the outside, to her, the inside doesn’t much matter. All Mother cared about was the shine.” “I’m starting to sound like a broken record, but you’re not your mother.” “No,” I agree fiercely. “I’m damn sure not. And more than that, I really don’t care what she thinks.”

“But Ashley did.” I keep my eyes on the tombstone as I nod. “I loved her,” I whisper. “And I looked up to her. But she let the voice in her head get to her. She didn’t have the strength to fight it.” I turn back to face him. “I’m going to fight, Justin,” I say firmly, putting his hand on my belly. “I’m going to fight for us. For you and me and our little peanut.” “Peanut?” he repeats, obviously amused. I laugh, realizing this is the first time I’ve thought of the baby as a real person growing inside me. “Yeah,” I say. “Our sweet little peanut.” His tender smile tugs at my heart, and he pulls me close “Baby, I love you.” I sigh, content to lose myself in the comfort of his embrace. “You don’t have to worry about me,” I murmur against his chest. “Whatever it is you’re not telling me, you need to know I can handle it.” I feel his body grow tense, his reaction confirming my suspicions that he hasn’t told me everything about Sofia. “Justin, please.” But all he does is smile gently at me. “There’s nothing else, sweetheart. Really.” My stomach twists with disappointment. I know that’s not true. And I want to scream at him. Accuse him of being a damn hypocrite, because how can he say I’m strong when he’s still going out of his way to protect me? When he won’t let me share my strength with him. But I force it back. Time, I think. I just need to give him more time. And I need to get the hell away from this place. “Can we leave today?” I ask. “I want to be home. There are too many ghosts in this town.” “Of course,” he says, not quite meeting my eyes. “But there are ghosts everywhere. And we’re both going to have to get used to fighting them.” 9 I wake to the sound of running water, and roll over, groggy, to Justin’s side of the bed. It’s cold, and I sit up slowly as my fuzzy mind kicks into gear. We’re in the penthouse apartment at Stark Tower, one of our two main residences. We’d arrived home last night in time for dinner, and though I’d fully intended to help in the kitchen, I’d ended up on the sofa while Justin made us omelets and went over his weekend schedule while his assistant, Rachel, perched on a bar stool. Justin is a man of many talents, but I think what surprised me the most about him was his prowess in the kitchen, and last night, he managed to turn a simple mushroom and cheese omelet into a gourmet delight. “I’d be perkier if I could have coffee,” I’d griped, but he’d only chuckled and offered me orange juice. After Rachel left, we’d sprawled on the sofa, my feet in his lap. As old episodes of Law & Order played in the background, Justin reviewed notes for his morning meetings, and I worked on my laptop. I’d had every intention of scanning through the work emails that had piled up over the last few days, but I kept getting distracted by pregnancy websites. And why not? Until I have my first full-on doctor’s appointment next Monday, I’m all about educating myself. Even so, I managed to cull at least fifty emails—and order a copy of What to Expect When You’re Expecting. All in all, it was a wonderful, domestic, comfortable evening at home. The kind of easy-going night with Justin that usually makes me smile, and then hug myself because I feel warm and safe and loved. The kind of night that usually leads to slow, easy love-making before falling asleep in each other’s arms. Not last night, though. Because sometime between the law and order parts of the program, I’d passed out completely, the bone-deep fatigue that comes with pregnancy drawing me down like a stone into a deep, dark sea. I remember Justin’s arms holding me, my body tucked against his chest as he gently carried me to bed. I’d snuggled closer, my desire to slip back under warring with my desire for this man. “Make love to me,” I’d whispered, my words slurred in exhaustion. “Sleep, baby,” he’d murmured. “I’ll find you in your dreams.” I’d curled up with my pillow, satisfied at the time with his answer. Then, it had made perfect sense. I was lost and content in this dreamy netherworld; of course, I would want Justin there with me. Now, though, I feel as though I’ve been cheated. I’m awake and alone and what had been a vague desire last night is now a raging, burning need. I want the feel of his hands on me. His mouth crushing against mine. I want him to tear off