#prepare to be inundated w him :)

[elfyourmother]

the fruits of peace

[soleminisanction]

U know i do kinda find it weird how some make steph have camaraderie w the ppl that tim knows

Like outside of the generaal batfam sphere(excluding helena bc she is a outlier and maybe jason but even then they get paired up in fandom spaces)

She just not?? Amicable or a team player tbh

Like in yj19 all the sudden the c4(excluding tim) are cool w steph??? Like what? When did that happen???

(or even that arc that they went to evil alt earth where they are all evil but steph isnt??? Writer did u not even realize what you have said about the other steph???)

Idk i just think of all bat character, she is to be stricly gotham base

I give Brian Michael Bendis (the writer on YJ19) a pass because I was following him on Twitter from the point YJ19 and the Wonder Comics imprint was announced, all the way through the end of that series.

From the second the announcement was made, his social media was completely inundated with people demanding that Stephanie be included in YJ19, entirely because she'd last been seen leaving Gotham with Tim. He also got flooded with asks about whether Cissie would make an appearance, or Aqualad (because YJ animated was still at the peak of its popularity and there was a whole contingent of fans who had zero clue that Kaldur was created for that show and that Jackson Hyde looks like but isn't exactly him), but with Steph? He and his co-creators got full on harassed, and it only got worse because she happened to turn up in a flashback in Issue 4. There were Internet journalists who derailed interviews he was giving to hype up his new Black and gay heroines just to demand more Stephanie, it was bad.

And then there was this whole mess that's going to be hard to explain succinctly. But it boils down to: given the timing of when the series was announced, they almost certainly had issues #1-#3 fully drawn and either at or on its way to the printer, issues #4-6 at least partially drawn and colored, issues #7-9 completely scripted and possibly with pencil drafts under way, and issues #10-12 drafted, with an outline already prepared for the second year if they thought they were going to go beyond 12.

But then something happened after the announcement -- and it had to have been after the announcement, otherwise they could've pushed back their release dates -- that led them to rewrite the entire second half of the year, everything from the end of #5 on. You can tell because the covers, which get made ahead of the rest of the issue, start going really wonky from #6 on and don't match up with the contents of the story, plus there's disconnect in the early solicitations. Also they skipped a month between #6 and #7 while making #7 basically a filler issue with guest artists who happen to have very simple, quick-draw cartoony styles that are easier to produce in a hurry.

That kind of turn-around on a publishing project is nuts, it's not fun to deal with. I would be surprised if Bendis had time to give his artists more than a "shitty rough draft" to work off of. But like I said he was still getting this constant barrage of demands for Steph so, as long as he was doing rewrites anyway, he took the chance to drop her in, or maybe the editor insisted he do so to try to bring in more readers. Either way, he just didn't have the time to make it good or put any thought into it.

I honestly feel so bad for their whole creative team. That's such a terrible situation to be in, and the first five issues make me feel like they were really putting their hearts into it. It's so sad it got derailed so badly.

[sparklingchim]

long way home 24 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.7k

genre: dilf jungkook, angst, friends to lovers

rating: pg

warnings: sleepy nabi on an adventure w uncle joonie 💅🏼, jaykay going thru the 5 stages of grief, soft nabi x jungkook moments <3

summary: the one where jungkook regrets everything.

a/n: nabi is honestly a mood in this one 🫂

chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08| 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 |

masterlist | long way home masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Jungkook has never felt his mind inundated with so many emotions, feelings and an unbearable tide of conflicting thoughts.

What did he do? Why did he do it? At some point in his life, the truth would have come out anyway, so better now than when it's far too late.

At least that's what Jungkook keeps repeating in his head like a mantra to calm his anxiously beating heart, which was foolish enough to be carried away by the blow-up of emotions that hurled out of Jungkook.

He didn't mean to say it. It slipped out. He had no control over it. Not the slightest. It was as if his body forced him to say it.

But what Jungkook had control over was how he handled the situation after the three unlucky words slipped out.

You didn't believe him. And instead of going along with your assumption, he continued to allow his heart to pour out all the secret truths and details about his love for you that he had holed up in the deepest recesses of himself.

He revealed to you his most vulnerable secrets, which he has been hiding for years. And you didn't even bat an eyelid when you told him to leave.

Jungkook is frustrated. Sad. Angry. Disappointed.

There is only one place he wants to be right now.

Jungkook turns the key in the lock and enters the large room. He switches on the light. It's already shortly after closing time.

It is always an odd sight when the boxing training centre is empty, but at this moment Jungkook has never been happier not to have members of the training centre around him He welcomes the silence and emptiness.

Moments like these are rare. Jungkook's shoulders sag and a long exhale passes his lips. He cherishes the quietude. He tries to relax and sort out the chaos of thoughts in his head, but it doesn't work.

He needs to do something to take his mind off things.

Jungkook snatches a pair of boxing gloves. He skips preparing his hands with handwraps – it's contradicts a bit what he advises and teaches the members of the boxing gym, but Jungkook couldn’t care less about injured knuckles and aching hands. He wants to feel pain. He is bearing too much of it in him already – Jungkook needs to let it out.

Before putting on the gloves, Jungkook pulls his sweater off from his body and tosses it somewhere behind him. Then, with the boxing gloves around his hands, he begins to  pour out all the bitter feelings that scurry around his body like an annoying insect.

The punching bag lurches with every punch that Jungkook strikes at it. The deep frustration fuels his consuming emotions, but the longer he stands there and hits the bag, the easier it is for Jungkook to breathe clear his mind.

Having boxing as an outlet for Jungkook’s feelings has helped him a lot in his life. Whenever he doesn't know what the next step should be, whether he has made the right decision or is unsure about his future – his legs bring him here. Lately not so often and only during his shifts when he works here because he has to take care of Nabi at home. Jungkook owns a punching bag at home, but with a baby who is almost always napping, it's impossible to work out at home.

The anger is pouring out of him like lava. It's the bajillionth time he watches his reflection perform in the mirrored wall and wonders if the man looking back at him will ever be good enough. It's the fear that maybe he never will be.

Jungkook’s hands are in flames. With every punch they ignite further – like a magnet they absorb all the seething glints and hurl them into the world.

Jungkook can’t stop thinking about that he has lost you. That he destroyed the last remnants of the friendship that was only hanging by a loose thread between the two of you.

When Jungkook drove to you, he didn't know what to expect. But he didn't imagine that the situation could get any worse than it already was.

He just wanted you back in his life again. Jungkook didn't want to lose you forever.

The last dazzle of hope has thus been extinguished.

Maybe it was Jungkook’s fault – why was he harbouring hope when is love was already, assuredly, doomed for? Why did he try to convince himself that there was faith? He only brought disaster upon himself.

His furious blows slow down, the punches are weak and without any determination. Jungkook lets his head hang, his forehead touches the punching bag and he closes his eyes. He’s tired. Exhausted.

Jungkook feels beads of sweat running down his face and neck. He doesn’t know how long he’s been standing there, but he has completely wore himself out.

“Jungkook?”

Jungkook flinches. He turns around with wide eyes.

Namjoon stands there. Nabi pressed against his chest, his arm securely around her, keys dangling in his other hand. A confused expression contorts his features. “What the hell are you doing here?” His eyes wander down to Jungkook’s bare chest.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook retorts. He tears open the velcro of the boxing gloves with his mouth. His knuckles are a bit scuffed and burn but he couldn’t care less. “With my baby?” At the sound of Jungkook’s voice Nabi’s tiny legs start kicking against Namjoon’s tummy and she tries to turn her head around.

“I asked first.” Namjoon gives Nabi a helping hand, so she can look at Jungkook.

Jungkook drops the gloves to the ground. “I’m just letting off steam.” He levels Namjoon with a prompting glance and strides towards Nabi’s grabby hands.

“We’re on a little adventure.” Namjoon laughs uncomfortably as Jungkook takes Nabi in his arms.

“Couldn’t do that before her bedtime?” Jungkook alertly observes Nabi. She’s searching for something to grasp because Jungkook isn’t wearing anything on top. Her little hand settles on his shoulder and closes her fist tightly around his skin.

Nabi is watching him with teary eyes and small sniffles coming from her nose. Jungkook’s eyebrows draw together in pity. “You’re so sleepy, aren’t you?” Jungkook mutters. “Namjoon, why are you dragging my baby around town when she should be sleeping? I told you to take good care of her.” Jungkook narrows his eyes at him.

“In my defence, Nabi was sleeping the entire time till we came here. She only woke up when I carried her up here." He has a nervous glint shimmering in his eyes.

“You just woke up from your sleep?” Jungkook eyes trace down to Nabi again. No wonder she is all sulky. “My poor baby,” Jungkook coos, pushing back Nabi’s soft strands of hair from her face. Her lips are twisted into the tiniest pout. Forcing his attention back to Namjoon, he asks again, “Why are you here?”

“I forgot my phone somewhere here,” Namjoon answers. “At least I hope so.” He takes a swift look around. “I think I left it in the office. Or the changing rooms?” Namjoon walks closer towards Jungkook. “But before I go looking for it,” – he picks up the boxing gloves – “We’re gonna talk about why you have to break into the boxing centre to let off steam.” He points the gloves accusingly in Jungkook's direction.

“I just needed a place where I could get rid of pent-up energy.”

“And you really had to break in here for that?”

“I didn’t break in,” Jungkook grumps. “I have keys.”

“What got you throwing a tantrum like five-year-old?” A subtle smirk curls Namjoon’s lips and Jungkook briefly considers introducing him to his fist.

Jungkook dabs his neck with his hand to get rid of the sweat. He could beat around the bush, lie or not answer at all, but he decides that maybe he could use a friend to talk to right now.

“I confessed to y/n that I love her and she told me to leave”

“You said what?”

“She made me leave right after.”

“You confessed?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook’s tongue pokes his cheek. “And I regret it.”

“But – but that’s amazing! That you confessed, I mean.” Namjoon’s previous taunting smirk grows to a genuine smile.

Jungkook is stumped. “Are you not listening to me? She kicked me out. Right after my confession.”

“I’m just glad that one of you finally had the guts to say it.”

Jungkook pushes his sweaty hair from his forehead. “Namjoon,” he says. “She doesn’t have feelings for me.” He pauses, cocks his head. “How did you know I loved her?”

Namjoon emits a humorous laugh. “You think I’m blind?” When Jungkook doesn’t reply he adds, “Everyone knows, Jungkook. It’s obvious to everyone but you and y/n.”

While carefully trying to lift his jumper off the floor without disturbing Nabi, Jungkook pauses. “I’ve never told you about my feelings for y/n.”

Namjoon shrugs. “You didn’t have to.” He puts the boxing gloves away and offers his hands to Jungkook. Jungkook slowly transfers Nabi into his arms. She fusses, eyes filling with tears.

“Shh, I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere,” Jungkook soothes her.

Nabi's whimpering abates and she watches him pull his pullover over his head. “It doesn’t matter, Namjoon,” Jungkook takes up the conversation again. “She doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.”

“Tell me what happened. You just told her that you love her?” 

“I visited her. We talked. I apologised. And then…” Jungkook’s teeth play with his lip piercing. “Somehow I let slip that I love her.” He feels his tummy churn with discomfort. Maybe it was a mistake to open up to Namjoon.

“How did the conversation go?”

“Okay? I guess. We kinda argued at the end. And right after I confessed.”

“You confessed while you two were arguing?” Namjoon's mouth parts in disbelief. “How did you think she was going to react?” Namjoon shakes his head. "All those years of friendship with her and you decide that was the right moment to tell her?"

“I didn’t mean to say it,” Jungkook defends himself. “It just happened.”

“Give her some time,” Namjoon says. “It was probably a lot to take for her.”

“Maybe she was confused,” Jungkook agrees. “But it still doesn’t change the fact that she doesn’t love me. She could’ve said something, Namjoon. Anything. I was pouring out my feelings in front of her. I’ve never been this honest about my feelings and she just- “ Jungkook closes his eyes. He’s getting angry again. “And she just tells me to leave?” Jungkook walks towards a supply cabinet where they store bottles of water. “Y/n gave up on me, on our friendship a long time ago.”

Namjoon slowly follows him. Nabi feel asleep in the midst of it all and he doesn’t want her to wake up again. "Don’t say that.”

Jungkook pushes the cabinet’s door shut. “She didn’t want to talk for nearly three weeks.” He flicks the lid off the bottle. “She is done with me.” Jungkook tips his head back and chugs the water.

That's what he was afraid of. That you wouldn’t give him another chance. That you listen to his apologies and explanations and still decide that you don’t want him in your life anymore. And that’s exactly what happened.

Jungkook believes that dreams coming true is a hoax created by adults to entertain the children's imagination, because so far Jungkook has experienced nothing but tales of misfortune.

Maybe he was just born unlucky.

“Y/n is better off without me, though,” Jungkook concludes his spiraling thoughts. “I know she is.”

Namjoon stares at him with a deep look. “Jungkook,” he calls. He sounds defeated.

Jungkook doesn’t look at him. “Just this once, I go against what my insecurities are telling me and I fuck up. Again.” A maelstrom of annoyance at naively reckoning his insecurities as trivial stirs up within him. What was he thinking? “And I’m really fucking trying my hardest to please everyone, but so far all I’ve only hurt people, and it’s exhausting to keep everything under control when I have so much going on.” Jungkook rubs his hand over his face. “I don’t want to feel anything anymore.”

Sometimes, at rare occasions like these, when Jungkook becomes a concept of his emotional situation, he wishes for a moment to feel purely nothing at all – just a split second of serenity, that’s what he wants. Just once he wants to know how it feels not to have to carry a load on his shoulders.

He longs for the inconspicuous, yet fundamental feeling that comes shortly afterwards when you have overcome all obstacles and arrive at your destination. It’s just that Jungkook runs and runs but despite every hurdle he goes through, he doesn’t get there. And he has the fear that he will never get to experience that feeling.

Life falls apart and you try to get a grip on it, but then you realise you have nothing to hold it together.

“I know that you’re trying your best. I’m proud of you for facing what you’re going through.”

Jungkook raises his eyes at Namjoon’s words. “I don’t know what to do anymore.” He closes the bottle cap with a drained sigh.

“You did everything you could do,” Namjoon answers. “I think you need to give yourself a break. A lot has happened lately and I think it would be best for you to take things a little easier. Things that are meant to happen, will happen. Don't stress yourself over these things." He pats Jungkook’s shoulder. “You can call anytime. I’ll babysit Nabi if you want.” Namjoon eyes are downcast as a smile naturally spreads across his face at the sight of Nabi sleeping peacefully within his hold. “Or we’ll reschedule your shifts, whatever you need.”

Jungkook nods absentmindedly. “Thanks, Namjoon.”

“Daaa,” Nabi whines in a squeak.

Namjoon winces a little at the unexpected loud noise coming from the tiny girl in his embrace.

Jungkook arms intuitively reach for Nabi. Her tiny hand makes a fist around the fabric of Jungkook’s pullover.

“Shh, I’m right here, baby,” he coos, gently rocking her in his arms. With her big eyes she’s staring up at him, a few displeased gurgles bubbling from her. “I know you’re tired.” Jungkook gingerly swipes the pad of his thumb over Nabi’s soft cheek. “Namjoon uncle must’ve forgotten that your bedtime started 2 hours ago.” Jungkook shoots a scowl his way. The soft smile on Namjoon's face as he watched Jungkook being so gentle with Nabi fades.

Namjoon grimaces apologetically. “I’ll quickly search my phone and then we can leave, yeah?” He dashes down the corridor and disappears into another room.

Jungkook looks down at Nabi in his grasp. Her eyelids are heavy from lack of sleep, but her lower lip is still quivering in grumpiness. “It’s okay little butterfly. We’ll be home soon.”

He walks around and rocks Nabi to get her to sleep again.

Jungkook and Nabi are on their own again.

Maybe they are meant to be like this – at least that’s how it all began.

When Sora announced that she was leaving again, Jungkook react much. He wasn’t surprised. It made him realise, that in the back of his mind he always had a suspicion that she might leave Nabi. He ignored it, after all she was the one who wanted to try again. And Jungkook wanted to believe that she came back with good intentions, that she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. For Nabi’s sake. But he was proved wrong.

The past days had been difficult. He had to come accustomed to being alone with Nabi again. Sora hadn't been with them for a long time, but having someone to rely on as a constant in life was a great help, and now that she's gone, it has shaken Jungkook’s routine up.

But he’ll make this work. He’ll figure it out. Somehow. Jungkook always finds a way.

He would do anything to give his baby a happy life. No doubt.

Jungkook bends down and tenderly pecks Nabi’s forehead.

“You’ll never leave me, right?”

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Family - 15

The Tower: Family An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Pairing:  Avengers x OFC, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count: 1841

Warnings:  Pregnancy

Synopsis: With new powers, Thor now living on Earth full time, a wedding to plan, and Natasha and Wanda expecting, a lot is changing for Elly and her large and rather unconventional family.  When Elise’s parents try to reestablish connections, Elly questions what being a family actually means.

Chapter 15: First Day

“El, honey, time to get up.”

It took a moment for Steve’s words to seep through into my sleeping mind and when they did I became more aware of my nausea than of the sun coming through the window, how cozy and warm I was, or the press of Steve’s lips against my forehead and the touch of his hand on my arm.

I squeezed my eyes tight and curled up into a ball groaning.

“I know, sweetheart,” he soothed, rubbing my arm.  “Everyone is up and eating breakfast.  Do you want me to help you to the bathroom?”

I nodded my head a little and he scooped me into his arms and carried me to the bathroom.  “You gonna throw up?”  He asked.

I nodded and he placed me on my feet in front of the toilet.  I stood staring at it for a moment as he gathered my hair back and rubbed my back soothingly.  My stomach churned and I dropped to my knees and heaved into the toilet bowl, emptying my stomach.  Steve stayed with me, rubbing my back and holding my hair off my face.  When it seemed like my stomach was empty he flushed and helped me to my feet.

“Here’s your nausea medication,” he said, taking the lid of a bottle.  I held out my hand and he shook a pill out into my palm and poured me a glass of water.  As I took it he turned on the shower.

“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, pressing another kiss to my forehead.  “Take a shower and get dressed.  We’ll have toast and your vitamins ready for you so we can take the kids to school.”

“Thank you, Steve,” I mumbled.

“Of course, honey,” he said.  “We don’t want you to miss this.”

He left the room and I showered as quickly as I could.  When I was done, I dressed in a simple dress and braided my hair before heading downstairs.

“Mommy!”  The twins squealed, running over to me and slamming into my legs.  They were wearing matching blue gingham shirts and dark blue shorts.  Riley had her hair in pigtails, while Pietro’s sat in wide curls.

“You dotta hurry, mommy,” Pietro said.

“We dotta doe to schoowl,” Riley added.

“I know, babies,” I said. “We can go.”

“Come drink some ginger tea and eat some toast,” Natasha said.  “We have time.”

“Mama,” Riley whined.  “We wanna doe.”

Natasha started laughing.  “Riley,” she whined back.  “You have to be patient.”

I chuckled and took a seat, and took my vitamins as I sipped the ginger tea Wanda had poured for me.

“How are you feeling this morning?”  Bruce asked.

“Getting there,” I said.  “Pills have started kicking in, so that’s good.”

He rubbed my back with one large hand and I smiled at him.  “You’re going to be very popular at the school.”

He chuckled.  “Yeah, I considered pushing into just Bruce so I wouldn’t draw attention, and you know, maybe I’d fit through the door easier.  But Hulk wants to be there.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised,” I said and finished my piece of toast.

“Weddy now?”  Riley asked.

“Yeah, bug,” I said.  “I’m ready.”

“Alright, family,” Steve said, getting up and moving the puppies into their playpen.  “Assemble.”

We all got up and went to the elevator riding it down to the lobby.  We left through the back entrance and Natasha engaged her powers, cloaking our very large group as we walked to their preschool.  Wanda used her powers to make sure no one accidentally walked into any of us.  Riley and Pietro were buzzing the whole way there, babbling happily about making friends and reading books.

When we arrived, Natasha lowered the cloak surrounding us and we checked them in.  We immediately started drawing looks.  Even the staff who had been prepared for our arrival kept glancing over.  It was easy to tell that the parents in the halls were holding their kids back from approaching us.  That all went out the window when we entered the twin’s classroom.

It was full of kids with their parents doing various activities.  Some were looking for their desks, some were reading in the corner on the comfortable couches, some were hanging up backpacks, and some parents were soothing their crying children and assuring them they’d have fun.

When Steve and Tony entered the room some kids looked over.  They all wrinkled their brows like they were trying to work out how they knew the two men at the front of the group.  When Thor came in, more kids looked over and understanding started to dawn on some of the kids and a couple made happy squeak sounds.  It wasn’t until Bruce ducked through the door that they all broke.

They all squealed and ran over, little groups of kids choosing their favorite Avengers to speak to.  They all crouched down to get on the level with the kids as they were inundated with questions from the class.  Riley and Pietro looked confused and Pietro ran over to my side and tugged on my hand.  “Mommy…” he whined.

I picked him up as the headteacher approached.  “Hello!”  She said warmly, extending her hand to me.  “I’m Alicia.  You must be Elise.”

“Yes,” I said, shaking her hand.  “Sorry about the chaos.  We all wanted to see them off.”

“It’s fine.  The first day is always a little chaotic, and this gives them all something exciting,”  she said.  “And who are you?”