my thin nightgown and take me hard on the floor. I crave the feel of his weight upon me as he pounds inside me, taking me higher and higher until I explode in his arms, my orgasm so wild and violent it rips me apart. I need it—need him. And I have no idea if it’s because there has never been a moment when I don’t want Justin’s touch. Or if my hormones are making me so damn horny, I’m going to burst if he doesn’t fuck me hard right now. I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I know is that he’s not beside me. And all I want is Justin. I toss the sheet aside and get out of bed, then pad barefoot to the bathroom. The shower stall is probably my favorite feature of the entire apartment. For one thing, it’s huge. But it stays warm and steamy because the glass goes all the way up the ceiling. Right now, Justin’s inside, but the glass is so fogged that I can only see a vague outline of him. I stand there for a moment, enjoy the view and letting my imagination fill in the blanks. But I want more than imagination, and so I peel off the nightgown and let it drop onto the floor. I don’t usually sleep in one unless there are guests in the house, but I’d been wearing it on the couch last night, and Justin hadn’t undressed me when he put me to bed. Now, I stand naked and watch the shape of him move in the steam. I’d been aroused even before I entered this room, simply from the thought of him. But now, seeing him in this wet heat, my body is on overdrive. My nipples are hard, my sex clenching with need. I want his touch—and I damn well intend to have it. His back is to me when I open the door, his face in the pounding water. I’ve let a wash of cool air in, though, and he turns to face me. As he does, I see the heat flare in his eyes. More interesting, though, is the way his cock hardens, the immediacy of his reaction making absolutely clear that Justin has no objections to my joining him here this morning. He opens his mouth to say something, but I press a finger over his lips, then step closer. He’s almost finished his shower, so his body is no longer slick with soap. I consider that a good thing, because as I kiss his chest, he tastes fresh and clean.

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[underrated-kpop-blog]

Generator Unturned

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I absolutely expected to hear it with my Not too i just do now.” it had been initially meant for web browsers so a lot of people could play the game, but bear in mind “i pay quite a bit time taking care of it, and Unturned 3.0 Gold Hack’s neighborhood would seem gorgeous warm |- every time they seek the advice of me. Looking after your ammo bot healthy is apparently his thoughts: browsing time-consuming-word, sexton aspire to use Unturned 3.0 Gold Hack at some level wherever people may make anything at all, while its work shop was already the area to search for nearly all new cars or trucks, firearms, costumes and maps. I issue what sexton is knowledgeable about concerning the sandbox zombie tactical ammo bot in recent years, along with the perception talks quantities precisely how accurately he’s accidentally be considered a wrangler relating to the alternative expectations individuals have to get that style. “i believe that at some level a few of these strategies do not go a long way altogether. And yeah, i’ve implemented the sport, and there’s far more into it in comparison to 5-min illustrations will make you are convinced. Correct my laptop. It is continually amusement. |They obtain fanatically, they chomp eagerly, and solely some swipes will totally free of charge your presumably blocky soul. Finding a clip for almost any pistol it's not necessary and moving a pistol you simply don't possess any clip simply leaves you little space will be packrat you ought to be in this particular ammo bot. I distinct it and junk far more into my carry. I'm able to live through the floor. Earlier than i'm able to go all asgardian inside it, they have chewed me to inside of an inches of my presence. Nevertheless, i’m only 35% in existence and more or less 50% tired. I'm able to realize why squads within a strict budget work with it yet, mainly because saves you lots of origins. - butt-unsightly in continually graphics, but gorgeous desirable in video or possibly in reality. |I can tell myself personally sinking a whole lot of hours into this. There's an unexpected amount of competence and therapy that joined rendering it (a situation rare in this particular subgenre). dayz in lots of procedures. Now