Pietro hid his head in my chest and Riley grabbed my free hand and began tugging on it.  “I don’t think they’ve seen their parents get mobbed by fans before,” I said.

“Plus I’m a new person,” Alicia added.

“This is Pietro,” I said, bouncing Pietro on my hip.  “Piet, this is your teacher, Alicia.”

“Hello, Pietro, welcome to the class,” she said, before crouching down to Riley.  “And I bet your name is Riley.”

“It is!” She squeaked, like her teacher had just done a particularly amazing magic trick.

“How about you two find your bag pegs and your desks?”  Alicia suggested.

“Daddy…” Pietro whined, looking back at the group of kids who were swarming around the others.  Clint managed to pull himself out of the pack and took Pietro from me.

“I got you, buddy,” he said.  Pietro scrambled up onto Clint’s shoulders and we took the twins into the nook that had the kids bags.

“Why dose kids do dat?”  Pietro asked as Riley tried to find her name.

“Well,” Clint said, and looked over at me, with his helpless puppy expression.

“Remember when we were on Asgard and everyone knew who you were and they were very nice to you?”  I asked.

“Yeah, dey cawled me a pwince,” Pietro said.

“Well, it’s a bit like that.  Mamma, Daj, and all your daddy’s are very well known because they go out and save the world all the time.  People like them.  Especially kids.  So the kids are all just excited to see them because they like them so much and they’ve never seen them before,” I explained.  “You’re gonna see some will have pictures of them on their bags and lunch boxes.”

“Pied!”  Riley called.  “Wook - dares daddy Steeb.”

Pietro began to wiggle down and Clint put him on the floor and the twins went from looking for their pegs to looking for their parents’ pictures on the other kid’s bags.  In the end, they found two daddy Steves, three daddy Tonys, a daddy Bruce, a daddy Thor, Two mamas, one Daj, and a daddy Sam.

“Aww, man, no me,” Clint complained.

“Well there’s no me either,” I said, nudging him.  “Or Bucky.”

“Damn, poor Buck,” Clint said.

I shrugged and looked out through the door.  “He’s got a bunch of kids looking at his arm.  I bet tomorrow there will be a tonne of Winter Soldier Merch.  Plus you’re all gonna be invited to every kid’s birthday party now.”

“Sweet,” Clint said.  “I love cupcakes.”

“Mommy, how come day don’t tawk to you?”  Riley asked.

“Oh,” I said.  “I’m not an Avenger.  That’s all.  I never did any saving the world.”

“Well, that’s not technically true,” Clint corrected.  “Your mommy definitely did.  But we kept it a secret.  So the kids don’t know her.”

“Oh…” Riley said, putting her finger to her mouth.  “Is a secwet.”

I laughed and rubbed her back.  “Did you find your peg?”

Riley bounced over to the peg with her name on it.  “Hewr.”

“Hang up your bag then, bug,” Clint said.

Both Pietro and Riley hung their bag up and we went back into the main classroom.  “Alright, class!”  Alicia called.  “Let’s all go to the story area and we’ll do some introductions.”

All the kids reluctantly pulled themselves away from the Avengers and took seats on the couch and little cushions in the reading area, while the parents stood around the area. Alicia took a seat in the sofa chair.

“Everyone’s moms and dads will be going home or to work soon and they’ll come back at the end of the day.  We’ll play an introduction game when they’ve gone,” Alicia explained.  “But there’s a special situation today.  You’ve all been talking to the Avengers, haven’t we?  Do you know why they’re here?”

Pietro and Riley started bouncing up and down on their cushions and Pietro put up his hand.  Alicia laughed.  “Yes, I know you two know,” she said.  “You see everyone, Riley and Pietro have seven daddies and three mommies.”  There was a group gasp around the room.  None of the parents really reacted in surprise.  The news that we were in a ten-person polyamorous relationship was old now.  It was probably more of a shock just seeing Steve walk into the room in the first place.

“So you’re going to see them all around a lot more, just remember they’re here because they’re Riley and Pietro’s mommies and daddies.  You need to remember how when you’re tired or upset you might want to go straight to your parents.  Riley and Pietro might need that too, and even though you might want to talk to Iron Man, he might just need to cuddle with Riley and Pietro or take them home.”

“Did any of you kids have any questions?”  Steve asked.

There was a little while where the kids asked questions.  There were a couple related to how a kid could have ten parents but most were just questions about the Avengers or asking them for hugs.  It was pretty cute and eventually, Alicia called for the last questions.  All the kids said goodbye to their parents and we were all shuffled back out of the room.

“You think they’re gonna be okay?”  Bruce asked, looking back over his shoulder.

“They will be fine,” Thor said.  “I am sure we will all be regaled with stories when we retrieve them.”

“Now,” Sam said, wrapping his arm around Steve’s waist.  “We have four hours with no kids.  What trouble shall we get up to?”

// NEXT

[stevenbasic]

Sitting alone in the small chair in front of her desk, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was already being submissive, that he was acting contrite, before the meeting even began. He’d been cowed by what happened last night, and could swear the girls were looking at him funny when he skulked into his office this morning. Did they all know already?? What happened with Randi? It all made him nervous, and he knew it did nothing but undermine his authority and make him look weak.

And then there were the stream of aggressively confident posts Melissa had put on Instagram last night, and those he’d woken up to. “I’m proud of being a woman”? #simpforme, #motheryourman, #getready?  “there’s gonna be a lot more of it”?? #stronger #bigger #successful. And - the baby-bird thing??? Jesus. It was like he was watching her spread her wings and he felt, this morning, like he was just cowering in her shadow. 

She’d texted him this morning, said she’d wanted to meet with him in her office at 9, and had cleared the patients from his schedule. It was 9:05, looking at his watch. Every moment that went by felt like another nail in the coffin of his control of the office. I can’t let this happen, he tried to steel himself, I have to somehow show that I’m in charge.

But then, he heard it. The unmistakable staccato of her heels approaching down the hallway - click-clack-click-clack, echoing like gunshots - was heavier than one would expect in the corridor. The sound made his heart start to race. Why am I so nervous??  The Instagram posts and the events of last night - the girls in his apartment, him stupidly letting Randi once again have her way with him - had him on edge. Plus, he slept lousy. What did Melissa want to meet about?

click-clack-click-clack. She was almost there. 

Remember, he told himself, she works for you. 

But as soon as she walked in, when she entered the room and seemed to draw all light to her, he immediately felt himself to be in the presence of a more powerful person. Reflexively, he stood, and tried to keep from gaping. Oh my god she’s huge, he balked, astounded by her height. The only reason she hadn’t had to duck to get through the doorway was because she’d had such large, eight-foot doors installed.

“Good morning,” she said, her smile ebullient, happy to find him here and deferentially waiting for her, standing at attention, “Oh, so chivalrous! I like a man with good manners.” She watched his face as he took in her outfit, her figure, how tall she was in her new shoes. Immediately she knew she’d chosen right: the aggressively low-cut pink sweater, the high-waisted, dark grey pants that helped make her look both hippy, authoritative and even leggier than usual. And then there were the shoes. 

“th-those are some heels,” he admitted, his obsequious gaze finding the safest place to linger: her feet and the black, patent leather pumps which made her...oh my god...he couldn’t bear to think how tall she’d be. 

“Yeah huh?” she smiled, appreciating the crack in his voice, the submissive body language he was already assuming, standing there for her. She moved towards her desk, making sure to step as close to him as possible. “My friend Abby dropped them off for me this morning. They’re eight inches.”

“w-wow,” was all he could manage, dwarfed as he felt as she - standing well more than a foot taller than him - passed by. He knew he’d already started acting the simp, taken off his guard by her appearance, and was too dazed to resolve himself otherwise. 

“They make me almost six-foot ten,” she stated, seeing how flabbergasted by her height he seemed. Something inside her urged her to step back closer to him, stand above him, demonstrate how big she was and make him feel small. That feeling made her tingle dangerously, rushed blood to her chest, and it was a hard instinct to fight back. But instead she knew she should proceed carefully with him, start business, and so she moved behind her desk. “You’re waiting for me to sit, aren’t you?” she asked with an approving smile, “such a gentleman.”

“Oh, haha, yeah I guess…” he said, still finding himself awkwardly standing in place, fidgeting. 

“Looks like your mother trained you right," she responded, and immediately saw the wince in his expression. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” she cooed, as he cast his eyes aside, “I forgot. Forgive me?”  She watched him nod, wanly. It was obviously, even to this day, a tender subject with him. I have to remember, she thought to herself, poor thing didn’t have a proper mommy. 

"Well, every girl likes a respectful man,” she continued, with a munificent smile. Standing behind her desk, she felt the authority the office’s place of power gave her. “Especially one who knows his place in front of the alpha female. But no...sit.”

He looked at her as if confused. She was waiting for him patiently, like she was testing his resolve. Reflexively, though, he began to sit, and felt immediately emasculated as she remained standing. 

“Good boy,” she said in approval, allowing mischief into her smile for the first time. Oooo this is funn, she caught herself musing. 

The shock of that - the infantile little praise, the talk of “alpha female” - was not one he’d expected. She’d played around like this last week, at the beach conference...but hearing it here in the office was another thing altogether. “We’re - haha - w-we’re still doing that?” he asked, looking up at her, feeling a dark shiver of self-abasement and secretly marveling at the perfect hourglass her trim but wantonly full figure cut above him, silhouetted against the white wall behind. 

“oooo remember, sweetie,” she replied, “we’re alone, it’s just you and me.” With that, on cue, she tapped a button on her desk and the door to the office closed behind him; she liked the startled look that brought to him. “We don’t have to worry about what anyone else thinks and just fall into our...natural roles,” she purred, putting her hands on the desk to lean over towards him. She smiled as his eyes predictably darted to her cleavage. “We’ll just let nature take its course,” she stated, “How does that sound, Dr. J?”

“Oh, uh…” he stammered, temporarily spellbound by the sheer volume of bosom she’d put on display. This sweater, he found himself thinking, she wore this on purpose. And just as he was almost able to tear his gaze away from her breasts, she casually squeezed them together and his eyes remained fixed, for more than a moment too long. Letting nature take its course, he thought, might end up with my face buried up to my ears. 

And so she had him speechless, already; that got her grinning. She brushed away an imaginary nothing from the swell of her right beast, keeping his gaze fixed right where she wanted it. Melissa knew what she needed to say in this meeting, the words she had prepared to get him to do what she wanted. But, gauging his reaction, she was seeing already that she wouldn’t have to work too hard. Her tits could do the heavy lifting. 

“Enjoying the view?” she asked, after finally drawing her fingers away from her chest and immediately causing him to look away. He flushed red, caught staring.  ”Omigosh you’re so cute when you’re blushing,” she giggled, only to cause a wave of jiggles to joggle through her chest, drawing his hapless gaze for another brief second. Her breasts were just so big, the huge soft swells of her cleavage the main attraction in the room and a magnet to his eyes. 

She laughed. “So, you know why I’m dressed like this, right?” she asked, a wry smile acknowledging the blatant aggression of her outfit, “the heels, the tight pants…” For a moment she looked down at her own chest, then locked eyes with him. “...the boobage?”

“Uhhhh….”

”You know what I'm going to ask for, of course?” she continued, becoming struck by how adorable he was in his tongue-tied, defenseless denseness. 

“A-a raise?” he asked, struggling with all his will to keep her gaze. 

Her laugh was deep and sultry, one of a woman pleased. “No haha but…” she said, as she then gathered her arms under her breasts, cradling them to exaggerate their size, “…could I get one if I asked really nicely?”

Oh my god, he thought, as he felt his dick start to stiffen, no. this is...too much. But he didn’t have the will to protest, scold her. “Y-you know money’s been tight…”

“Haha I’m joking, you know I’m teasing!” she laughed, enjoying the bewildered look on his face and standing up straight again, “I know your numbers are down. But that’s why we need to talk, about Abby…”

Abby, he thought, she’s the sales-rep friend...from that weird pharm company. He’d resisted meeting with her from the beginning, unwilling to waste precious time on another salesmonkey pushing snake oil. He’d been inundated with their brochures, ignored countless phone messages, avoided their research papers in his email, and still he had no idea what their product really was. It seemed like they made one thing and one thing only: some sort of supplement for women of childbearing age. His was a geriatric practice! Why would they want him to be part of some clinical trial? It really made no sense and he’s really wanted no part of it. 

But he knew Melissa felt otherwise.

Indeed, she knew getting a meeting together was important to Evolution Pharmaceuticals, really the main reason Abby had sent her the posting for this job in the first place. Abby had encouraged her to go for the position even though it was frankly above her abilities. But it was something, a challenge, a job maybe she could grow into…

...and now she fully intended to, in spades. 

Melissa leaned in further again, over the desk towards him, her suddenly soft doe-eyes seeking his out. “Remember..it’s just you and me,” she sweetly cooed, putting her full breasts once again on obvious display for him, “nobody’s going to think less of you if you agree to this…” She allowed her chest to slowly push forward, her shoulders back.  “...just let nature take its course.”

She knew he heard the encouragement in her voice. Her beauty held real power that she knew how to use, and she intended to put him at ease. In the moment, she knew he didn’t even realize that it was already working. Her eyes searched his and saw something they were looking for.  A warm smile formed on her lips and she continued to let her body do all the work. His eyes all but unabashedly on her tits again, this was already happening just the way Abby said it would. 

“So...about meeting with Abby...” she began, letting go just the faintest waft of her pheromones, to drift across the desk, just enough to-

“yes okay I’ll do it,” he answered, without even having to be asked. 

What?? Haha omigod. 

“You...will?” she beamed, her smile becoming a sudden, dazzling grin. It can’t be that easy, can it? Admittedly a bit surprised she was immediately struck by one self-aggrandizing thought: she loved being this beautiful...and this big. She loved the feeling of being stronger and more powerful than those around her. She loved how her body, her buxom sexuality, could be so simply and so extravagantly too much for people; how it reduced them to putty in her hands, paralyzing them for her with nothing more than a smile and a look. And, what’s more, she was beginning to realize what else she could accomplish, given the time. She knew, secretly, that the bigger she got, the more Melissssy there was, the easier it would all become.

So bring it on, she thought to herself, give me more.  She had to keep herself from laughing. Who needs an associate’s degree when you wear an I-cup?

“Ok I’ll call her, put it in your schedule right away,” Melissa said in victory, knowing she had to be gentle and watching as he had begun, it seemed, to sheepishly shrink into the chair below her. This was emasculating for him, she knew, capitulating like he was in his utter defenselessness. It gave her a thrill, she had to admit, flexing her authority here in the office, dwarfing him like this, dwarfing a man. She knew it was possibly unfair, that she’d had the deck stacked against him by coming at him with all this in his most fragile moments...but it needed to be done, and she would show him it was all for the best. And, she thought slyly, she would someday make it up to him, make him forget how little she’d just made him feel. Unless, of course, he likes that sort of thing... 

But in the meantime-“, she knew she had other work to do, and as the saying goes about the hot iron and the striking-

“Let’s talk about new staff,” she said innocently, “I want to hire twelve more girls.”

“T-twelve?” he blurted, shaken a bit back to himself, “Really? Didn’t we lose just, like...five?” 

“It was three, and then three part-timers,” she corrected him, “But I want to bring on twelve full-time people. A nurse practitioner, maybe a PA, a nurse Nurse Asstha...Attess…”

“Aesthetician?” he helped, even through his disarray.

“Yes, that..!” she giggled, “I’ll learn how to say that someday!” Twirling her hair girlishly in between the fingers of one hand, she stood again. “New providers, they’ll all need support staff, plus we have to replace the girls in accounting,” she listed, now starting to step away from behind her desk, “and we need a new supervisor for the front desk, unless you think Audrey is up for the job…?”

He paused, a bit confused, watching as she lazily stepped towards him. Was she actually asking for his opinion? Wait...he thought, why am I surprised by th- This was obviously getting away from him too quickly. “Uh, sure, but…” he began, “are you positive we can handle so many ne-”

“Oh, sweetie,” she cooed, now standing right next to him, above him, noticing how he’d reflexively turned his chair to face her, “we can handle it no problem. Maybe it’s just you that’s having some trouble?” She looked down at him, her employer, and mused on how anxious and small he looked. She reached down to tenderly push a wayward lock of hair behind his ear. “Besides...don’t you want to see us grow?”

What did she mean? “W-well, yes, of course,” he agreed, fighting the urge to turn his head, nuzzle his face into her soft hand as it continued to stroke his temple, above his ear, “of course I want the p-practice to do well. To, uh...grow.” His thoughts drifted to a day, maybe not far away, of an office she’d built for him, of being surrounded by more women than he could count, all young and beautiful, all doting on him...and of course, all beholden to her. 

Is that what she meant by wanting to “see us grow”?

“So, uh, sure…” he said, knowing again it was another little surrender, “hire whoever you want…” He knew this was reckless, foolish even, and could only hope beyond hope that this money from - what was it? Lean In? - would be enough. 

Melissa - thrilled again but now keeping her grin in check - saw the doubt in his face. She understood this was hard on him, watching the reins of his business being taken by another, and knew she should...reward him.

She stroked his hair - oooo he had such nice hair - and thought to herself. 

It was just like Abby said. This was a man, she considered, remembering the type of pictures he’d been hoarding on his computer, who needed a strong female figure. This was a man, remembering what he’d told her about his childhood, who craved a woman’s constant attention, unconditional affection. This was a man - it almost made her giggle - who needed a mommy. 

Just last night in DM Ms. Zazanetti - oops, I’m supposed to call her ‘Sara’! - had told it to her straight, made her understand. It's not taboo that he’d been stockpiling pictures of beautiful, ultra-bosomy, giant women on his computer, but rather the reasonable needs of manchild who never really had a childhood. He had told it to her himself, the night at that bull-riding bar: that he “never really had a mother.” And she’d heard it from Rina - who come to find out used to work here, and was one of his old flings - he’d lost her at a very young age.

Omigod the poor thing!

She knelt down in front of him, heart growing in her chest as she looked deep into his eyes. The desperation, she knew, ran deep in his mind, looking for fully blossomed women. His breast obsession was  a consequence of what he missed as a child, a toddler, an infant - being coddled, nurtured, loved. And, she reminded herself, it wasn’t just pictures of random huge, big-breasted women he’d had on his computer. There were also countless pictures of her. It was a significant moment, when she’d realized what she represented to him, what she could strive to be for him - even if his male pride keeps him from ever really expressing himself, admitting what he needs. 

#motheryourman, remember?

Still gazing at him, wondering what he was thinking, she smiled to herself. Well, he’s not “your man” but - haha - close enough, right?

“You’ve been doing such a good job, being so strong,” she said to him, tenderly, taking one of his hands into both of hers and resting it on his lap, “especially with everything going on.”

”uhhh...what do u mean?” he asked. There was - good god - so much going on. But...looking into her eyes, he suddenly knew what she meant.

“When were you going to tell me? I had to hear it from Marisela,” she said, sounding a bit sad that he would not confide in her, about his troubles at home...or, rather, what used to be his home, “I thought we were friends…”

========================================

Thanks to GTScity reader @sherlock for inspirations and ideas - they really helped the post coalesce. And to FantasticMrMoose - fans may notice that a few passages are all but stolen right from "Sexy Lexie": awesome story!

[ollieofthebeholder]

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

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 31: Jon

Fortunately for Jon’s nerves, Halloween week means Research is inundated with statements, mostly false ones, so the first week following Tim’s ill-advised adventure means they’re all helping out with disproving piles of utter nonsense, which in turn means none of his assistants putting themselves in harm’s way. They do get a live statement midway through the week, in the form of the exterminator who handled Jane Prentiss’ body, but as there’s nothing to really investigate regarding his statement, that’s harmless enough. Tim insists on sitting in on the statement, and against his better judgment, Jon agrees.

It’s probably a mistake, though, as over the course of the following week Tim begins having frequent headaches. They seem to pass quickly, at least at first, but they get progressively worse. Martin adds a box of ginger tea to their stash; Sasha keeps a giant bottle of paracetamol at her desk; Jon tries to reduce Tim’s workload as much as possible. Tim only accepts the first two. It worries Jon how hard Tim is throwing himself into the research, regardless of how much the others tell him he doesn’t have to make up for lost time. Even Jon Prime expresses concern, in a careful, hesitant way.

Martin Prime, on the other hand, is a lot less careful and a lot more blunt, telling Tim not to be a self-sacrificing idiot and to stop tearing himself apart trying to draw attention away from the others, because it won’t help anyone if he gets hurt, or worse. Tim laughs, but the look on his face and especially on Jon Prime’s face makes Jon hold onto Tim extra tightly that night.

In the long run, and even in the short run, it doesn’t help. Three weeks into November, Martin finds Tim crumpled in a ball on the floor in the depths of the shelves, clutching his temples and barely conscious. The mental image of Martin, pale and frightened, cradling Tim in his arms like an infant and striding across the Archives as if he weighs nothing isn’t going to leave Jon in a hurry. The doctor at the clinic can’t find any obvious cause for the headaches, but he recommends Tim go home and rest and Jon is only too happy to sign off on that.

He makes him stay home the next morning, too. Tim doesn’t argue, which tells Jon he probably really isn’t feeling all that great. He does promise to get rest, not strain his eyes, and definitely not go off on any unauthorized field trips—all of which Martin is very emphatic about. (Jon’s never actually seen Martin in full mother bear mode, and he decides it’s best for his sanity not to admit that he finds it weirdly attractive.) Martin makes him a cup of tea before they leave and reports, when he comes back to join Jon, that Tim’s fallen back asleep again.

The morning is fairly straightforward. Sasha and Martin work on their usual research work; Jon has a stack of statements to record. Mostly these days he only does the ones that are going to end up on the Discredited shelf, the ones he can record on his laptop, tending to leave the real ones for Jon Prime. Still, there are literally thousands of statements in the Archives, and Jon is prepared to bet even money that no more than ten percent of them are actually real. While that’s still probably enough to sustain both him and Jon Prime for the rest of their natural lives, even if they never get another live statement in, he does still have to record the others. He’d grumble about him and his stupid ideas if he didn’t now have seventeen months’ worth of examples of ideas far stupider than suggesting to his boss that he make audio recordings of the statements in the Archives, and not just his own.

Jon powers through about a dozen statements, narrating them into his laptop and supplementing with his team’s research. He’s just finishing a scathing indictment of a would-be writer who claims to have stayed in a cottage with a haunted lamp when the door cracks open and Martin pops his head in. He catches Jon’s eye and smiles, then waits until Jon signs off the recording before speaking. “Hey. Lunch?”

“Thank you, but I think I’ll do a couple more of these first.” Jon gestures to the rapidly-diminishing stack on the right side of his desk. “I’m on a roll.”

“Better than being on a sesame-seed bun. I’m going to call and check on Tim while I’m at it, unless you’d rather?”

“Go ahead. Ask him if he wants us to bring anything home tonight.” Jon offers Martin a smile. “Enjoy your lunch.”

Martin smiles back, his cheeks turning faintly pink. He nods and withdraws from Jon’s office.

Jon finishes two more digital statements and then pulls over the next one and begins to dictate it. Even before he gets done with the introduction, however, he can feel the static on his tongue and stops. Playback confirms his suspicion—this is a real one. Somehow, they missed it.

He skims the file. He remembers this one now—a claim of a still-living mummy in a tomb containing ancient dice and nothing else. Sasha, who, in her own words, “went through an Egyptology phase like every other girl in the nineties”, wrote out a list of every reason she could think of that the description of the tomb didn’t make sense. Even Tim’s charm wasn’t enough to get any help from the Egyptian government, and since all the names were fake except the statement giver’s, all Martin has been able to find out is that she’s currently training to be a teacher. Even with everything they know, it seems…unrealistic.

But as he flips a page over, it dislodges a sticky note from the back of the folder. Jon catches it as it flutters through the air. It’s Tim’s handwriting, and it glitters faintly, which makes Jon frown—not because he objects to glitter ink (although if they use it on anything official he doesn’t want to imagine what Elias will have to say), but because Tim’s only been using these pens for a couple of weeks, since he traded Charlie one of his old fountain pens for the pack. Which means Tim went back and added something recently.

Jon studies the note. The first words are scratched out, but the rest is easily legible: I think this one is real.

For a moment, Jon considers leaving the statement for Jon Prime to read, but he finds he can’t. Now that he’s started speaking it aloud, he has to finished. Damn it. With a sigh, he sets up the tape recorder, then checks to make sure his secondary recorder has a tape in it. He depresses the RECORD button on both and picks up the paper again.

“Statement of Donna Gwynne, regarding an unlicensed archaeological dig near the Red Sea in Egypt,” he begins.

He always sinks into the statements, at least when they’re real—which is good, because once he finishes, it’s hard for him to keep his contempt for Ms. Gwynne out of his voice as he dictates the results, such as they are, on the follow-up. Certainly he has no qualms admitting that he’s somewhat satisfied the woman is being forced into a job she’s stated repeatedly she hates the idea of.

“I feel anyone who brings me a statement about mummies deserves everything they get,” he concludes. “I’m just glad she doesn’t live in London. End recording.”

He presses the STOP button on both recorders, then hesitates. He started recording secondary back-up tapes after Michael’s visit, partly out of growing paranoia and partly so that he would have a record in case anything happened, and he’s never really stopped. He needs to let the others know about it, he just…hasn’t yet.

Sighing, he pops out the official tape and labels it, then sets it with the file before drawing the second recorder towards himself and pressing RECORD.

“Supplemental,” he says. “I’m…worried about Tim. His headaches have grown so severe over the last week that I actually had to make him stay home today. I’m sure they have something to do with these statements, with the research and all of it, but I don’t know how to prove it. And I don’t know why he’s looking into statements we’ve theoretically finished the research on. I’m…grateful, of course, that he spotted that this one was probably real, although I wish he’d left the note in a more obvious place, but I don’t know why he was even looking, let alone how he figured it out. There’s no supplemental research, no notes other than the single sticky note he put in the back. I can’t quite make out the first word, as it’s been heavily scratched out, except that it starts with a V or a W. The next two are also scratched out, but it’s a little easier to make out: The End, with a question mark. He wasn’t sure, but—of course, it’s fairly obvious. What else would mummies be? And there’s a parallel to—”

The door to his office opens abruptly, and a voice that does not belong to one of his assistants says, “Excuse me, do you have a moment?”

Jon almost topples his chair over backwards, despite the fact that the small part of his brain hanging onto rationality points out that an entity of fear likely wouldn’t be so (relatively) polite about interrupting him. A second later, the rest of his brain catches onto the magenta-tipped brown asymmetrical pixie cut, the string of black stars dangling from one ear, and the expression that manages to be somehow disdainful, sheepish, and concerned all at the same time.

“Miss King—uh—how did you get in here?” he manages, hoping he doesn’t sound like she almost gave him a heart attack.

“Sasha let me in.” Melanie King steps fully into his office and lets the door close behind her. “Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Sorry?” Jon tries to look nonchalant as he shuffles Ms. Gwynne’s statement to the bottom of the stack.

“You look like hell,” Melanie tells him.

“It’s been a rough few months.” Jon feels his old prickliness rising up in him, feels the need to puff up and bluster, but then he stops, collects himself, and really looks at Melanie. There’s a slump to her shoulders, a weariness in her bearing, and dark circles like bruises under her eyes, which look…well, haunted. “And if I look like hell, you must be in a far lower circle than I am. Are you all right?”

Melanie seems surprised that he asked, which, fair enough. “Fine. I—um—I actually need your help.”

Dread creeps up Jon’s spine, but all he says is, “Interesting.”

“All right, can you not be an arsehole about it?” Melanie snaps, visibly bristling. “I just need access to your library.”

“So talk to Diana. She runs the place,” Jon points out.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have the academic credentials you guys demand, so apparently I need someone to vouch for me,” Melanie says. Jon sighs in annoyance, not at Melanie or her tone, but at the generations of stuffy, upper-class white men who equate university degrees with value. “And you’re basically the closest thing I have to a friend here.”

Jon can’t help but laugh at that. “We’ve spoken once, and we ended up screaming at each other—”

“Yes! And that’s more than I have with anyone else here.” Melanie tugs at her hair in frustration, hard enough that Jon’s afraid she might actually yank it out of her scalp by the roots. “Also, uh, Georgie actually has some nice things to say about you. That came as a surprise. You didn’t even tell me you knew her.”

It surprises Jon, too, enough that he blurts out the honest truth without thinking. “It was a long time ago—before she started doing What the Ghost. I didn’t think she would have anything nice to say about me, to be honest. We didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

Melanie hums skeptically at him. Jon almost tells her everything, but catches himself. “Look, what exactly do you need from us, anyway? Can’t your showbiz friends help you?”

“No,” Melanie snaps. “I’m, uh—most of them won’t talk to me anymore.”

“What happened? Did word get round you’d talked to us ‘credulous idiots’?”

“Not exactly. In my business, your reputation is all that you have. The industry is full of skeptics pretending to be believers pretending to be skeptics.”

Jon almost snipes at her that the word she wants is charlatans, but one look at her expression and his heart isn’t in it anymore. He thinks about the Primes’ description of her as an Archival assistant, the “painting” from Martin Prime’s statement about his journey back in time, the slightly wistful look in Jon Prime’s eye when he talked about her resignation. And then he looks at her now, determined and angry and despairing all at once, and he resolves, then and there, not to ever let her get to that point.

He’s the closest thing she has to a friend? Fair enough. They’re going to get closer to that even if he has to do all the work himself.

“And none of them are helpful,” he guesses.

Melanie starts to bristle at him, then sighs heavily. “Look, Ghost Hunt UK split up. I mean, not formally, but, you know, Pete was always a flake, and the others just…drifted away.”

“I’m sorry,” Jon says, as gently as he can. “I did notice you weren’t updating anymore.” It’s a bit of a white lie—the Primes told him that—but she doesn’t need to know, not now.

Melanie continues, rambling a bit about her attempts to get a new crew together, then her solo expeditions ending in disaster. Jon can’t help the noise of shock and concern that slips out of his throat when she mentions getting arrested; she evidently takes it as interest and gives him the whole story. “After that…”

“Your reputation went with it,” Jon concludes.

Melanie looks away. The set of her jaw suggests she’s trying to hang onto her resentment, but also trying not to cry. “Yes,” she says tightly. “Look, I have leads that I really need to follow up on, and as far as my colleagues are concerned these days, I’m the ghost.”

Jon nods. “All right. Come on, then.”

Melanie looks back at him, obviously startled. “What?”

“Come on,” Jon repeats. “I’ll take you up to the library and vouch for you. If all else fails, I can claim we’re borrowing you as an adjunct for a few weeks or something. U-unless you’d rather wait?”

“Oh,” Melanie says, sounding taken aback. “No, the sooner the better. I—just expected a bit more of a fight, to be honest.”

“Yes, well, I know what it’s like to be itching to follow up on a lead and have your every effort frustrated. And I believe I owe you for being…dismissive of you before.” Jon suddenly realizes he hasn’t turned off his tape recorder. “Uh, end supplemental.” He presses the STOP button and stows the recorder in his desk, then gestures for Melanie to head out of the office.

Martin is just hanging his jacket on the back of his chair when they emerge; he looks up and offers Jon a slight smile, which freezes when he sees Melanie. “Uh…heading to lunch?”

“Eventually, but I’m going to see if I can convince Diana to let Miss King here use the library,” Jon tells him. “Unless you’d rather.”

Martin laughs nervously. “That would have the opposite effect, trust me. Besides, I, uh, talked to Tim.”

Jon bites back the hot words he wants to unleash in Diana’s direction. “How is he?”

“Fine, he says, and I believe him, but he asked if I would—” Martin hesitates for no more than a split second, then flicks a finger very quickly in the direction of the trapdoor “—run something down for him?”

In other words, Tim has a question he thinks the Primes can answer. Jon nods slowly. “All right. Just be…cautious. I don’t want a repeat of last month’s incident.”

Martin shakes his head vigorously. “Nope. No incidents. Nope. I’ll be back up before you get back from lunch.”

“Right.” Jon offers Martin a warm smile, which Martin returns, before leading Melanie over to the stairs.

Melanie, for a wonder, stays silent until they’re back up on the main floor, then says, “Does ‘last month’s incident’ have anything to do with all those scars he’s got?”

Jon bristles at the implied criticism of Martin’s appearance. “Those are months old. Did you not see the worms when you were here last time? We had an…infestation. It came to a head a couple weeks after your last visit. He was badly injured.” His voice shakes slightly as he says it. Even close to seven months later, he still has trouble sometimes shaking the memories of the black terror of that night.

“I’m sorry.” Melanie actually seems to mean it. “He seems all right now, though.”

“As I said, it was some time ago and he’s had time to heal. Last month’s incident was…it didn’t leave physical scars, but one of my other assistants looked into something he oughtn’t have.” Jon pauses. They’re just rounding the landing towards the first floor—the library actually spans the entire height of the building, save the basement, but for reasons he’s never understood the only way in or out is in the middle—and it’s deserted this time of day. Sound has a way of carrying, but they should be safe enough here if he speaks honestly, as long as he keeps his voice down. “He ran into your Sarah Baldwin.”

Melanie stiffens, but when she speaks, she manages to sound derisive. “You were just looking into my statement?”

“I contacted you when we initially did the research,” Jon reminds her. She grunts, either in acknowledgment or impatience. “This was a completely unrelated incident. I told you, I owe you for being dismissive before. You were right.”

“I wish I was recording this.”

“All right, no need to be—” Jon checks his temper. “Look. She’s dangerous. Or at least she belongs to something dangerous. You were extremely lucky to walk away in one piece.”

Something in Melanie’s face shifts. “Related to…whatever was at the CMH?”

“I—I don’t know. I don’t think so. I think they’re separate, but…there were things we know now that we didn’t know then. We may have to revisit your case.”

“Just so you don’t ask me more questions. I’m still having nightmares about it.” Melanie shoots him a glare. “You’re in them now, too, so thanks for that.”

Jon winces. “Ah…yes. I didn’t know about that at the time, either. I suppose I owe you an apology.”

“What?”

“Look, do you want to do the library today, or come back to the Archives and interrogate me? I can explain more, but it’s not something I want to do on the stairwell,” Jon says impatiently. Elias Bouchard’s office is on the first floor as well, and the last thing he wants is Elias actually listening to this conversation.

Melanie stares at him for a minute, then sighs. “Library. The less I have to talk to you, the better.”

Which is fair enough, Jon supposes. “All right, then. This way.”

Rosie’s office, door open, is just at the top of the stairs; from the way she peers over her computer monitor at them, Jon guesses she at least heard their voices, if not what they were actually saying. Melanie glances over her shoulder as they pass. “Why is she staring at us?”

“That’s Rosie.” Just about anyone who has reason to pass her door calls her “Nosy Rosie”, actually, but Jon isn’t going to mention that in earshot; despite all appearances, he’s not a complete arse. “She’s Elias Bouchard’s personal assistant. It…behooves her to keep her finger on the Institute’s pulse, I suppose.”

“She’s a snoop, in other words.”

Jon can’t help a small, humorless chuckle. “Aren’t we all.”

Between the door to Elias’s office and the library, at the end of the corridor, there’s a room with an incredibly solid door, firmly shut. It’s one of only two interior doors original to the Institute, the other being the library’s, and as such it’s windowless. It’s also unlabeled. Melanie eyeballs it. “What’s in there?”

“Artifact Storage.”

“So…what, haunted dolls, cursed music boxes, weapons belonging to serial killers…”

Jon stops and shoots Melanie a look. She shrugs, completely unrepentant. “All right, so I’m curious. Sue me. Not like I’m going to ask to go in.”

“Good, because I wouldn’t let you,” Jon tells her firmly. “It’s not a museum. It’s more of a…science lab, I suppose. They keep artifacts in there, yes, but they also study them, attempt to replicate their effects or discover why they do things.”

“Hmm.” Melanie studies the door for a second. Jon’s about a step away from grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her away when she falls into step with him. “You go in there a lot, do you?”

“Not if I can help it.” Jon leads Melanie to the end of the hall and the ornate double doors of the library, then pushes one open and ushers her inside.

Melanie’s jaw drops, which is the usual reaction among employees seeing it for the first time, from what Jon’s been told and what little he’s experienced. Three stories high, with balconies ringing the upper two, it’s near floor-to-ceiling shelves, every one packed with books. Tables and chairs litter the ground floor, and here and there on the upper levels are smaller rooms for private study. A bored-looking junior clerk sits behind a curved, ornate wooden desk with her back to the dizzying drop, filing her nails; elsewhere, other library assistants sort, stack, and shelve books from carts and precarious stacks.

“I always thought it looked like the library from Beauty and the Beast,” Jon admits in a low voice. From the startled look Melanie shoots him, she was thinking the same thing. “Come on. I’ll try and track down Diana.”

“What can I do for you?”

Jon and Melanie both jump at the boisterous, barely-contained voice from behind them. Whirling around, Jon takes a deep, steadying breath. “Diana. I…didn’t see you there.”

“That’s unusual.” Diana smiles—almost leers—down at Jon. In height and in breadth, she can give Martin a run for his money, and she towers over the two of them. Melanie nips smartly behind Jon, and he throws her a look. “What can I do for you? New assistant?”

“Ah—no. Diana Caxton, Melanie King.”

“The ghost hunter?” Diana raises one impeccably sculpted eyebrow almost into her hairline.

“Y-yes,” Melanie manages to choke out.

Jon takes a half-step back so he isn’t looking up Diana’s nose. “Miss King needs to use the library for some research. I know she’s not the…usual student type, but I’m willing to vouch for her seriousness, as well as her right to be here. I’m certain she will treat the books with the respect and care they deserve. And the subject matter, of course.”

Diana’s eyebrow raises higher. “You’re not going to put this in your show, are you?”

She says this at a normal volume, and a number of nearby heads snap towards them. Jon fights the instinctive urge to shrink into himself and hide. Melanie, on the other hand, folds her arms over her chest and manages to meet Diana’s eyes. “No, ma’am. I just need to follow up on some leads to make sure I’m informed enough on my end to go places safely.”

She’s lying. Jon knows intuitively she’s lying, but he keeps his face carefully blank. Diana studies Melanie from her great height, then finally nods. “Have to run it by Mr. Bouchard first, but I’m sure he’ll agree. I’ll have a ninety-day pass set up for you at the front desk. Come by tomorrow morning and we’ll get you started.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh, Jon,” Diana says as Jon starts to turn away and lead Melanie back to the front. “Do tell Martin hello, will you? I hope he brightens your Archives as much as he brightened our library. We miss his smiling face up here. Tell him he’s welcome any time.”

“I—of course,” Jon says, not sure what else to say.

Melanie waits until they hit the landing to ask in an undertone, “Is Martin the one who said—?”

“Yes,” Jon says shortly. He’s going to have a talk with Martin about his self-esteem issues, not that he can really be throwing stones. But Diana seemed to genuinely mean it.

He bids Melanie farewell at the front door, then ducks into the canteen to grab a sandwich before heading down to the Archives again. Sasha’s there, making herself a cup of tea. She looks up and smiles when she sees Jon, but her expression turns puzzled. “Hi. I thought you’d be at lunch with Martin or something.”

“He’s…running something down for Tim,” Jon says carefully. Worry churns at his gut.

Before Sasha can respond, though, the trapdoor opens and Martin comes out. His face is pale and he looks shaken, which doesn’t help Jon’s worry. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I don’t know.” Martin carefully shuts the door and comes back over. “Tell you later.”

They don’t say anything else about it. Not then. But at the end of the day when they lock up the Archives, Sasha loops one arm through Jon’s and the other through Martin’s. “Mind if I invite myself over?”

“Yes, we can’t stand you and we’re thoroughly glad to get rid of you at the end of the day,” Jon deadpans, eliciting a tiny smile out of her. “Thank God you don’t live with us or we’d be constantly miserable. Oh—Martin, I forgot to ask, did Tim want us to bring anything home?”

“He said he’d put in an order at that takeaway place for us to pick up on the way.” Martin’s voice is unusually soft, and it makes Jon’s worry compound.

Tim looks a lot better when they get in the door, white boxes in hand. He greets them with a smile, which vanishes instantly when he sees Martin. “Oh, God, what? What happened? What is it?”

Martin shrugs out of his jacket. “Well, I asked them.”

“And?” Tim prompts, voice full of dread.

Martin sighs. “And they didn’t know.”

Tim blinks. “What?”

“They didn’t know. Had no idea what I was talking about. I’ve never seen Jon Prime look that confused.” Martin reaches for Sasha’s jacket, but she takes his instead and hangs them both up. “They were considering coming over tonight, but Martin Prime thought you might want to talk to us first.”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s…probably not a bad idea.” Tim runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck.”

“Let’s eat. Then you can explain,” Sasha suggests.

Dinner is largely silent, except for the scrape of fork on plate. Jon does explain the purpose of Melanie’s visit to the others, and Martin frowns slightly when he repeats Diana’s words, but doesn’t say anything. Once they’ve all eaten and cleaned up, they head back into the living room to talk.

Tim sits on the edge of the loveseat, elbows resting on his thighs and hands clasped beneath his chin. “Where do we start?”

Sasha nudges Martin’s ankle with her foot. “What were you asking the Primes about?”

“Tim told me to ask them about ‘the color of fears’,” Martin replies. “They didn’t know what I meant. I didn’t know what I meant, except…” He looks up at Tim. “Except I think it has to do with your headaches.”

“It does,” Tim confirms. He takes a deep breath. “It’s…something I’ve been noticing lately. Since the Trophy Room, really. When I was there…when Daniel Rawlings looked me in the eye? His eyes were glowing. Like there was a light inside them. Right proper spooky. And when I got back to the Archives that day…I thought you’d put special bulbs in or something, at first, but I blinked and it went away. Then I was talking to you, Jon, and your eyes were glowing, too.”

“My what?” Jon touches the corner of his eye gingerly, like he can feel the luminescence.

Tim manages a small grin. “It’s not…it went away when I blinked, too, and I thought I was just imagining things. But it’s been getting…worse. Random flashes at first, but when the exterminator came in…he glowed for a second, too. After I sat in on that, it started getting stronger.”

“Hence the headaches,” Jon says. “Tim, why didn’t you—”

“I wasn’t sure. And…well, I wanted to experiment a bit. Because, see, here’s the thing. Rawlings’ eyes—when they glowed, they were this deep indigo, but the Archives, and your eyes and Sasha’s—and Martin’s lips once or twice—they glowed green. The exterminator was kind of green, too, but it was kind of a greenish-yellow, really, and the next day I—” Tim flushes and looks up at Martin. “I was watching you, and—your scars started glowing. Same color as the exterminator did, but your mouth was still the darker green, it’s how I could tell they were different colors. So…I started thinking, maybe that meant something?”