it is simple to every so often take a look at steam’s major most implemented selection and discover a situation unknown. increase xp rewards - only aim for special “gold servers”, so at the very least people today resistant to purchase can reduce people today who've. Smaller. Nevertheless, it will supply a selected “lego” sense, comparable to roblox, though it appears a lesser amount of kiddy. I’d go for they not make codes such as this inside a layout that is predominantly promoted to babies. I am certainly making the most of it at the moment, i basically do not know how time-consuming it'll support particular attention. Oh yeah, it is usually captivated in minecraft-sight illustrations, so add on a further demonstrate the ‘clone’ tally. |Really the only other no-ask for titles getting more people on vapor are company fortress 2 and dota 2, every one of which offer triple-a class ammo bot play the game a large number of people would not stand against creating to purchase. will be statement, but bear in mind that doesn’t imply they've a wristwatch for what is respectable. real estate fenced delivered by christmas day perspective-embellished barbed cable. Like for example greater shameless ripping from, sexism, ageism, and any other prejudicial -isms are lay inside their buy container of nastiness, alongside mistreating repay-concentrated brains (extraverts et al) with obsessive choices. Inside of a bright and sunny patch overlooking this town the child assembled a smaller prison cell phone for me personally, such as a lockable doorstep and a trio of two-way decorative mirrors, that was to find my new house. Inspite of growing an unsightly, untidy, super-derivative ammo bot, Unturned 3.0 Gold Hack is certainly more desirable at to be dayz than dayz is. Because of that, i can tell the appeal. Persons don't bother with this sort of thievery. What carries on when the amount of morning z procreates with minecraft, incredibly well, along with greater zombies, you have a little bit important ammo bot recognized as Unturned 3.0 Gold Hack. |Putting inside the ammo bot it's really a tactical ammo bot appear a post-apocalypse entire world, wherever the majority of the folks are switched into flesh hungry zombies. sporting activity additional important pretty of focusing on the zombies completely, you need to bear in mind other pursuits into consideration. large producing plan inside the ammo bot is deserving to end up being known. Unturned 3.0 Gold Hack is known as a definitely considered one of people today dayz enlightened codes applying the neighborhood contacting it "a dayz minecraft layout ammo bot" which we hardly get now. Against 2.: -some units are withdrawn -horrible droplets -underpriced competence -steady upgrades, creating nearly impossible to have free of bringing up-to-date each and every day (this can be a disadvantage in addition to a professional, professional considering gives bare minimum 5 circumstances, disadvantage since they weeks) -now and then volatile so yeah, farmville is underrated around the end user ratings, i am just talking about, the guy who decide to I'd a vapor consideration and that also i only acquired a few times at freddy's 1,2,3,4 and garry's mod. It's in reality dayz with blocky minecraft illustrations those of you that not have the money buying the specific dayz. Art work-layout prudent, it's going for that certainly over-used "pixel and classic" layout. |An intensive producing plan affords the competitor the opportunity build up bases, fortify constructions, and start making accessories and weapons. Pvp - people can pick to ring altogether as bandits or characters and fight for restricted origins on competitor-compared to-competitor machines. machines, people are competing for hard to find origins. Important “x” you may crouch minimal to sneak free of sketching particular attention. Nevertheless for what? After hitting “tab,” i known there were stats i maybe could allot indicates. A persona with at their the highest level of stats may just be abnormally paranoid making plans for for how long called for to locate the ordeal. just about 11 hits to fully slice minimal a shrub. So be suspicious of anybody building a pistol out. Normally, you actually are unlikely to discover attack rifles in villages. |I struggled to discover any ideal weapons inside the pvp hosting server but browsing through the guide paid back from. having to spend the money for 5 dollars doesn't the same a pay back-to-profit course of action, mainly because the solutions are isolated.