“Oh, God,” Martin says softly. “The marks.”

“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking,” Tim says. “I—I’ve been sort of trying with some of the statements. It’s hard to see with them, really, because everything in the Archives glows green just about, and if I try too hard I get the headaches. But sometimes I could…pick out different colors in them, kind of. Sort of. Mostly. I-I thought maybe if I could look at them and see the fears’ marks…”

“You’d know which ones were real,” Jon completes. Tim nods. “You still shouldn’t have done that without telling us.”

“I know. Especially…well, I thought I could handle it. I’ve been getting better at only seeing them when I try to, and I thought I’d—give it a shot. I walked back into the shelves yesterday and just…let loose with my eyes. I tried to See what was on the couple of shelves nearest.” Tim sighs heavily. “But it was—it was overwhelming. There was just so much. It was like—like standing in the middle of a room made out of mirrors, and someone was shining all sorts of different colored lasers at them, and they were just bouncing off and refracting and amplifying and going everywhere. Like I was drowning in color, or like it was screaming at me. I can’t really explain it, but it was too much and, well, that’s when you found me.”

Martin exhales heavily. “Christ, Tim, that scared the hell out of me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried that without warning you all. I-I really didn’t think it would be that bad.”

Jon bites his lip. “Is that how you knew—that statement, Ms. Gwynne’s, about the mummy?”

Sasha frowns. “The one that reads like the plot of a knockoff of a Brendan Fraser film?”

“Yes. I went to record it today and—it came out distorted. I didn’t see the note until after I realized it didn’t work on the laptop, but…Tim thought it might be real.”

Tim nods. “Yeah. I looked back over some of them. Started off with the ones we knew were real, and then I started looking at a couple that we weren’t sure of. That one…I wasn’t sure, but I think it’s the End?”

“Makes sense. Mummies. Death,” Martin murmurs.

“It was white. I mean—when I looked at it hard enough, it glowed white. Or at least I think it did,” Tim says. “Made the green kind of…pale, anyway. The other ones we’ve marked as being Terminus statements were the same color. But the problem is that the green of the Eye is so strong, it’s hard to really be sure what other colors there are, except if I’m looking at a person who’s been marked. That’s why I was asking about the color of fears. I-I was kind of hoping the Primes would be able to confirm what I’m thinking, but—”

“But they had no idea,” Martin completes. “Which means that, unless I just explained it very badly, Jon Prime can’t see those colors. Can’t see the marks.”

Jon rubs his temples. “I suppose it’s good to know that I don’t have to consider that, but…why? Why can you see the marks when the rest of us can’t?”

Sasha gets a faraway look in her eyes, and there’s a faint sound of static as she says, “Because that’s what’s important to Tim. Knowing when danger is coming, what danger is coming. You said yourself, Tim, you’re going to help and you’re going to do whatever you can to protect us. The Eye gave you the ability to Know what entities are around, or have got hold of someone or something, because it knows you’ll lean into that and use it for good as long as you can, up until it’s got a tight enough hold on you that you can’t get away, even if you want to.” She blinks hard, and the static fades as she puts a hand over her mouth. “Oh—oh, God, sorry, I—”

“It’s fine.” Tim manages a smile for her, but there’s a look of distress in his eyes. “It’s good to know.”

Jon’s distressed, too. “Tim you should have told us. Jon Prime’s been working with us on control, if we’d known you had powers already we’d have—he should be helping you, too. You can’t—” He takes a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t keep this sort of thing to yourself anymore.”

Tim reaches over and squeezes Jon’s hand. “I promise. No more unauthorized research, of any kind. I won’t even check books out of the library without telling you what I’m after first.”

“I appreciate that.” Jon smiles and squeezes Tim’s hand back. “Now then. Someone get a notebook and pen. We need to write down as much of this as we can.”

[darkgunslinger]

Saving Zim Extras/shorts

These are scenes from Saving Zim by Dib07 that didn’t make the final cut. There are many more scenes like these that I left out, but these are some of the ones I did not show in the FFN story due to them being scrappy bits and pieces - but still, I hope they can be enjoyed for what they are XD

The current series can be found here!

 Scene: the professor’s garden

The professor was in his main study, overlooking datasheets on his chemical production. On his desk was a small swilling vessel of bright pink emulsions beside two computers and a blood analyser machine. Things were always making noises in here as machines and computers cranked and clonked out results. It was music to the professor’s ears.

“Hi, urm... Mr. Membrane?”

He looked round, and appeared to be smiling behind his neck collar. “Yes, what is it my girl?” He saw that she was holding his little patient.

“Are the outside doors locked?”

“Go through the back way, it’s all open. Why?”

“I’m taking the little guy outside while it’s warm and sunny. He’s been a bit... despondent.”

“It could be the medication he’s on.”

“Some days he’s really chatty and coherent. Then there are days where he’s like this.”

The professor paused, perhaps conflicted with what to suggest. “Just don’t have him outside too long! There is no insulation in his body to help keep him warm.”

She already knew, but nodded anyway. “And just where is Dib?”

“Still hard at work preparing for the little house guest! Here. Call him.” He whisked out his own personal Samsung Mega Xtreme 36 phone.

Thanking the professor, she sat on one of the plastic seats in the hallway outside his door and called his home number. Zim was looking lazily around, preferring to stay cuddled against her.

She waited through the dial tones. He answered on the fourth ring. “It’s just me, Dib! When are you getting back?”

“Oh, hi Clara! Getting back?” There was a pause. She could hear music in the background. “An hour or two tops. I still have these little step ladders to put up. I can’t remember where I put the drill.”

“Can you come over?”

“Why? Is everything okay?”

“Zim’s not quite himself.”

Zim, hearing most of her side of the conversation, rolled his little pink orbs skyward in exasperation.

She disconnected the call. She lowered it from her ear, and then looked down at the Irken resting against her chest. She gave him a little cuddle. “He said to tell you that he’s on his way.”

He nodded.

After giving back the phone to the professor, she headed for the double doors. They were made from heavy oak, and were used as flood shutters in case of stormy weather. She stepped out into the open sunshine. They were inundated with bright, cheery birdsong, and amongst the uncut waves of deep green grass were early April butterflies that glanced along the stems like aerial dancers.

Zim’s remaining antenna became attentive to these outdoor noises.

“It’s beautiful out here. Didn’t realize it was so warm.” Clara mused. She didn’t follow the stone path. Instead she headed across the grass in just her plimsolls. There was the wooded area, and the rockery. Midges were flying in the air in roaming clouds. She was careful to keep the flies off him.

“Isn’t it...dangerous o-out here? Won’t someone s-see m-me?” She felt him tremble.

“No, don’t worry! This place is closed off; it’s all private, see? And no one’s getting over the brick walls that surround this place. It’s secure.”

She wondered how much he was caring to see, or if he was just looking at it all with closed indifference. Sometimes it was hard if not imposable to read what was going on behind his eyes.

They reached a stone bench that had green lichen growing along its lion-like feet. She lifted him from her lap and perched him on it. He could lean back if he wanted, thanks to the wooden backrest. He sat there a moment, looking startled as if he’d been teleported to a different world. Then he looked around, seeing the diaphanous butterflies and the fat, lazy bumble bees that hovered over a patch of tangled jasmine. The sunshine made him look paler, giving him a haunted look.

“This is nice!” She said, leaning back beside him, watching his reactions carefully. “You forget how dark it is inside buildings until you go out into the sunshine.”

They shared a serene sort of silence. Clara started to wish she’d brought a book with her, something to take his worried mind off things. Zim was looking around and was picking up on everything. This fresh air was the best he’d had all month. Always he seemed to stoop and shrivel beneath the weight of his own shadow, so it was good to see him sit up a little more and become alert to things he’d usually ignore. But. He was still frightened of pain. She could see it on his face.

A butterfly circled them, gliding on a lofty warm breeze. But when a bluebottle landed on Zim’s shoulder, she grew angry, and flicked it off him. He smelt of medicine, antiseptic and fresh linen, but beneath it all there was still the cloying smell of illness.

The moment of serenity seemed to leave him most suddenly, as if a cold wind had blown into his soul. He looked down, and his right antenna stopped picking up the slightest feather-sound of butterflies.

“Zim? Hey? Are you cold? Should I bring you back inside?” But she knew the depression would follow him there too.

He said nothing; just stared at the grass below his dangling little boots.

She knew to watch him for any signs of a seizure. The Irken hadn’t shown any such signs, not to her, and she hoped never to witness it. If they always started with a nosebleed, it gave them forewarning before he went down.

“Dib’s on his way I promise.” He was always the cure to Zim’s gloom. He’d bring a deck of cards, and they’d play games on the bed.  “Hey,” she began, hatching an idea, “how about we collect flowers? Whoever gathers the most, wins!” It was so lame really, anybody would see straight through her attempts, but Zim’s unfocused gaze began to clear.

She got off the bench, and he slid down, following with more caution in his step. The tall grass was a little bit difficult for him to navigate, his right antenna bobbing with every step. When it looked like he would fall she scooped his hand in hers and kept him balanced. But there was more determination in his step than there had been in the lab. Out here there were no bars for him to look upon: no reminders that he was in a cage. The gloom of it had filled his eyes: the cage was now inside.

But out here his eyes seemed to drink in the light. The blue of Earth’s sky was something he appreciated. No longer was he slouching with a dismal frown crowning his sadness.

Slipping out of her hand, he limped to a thick glen of grass where he had a choice of flowers. He gave them a brief look of intensity, his militarism always shining through. Then he stooped and picked out a daisy. He seemed unusually hesitant to pluck it from its long stem. Dib often said that Zim was a destroyer, and cared not for what he smashed and ruined.

His claws snapped the stem, and he lifted it up, gazing at its white petals.

“That’s a daisy.” She told him. “Many people see them as weeds, but I’ve always liked daises. I used to make a chain out of them for a necklace when I was little.”

He baulked, as if he found the idea ridiculous, and stared at the daisy as if he could see where the Velcro was hiding. She laughed, hoping he wouldn’t take offence. He did cock his head at her, and look dismayed, as if he was trying to suss mockery, but then he gave her a relaxed, happier look. “Don’t you have a better use for your t-time?” He asked.

“I can make one for you.”

He looked back at the flower, suddenly crestfallen.

She didn’t want him to think that he had lost a part of himself just because he’d lost parts of the machine on his back.

Don’t let the PAK define you, Zim. You define the PAK, not the other way around.

His raucous coughing cut short the moment, and dark fright was in his eyes again.

“It’s okay. I’m here.” She rubbed his shoulder, giving him time and reassurance. He was frightened of pain and how it made him feel.

He kept hold of the daisy, passing it to her, as if silently asking her to make something out of it.

Clara stooped and plucked a red tulip. When Zim reached for a big purple thing bristling in barbs, she gently pushed his hand away. “That’s a thistle, honey. Leave it be.”

“Why are these things so different?”

“Well, they are different types, for different purposes.”

And that’s when he found it. It was growing in shadow and under the ivy clasping the rightwing of the building. It was as beautiful as he. He crouched low, looking at it in something that might have been wonder.

It was a rose so dark that it looked like it had been stained in blood. He went to touch it, hold it maybe, or pull it up, and he suddenly shied back, jabbing his claw into his mouth. A green droplet of blood hung from one of its thorns.

“That’s a rose, Zim.”

“A r-rose?” He asked, looking up at her. He took his claw out of his mouth and inspected the prick.

“They’re beautiful, but they have thorns.”

“W-Why?”

“To protect themselves. Not all flowers are defenceless.”

He looked for more roses but there was only the one. It stood, as if defiant: alone, but vibrant even as it existed in shadow. It looked parts fragile, its delicate petals all blood-red silk, but its thorns could not be mistaken.

Zim sat back, admiring it. She thought he might try and snap it from the stem in the ground, but he did not. Clara watched, thinking he was so like a rose, slender and graceful, but prickly beneath.

“It grows from dirt.” He summarised, as if this was what confused him.

“It does. All things grow from it.”

“So how can this thing be so...?”

“Beautiful?”

He grunted.

She pushed his boundaries again by squeezing a comforting hand on his birdlike shoulder. He gave that childish look of trust. One day she hoped he’d look at her in the same way he looked at Dib.

“The Earth can grow and nurture beautiful and delicate things that are found nowhere else in the universe.”

He pouted, finding her claim hard to believe when he’d seen that universe, however partial. But he could not deny her either. In all his travels, he had never found something as beautiful as a rose.

He went to reach for it, and drew away again.

Dib had explained to her that he had meant to hand this planet over to his leaders. Failure meant execution or exile. It helped to explain the weight he seemed to carry.

She could see it on his face that he was struggling to accept the beauty in front of him, but he was seeing it.

“But they grow f-from dirt.” He insisted. “How do they do that? What’s in the dirt? What’s so special about it?”

“Earth’s soil is fertile, and it has all the minerals in it that plants need to grow.” She supposed that even if she took the trouble of drawing him up a chart with diagrams to help explain it, he still wouldn’t get it.

His mouth set stubbornly, wanting to understand, yet disbelieving how anything could be that simple.

He had a childish wonder, but also an insistent need to understand and uncomplicate things, even when things were perfectly okay to let wonders be.

He stood up, and precariously wobbled a moment before he chose to leave the rose perfectly where it was. He went back to picking other flowers, and always so daintily did he take from the stem in strange reluctance.

Soon he had a little bouquet of many different things; a clump of jasmine, a dandelion, buttercups, lavender, bluebells and tulips. He was attracted to all things colourful, and the unkempt garden was quite full of these treasures, but it was the deadly rose he liked most of all.

A little while later he sat warming himself in a patch of sunshine on her lap with his eyes closed as she worked at lacing daises together. He had been attracted by the magic of watching her weave daises at first, but he’d soon grown tired.

With half a daisy chain complete, she soon heard someone calling. The Irken’s antenna jerked and then rose higher, his eyes cracking open.

“Hey you two!” Dib’s boyish and cheery voice called to them across the grounds.

Zim looked round immediately, and sunshine filled his eyes. “Dib!” He called back in his broken voice.

“Been looking all over for you guys!” He returned, shaking his head as he plodded across the grass, hands in his pockets. “Dad said you were mooching out in the garden.”

“We’ve been enjoying the sunshine.” Clara said with a smile.

Dib noticed their collection of flowers, and the tidy string of daises his fiancée was making. “What have you two been doing?”

“Picking flowers.” Zim piped up.

The human sat next to him.  “The space boy has been picking flowers?”

“Hey, don’t tease him.” Clara defended in all seriousness. “We’ve been enjoying it.”

Dib chuckled and rubbed the little guy’s shoulder. “Uh huh. And how’s my favourite alien today? Not got the blues, I hope?”

“I’m green.” Zim said in stupid innocence.

Clara said as she joined the last daisy. “Here you are. A daisy chain of your own!”

She lowered the white ring of daises around his neck. He straightened a tad and touched them with a claw. “Thank you!” He said. “Gir made daisy chains. But I... I never....”

“Maybe you should have made him a crown, Clara.” Dib joked to dispel Zim’s moroseness, “It might have suited him better.”

They walked back to the building. Zim looked over Dib’s shoulder and watched as the rose grew smaller and smaller until it became a speck of red under dark pools of shadow.

Scene: Zim’s second night with his humans at home

Surviving this unfamiliar dystopia exhausted him.

He pushed the door open, expecting to see that silly bathtub for dolls filled to the brim, and found it hard to hide the dismay opening on his countenance when he saw her sitting, waiting there by a basin of hot bubbly water. Stacked close by were soft fluffy towels, and placed by her knees was one of those water-proof mats that was large enough for him to lay on. She was dipping her hand into the bubbly water, testing its temperature.

Clara looked over at him, her eyes impossible to read. She smiled, trying as she was to appear reassuring, and he hoped the expression was as genuine as her intentions.

“Whenever you’re ready Zim, you can take off your robe.”

But he wasn’t ready.

He stood rooted like a statue as he held the opening of the purple robe tightly to his chest. He felt the cool of his nakedness under there, and the uninviting chill beyond the cocooning fabric. Why couldn’t she just leave him be?

“Zim?” Her question made his right antenna ring. “Are you okay?”

He shook his head, hardly believing he was suffering human help and kindness he was still so afraid to trust in. He’d believed that if he kept moving, if he kept going forwards, he’d be unstoppable. Now he could not move for fear of pain.

He clung on to whatever he could when defeat had him sink to the deepest depths. Looking back, even slightly, filled him with horror, but a glimpse that way also revealed what he had overcome.

Clara maintained her smile despite his stony silences. “It’s okay, Zim. I won’t bite.”

Zim peered over at the bubbly water in the bowl. He’d suffered their sponge-baths over the weeks, and not once did the water sting or burn him. The sight of it however still filled him with the instinctive distrust of it: being on Earth had stamped many fears and uncertainties into his heart, and he was not familiar with what was safe and what wasn’t without the sanctions of his computer.

“Here. Let me.” Clara walked over, knelt down by his indisposed form and slipped off the long and soft purple robe. His eyes took on a frightened, miserable cast, as if being naked opened up new ways of being disgraceful. It didn’t matter how many times he was stripped and then clothed again; whenever he was bare before them, self-loathing and shame crowded the colour in his eyes.

He tried to hide himself behind skinny arms and skinny claws.

Hands touched his shoulders. He tensed, emitting a squeaky growl.

Her gentleness was unreal. Every time she touched him, his defences rose to the rafters, expecting something malignant beneath her contact. Life was hard edges, mistrusts, hate and pain. Without Membrane’s protection, he was adamant that Clara would change from her superficial gentleness into something else.

She guided him over to the water-proof mat. “Sit on the mat, honey, and relax.”

He gave her that sharp, assertive look, and she knelt beside him, waiting, showing infallible patience. Her smile was fading at the edges, her eyes more confused than anything.

“Leave m-me.” Please. “I d-don’t n-need y-your h-help.”

“Being stubborn isn’t going to help you, Zim. And just because you’ve left the lab doesn’t automatically mean you’re out of the woods. You are still convalescing. Now, are you going to argue, or are you going to sit down?”

His eyes shifted to the mat, and back to her.

Fighting her, he could see, was going to get him nowhere.

Stiffly, he sat down, making sure to keep his bony legs over his crotch area.  

“After we get you clean and snuggled up, I’ll make you some soup. How does that sound?” He nervously watched as she dunked the sponge into the bubbly water. She lifted it up and he instinctively tensed, eyes screwing shut, fists clamped. “You carry so much tension in your shoulders.” He felt her knead the sponge into his back under the PAK’s mantle. He’d expected the water to be tepid, but the sudden heat of it was a wonderful surprise. Then she worked the sponge into and around his neck. The moan came out before he could stop it in time.

This is really... really nice...

There was little use resisting the flexes of his right antenna. As a cat communicated joy through its ears or tail, he did the same thing with his antenna.

Her eyes were looking him over as she cleaned him, checking for any new bruises or marks that would indicate bedsores or signs of self-harm.

Though he was not answering, she chatted away with the same attention and care. “Is there anything you want to work on first? Or what you’ll want to build?”

“Se-security.” He choked.

“You don’t need to tackle everything at once. You’ll still get it all done, Zim. Just enjoy the day as well.”

He began to lean a little more into the sponge-massages, eyes lowering from the soporific heat. The sponge-baths were usually brisk and quick affairs so that they didn’t exact too much energy from him and so that he didn’t get too cold.

She threw a towel over his shoulders and proceeded to massage him dry.

Zim had to secretly admit that they were providing a damn good service even if their help was still making him tense with shame, but for a moment he allowed himself the comfort.

She was careful with him as he was mostly all bone, with little to no insulation protecting his organs.

Clara had fresh nightwear ready just an arm length away. He woodenly replied, stretching out each arm as best he could, and felt the fluffy soft material cloak his littleness. He knew he would sweat through this too, and he sighed.

“There. That’ll soothe those shivers away.”

How did she never find this strange? Perhaps in the lab there had been a sense of displacement, of surrealism when you had a fantastical scientist hurrying about with his fanatical machines and caring for an exotic otherworldly creature, but here, in an ordinary house, she acted as though she was looking after someone she had known for a long time. He tried to see past her affections, her warmth to spy the truth. But he could never find anything other than her sincerity.

“You wanna go for some homemade soup?”

They were always propelling food his way.  “Not r-really hungry.”

“That’s okay, just manage what you can.” She picked up the basin and sluiced the used water down the big human-sized bathtub’s plughole. Seeing that as his cue, he woozily climbed to his feet. The floor tilted just a little before righting itself again, but the fleck of dizzying colours took longer to leave his vision.

She noticed. She came over, knelt down and wrapped an arm around him. “Do you feel okay, honey?”

The question was so very simple, and yet it entailed too much.

Zim only leaned into her, tired and dizzy. His lower legs were shaky. He had been dependent on his self-sufficient self-healing PAK - and he had never needed to give pause and regard his injuries – only to ever see them as novel and irrelevant inconveniences.

Living in this mortal hell without this reliability made him that much more careful and that much more timid. Every little bit of pain was much more terrifying and much more intimate.

They told him that he’d get stronger, with time. He didn’t believe them.

“Let me take you to bed, Zim. It’s no trouble.” Her arms went around him. He fetched a set of claws into the fabric of her cardigan to hold on when she spooned him into her arms. Her hold was secure, and there was never a moment where he felt she might drop him, but for insecurity’s sake he held on anyway.

She carried him back into his softly lit bedroom. The nightlight was painting the ceiling with dappling colour. When she set him down on the bed, she immediately bundled up his legs and torso, and shored up the pillows so that he could lean against them. He had long stopped stiffening or shrinking away whenever she went near or touched his PAK.

“I’m going to heat up your supper. You snuggle down and rest.”

“Cl-Clara h-human?” His choke was filled with what sounded like water.

“Yes, honey?”

“Can I h-have something to d-drink?”

“Of course. Do you have anything in mind?”

He shook his head.

“That’s okay, I’ll get you something.”

His wrinkled fuchsia eyes were drawn to her with a heavy intensity.

“Zim. Everything will be okay. Just remember that we’re here to support you, and protect you. This isn’t a limited affair. This is for life.” She reached out, and stroked his cheek. His fear cooled: sliding away like shadows after the lights had been turned on.

When she left, he sat, cupping the blanket to his chest. He sipped in breath, gladdened when there was no wall of pain. Lying down all night made the coughing worse and he had scrunched up, hacking and spluttering until he was coughing up blood. Now he was breathing easy – and the scary event seemed far, far away.

He waited for her to return, looking for her company. Being alone wasn’t quite as welcoming as it used to be, so he tried to hide the smile when she returned with a little tray of food.

“Just manage what you can, honey.” She set the food on the bed tray after positioning it over his lap. Though hardly hungry, his spooch grumbled.

He reached for the cup of honeyed milk, and he slurped it down, his thirst seemingly increasing with every gulp. Before he had scarcely begun, she was prying the cup out of his little claws. “Not so fast, Zim! You can have some more in a little while. Wait for that to go down first.”

“Who d-do you t-think y-you a-are?” He rasped.

She frowned at him, as if she had hoped their relationship wouldn’t backtrack like this, and that she might be spared his anger. “The voice of reason. Be my guest if you want to vomit down your nice new clothes and bed sheets.”

A dangerous glitter intensified in his eyes as he looked up at her, stupefied by her sudden sharpness. She didn’t back down. His right antenna bobbed up and down, and the querulous fire in his eyes dissipated. “You su-sure are bossy.”

“Well, someone’s got to look after you. We both know you’re terrible at it.” She said with more kindness. “You can bark at me all you like, but I’ve got a job to do, and nothing you say or do will stop me from doing it.”

That made him cock his head slightly, expression softening.

“Now try some soup. It isn’t all that bad.”

“D-don’t stand there – w-watching me.” He grunted.

She couldn’t help but shake her head, smiling at his stubbornness. “All right, all right. Just don’t forget to use your napkin.”

He gave her a long look to make sure she was leaving him in peace before he lifted up a spoon and dipped it into the soup.

  Scene: getting some private time

“Zim, stop messing with the power! For five minutes!” He leant back in his desk chair, waiting for any affirmation, but it would be a miracle if the Irken had even heard. Blowing out breath, he returned to the computer and continued typing up a few measly sentences for his loosely constructed CV. He had poured over the keyboard most of the day, lost for words, and distracted by noises from a construction of a different sort. They had given up trying to stop the former soldier from ‘improving’ the house, learning quickly that there could be nothing that would stop an Irken’s wilfulness.

Clara was waiting upstairs. ‘Just a few more minutes’ he had said to her.

Dib stared at what he had painstakingly written. The skills and experience he could list all day; it was the passion that was so hard to put into words.

Just as he was about to save his work, the power died, the house fell into darkness, and so did his computer screen. “Zim!”

The power came on within seconds, the house bursting back into life. Muttering and cursing, he found Zim connecting the fuse box down in the basement with a handheld construct of his own, mostly alien in design, but made with a lot of used parts he had cobbled together.

He needed two seconds of the Irken not-getting-into-trouble or throwing the house into some sort of mode while he spent time with Clara. The lost work on his CV would have to be forgotten.

“This primitive homestead of yours is inefficient in every way.” Zim was saying before Dib had got a word in. “It’ll be months before I can get this place in working order. You just let things fall apart around you, don’t you Dib stink?” One eyelid curled down, his look sly.

Dib ran a hand across his face before sobering up and putting on his best smile. “Look, urm... there’s this really good cartoon on. You gotta see it!”

Zim hardly looked interested. “Recess can wait.”

“But it’s a special episode!”

“Then record it!”

“But...” He was running out of options. Fast. “I have no one to watch it with. Clara’s just not interested...”

Zim looked once at his handheld circuit board before reluctantly setting it down, “Very well, human, if my presence is that desperately required.”

“Good!” He put his hands on Zim’s skinny shoulders and practically steered him all the way to the lounge, the squeak coming from the heels of the Irken’s loafers dragging along the floor.

Switching on the TV, he flicked through the channels, hoping that there would be something to save him. Zim sat on the sofa using the stepping stool. “It had better be a short episode of whatever this... thing is. Work doesn’t get done by itself you know.”

“Ah here it is!” Dib said sheepishly, turning to give him a weak smile. It was a cartoon of a blue hedgehog. “Trust me! You’ll enjoy it. It gets really good!”

“It had better.”

With no time wasted, Dib flew up the stairs.

Clara sat up in bed, looking frustrated. “What took you so long?”

“Sorry! Urm, work, and Irkens.”

Before long the bed was squeaking against the wall. Zim came up less than ten minutes later, and Dib and Clara had to disengage in a tangle of limbs while he looked in on them from the doorway, holding the Gir doll. “W-What are you doing?” He croakily chirped from the doorway, eyes impossibly wide. “You’re b-both so...sweaty and noisy!”

  Scene: Holograms

He left the kitchen, but returned minutes later with his laptop and electronic tablet. With the kitchen curtains drawn to dim the light, he had a number of devices laid out on the table, and when Clara came in to join them, she was impressed to see a hologram pouring out of the computer screen.

In his element, Zim drew up more schematics as easily as laying down paper and more holograms appeared. It was reflected in Dib’s glasses as he studied the projections. Clara could make neither heads nor tails of it as she stood watching them. The holograms showed vast columns of numbers, and everything that was written were in strange symbols, like runes. And accompanying these alien hieroglyphs were diagrams of a machine.

Even Dib wasn’t sitting pretty on the same page. Zim was aloof in his plans and his approaches, and even had an ingrained habit of keeping Clara and Dib at a distance as if he still had trouble trusting them. Zim had done things by himself all his life, and sharing that control wasn’t an easy thing for him.

The alien scarcely looked their way. Strips of code glowed in his bright fuchsia eyes. It was good to have him focused on something. Though he always worked there was a certain distraction in his efforts and in his focus. Now he sat with his back straight, his shoulders firm and his chin raised as he sought key coding in the stratum of alien mumbo-jumbo.

Dib forced the panic from his voice. “Is this for recreational fun, or is it for something else?”

Zim registered the English word ‘fun’ even if he did not know exactly what it meant. That word went into the same ambiguous category of words he struggled to understand the meanings to; such as sex, happiness, human humour and babies.

Dib went under the scrutiny of another long cold look.

“Earth needs protecting...” The aged Elite paused, finding the answer hard to dig up and reveal as if he had crushed it down there, inside, for so long that it was now hard to find and hard to pull it out. “Membrane will take measures to protect this dirt ball by following my instructions.”

Dib kept staring. “Did I just hear you right?”

“Oh s-shut up and stop with your g-gloating!” He snapped, rubbing at the side of his head, both eyes wincing as if working with his protégé was a real headache. After a moment he raised his stylus and drew dots and lines on a hologram that painted them in pink. Clara couldn’t stop staring as Zim drew magical lines into a magical screen. He did not seem to mind his audience, perhaps because he was expecting them to not understand a single thing he was doing.

Zim flicked a hand, and the screen’s current information and jungle of symbols was replaced by weapon blueprints. They stood tall and leaned slightly forwards like masts.  “Earth is a backwater planet full of toxicity. It’s hardly worth much, but it’s still up for conquest, as is this pithy little solar system it’s in. The Earth’s sun would make a great source of fuel. It’s how energy cores are made. My Tallest may take an interest.”

When he next looked to Dib and Clara, there was relief in his eyes.

For so long he had never belonged anywhere.

Zim looked again to the hologram. He flicked his wrist, and the jumble of symbols magically metamorphed into English. “Your Membrane will build these anti-ship turrets once I provide him with the design. Their range will blanket the planet and that of your horrible star, keeping you filthy critters safe.”

Dib stood there, taking it in. He hadn’t thought of the Armada paying a visit someday. It was unlikely, but it had obviously been on Zim’s mind.

Since when had this snarling alien pulled his talents, energy and recourses into DEFENDING something?

The Irken smiled. “Wouldn’t it be funny if all they ever did was blow asteroids to little itty bitty bits? The planet’s measly existence would continue to persist until that awful sun of yours finally implodes. Humans. Thriving for evermore. Now that disgusts me.”

Dib was about to speak; to begin verbalizing his shock and disbelief when Zim again flicked his wrist and the screen swapped out weapon blueprints for the ship’s coding. He pressed some infinitesimal transparent button on this transparent screen and a 3D image of Tak’s ship popped into existence. Dib’s heart fell heavy and it fell hard.

Zim’s plans were never that humanly plain. He was clever, and he also liked to keep his real thoughts and real plans close to his chest. He never usually did something unless he reaped the benefits, and he was a sneaky little guy. Not that Dib suspected him of doing anything underhanded with the ship.

Zim. You can’t fly. What do you intend to do?

Just nod and smile at him. Creative outlet and all that, yes dad I remember. This had better not bite me in the ass.

Using a stylus, Zim reached up, and traced a line around the front of the vessel.

“Ooh, that’s pretty. What does that do?” Clara pointed at something that almost looked like a metal flower of alien grotesquery. It spun slowly in the hologram, looking like some hellish rose. It was probably the main core engine, with all its tapering pipes and elements.

Zim, bathed in pink from the screens, gave her an amused, beady look, and quite happily and croakily bragged about core drives, their compounds, auxiliary turbines, a feln guard, plasma charging cells, a hubbard, and so on. Clara looked bewildered in under three seconds of his wistful explaining.

There was no mistaking the fact that this little bastard loved attention. If he so much as looked at Clara the right way, she’d pick him up and cuddle him.

“Hang on a second. What’s this thing back here?” Dib pointed at the hologram of the fuselage. “We could move that, and expand the cockpit.”

“That shouldn’t go there.” Zim’s voice was dusky and small. His hooded eyes could barely stay open but he always led the debate. If anything, Dib was the one trying to keep up with him.

“Why not?” Dib leaned back slightly. He wasn’t a complete novice when it came to repairing and redesigning machines. Irken technology was a huge leap in science and brains, but he was more or less knowledgeable on the parts, and where the power had to go. Yes, connecting it all, and hoping they’d be no leaks would be a bitch. Working with plasma would be a lot different than say, oil or fossil fuels. Zim knew how to make more plasma, and he apparently knew how to recharge the cells in the ship too. Usually a ship worked for centuries with just a power core, but Tak’s power core was too badly damaged to be used. And a damaged core was a dangerous core.

“The ship will explode, that’s why.”

“Zim. I know how to build a ship.”

“No you don’t! You don’t know anything about anything!”

Clara disappeared to make some iced tea for them, and when she returned with a tray loaded with drinks she said, “Don’t forget that Gaz is coming later.”

The very name made Zim’s antenna drop.

It wasn’t like she didn’t know him. Their paths had interwoven with Dib at the centre. She was just like any other enemy he’d had to contend with, except that she could outwit him in one breath, and leave him and his ship battered and smoking. He’d done everything to avoid her since he’d put Dib in a hospital bed – of which he’d done quite a few times. Maybe she’d be okay with his – state – and situation. Or maybe she’d barrel past Dib and Clara and hang him on the wall.

“Let’s not.” Zim said openly, carefully watching their reactions.

“She’s family, Zim. She’s got to come.” Dib patted him on the shoulder. “It’ll be fine.”

He had decided there and then that he would retreat to his room, barricade the door, and fashion a weapon from bits and pieces if he had to. 

[kusunokihimea]

[ @abyssaldespair ]

     Giving her surroundings a cautious glance, Ryū steps up to the proper apartment door and raps knuckles against it. This isn’t her first visit to Tobi’s place, so she’s a bit more prepared this time around. Dressed more casually, she’s not nearly as conspicuous. Complete with sunglasses and a hat over her hair, she shouldn’t be so easily recognized.

     ...not that she expects to be, but she DID stick out like a sore thumb last time. She chooses to blame her inundation into...another framework of society.

      After giving the door a gentle knock, she carefully listens. Technically she’s coming over a bit unannounced, but...well, there’s been something on her mind.

     There’s a few shuffling sounds, and then it opens, revealing a rather unkempt looking Tobi. For a moment he squints at her, as though not recognizing her at first. But after a moment, he brightens. “...Ryū...?”

     “Hi, um...” She hesitates. “...did I...come at a bad time?”

     “Huh? Oh, no - uh...no. I just...” A hand rubs at his face. “Just...give me a few minutes?”

     “Yeah, sure! I just...wanted to drop in and talk. I...didn’t mean to interrupt...?’

     “No, you’re fine. I’ll be right back.” Waving her in, he keeps going until he steps through a secondary door, which he closes behind him.

     Ryū just sort of...stands in the entryway, not sure what to do with herself. The last thing she wants to be is intrusive. Hands clasped behind her back, she looks about curiously. 

     ...and then she sees it.

     She does a double take, not meaning to be invasive, but...well, it’s right there, on the little table by the front door. Amidst a plethora of other mail is an opened bill, partially hidden by other envelopes. What catches her attention is the blatant red warning: overdue. Before she can stop her wandering eyes...she realizes what it is, and they widen.

     ...hospital bill.

     A few things click into place. Tobi’s slightly-shuffling gait, the scars along the right of his face...he must have been in some sort of incident...? Nibbling her lip, she shuffles a bit closer, feeling bad, but...something is worming its way into her mind.

     The numbers, as she expected, are staggering. Seems Tobi was left with quite the bill after...whatever happened to him. Reading over the list of charges, it quickly becomes clear it must have been severe. Weeks and weeks of hospital stay, surgery after surgery, rehabilitative measures...she’s never seen such a list of expenses...!

     At once, she’s reminded of the questions she has: about Tobi’s apparent ties to her lover’s family. A rather...affluent family. Do they know about this...? Surely they must know about this! Then why...why haven’t they...?

     Slowly a heat builds in her chest: one born of anger. Are they doing nothing to help him...? Are they really letting him drown in this by himself?! Remembering Itachi’s tone when he hinted at a supposed cousin, her jaw grits.

     ...this is wrong.

     Hearing a noise in the next room, she glances over her shoulder before making up her mind. This is...all sorts of illegal she imagines, but she needs this. Quickly digging out her phone, she uncovers the bill in its entirety, revealing the account number and everything else she’ll need. Taking a careful picture to record it all, she then shuffles the other mail back atop it just before Tobi remerges. Pretending to be idling on her phone, she glances up.

     “Hey, sorry...” Looking a bit more awake and ready for the day now, he gives her a grin. “What did you need...?”

     “Well, I had something I was going to, um...ask you about,” she replies evasively. “But I just got my a text from my father, he wants to meet. I’m sorry to come in and interrupt only to leave again...”

     “Oh...” Despite his efforts to look nonchalant, Tobi’s tone reveals his disappointment. “No, that’s okay. If you want, you can just swing by later.”

     “Sure! I’ll...go see what he wants, and if I have time, I’ll come back by. I’m sorry...”

     “Don’t apologize. Just maybe uh...shoot me a text first. I might have somewhere to be.”

     “Sure.”

     Guilt a bit heavy in her gut at the fib, Ryū gets back into her car, fingers drumming against the wheel as she thinks. As it so happens, it’s the hospital Tsunade is on the board of: her father’s childhood sweetheart who has, at times, been a mother figure to her. Maybe she can just...

     Putting the car in gear, she makes for downtown. Thankfully she’s well-versed in the hospital’s parking garage, and it’s hardly any time at all before she’s parked and making her way to the Senju’s office.

     As luck would have it, she’s not terribly busy, and before long Ryū cautiously steps in. “...uh, hey...”

     “Ryū,” Tsunade greets, perking up. “It’s been a while.”

     “Yeah, uh...it has. Look...I have something I need to talk to you about.”

     “Oh...?” Interest piqued, she swivels her chair to face the model clearly. “What’s on your mind?”

     “I, um...” Teeth bury into her lip. “...I have a friend, who um...has an outstanding bill? I’d like to pay it.”

     “...well that’s no problem. Do you have the proper information?”

     “...yyyes?”

     A brow perks at her tone, and the sharp-minded Senju puts two and two together. “...you haven’t asked permission, have you?”

     “Well, no. It’s...it’s sort of a long story. Point is, I...do have the info. The account number and all that. I just don’t know if it’s...okay?”

     Tsunade sighs. “...well, you have good intentions. This isn’t exactly the best way to go about it, but...we do get anonymous donors to distribute funds to those who need it. Give me the info, and I’ll do it myself.”

     Sheepishly pulling out her phone, Ryū zooms in to the proper numbers. 

     “...you want to pay all of this?”

     “Yes.”

     “...why?”

     For a moment, Ryū tries to find the proper words. “...he saved my life. I want to change his.”

     Something unreadable flashes across amber eyes. “...all right then. Better dig out that checkbook, honey.”

     “One step ahead of you.”

     Paranoid about sending money through the mail, Obito instead makes his way to the hospital billing department himself, the half-wrinkled bill in a pocket. He did good this month - he can make up the late payment and take care of what he owes this month.

     Just...dozens and dozens of months to go...

     Waiting in line for a time, he then shuffles up to the counter, a bit antsy as always. Giving his information, he digs out an envelope of his hoarded cash.

     “Oh...”

     Glancing up, there’s a small spark of panic as the clerk hesitates. What’s wrong? He’s not late again, is he? “...what?”

     “Well sir, you...don’t have a payment to make today.”

     He freezes. “...I’m sorry, w...what? But I - I just got a bill, and -” He fishes through his other pocket, bringing up the paperwork.

     She accepts it, looking over the date and then reading her screen once more. “...apparently this bill was paid in full this morning, sir. You no longer have a balance.”

     ...he’s so shocked, he just...stares. But that was -? Who could -? “Did, uh...?” He nervously itches at the scars along his cheek, feeling like he must be being played. Something is up. “...do you know who...?”

     “It was an anonymous donor, sir. But there is a note tied to the account...” A few clicks to open the flag. “...it says, “You saved my life, so I’m changing yours’. There’s no other notation. Does that...mean something to you, sir?”

     Obito stills. Saved...? But does that mean...? “...so...I really don’t...?”

     “Your balance is paid in full, sir. There’s no payment to make.” The clerk flashes him a practiced smile. “...if there’s nothing else...?”

     “No, uh...that - that was all.”

     She bids him a good day, and Obito stumbles out of line to let the next person through. Leaning against a wall, he tries to wrap his head around what the fuck just happened.

     ...did she really...?

     Feeling something panicky rise up in him, he makes his way to a nearby restroom, looking the door and clinging to the sink as breath rates rise and his heart trembles. It...it was Ryū, wasn’t it? Hers is the only life he can think of that he’s...saved, even if he really wasn’t intending it. It was just...it was just a reflex! And then, he started worming his way in, trying to find an angle to get at Itachi, trying to...!

     ...and then...

     Before he can stop it, his body convulses, a breath gasping down his throat as tears sting his eyes. His head bows over the counter, hands gripping it so tight they shake. Here, hidden away from any eyes and ears, he lets the shock and the relief wash over him. No one...no one has ever...ever...?

     And he was going to use her...! Maybe not directly, not in a way to hurt her, but she was a stepping stone to his bastard cousin...! And now...

     Heaving a shaking sigh, he turns on the water, splashing the cold liquid across his face in an attempt to stop the tears and rid himself of the evidence they were there at all. Once his hair is dripping and his emotions back in check, he grabs enough paper towels to mop up the water, looking up over the bundle to stare at his reflection.

     ...no more debt. At least...not here. No more looming bill over his shoulder. No more squirreling away every extra penny to keep it in check. It’s just...gone. Now...now he can start moving forward...! Start getting ahead!

     ...he has to thank her. He has to...what can he do? What could begin to measure up to this? Now that the surprise is faded, part of him is angry. Not at her, but...she shouldn’t have done that...! Shouldn’t have, have...thrown all of that money away for someone like him! The monetary debt is paid, but...now he owes her, instead!

     ...but already he gets the feeling she won’t hold it over him. Won’t lord the kindness as something to be repaid. She’s not that kind of person. Ryū might be surrounded by greedy, self-serving people, but...somehow, it’s never taken root in her.

     He has to wonder how she eluded it...

     ...still, he needs to talk to her about this. He can’t just let her do this without at least giving her his thanks...even if there’s no thank-you in the world that he could give to make them even. He’ll...he’ll find a way. Someday, he’ll pay her back...! Maybe not with money, but...there has to be something. Something he can do.

     Digging out his phone, he opens up their rather brief text history. For a moment he lingers fingers above the keys, chewing the scar in his lip as he thinks of what to say.