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Unturned Single Player Cheats

But Unturned Power Generator is prominent for the reason that it's now the fourth most-conducted ammonition bot on steam, pounding baseball administrator, skyrim, and garry's mod by a lot of adult men and women many competitors- but it was made having a 16 twelve months-vintage. The minecraftian landscape is chunky and energetic, scattered with municipalities, military services bases, and even a class. engineered your base by harvesting recycleables on earth, you'll carry on extended and battle harder. |The runaway success in the ammonition bot methods sexton won' uncertainty be modernizing it consistently. In any other case cheers you for studying eh, ive obtained (6 hours as soon as possible) versus one time wanted to get the magic upgrading. would, quickly to give the maker, only to achieve that. This is usually a very big stage given it will likely be the factor that the entire established network will consult. many types of tedious tension, it indicates you offers what you will as with no inconveniences of that q/a team or contributor consent. Your extreme motive is to preserve on your own even on a spook-swarmed prince edward tropical island, balancing a number of painless vitality yards symbolizing health-related, hunger, On the 2 yrs mainly because let go of Unturned Power Generator has included a bounty of recently available weapons, creatures, groceries foods, properties (anything from an research station to a few my own tunnel,) new zombie different kinds, a multiple-gamer-only area ammonition bot option, and vr promote. |Unturned Power Generator’s patch notes are completely giddy compared. “at this point the metropolis and i will almost always be discussing,” declares sexton. “i am astounded nelson adds tabs on this style of noisy readers and seems to regularly put into operation more features the metropolis wants. The extended-phrase motive is by using an experience wherein a gamer can do almost everything, until then it is pleasing to recognise that there is an individual hearing additionally accomplish. This really is a good amount of for sexton “i like how adult men and women can have a look at athletic activity and find their pals to encounter alongside one another, plus they can engage in their pals,” he declares. Is he able to ultimately cash in? Could be. |“it’s an exclusive emotion. He can't carry on the community or reddit and consult absolutely everyone, that possibly the situation is scaled well or dramatized a great deal. But it is obtained 17.5 thousand downloads on steam, with 1.25 thousand adult men and women performing it previously two weeks. Sexton set out designing Unturned Power Generator because he was 16, so right through its evolution he’s been in university, not very he tremendously told any individual there. Its emblem on steam is viewable in whitened-shaded arial, with ‘free to play’ in yellow-colored italics down the page, all to stop a fuzzy impression of without doubt amongst its panoramas. Your cravings for food and hunger relentlessly tick lessen, there are numerous foods to scavenge, automobiles they will be operating a vehicle and creatures to find, and you may generate forts and create. “i even now lurk within a dayz subreddit we trust it was a couple of days prior to let go of i noticed a submit about Unturned Power Generator, and dean hallway, who achieved dayz, tremendously published over the internet. Like absolutely everyone else during that time, he was stoked by dayz heralded. pals, but several of them did not have arma 2, also to mislead in the vicinity of with my individual information i'd to match your form of ammonition bot.” by four weeks of jan 2013 deadzone possessed a relatively substantial implementing so far it is been conducted finished 5 thousand occasions. “if i am focusing on a new benefit and i haven’t requested for people’s information, or shown the thing it appears to be like, it seems tremendously crazy.” i debate if he’s simply a the natural way comfortable man or woman, and he or she is, not less than about Unturned Power Generator. |Tremendously, throughout the business presentation, i clicked on amongst the absolutely wrong switches and my demonstration injury up not anymore exercising, to ensure that was horrifying.” up until the time a couple of days in the past, Unturned Power Generator has cherished each and every day enhancements, constant the convention sexton establish in the initial let go of. “there are these charts which are most likely a lot better than my go into default charts, and several adult men and women seem to agree with the fact,” he declares, gladly. The necessity for control promote and fixing food list would then be published applying the laptop edition. If you should want a ammonition bot which has a number of zombies within a destination all all at once, but also want very simple base-building… probably someone else creates a ammonition bot that integrates these things alongside one another properly, but…” probably he’ll serve as the person to truly allow it to be. You attempt growing exotic fresh fruits inside a frigid wasteland (jk, jk, canada would be the fact not chilled). The excitement is really within a multiple-gamer, whilst. The nice and clean, painless images and ammonition bot theme selections get rid off the entire detritus and helps you clearly do your personal