[ sms ] Ryū: so, got anything you need to tell me about? you never did tell me what you wanted to ask...but i think i’ve got a question for you, too. got time to meet?

     ...she didn’t go to see her father this morning. She came here. Then...she must have seen the bill. It was sitting right there next to her...! How could he have been so stupid? Of course she’d see it! But to act on it that fast, to just...make up her mind to do something so, so...?

     Obito’s teeth grit. He’s only ever known one person so selfless...and she’s long gone. To think that someone like her is being...wasted on his cousin just stokes his temper more. Sure, he started this whole thing on a whim to get back at Itachi. But as much as he’s tried denying it...he really does need to help her.

     He really does...want to help her. Not just because he owes her (okay, partly because he owes her), but because she really does deserve better.

     ...he’s never really been the one responsible for ‘better’ before. He’s always been the ‘worse’. 

     Well...there’s a first time for everything.

     Whoops I did the thing xD I’ve been itching to just...draft this out despite being nowhere near this part in PiP...I just really really like the idea of this scene. I just threw this up, it’s not anything super set in stone, I’ll prolly rewrite it when I get to this point in that fic, but I had to get the idea down on digital paper before it drove me nuts lol

     But uhhh yeah! Ryū is such a good bean ;w; Morally OP, bahaha - but that’s just how she is no matter the verse. And I mean...she has a good point. She might’ve straight up died if not for him...? So this is her trying to repay that.

     And Obito just...needs a lil encouragement to go beyond spiting his cousin ;3 C’mon Obito, don’t let this good one slip through your fingers, dude!

     ...anyway, I need to do...a LOT more writing, so I’ll stop here and get on that, lmao - here’s your lil teaser Meg xD I’ll work on more actual fic stuff sooooon~

[charlieharry1]

5 Outstanding examples of influencer advertising campaigns

Are you trying to decide whether influencer advertising campaigns are an option in your emblem or organisation? In our previous weblog submit, ‘influencer advertising and marketing: what it's miles and why you must be using it’, we exact precisely why corporations have  Digital Marketing Company Glasgow to be exploring the effect of social influencers and offered 5 high quality benefits to employing influencer advertising and marketing campaigns. Underneath, lively internet advertising (united kingdom) have detailed five influencer marketing campaigns that worked relatively to power income and increase brand attention – with the aim of presenting precisely why, and the way, manufacturers ought to utilise the energy of influencers inside their own advertising techniques. Daniel wellington’s instagram endeavours

Read Also:-  How to find where your competitors are advertising?

based in 2011 as a easy, $24,00 begin-up, daniel wellington (dw) has hired user generated content material and social media systems to generate astounding income. From 2014 to 2015, the daniel wellington logo accumulated an increase in earnings at over 214%, a notable instance of how influencer advertising and marketing campaigns can fully improve your logo cognizance – in truth, in 2015, daniel wellington become named one of ‘the excellent brands running with influencers’, and their collaborations with social media influencers have most effective continued to develop and flourish. The watch corporation have labored with the likes of kylie jenner, tanya burr, and kimmy schram to draw interest to their products via channels consisting of instagram and youtube, each of which might be pretty populated with their target demographic. Why become this marketing campaign powerful? With each daniel wellington influencer advertising and marketing campaign, an character promo code unique to the social influencer changed into promoted along the photograph or characteristic of a daniel wellington watch, offering cut price and encouraging audiences to take advantage of the code to shop for what could in any other case be a huge buy. Because of this advertising push, the daniel wellington brand has considering come to be synonymous with cool, edgy, and on-fashion influencers who lead a lifestyle that their fans might also desire to emulate – and by using advertising the watches at a reduced and accordingly plausible rate, their fans are one step closer to realising their insta-dreams. This precise influencer advertising campaign is a outstanding instance of how using the maximum appropriate platform and providing discounts to make the product seem greater attractive will permit direct connections with your target audience. Bootea

bootea describes itself as a ‘passionate health and weight reduction enterprise that strives to promote an lively, wholesome, and balanced lifestyle.’ they declare that their weight reduction products, of which encompass shakes, truffles, and ‘teatox’, mixed with normal exercise, will help users to shift the kilos speedy. Bootea completed an intensive social influencer campaign, running with stars including scott disick, vanessa hudgens, and britney spears to reach thousands and thousands of social media users. Why became this campaign powerful? Bootea’s marketing campaign highlights the importance of your chosen influencer platform. Instagram is inundated with pictures of sculpted bodies and fitness pointers, so selling a logo that guarantees weight loss so openly will at once trap your target audience’s interest whilst that very thing is on their mind. The usage of influencers which can be recognized for boasting a match frame and healthy lifestyle to sell bootea’s merchandise will suggest that their fans companion bootea with fitness and weight loss, strengthening the brand’s photo and ethos. Regular exposure to the ‘best frame’ will no question lead to instagram customers feeling hyper aware about their personal ‘flaws’, therefore persuading them to chase an appropriate solution presented by their idols – bootea. Make it depend with casey neistat and nike

casey neistat, american youtuber and filmmaker who is regarded for his unconventional modifying and storytelling techniques. In 2012, nike hired neistat and max joseph of catfish reputation to create a commercial for nike’s new product, the fuelband. Neistat and joseph took the coins and went rogue, traveling 34,000 miles across the globe, traveling 16 cities in thirteen international locations throughout 3 continents in 10 days and filming each moment. Neistat states that he concept to himself what the phrase ‘make it rely’ meant to him – packing a bag and touring round the sector with just a digital camera and his fuelband. Why became this campaign powerful? Whether or not neistat’s insistence that nike had no idea of his touring plans is true or not, you can’t argue with the perceived authenticity of the marketing campaign. By accepting neistat’s offhand and spontaneous personality and approach to his movies, nike’s fuelband turned into given first rate publicity (the video has over 24 million views so far) and the product’s use changed into thoroughly fulfilled and displayed within the video. The video received 790,000 perspectives inside 24 hours of its launch, an unqualified viral hit. As with many influencer advertising campaigns, the character of the chosen influencer is fundamental for making sure the achievement of the merchandising. Nike’s stable relationship with neistat meant that neistat could exit on a limb and take a creative danger, ‘making it count’ by using generating content material this is in keeping with both events’ ethos and emblem. Zoella’s ‘e book membership’ partnership

in june of 2016, zoella, a. Okay. A youtuber zoe sugg, released a ‘book club’ of kinds in partnership with bookstall giants w. H. Smith, offering her preferred choices to her eleven. 5 million visitors. The books featured within sugg’s first video, my e-book club picks, were all the ya (younger person) genre, a clever try and ensure that zoella’s following, most of the people of whom are aged 13-18, will happily have interaction with the content material and purchase the recommended novels. The partnership between whsmith and sugg makes plenty of feel. Whsmith glaringly recognised sugg’s enormous following – a mess of youngster women who had been willing to be encouraged by means of sugg in a way that could simply pass as real. Why was this marketing campaign powerful? Simply one glance on the books featured in the first e-book club bundle shows that sugg’s viewers were really the appropriate target audience for whsmith’s young person category. In reality, the day after sugg released her video offering the alternatives, the sales of each e book marketed had skyrocketed between 1,817% and eleven,164%, with whsmith reporting an 8% rise in annual income some months after the release. Sugg’s ‘massive sister’ personality fully helped to push the marketing campaign and make it an all-spherical fulfillment, her satisfied disposition and boundless enthusiasm able to persuade even the most casual of viewers to peruse via the whsmith internet site to locate the titles. This unique influencer advertising and marketing marketing campaign helped to growth emblem recognition, attracting younger audiences to the shops and riding sales exponentially. Sugg’s partnership with whsmith is one which could retain for as long as each parties desire, with new and appropriate younger grownup titles launched every yr and the appropriate target audience prepared-and-ready to acquire understanding from the one and simplest zoella. Audible’s youtube bonanza

audible, one in every of amazon’s business ventures, is a vendor of audio entertainment, offering over a hundred and eighty,000 audio books, tv programmes, and radio shows from throughout the globe. A good way to promote their services, audible teamed up with youtube, focused on visitors they highlighted that could really be interested by enticing and receiving the content material to be had within audible’s subscription money owed. Youtubers which include caspar lee and charm helbig have labored with audible in the beyond to highlight the enterprise to their followers. Why changed into this marketing campaign effective? The youtube-audible strategy become to take a sophisticated method – asking their selected youtubers to truly point out the agency call or offerings within their own unique content. Jim chapman subtly mentioned audible inside his ‘can also favourites’ video, at the same time as caspar lee brazenly states within the description box of his audible-featured video (disguised as a q&a) that ‘this is a paid for advertorial.’ sitting pretty at nearly 1 million views, lee’s target market naturally aren’t perturbed with the aid of the advert, an vital issue to take into account while using social influencers. Cautious concerns need to be tested while deciding on your social influencer – is their emblem popular sufficient to earn perspectives and impact sufficient people, despite a glaring ‘ad’ attached to their content material? Right here at lively net advertising and marketing (uk), we hold a database of over 5,000 social influencers, making sure that no matter your brand or product, we will discover a appropriate influencer that is both on your budget and in everyday conversation together with your ideal target demographic. This feature technique is essential for making sure the achievement of your whole influencer advertising and marketing campaign – by means of highlighting your audience prematurely, our crew can shape your marketing campaign around the chosen influencer and offer content hints which might be creative, original, and actual to the influencer’s on line branding. Right here at energetic net advertising (uk), we thoroughly recognize the impact an influencer advertising and marketing campaign will have on your logo. From sifting through our expansive influencer database to amassing the consequences of the campaign, our professional team can carry out a diffusion of expert influencer marketing campaigns, retaining your commercial enterprise goals proper at the vanguard of the campaign approach. We are assured that you may be pleasantly surprised by what our group can provide to you  Digital Marketing Company in Cardiff in regards to influencer advertising, so do no longer hesitate to contact active net marketing (united kingdom)  begin your adventure with UK.

[biointernet]

Frank LaCavera and his hour glass collections

Frank LaCavera and his hour glass collections By  PEOPLE STAFF June 05, 1989 12:00 PM Like the sands through the hourglass, so are the days of Frank J. LaCavera’s life. LaCavera, a 70ish retired electrical engineer, lives in Cleveland in a house that is filled with reminders of the temporal — more than 300 one-of-a-kind hourglasses that he has designed and made in the last 32 years. Each is set on a marble base with the hourglass in a wooden frame, and the whole is adorned with whimsical decoration. “I only do this stuff when inspired,” says LaCavera. “It’s like magic.”

Frank LaCavera hourglass Among the inspirations that became hourglasses are: Castle and Dragon, which includes a tiny steel dragon next to a tiny castle, set on a piece of amethyst, all inside a crystal ball; Pluto, with the hourglass perched atop a spaceship; and Ribs, which includes a plastic pig under glass, reclining in a centerfold pose. LaCavera took up his hobby when he was looking for an hourglass to decorate his study and found out that the closest thing he could buy in Cleveland was an egg timer, so he went into business for himself. He had to invent the machinery and instruments, including one to remove static electricity from inside the glass and another to determine the proper size of the hole between the two halves of the hourglass. (His hourglasses are accurate to 14 seconds an hour.) LaCavera has sold only a few hourglasses over the years (they run from $89 to $1,500), but he prefers to hang on to his work, which now fills the modest three-bedroom frame house he shares with wife Phyllis on the city’s west side. Phyllis thinks the world should see more of her husband’s hourglasses. “Work this beautiful,” she says, “should be out there where people can enjoy it.” Hourglass maker Frank LaCavera filling 12 of his hourglass bulbs w. sand as he prepares to time test each piece that he will use in his ornate hourglass creations at his workshop in home. (Photo by Taro Yamasaki/The LIFE Images Collection via Getty Images/Getty Images)

Frank LaCavera hourglass collections Frank LaCavera and his hour glass collections Lima News, The (Newspaper) - August 12, 1976, Lima, Ohio I lie jLiiua CLEVELAND (AP) Frank LaCavera is an hourglass master, one of the few in the world still making two-and three-foot hourglasses that can run from one to nine hours. His basement in his Cleveland home has become a collection of tubes, bottles, glass beads and other paraphernalia. He even has a small museum with a revolving stage and a curtain behind which is his handiwork. LaCavera said he became interested in mak- ing hourglasses, an instru- ment for measuring time Liquor to flow on Election Day Modern-day hourglass maker works for sentiment not money v" J mt Frank LaCavera considered expert in his hobby usually by the trickling of sand through a small open- ing, after he tried to buy one and discovered that stores only sold small ones used by housewives to make three-minute eggs., "When I saw how scarce they were, I thought I'd make them as a chal- he said Dr Warner Bundens Jr. president of the National Association of Watch and Clock Collectors Inc., said that "nobody else in the world is making modern hourglasses. I have one of LaCavera's originals at home. It's a 60-minute COLUMBUS, Ohio (AP) Starting with the November election, Ohio no longer will be a state where you can't buy a drink or a bottle of liquor on election day. A new law which takes effect Friday repeals the antiquated statute which shut down taverns, bars, and other liquor along with the state's monopoly retail voting hours. All will be open Nov. 2, including the state which in the past have given their employes the entire day off although bars and restaurants usually let the booze flow again an hour after polls closed, as the old law per- mitted. Rep John A Galbraith, R-69 Moumce, sponsored Ihe new law, calling the old one "archaic He said the days are gone when people "voted publicly and sat under the trees passing the jug around. No one tries to buy votes with whisky anymore." Galbraith got little help from his Republican colleagues as his bill squeaked through the Democratic House 55-39 and Senate 17-15 Restaurant and bar owners who claimed the law unfairly penalized their businesses lobbied for him, and may have helped convince Gov. James A. Rhodes who signed the repealer without comment. The 52-year-old Galbraith said despite the lobbying, the bill represented his "personal conviction that the old law was out of date Ohio was the only one of the 10 largest states which continued to have such a prohibition." Rep Alan E Norris, R-27 Westerville, whose hometown claims to be the "birthplace of prohibition" and remains dry. carried the House opposition. He said he felt simply that "people should be sober when they vote." He said it wasn't a moral issue with him, but felt the old law "was good for more than 100 years" and was needed to help protect the integrity of Ohio's election process. Frank LaCavera and his hour glass collections The election day liquor law is among five taking effect this week, 90 days after being signed into law by the governor. Other new laws: take away the authority of county and townships to enact zoning ordi- nances affecting oil and gas operations, per- mit senior citizens to take courses without credit or tuition at state universities when space permits; bring health district subsidies under _0hio Public Health Council regula- tions, and exempt delayed gram contracts held bv farmers from the state intangibles tax on stocks, bonds, and other securities. TECHNICIANS apply makeup and an ear plug to Sen. Walter Mondale, D-Minn.. prior to his ap- pearance on ABC's "Good Morning America" program Tuesday in Washington, D.C. Mondale is the Democratic vice presidential nominee. 'Beautiful river' helped young Ohio's economy By The Associated Press The Ohio River, "La Bel- le Riviere" or "the beautiful river" to the ear- ly French explorers, re- mains to this day a prime consideration in Ohio's transportation network but it has always been (he focus of Ohio history from the verv beginnings of the state, and even before Ohio was a state. The river always kept its prestige in competition with Lake Erie as a chan- nel of trade, and from its banks came some of the men and helped make the nation's greatness One of the first com- panies of the pioneer city Marietta was a shipyard The brig St Clair, built there, reached Cincinnati in April, 1801, and got as far as Cuba on that trip It demonstrated that the black walnut of the In the library there are papers showing that the Louisiana of Marietta, in 1805, visited New Orleans, Norfolk and Italy. Purchase of the Louisiana Territory swel- led the river trade as well Ohio yesteryear Muskingum Valley, a wood now almost priceless, could be combined with Marietta iron and rope to defy the Spanish grip on the trade of the Mis- sissippi. More than 100 such ships were soon produced at the mouth of the Muskingum. Carter recalled as pious preacher LOCK HAVEN, Pa "He knocked on doors asking people if they needed Jesus Christ as their per- sonal savior. He never breathed to us he was a politician." Mrs Robert Farwell was reminisc- ing about Jimmy Carter. She remembered him as the evangelist who eight years ago trumpeted Christianity in this central Penn- sylvania town. It was in 1968 that Carter visited the Lock Haven area as a member of a six-man team of Southern Baptist laymen attempting to start a second Baptist church. "He was the most humble and com- passionate man my husband and I ever met." Mrs Farwell, a widow of six months, said recently in a tele- phone interview. "He was a man who really loved the Lord Jesus Christ You could feel it every minute you were around him." The Baptist laymen remained two weeks, working in pairs and visiting 10 to 15 homes a day. Support for a se- cond Baptist parish grew and even- tually a new church was established. For a time the new congregation was led by a divinity student from Texas, but he left. A permanent pastor was never found and the con- gregation dissolved and the new church closed. "He always wore a business suit." recalled Mrs Farwell, who lives in Flemmgton, near Lock Haven. "We knew he was a distinguished person. as the volume of ship- building However, the em- bargo of 1807, caused by the war between Great Bri- tain and Napoleon, ruined the Ohio shipyards for a time. Four years after Robert Fulton invented the steam- boat, the first such craft was seen on the Ohio It was the New Orleans, built at Pittsburgh, which went down river in 1811. It had a speed of only 12 miles an hour, but that was enough to mark the beginning of the end for the flatboat and barge lines which had en- joyed all the trade until that time. The steamboats made travel safer and cheaper as well as faster, thus adding much to Ohio's growth and prosperity. Carolina dams lose to scenery WASHINGTON (AP) After a four-year legislative fight, a bill to save a scenic stretch of the New River in North Carolina from being inundated by power- generating dams is likely to win congressional approval this year. The House passed the bill Tuesday by a 311-73 vote and sent it to the Senate, which approved similar legislation jn the last Congress. President Ford has announced he would sign the bill. Every major environmental group in the country has backed the measure to save the 26.5-mile stretch "It looks like we will finally get it through this said Rep Ken Hechler. D-W.Va one of the long-time supporters of the New River legislation. The measure would bar the two-dam Blue Ridge Pro- ject of the Appalachian Power Co. The Federal Power Commission has approved the project but construction has been delayed by court appeals. Rep. Paul Simon, D-I11, who has taken a boat trip down the river, said it is a wonder of nature that should be preserved for posterity. "If any of you have a chance to take that trip, then I don't think you'll ever vote against this he told his colleagues. "God took 100 million years to create this river. Let's keep a power company from destroying Hechler said. He cited the statement by geologists that the river is the oldest in the Western Hemisphere.

Frank LaCavera and his hourglass collections https://people.com/archive/meet-hourglass-maker-frank-lacavera-one-retiree-who-knows-how-to-pass-the-time-vol-31-no-22/ https://www.gettyimages.com/photos/frank-lacavera?family=editorial&sort=mostpopular&phrase=frank%20lacavera https://newspaperarchive.com/lima-news-aug-12-1976-p-7/ Frank LaCavera and his hour glass collections

See also:

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Time is… The Full History of Time Time in physics and time Science Symbolism of Melencolia I by Albrecht Dürer Time and Text

DADA Time

Text, Time, MHC Extinction Rebellion – Time against Life The End of Time Hourglass and Death on St Thomas’ Church Hourglass – symbol of Death Death does not Exist Hourglass and Skeleton “Hourglass and Cards” Exhibition Father and Mother of Time Time Hub Time Philosophy Time synonyms Time perception and Sense of Time Time Travel + Time Management = Time Travel Management The Hourglass, Hourglass History Hourglass symbolism Hourglass Figure Hourglass Tattoo Symbols of Time Beauty Bio-Net Father Time Department Father Time and Mother Nature Lunar calendar and Moon’s phases Time Management Time Management tools Time Travel Management MHC SM: MHC Flikr, MHC Pinterest, MHC Facebook, MHC Instagram, MHC YouTube, MHC Twitter

The Hourglass Figure:

MHC Exhibitions: Hourglass Figure Sophia Loren by Adam PierceHourglass Figure Marilyn Monroe About Hourglass Body or Hourglass Figure Hourglass body measurements – body shape online calculator Hourglass Figure Celebrities on MHC Hourglass Figure, the movie MHC hourglass figure workout by Marten Sport Hourglass Figure Department on MHC Virtual Museum Frank LaCavera and his hour glass collections Read the full article

[askdawnandvern]

A Lamb Among Wolves Ch:16

Bonds of Brotherhood

Vernon was completely livid. His mind was simply replaying Zach's words over and over again, every statement overlapping each other creating a muddled, almost deafening mental static. With each echo, each replay of the words Dorian had sent Zach to say the wolf could feel the fire inside screaming to erupt from every pore. It made his fur tingle all over, as if it were mere seconds away from catching and engulfing the wolf in a spectacular inferno. Vernon mindlessly marched forward, blind to nearly everything but the back of the corn truck that lie before him. Getting to that truck was the only goal that was managing to keep the wolf from pitching a fit in the middle of the driveway, he just had to keep it together until he was out of sight. Out of sight of the family, and most importantly out of sight of his mate.

It didn't take Vernon very long to cross the drive and reach the van. It's dark cool interior lined with buckets of corn and boxes of his Mother's delicious pumpkin pies. Riding in the back of the truck was something Vernon usually enjoyed when harvest season came around. As a pup, getting out of the lingering heat of the dying Summer while being inundated in the sweet and sugary scent of his Mother's famous pastries was a warm and comforting memory. Without fail, at least one pie wouldn't make it to the fair unscathed between Vernon and whoever else was riding in back with him. But now the smell seemed repulsive and bitter, the pleasant memory drowned out by the heat roiling beneath his pelt.

Making his way to the back of the truck, the wolf practically threw himself against the steel seating, barely registering the painful shockwaves the impact sent through his hip bones. In fact, it did little more than anger Vernon further, and once again the wolf found himself throwing another wild punch at the nearby wall. The enraged wolf let out a loud snarl as the metal siding of the truck rumbled with the impact. That time he felt the pain, his knuckles now screaming in agony from making contact with the un-yielding wall. The pain was at least a distraction, something that manage to diffuse some of the steam that had been screaming for an outlet. Vernon sucked in his breath sharply as he pulled his wounded paw toward his chest protectively. Eyeing his now throbbing hand, the wolf gently massaged his knuckles to check had badly he had damaged them. They were sore certainly, but thankfully not sprained. It would most likely be little more than a forgotten memory by the time he reached the fair. Unfortunately he didn't have that luxury when it came to his Father and Zach.

Vernon grit his teeth as the rapidly diffusing pain allowed the phrases to rise in his mind once more.

"P-Pa-Pa thinks it would be best the for the family if... you two hung back here for the day." He could hear Zach repeat.

"Pa thinks that between you two being a predator prey couple..." Vernon crossed his arms, letting out another snarl as he glowered at the floor.

"...and who Dawn is..." Vernon could feel bile rising in his throat, and he part his clenched teeth in order to bite his tongue in a effort to quell the sickening feeling.

"That it'll cause a huge stir! Maybe a scene! And Pa thinks it could cause trouble for the whole family's reputation!"

Vernon let out another loud snarl as he kicked the nearest bucket of corn as hard as he could. The large worn blue tub barely moved under the weight of the cobs it contained. Instead, it only caused Vernon more pain as the impact pulsed up his leg. Vernon let out another hiss before returning to his seat, once again crossing his arms and turning toward the nearest wall.

"How could they?!" Vernon barked. "How could he!?" The wolf shook his head briskly. Vernon was beside himself, his anger only dwarfed by his disbelief as to what had happened. Vernon wasn't sure what to expect from his Father after the dinner the previous night. He had hoped perhaps things would turn around, that Dorian would see Dawn for the mammal she really was. But the wolf had also been prepared for Dorian to keep up his cold stance, and refuse to apologize. It would have made things harder sure, but it was something Vernon was prepared to deal with. Something he thought his Father could be brought around on, or at the very least come to terms with and accept. He had not expected however, that his Father would ask him and Dawn not to come to the fair at all. And to go so far as to have Zach be the one to deliver the news rather than telling Vernon himself made it hurt that much more.

The wolf took a deep breath, letting out a sharp sigh as he attempted to calm himself. Yet despite his best efforts he could still hear Zach's excuses floating around in his head.

"That it'll cause a huge stir!"

"Maybe a scene!"

Vernon rubbed his temples as he let out groan.

"...cause trouble for the whole family's reputation!"

The wolf threw his head back, letting out a long exhale as he stared up at the ceiling of the truck.

That's what Dorian had said, or at least what Zach had told Vernon he had said. But was that the real reason? Vernon wasn't sure, but he had his suspicions. His Father was often indirect when he was being evasive about his true intentions. The wolf could recall him behaving in a similar way when he had told him he wanted to be an architect instead of a police officer. Vernon could still remember standing in his Father's study, looking him straight in the eye, mustering up every once of his courage and simply laying out his intentions for the old mammal. The wolf could remember the feeling of anxiety eating away at his insides as the statement left his muzzle, followed by a seemingly unending silence from the older wolf. The wait for an answer was almost a torture in itself, but eventually Dorian finally responded by simply telling him they would 'talk later'.

As it would turn out, 'talking later' was pretty much code for having Audrey tell Vernon that Dorian felt it was a bad idea, and the beginning of a war of attrition between the two wolves. In time of course, his Father seemed to muster the courage to directly tell Vernon that he didn't want him 'wasting his time at something wolves don't do'.  But the start of Vernon's battle for independence began with using the other members of the Hunter household as unwilling messengers, mostly on Dorian's part.

It was shame, that was his reasoning that Vernon would later find out. He could remember during one of the last embittered arguments before he left the Hunter Ranch being told he was throwing away everything Dorian had painstakingly set up for each of his pups. That Vernon was throwing away a stable future, and a career he could take pride in.

"It's in your blood Vernon! You can't just walk away from it!" Dorian barked.

"Well I'm walking." Vernon replied.

"Vernon, this is a one time opportunity, If you toss it aside I won't be bailing you out! Once you fail, you're stuck boy." Dorian replied.

"And what if I don't fail Pa!?" Vernon snapped back, staring his Father right in the eyes. "What if I succeed!? Huh!? What if I excel!? Didja ever think that!?"

Dorian squeezed the bridge of his muzzle, letting out a tired sigh.

"You won't." The wolf replied coolly." You got talent boy, real talent that yer gonna waste out there! You were made to protect other mammals like it or not!"

"I'm done fightin' Pa." Vernon groaned. "The last thing I want to do is go into something where I have to fight half the time. You have six other sons who are working law, ain't that enough!?" Vernon panted. "Why can't I do something else!?"

"Vern-"Dorian reached out to Vernon, trying to place his paw on his shoulder. However, Vernon pulled away. He had to be strong, to keep his resolve.

"I'm going Pa, I'm done. Gus has a place to stay and a job for me. I'm doing it. I have to, for me!" Vernon whined.

"I'm not helping you."

"I didn't ask you to." Vernon replied coldly. "I can do it myself."

With that Vernon began to storm toward the stairwell, set on spending the rest of the evening calming down on the basement couch and trying to forget the argument. But as he reached for the knob his Father spoke again.

"Vernon." Vernon froze, glancing over his shoulder at the old white wolf.

"You would shame this family?" The wolf paused. "Shame me by throwing you life away on something so foolish?"

Vernon let out a cold, calm breath.

"It's your choice." Vernon replied. "You get to choose whether you're ashamed or not. But it's my life to live."

Vernon sighed, his paw still poised on the door knob.

"I don't have a choice." Dorian replied.

Vernon could remember how hearing his Father say that hit him. He didn't turn around, or cry, or even speak. But inside it felt like someone had cored the wolf and stuffed his body full of bricks. The weight of his words burned them into the very strata of Vernon's being. After everything he'd done, his brother's had done, Vernon not choosing the career his Father wanted for him earned him his shame. Dorian was ashamed of him.

And it was then it became clear to Vernon the true motivations behind why he didn't want the couple to go to the fair. Dorian was simply ashamed of him. His Father was ashamed at who he had chosen to be his mate. A prey mammal and an ex-criminal. And not just any ex-criminal, but one who nearly every mammal could recognize by her face alone. Vernon knew better, he knew that even if the locals had a problem with seeing a pred/prey couple walking around the fair they would be far too meek to speak up. And with what Dawn had done to save the city, the odds of finding someone who still held her original night howler scheme against her were slim to none. It was about being an embarrassment to Dorian, and once again going against what his Father had wanted for him. Continuing to fail in the eyes of the older white wolf. And what hurt even worse was the fact that Zach had been more or less swayed by his words. That Zach agreed with his Father about the fair. That managed to cut the wolf like a knife, and Vernon found himself leaning over to stare at the floor.

Letting out another sigh, another sensation began to creep into Vernon's mind. The easily recognizable inkling of fear and doubt. Whatever lingering hope he had of managing to get his Father's approval for getting a 'tithing' ceremony were almost completely extinguished. And worse yet, the words that keep swirling around in his mind were starting to pick away at his resolve. Clearly his Father was ashamed, it had to be that. But what if someone did speak up at the fair? Someone called the couple out and made a scene. Would that have some sort of impact on his Mother's stand? What if it had? Would it change the way she felt about Dawn, about Vernon? The wolf found himself biting his claws as he continued to travel down the rapidly negative spiral of thought. Vernon didn't care about what other's thought about Dawn and his relationship, even the other members of his family. If they didn't like her, or refused to accept her, that was something Vernon could deal with. But if he were responsible for something bad happening to the rest of the family because of him and Dawn, he wasn't exactly sure how he could handle it.

TAP! TAP! "H-hey big bro."

Vernon sat straight up to find a familiar white wolf peeking into the back of the van, his paw still hovering over the wall he had knocked on to get his attention. Placing a paw over his muzzle, Vernon closed his eyes and let out a groan.

"I-I don't want to talk right now Trent." Vernon mumbled. "I really want to be alone."

Despite Vernon's refusal, the wolf could feel the truck bob slightly as Trenton climbed into the back. Opening his eyes he could see the wolf carefully making his way toward him.

"It's either me or Ulric." Trenton said. "Because I'm stuck on this truck for the ride out. No room in the other cars." Trenton gave an awkward cough.

Vernon let out another irritated groan.

"I mean if you want to talk about the 'Illubaahnati' for the whole trip I ca-"

"Sit your ass down Trent." Vernon grumbled, gesturing to the seat next to him.

The white wolf flashed Vernon a meek smile before easing himself into the seat next to him. Once seated, Vernon watched as the white wolf raised a paw and gave two more heavy taps against the back of the cab, and after a moment Vernon felt a shudder travel through the van as it rumbled to life.

"Just letting 'em know were good to go back here." Trenton said. "Can't afford to be late after all."

Vernon let out another dismissive grumble before returning to his leaning stance. The wolf was taking deliberately slow and deep breaths as he focused on the metal flooring beneath him. It was an attempt to try and clear his head, to calm him down, but it was doing very little to accomplish that. He couldn't shake his Father's words, or the doubt that was slowly consuming him. His rage now mostly boiled off, leaving behind a growing sorrow in it's absence. For the first time, Vernon was starting to give serious consideration to just calling it quits, simply packing up and heading back to the city with his tail between his legs.

"I'm sorry I missed your graduation."

"W-what?" Vernon sat back up, staring at Trent in surprise. The statement had completely caught him off guard.

Trenton scratched the back of his head awkwardly.

"I-I said I'm sorry I missed your graduation." Trenton repeated. "I'm would have really liked to be there. I mean, you did it Pup. That's a huge deal."

Vernon gave a slight scoff before shaking his head.

"I wasn't at it." Vernon muttered.

"What?" Trent replied.

"Dawn was in the hospital during that whole thing." Vernon replied somberly. "I-I couldn't leave her alone during that." The wolf paused. "I wouldn't."  Vernon could feel Trenton's paw pat him on the back.

"Sweet sawgrass, I'm sorry. I didn't know the details on that." Trenton sighed. "I thought that was before your graduation."

Vernon simply shook his head no.

"S'not like I made your's either." Vernon muttered.

"Hmm?" Trent asked.

Vernon crooked his head up to look at his brother.

"Yours was the same week remember?" Vernon added. "Like two days apart. I couldn't be at yours or mine."

Trenton chuckled. "Ah don't worry about it." The wolf grinned. "You've seen one of us graduate a police academy you've really seen 'em all."

Vernon couldn't help but chuckle despite his soured mood. It was true, Vernon had seen enough graduations that prominently featured badges and handcuffs for a lifetime.

"Still yours would have been something to see." Trent continued. "Finally one of achieves somethin' that ain't farmin' or keepin' the peace."

Vernon let out another scoff as he leaned back into a sitting position. The wolf raised his arms above his head, stretching in a effort to get more comfortable. Now looking out at the back of the van, the wolf could see they had begun to move. The Hunter ranch was slowly pulling out of sight, being obscured by the family corn field. It was too late to go back now he supposed, they were already on their way. All the wolf could do was keep his fingers crossed that the fair wouldn't be as bad as his mind was now screaming at him that it would be.

"I'm proud of you."

Vernon turned his head sharply toward his brother in shock, once again caught off guard.

"W-what?" He stammered back.

"I said I'm proud of you Vern." Trenton repeated, flashing Vernon a genuine smile.

Vernon could feel the tears rising almost immediately, and he did his best to push them back down inside. The last thing he wanted to do was cry, and especially not in front of family.

"D-damnit Trent." Vernon tried to remain stoic but his voice betrayed him, cracking as he spat out his reply. Vernon gave a hard sniffle as he chocked back the urge to sob. "S-stop it, I know what yer doin'."

"What?" Trenton smiled. "I mean that."

"Yer trying to get me to spill my guts about what's going on." Vernon sniffled again.

"Well, I would like you to talk to me if you want to." Trenton replied. "But I'm proud of you anyway."

Vernon let out a sigh, running a paw through his tuft of hair. Trenton was an expert at worming his way under someone's emotional defenses. The white wolf gave off an aurora of kindness and understanding that made mammals just open up to him. With a skill like that it made him perfect for police work, the perfect example of a good cop. But Vernon wagered it must be somewhat wasted on being a regional trooper, as Vernon assumed he probably ended up letting a lot of mammals off with a simple warning.

"But we can talk about anything, we don't have t-"

"Pa doesn't want Dawn and me going to the fair." Vernon spat, his lips curling around his teeth as if he were letting out a silent growl.

"What?" Trenton asked, his tone tinged with disbelief.

"Pa doesn't want us there." Vernon reiterated. "Says it'll cause trouble."

"Why?" Trenton continued to press, clearly still somewhat lost.

Vernon leaned his head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. He let out another long sigh.

"Either cause of who Dawn is, or because were dating, or both." Vernon grumbled. "Say's us being there will cause a scene or possibly threaten the Hunter reputation."

The two fell silent, allowing the ambience of the whistling wind and the rumble of the engine to fill the cargo area. Tilting his head back down he could see they had now completely left the drive. The corn field had been replaced with the gentle swaying wheat stalks of another nearby farm.

"I think that's ridi"

"You thought about it." Vernon cut him off.

"What?" Trenton replied.

"You didn't reply right away." Vernon said, still staring at the various farms that were passing them by. "You were considering what Pa said."

The van was quiet again, save for the vehicle shuddering as it plotted along the country lane.

"Vernon, well I, I mean it's-"

"It's fine." Vernon muttered. "I'm already sort of burned through the shock and rage." The wolf gave a dull chuckle. "I'm actually starting to think maybe he's on to something."

"Vernon." The wolf could feel his brother's paw on his knee, and turned to look at him.

"I don't care about what Pa thinks." Trenton gave Vernon a serious stare. "I'm worried about you and Dawn."

"Hmm?" Vernon mumbled.

"What if some mammal does come up and makes a scene about you two?" Trenton winced. "Or worse yet, what if they're looking for a fight? Looking to hurt you two."

Vernon laughed, giving a brisk and dismissive nod.

"Ah shoot, ain't nothin' worse out here than what we already deal with in Zootopia."  Vernon gave his own pat to Trenton's knee. "We got harassed on the train ride up here for the gods sakes." Vernon sighed.

"Really?" Trenton replied.

Vernon gave a simple nod before he turned his attention back to the moving scenery.

"Some young prideful red wolf girl and her eager to prove himself boy toy. I tell ya, it really took me back." The wolf chuckled. "It was almost like I was looking at myself in junior high. Back when I was with Ana." Vernon cringed, sticking his tongue out in disgust.

"I remember her." Trenton shuddered as he spoke. "Windpaw right?"

Vernon nodded.

"She was a real nasty piece of work. A real..." Trenton halted for a moment, drawing Vernon's attention back to him. His brother seemed hesitant to continue.

"Bitch?" Vernon smirked.

Trenton shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. "Both biologically and behaviorally."

"No truer words have ever been spoken my brother." Vernon replied.

"So what happened?" Trenton leaned forward expectantly, a worried look forming across his face.

Vernon let out a sigh. "We dealt with it." Vernon shrugged. "I mean, me and Dawn expected that kind of stuff going into this relationship. We don't care what anyone else thinks." A warm smile crept across Vernon's muzzle. "We love each other, and that's that."

"So then..." Trenton trailed off. "What's the problem?" The wolf asked.

"I didn't give it too much thought before, but what if Dawn and I end up pulled into some big spectacle?" Vernon placed a paw to his forehead. "Then what happens to you guys?" The wolf sighed.

"Well, I don't know about the others, but you know Qali and I would stand up for you if we were there. And based on what I saw in the Dining room I figure most of the family would do the same." Trenton replied.

"That's not what I'm saying." Vernon mumbled.

"Well Pa and Yuri won-"

"I'm talking about Ma, about the Meadowlands." Vernon replied.

"Huh?" Trenton asked.

Vernon pinched the bridge of his snout, squeezing his eyes shut as he mustered the will to continue the line of logic that was tearing at him.

"I'm not worried about Pa, but what about Ma's stand? What about the life she's gotta live in the Meadowlands?" Vernon groaned. " What if mammals who don't like what I've got going on with Dawn take it out on her?"

The back of the van fell deaf under Vernon's words, once again beset by the simple ambience of machines and nature. Vernon went back to staring at the shimmering bronze tall grass as it passed by. Each new gust of wind cut a new swath across the fields. It seemed like forever before Trenton finally spoke again.

"Ma said she'd back you up." Trenton said calmly. " You know when it comes to us she doesn't care what anybody thinks Vernon."

Vernon felt Trenton's paw clasp down hard on his shoulder. The wolf turned to find Trenton staring him down with a deathly serious gaze.

"Ma would give up her life for any one of us in a heartbeat, so I doubt she'd give two shits about something like being snubbed by a bunch of stuck up Meadowlanders." The wolf concluded. "Neither would I."

Vernon forced a smile to his muzzle, but it faltered quickly.

"But still-"

"But still nothing Vernon!" Trenton was firm, although he didn't raise his voice. "If you aren't worried about how you and Dawn handle harassment, then don't worry about us." Trenton grimaced. " We can certainly handle ourselves."

Vernon gave a reluctant affirmative grunt.

"Still I take it Pa's reasoning wasn't taking the well-being of Dawn and you into account when he said it or else you wouldn't have stormed out of the house the way you had?" Trent released his grip, placing both paws on his knees.

Vernon scoffed. "He sent Zach to say it to me."

Vernon watched Trenton visibly cringe, making a loud sharp inhale as he reeled backward.

"Well that clears up my follow-up question." Trenton said with a weak chuckle.

"Zach's such an idiot." Vernon grumbled. "He spends yesterday claiming up and down about he's not Pa's errand boy, and yet today here comes obedient little Zach ready to side with Pa." Vernon hissed. "I swear, they may as well be sewn together."

"Well, you didn't stick around long enough to hear him out did you?" Trenton asked. "Maybe he was worried about the same things you were? About how our family would deal with the backlash of being connected to Dawn?"

Vernon scoffed. "Then why didn't he do what you did!?" The wolf gestured an arm toward the open fields outside the truck. "If he was so keen on supporting us, why didn't he stand up for us to Pa when he suggested those things!? Tell him that he was going to stand by me, that the family was going to stand by me!?" Vernon balled his fist tightly, slamming it into the seat next to him. " Sometimes he can be more of a weasel than Wade, although at least he doesn't lie about his giraffe mate!"

Vernon's anger immediately receded in favor of panic as the realization of what he said hit him. His eyes widening in horror as he turned to face Trenton.

"Wade's dating a giraffe?" Trenton smirked.

Vernon raised his paws defensively. "Trenton, swear to me you won't say anything to anyone!"

"What, why?" Trenton replied, raising an eyebrow.

"I promised Wade I wouldn't tell anyone as long as he told Ma and Pa before the weekend is over." Vernon whined. "I need your word on this."

Trenton mimed pulling a zipper from one side of his muzzle to the other.

"You have my solemn promise big brother." Trenton said, raising the paw as if taking an oath. "I will not tell, as long as you promise me something..."

Vernon eyed the wolf in confusion. With Trent, keeping a promise was as good as gold. Despite being the youngest in the pack he always had been the brother to go to when you needed to discuss something privately, as well as keeping it that way. Trenton was the first one in the family Vernon told about his intentions to got to school for architecture rather than the police academy. But Trent never was one to ask for something in return, he was never one to put a price on his silence.

"What?" Vernon asked.

Trenton put a paw on Vernon's shoulder, flashing the wolf a warm smile.

"Promise me you'll forgive Zach." Trenton replied.

Vernon's muzzle twisted into a grimace. "Oh come o-"

Trenton raised his paws defensively. "I know, I know, what he did was thoughtless." The wolf protested. "You know he can be easily influenced to believe stupid things! Hell he's the only one who willingly listens to Ulric's ramblings from time to time." Trenton placed his paw back on Vernon's shoulder. "But you know his heart is usually in the right place, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone."

Vernon let out a snort, crossing his arms in defiance, earning a dull stare from Zach.

"Okay, fine....be that way..." Trenton cooed. "But now I'm curious, I wonder if Wade wouldn't mind me asking him some technical questions on how a wolf manages to mate with a giraffe."

Vernon let out a prolonged groan.

"UUUhhhhhhhhhggggggg! Fine!" The wolf hissed. "I'll let Zach off for this one."

Trenton smiled at his brother warmly, once again sealing his muzzle with a phantom zipper. "I'll keep the questions to myself until I hear it from Wade then."

Vernon let out long sigh, returning his sights to the road behind them. At some point it had changed from dirt to concrete, and the wolf could now see other cars around them. He wasn't sure exactly how close they were to the festival now, but he remember it was practically directly off the highway they were now on. Looking up toward the sky, the wolf could catch the last bits of morning orange hiding just at the edge of the North Mountains.