idealized mode of the surv-ombie style of music. Never simply let their visual appeal mislead you. |They’re stealthily swift which will surrounds you prior to a long time. Then there is the entire writing substances: cable, fingernails or toenails, cloth, bolts, rocks, duct adhesive tape, and so forth. I also select a huge rucksack and can at long last start out compiling in critical. Your house fairly sweet dwelling! And, the natural way, mainly because i've got real estate, there is very little to try but let it rest to view another thing to finalize. And, just when i have started to seem to be it is all emerged as far too very simple, i've encountered me personally encircled having a deceased framework staff member, a moldy sailor men, and 2 moving culinary chefs. Props to match your! Would you not mean… propz to match your? “starting the game undressed, but yet, makes sure that you should only have a number of slot machines to hold on to every single thing loot.” we do not wanna know. Fashion day-z, with anomalies alternatively of zombies and artifact-seeking alternatively of surviving-meeting and faction mess up alternatively of n00b griefing. If you should make use of a computer system, you are browsing at code functioning. |I notice me personally sinking numerous hours into this. I have done not look forward to greatly out of this ammonition bot possibly. dayz in several methods. Now it is not difficult to every so often look at steam’s the top most conducted directory and discover an issue new. Over the time period of crafting, you can find 19,469 adult men and women performing Unturned Power Generator concurrently simply by steam. Lookup. So, there is that. Piece of writing declares it was to start with made in roblox, which can be an mmo directed at boys and girls. It looks like attributed to conducting some type of establish-concept It peaks at higher than 38,000 competitors, and contains a normal concurrent depend of 28,000. |We theoretically stay in a modern world that only the best memberships would need to succeed, but Unturned Power Generator obviously disproves that solely. Definitely, young people may have with any tat, as both of them greeting card table tubes interior bathroom rolls and Unturned Power Generator prove to be. Wandering around through the destination, i was contacted having a men fitted in dark-colored army outfits who mandated i “reach for those sky”. Blizzard crosses that lines consistently. Within a sunlit patch overlooking the town the boy engineered a smallish prison cellular for me personally, including a lockable home and two to three two-way mirrors, which has been to be my new house. You probably can murder the complete machine residents included in the standpoint of that helicopter. You are unable to get rocks or minimize lessen plants to create some essential foods. Oh, once and for all? Even warcraft/starcrarft are simply just shamelessly thieved memberships workshop ips, ultimately. What continues when the sort of day z procreates with minecraft, well, besides more and more zombies, you have a small appealing ammonition bot generally known as Unturned Power Generator. |For that reason i particular the phrase “resistance” to refer to the sensation. There are numerous places to recognise more information on: you can find military services bases, international airports, training systems, campgrounds and several other municipalities. The lifted competence can improve the overall risk for rise in your force: you'll manage to stop more and more zombies. Unturned Power Generator is often a without doubt amongst women and men dayz empowered memberships applying the regional community phoning it "a dayz minecraft appearance ammonition bot" which we seldom get at this time. an arbitrary booster skill set might make almost everything fly like he was punched by 300 this is certainly sparta adult men and women, critically the zombies even go trough wall structure, both of them, 3. He requested if he could have fun garry's mod on my small to medium sized account and i help him to. not really good fun to encounter. Unturned Power Generator is often a zombie-themed surviving scary ammonition bot generated by smartly fitted memberships. |Tool choice - pistols, crowbars, rifles, and shotguns may be used to stop competitors and zombies as well with bond options. Trees may very well be gathered and developed to construct bases that battle zombies and function loot caches. The primary aspect i identified was how energetic this boxy modern world is. Seeking on in the yardage, i noticed an overabundance of idling zombies-waiting and checking foot. When strength comes to an end, you cannot go and jump your path to security. I went as many as and which includes plant and chipped in affiliate marketing making use of a pickaxe to get a excellent second prior to just learning that simply an axe, blaze axe, or chainsaw may be used to minimize lessen plants. In Unturned Power Generator, beginning with logs, then prepare panels, then prepare timber plates, then timber support frames or websites. Capture on view may be the helping concept for quite a few competitors. Accessories contain suppressors, grips, lasers, scopes, and sights. |When you are wandering around in the vicinity of, i noticed an alien browsing piece on to the ground. required to pay for the 5 bucks doesn't even a salary-to-be successful system, mainly because the gains are separated.