"Since you've already got me spilling my guts to you..." Vernon trailed off. "I may as well tell you what I really came out here for this weekend."

To Vernon's surprise, Trenton leaned forward with keen interest, a wry smile forming on his muzzle.

"I have my suspicions." Trenton raised his eyebrow.

Vernon was immediately incredulous. The wolf leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms as he eyed Trenton warily. Trenton had a knack for picking up on little things to piece together the bigger picture. The white wolf had been that way since they were pups, always able to figure out where one of the brothers left a toy on the vaguest of clues, and was the best at sniffing out where someone had been from the tiniest scent he could pick up. It was something he had only gotten better with as he got older, yet it was another wasted skill on the position of regional trooper. Still despite his natural talent, Vernon was quite dubious the wolf could figure out exactly why Vernon chose to come visit now of all times. There was practically nothing to go on, and if Trent hadn't figured out Wade's mate was a giraffe without being told directly, Vernon highly doubted he could figure it out.

Vernon chuckled. "Alright, I'll let you have your fun." The wolf shook his head dismissively. "I know you love a good mystery."

Trenton clapped his paws together excitedly. "Alright, let's see." The white wolf scratched his chin as he leaned closer to Vernon, eyeing him suspiciously. "What would bring Puppy out aside from simple introductions to his new mate?"

Trenton leaned back, rolling his eyes slightly as he seemed to mull over what he knew.

"The last time you came out was for Zach's tithing two years back." The wolf tapped his chin. "And you left early because of Yuri, that was obvious."

Vernon nodded affirmatively, his arms still tightly crossed.

"Before that you only ever came out when Yuri wasn't around. You never made it a priority to meet our mates at the homestead. You always had us visit Zootopia. So in turn I imagine it wouldn't be a huge deal if we hadn't all been here to meet Dawn." The wolf's tongue wriggled out of the corner of his maw as he continued to puzzle over Vernon's intentions. "No, no. But tithing ceremonies we all had to be there for. It's an important family event, that's why you tried to put up with Yuri as best you could for Zach's sake."

Vernon crooked an eyebrow as his brother continued his thought process. He could already feel disbelief swirling in his mind as his brother seemingly edged closer to what Vernon intended to do. 'There is no way'. Vernon thought to himself.

"So you came out here, despite Yuri's presence, introduce Dawn to Ma and Pa knowing we'd all be here." Trenton leaned in again, studying Vernon carefully.

"But even without Yuri you are having an extremely rough time, something's really eating at you. Got ya all twisted up. After all, you haven't shown a lick of violent tendencies since ya swore that stuff off. Yet here you are punching walls." Trenton grimaced. "It's something big, real big. To have you hurtin' this bad."

"Well, how would you feel if Pa didn't think your mate was worthy of..." Vernon bit his tongue, stopping himself from revealing the answer so carelessly.

Trenton clapped his paws together again. "Pup! You fixin' to tithe Dawn!?"

Vernon stared at the white wolf in partial shock.

"Y-you..." Vernon stammared. " I mean, you figured it out from-"

Trenton shook his head briskly, laughing heartily as he did so. "No, no! I had more than enough to go on!" The wolf slapped his knee.

"Pft...sure." Vernon shook his head, crossing his arms again.

"So that's why you wanted everyone to be here!" Trenton continued. "Your fixin to tithe her under the harvest moon on Monday aren't ya! Make it a real wolf ceremony right?"

Vernon looked at his brother in slight confusion.

"E-er...no." Vernon shook his head. " I mean, that's probably too soon to put something like that together." Vernon shrugged. "I'd want Dawn's Ma out for it, and ya know..." Vernon scratched the back of his head.

Trenton frowned sharply. "Huh, I would think that was why you wanted everyone to be here."

"Vernon shook his head again. "I wanted to get Pa's blessing and then announce it to ya'll." Vernon asserted. "Then we could figure out a time to do it when everyone could come out again. Even Yuri, much as I'd hate to have him."

Trenton placed a paw to his chin, a look of mild disappointment crossing his face.

"Hmm...guess I'm getting rusty." Trenton sighed. "I don't get enough practice monitoring the highway for speeders all day. Still I can see why Pa's got you so flustered. I imagine you would have torn into him by now if it weren't for the fact you were holding out for getting his blessing."

Vernon let out a long sigh, placing a paw to his temple. "I-I want to bring him around. I have to Trent." Vernon shook his head. "If I explode on him there's no way he'll consider allowing Dawn into the pack." Placing his head in his paws, the wolf let out a loud groan. "Not that playing nice seems to be working anyway, I mean he just un-invited us to the fair!" The wolf threw his paws up. "What am I gonna do Trenny? Give me an idea! Please."

The white wolf placed a paw on Vernon's shoulder, flashing the wolf a warm smile.

"Y'know, you ain't the only one thinking about getting tithed Vern." Trent said.

Vernon opened his eyes wide, blinking rapidly as he stared back at Trenton.

"Y-you mean you, and Qails?" Vernon muttered.

Trenton nodded. "I've been thinking about it a lot lately." The wolf let out an amorous sigh. "I mean I haven't really discussed it with her or anything. I really ain't sure if she'll say yes or not." The white wolf frowned.

"Y'know..." Vernon scratched the back of his head awkwardly as he trailed off. " I always thought Qails was a little too...energetic for you." Vernon gave a meek smile.

Trenton chuckled, giving Vernon a soft punch in the arm. "That's what I like about her dummy." The wolf grinned back.

"In case you haven't noticed, I kinda take the easiest route I can to get through my life." Trenton sighed. " In that way I'm kinda boring. I don't really challenge myself, and I hate taking risks. It's never really been my style Pup."

"Mhh." Vernon nodded for the wolf to continue, still unsure of exactly where he was going with his self depreciating line of reasoning.

"But Qali, she's adventurous, she's got spunk." The wolf let out another pining sigh. "My little snowflake really lights up my life, y'know. She taught me how to have fun and take some risks." Trenton's smile grew wide, and his eyes sheened with a dreamy glare. "She's just...she makes me a better mammal."

Vernon felt a goofy grin of his own crawling across his muzzle. He had always been a bit of a sucker for the lovey dovey stuff, and seeing his brother so in love made his heart swell with warmth.

"She's..." Trenton trailed off. "She's my soulmate Vern."

Vernon's ears perked up, his eyes going wide as his brother's words fully registered. Placing a paw on Trenton's shoulder, Vernon was smiling ear to ear.

"That's Dawn for me Trenny." Vernon sighed. "That's Dawn for me."

"I figured." Trenton smiled back. "You wouldn't go to the mat this hard for any other reason big brother."

Trenton placed his paw on top of Vernon's giving it a slight shake. "And if I was in yer shoes I wouldn't fall back on the easiest route out." Trenton said. "If it was me and Qails in yer shoes we'd be fightin' tooth and nail to bring Pa around. No matter what."

Vernon could feel the tears from before starting to work their way back up to his eyes, and desperately tried to push them down, letting out a gasping choke in response.

"And me and Qails are gonna do all we can to help you and Dawn out! I don't know how we'll help bring Pa around, but we'll damn well try Pup!"

Vernon let out another gasp, but he couldn't stop the tears. The wolf aggressively wiped his eyes, trying to at the very least keep the tears from being visible. Vernon had reached his limit, and wrapped his paws around his brother, pulling him in tightly for a hug.

"T-thanks Trenny." Vernon sniffled as he dug grinded his muzzle into his brother's shoulder. "I-I just...thank you." The wolf choked. "I-I needed to hear that."

He could feel Trenton pat his back a few times before breaking away. The white wolf was now pawing at his own eyes.

"W-well that's what brothers are for Vern." Trent smiled. "Besides what else can we do? Can't just give up now can we?"  Trenton placed a paw to his chest, swelling it in faux pride. "'That's not the Hunter way.' As Pa would say."

Vernon wiped the lingering tears from his eyes, letting off a final sniffle as the urge to weep began to die away.

"W-well at least I'd like to try everything before I settle on going to my last resort." Vernon sighed.

Trenton eyed him curiously, arching an eyebrow in obvious confusion.

"What do you mean Pup?" Trenton queried. "You ain't planning anything drastic now are you?"

"Let's just hope it don't come to that." Vernon replied. "I'm sure it won't." Despite the firmness of his statement, Vernon couldn't help but feel a pang of unease travel through him.

'It won't.' Vernon thought. 'Please don't make me have to do it Pa.'

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

I’m so sorry I nearly forgot to post on here today. I uploaded it to FF, but I’m still getting over this ear infection and decided to put off doing the chapter card for the other websites today. Only problem was I forgot I usually don’t use them on Tumblr, and that I needed to post. Anyway, sorry for the delay, here’s the chapter.

-WT

[furymint]

🕊 It takes immense bravery and humility to fall in love.

ALRIGHT im trying to spare myself the embarrassment bc im a goober, but these two goobers are getting married after 4.4 drops and we get shiny new marriage ceremonies. it’s an ic event, but absolutely everyone can come esp since half my friends are heretics in some capacity

I have to give myself time after seeing how the new ceremonies roll out to complete my writing for it, but other than that i have most of the preparations done sorry for my shirt-quest whining. I also know ppl might get inundated w invitations for renewals and whatnot, so ill try to secure my date when its most convenient, esp for the friends that encouraged me to do this

its not every day (see: never) that both of them are at the same room at once, so while jillian will help me by puppeting nol during the service by shooting out his lines by macro, im thinking abt doing some kind of reception (charity banquet??) where ppl could talk to both of them?? to sound less like a bad disney attraction, my reasoning is that nolanel is a difficult person to approach, n this would make it easier for him to talk? and also elliot’s prob not gonna shut up abt this for the next 37 years and like 2 ppl know who nolanel by face since he’s always off stabbing dragons. elliot does not want ppl to disbelieve him when he shoves his engagement ring in their face.

but as you can tell some things are up in the air, but this is a thing that will happen as smoothly as i can make it so {Please look forward to it.}

[mikemortgage]

‘We are hitting the deadlines’: Ontario cannabis lottery winner says Toronto ‘flagship’ on track to open April 1

The Alcohol and Gaming Commission of Ontario (AGCO) says its “too early to say” how many of the 25 designated brick-and-mortar cannabis retail stores will be in operation by the provincially mandated deadline of April 1.

But at least one winner of the province’s cannabis retail lottery says that his downtown Toronto shop will be open for business on schedule.

“We are hitting the deadlines that are supposed to be met, and everything will be installed and ready by April 1,” said Hunny Gawri, a former Mississauga real estate agent who will be opening The Hunny Pot Cannabis Co. in downtown Toronto.

Gawri has never owned, operated or worked in the retail space, but says that his previous experience as a realtor helped him prepare for how “rushed” the process was. “From the day I found out I won, I knew there was a big challenge ahead of me, but I’ve always been up for challenges in the business environment.”

‘They think we are gouging them’: Early lessons from the front lines of cannabis retail

Former dispensary operator sues Ontario over ‘arbitrary’ and ‘unlawful’ cannabis retail lottery

How Big Cannabis is pursuing a back door into Ontario’s retail pot regime

Ontario first announced the winners of the cannabis retail lottery on Jan. 11, which meant that those chosen had under three months to do everything from finding an actual store, to complying with the various ownership rules in order to obtain a Retail Store Authorization, to working with the Ontario Cannabis Store to obtain supply.

In an email to the Financial Post, the AGCO said that although they have dedicated teams working closely with each applicant, it is “certainly clear there will not be 25 stores open in Ontario right on April 1.”

Gawri is one of many sole proprietors, without prior experience in either the retail space or the cannabis space that won the cannabis lottery in January. The system of opening up legal cannabis retail to anyone has been heavily criticized by those already involved in some capacity in the cannabis industry, who argue that winners lacking the right experience will simply delay the process of getting legal stores up and running.

“I know people are saying things like how can he run a cannabis store without experience but let me tell you we’ve already put our whole team together — we have 48 or 50 employees including a general manager of the store all ready to go on April 1,” said Gawri.

Hunny Gawri plans to open the doors to his Toronto shop on April 1.

In the days following the lottery, a slew of industry players including licenced producers and existing cannabis retail chains — with the help of lawyers and consultants — descended upon lottery winners to negotiate deals compliant with AGCO ownership rules, in order to gain a piece of the lucrative cannabis retail pie in Canada’s biggest province.

Many of those deals were successful. Cannabis retail chain High Tide Inc. — whose major investor is licensed producer Aurora Cannabis Inc. — has struck deals with three lottery winners in the province, while Canopy Growth Corp. is lending its Tweed brand name to a lottery winner in London, Ont.

But Gawri claims that although he too was inundated with requests from various players in the cannabis industry, he remains the sole owner of The Hunny Pot Cannabis Co. and has no partnership deal with any cannabis company.

“I applied for the lottery not to sell my licence, but to be part of an industry. I’ve wanted to be part of the industry since cannabis legalization was on the horizon,” Gawri said.

To date, only 10 out of the 25 lottery winners have obtained a Retail Store Authorization licence, one of the final stages before being allowed to open their doors to the public. Once the RSA licence is issued, owners have to go through a Retail Pre-Opening Inspection, a process which involves an AGCO official inspecting everything from store signage to testing out the store’s point-of-sale tracking system.

On that front, Gawri says his dealings with the AGCO have been “smooth.”

“There’ve been no hiccups from that side, and the mindset to them has been that they’re dealing with a flagship store, because of our location,” Gawri said.

The Hunny Pot Shop will be located on Queen Street West, in the heart of Toronto’s entertainment district and right opposite The Friendly Stranger, one of the oldest cannabis accessory shops in the country.

Gawri calls his location a “win.”

“From an area perspective, this neighbourhood was on our list. Then we found this empty store looking for a tenant on Realtor.ca. Lots of work needed to be done to the space, but it’s really coming together and we can’t wait for people to see it,” Gawri said.

On whether there will actually be sufficient cannabis in his store come April 1, despite a supply shortage plaguing the country’s legal industry, Gawri remains confident. “The Ontario Cannabis Store knows that they are dealing with a tight timeline and they’ve been very responsive. There will be lots of product on April 1.”

The AGCO is expected to post an interactive map on their website soon, that will indicate the status of stores, including those approved to open on April 1.

• Email: vsubramaniam@nationalpost.com | Twitter: VanmalaS

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Obama’s 2009 Inauguration Part 2

Inauguration Day, Part Duex The Ball!!

In my first post, I mentioned a special ticket I had to pick up at Union Station. That ticket was for the Western States Inaugural Ball that Michael purchased as a gift for me. (Note: This is a good time to point out that Michael was incredibly helpful and encouraging of my solo trip to the inauguration. Large crowds (and even small crowds) are anathema to Mike, but he wholly understands my social needs and my political addictions. As he said, “one of us has to be there, and it has to be you. Go, have a great time and tell me all about it when you get home.”)

For the uninitiated, the Presidential Inauguration is celebrated at a number of Balls. Many states have societies which host the Balls. The Western States Ball hosts guests from California, Nevada, Washington, Oregon, Colorado, and more. This year, there were ten “official” Balls which President and Mrs. Obama were expected to visit, and about twice that many unofficial Balls. Tickets to all the events sold out in a day or two, and the black or grey market for tickets was robust. Resale tickets to the Illinois and Hawaii Balls were going for as much as $10,000 each 3 days before the event. The ticket to the Western States Ball was a whopper, though not $10k. Michael, thank you!

Act One: The Washington Convention Center After a day of amazing ups and downs; a day of long lines and massive crowds and emotional highs too extreme to be quantified, I finally slumped onto the sofa of my rented condo at 5:00 PM. But by then there were already long lines of high-heeled, black-tied guests queuing to attend one of the four (or more?) Balls being held in the Washington Convention Center and I couldn’t rest.

Since the Ball doors opened at 6:00 PM and the festivities started at 8:00, I figured I was safe taking my time to enjoy a very long hot shower and preparing for the Ball. After all, it was only ½ block from my condo…I could see the building from my window! I also gambled that a later arrival would avoid some of the queue.

Stepping outside at 7:00 in my gown and sandals, I was gloating to myself that I only had a half-block to walk in the now-even-colder weather. And it appeared that my gamble was paying off: the queue had indeed evaporated and I cruised right to the front door. But wait! Not so fast, sistah. Each of the Balls had its own security entrance to the Convention Center. It just so happens that the Western States Ball entry was on the opposite side of the Convention Center – as far from where I was standing as it could be and still be in the same building. So, a walk of 4 really big city blocks in 12* weather in high heels and a strappy gown finally got me to the correct entrance. (Yes of course I had a coat on, but no long underwear. Once again I found myself yearning for Ruth’s fur coat).

Act Two: The Ball The Western States Ball was held in a cavernous room in the basement of the convention center. There were many stations for drink ticket sales, bars, Presidential shwag, buffet tables, and a large stage on either side of the room. The room was draped in deep blue and large inaugural seals hung everywhere…For my Truckee-Tahoe friends, this was Cadillac Ball on steroids, right down to the photographer taking shots of couples against an “inaugural backdrop.” For a small fee, of course!

If you’ve watched any TV in the last 2 months, you’ve been inundated by offers to buy “official Obama commemorative fill-in-the-blank” goods. The running joke in our home is the Obama Plate…even as I write this, I am looking for just the right plate to bring home to Michael. Well, the Ball had several tables of shwag to buy, but of course, this was “official Presidential Inaugural” shwag, not that cheap stuff you can get on TV. (Which gets me to wondering: who sanctions this stuff officially? Is that a Cabinet post?) There were inaugural plates, but they didn’t say Obama or even have a picture of him, t-shirts, paperweights, and something that may have been a money clip. It did seem a bit…well, cheesy to me, but that was not going to take the shine off the evening.

I wandered from station to station (the food was mediocre – it could not have come from California), struck up a few conversations, and danced with a herd of little old ladies in the front of the dance floor. These LOLs in their gold lame’ could shake a major tail feather and we had a blast dancing to mostly Motown covers. A highlight? A cover of “I will survive” pointed directly at George W. Bush…that rocked the dance floor!

Act Three: The Guests Finally, you’re thinking, she’s going to tell us about the celebrities! Well ok, but it’s a bit of a let down. Someone near me said “Denzel” and I nearly fainted, but that turned out to be a rumor. I saw Tyra Banks (and let me tell you that girl is TALL with a capital T). Dancing to the opening band I sighted a few politicos I recognized but could not recall their names. Marc Anthony was the headline musician, and his wife Jennifer Lopez (J Lo) was in the crowd about 20 feet in front of me. Near the end of his concert, she joined him on stage for a duet. I got some fuzzy pictures but you have to look hard to see that the back of that woman’s head just could be J Lo. I heard the Governator was there or coming, but I never saw him or the crowd of security and acolytes you would expect to see surrounding him.

Oh, wait, you’re not looking for sub-lebrities. You want to hear about the real headliners, don’t you?!

Act Four: The President Lucy, a precious metal broker from SoCal, was on the dance floor next to me during the Marc Anthony concert. Her mom was watching the inaugural events on CNN and calling Lucy on her cell phone every time the President left one Ball for another. Apparently the Obamas had already been in the convention center that night for 2 other Balls, and had left to attend others. But the plan (it was posted on Obama’s web site) was that the Obamas would come back to the convention center where our Ball would be the 7th stop out of the 10 Balls they planned to visit.

Once again I found myself squished, this time on the dance floor. But armed with high heels I could take off and swing, and feeling confident I could easily take the 70-year old man to my left, I didn’t panic (although in truth my ribs still hurt from injuries sustained earlier in the day). I danced in place next to Lucy as long as I could to get her mom’s updates but eventually we were separated. As the hour drew late, I worried I may not make it until the Obama’s arrival. But just when I thought I would throw in the towel, things started popping. (I had just run off to the ladies room and missed the Bidens but tunneled my way back into the crowd) I asked the very tall man directly in front of me if he would take some pictures with my camera. He was unenthusiastic but agreed. Security came in, folks couldn’t come or go, and the Obamas arrived on stage! Yow!

I could not hear a thing for the roar of the people around me, but once again I found myself immersed in the electricity of the day. Everyone there had to be as physically exhausted as I was, yet we amped up as though we’d had an instantaneous, simultaneous injection of Red Bull and espresso. It was a sort of endorphin flashback, and I was once again overwhelmed with the enormity of the day. Everyone in that room was invested in this Presidency and you could feel it. Obama stayed with his theme that in order to succeed, we would all need to participate. I’m in! Sign me up!

As you probably saw on CNN, the President made some comments and interacted with the crowd. He and Michelle danced (and I later learned that “At Last” was the song at all of the Inaugural Balls for the Presidential dance). Michelle Obama was stunning. In person she’s even prettier than on TV and her dress was amazing. The electricity you see between them on TV is real, and what a delight to see first-hand what appears to be a happy, functional family in the White House.

(Unfortunately, the unenthusiastic man in front of me “forgot” to take pictures with my camera while the President was on stage. I did get my camera back after Obama left but devoid of any pictures of our new President and his wife. I couldn’t muster up any anger; maybe the man really did forget, maybe he was embarrassed by the idea…I don’t know. But being angry would not have gotten my pictures and would have been a buzz-kill.)

Once the President and Mrs. Obama left our Ball it was time for me to split. There were some logistical issues with this, too, as the Obamas were still somewhere in the center. As luck would have it, the only exit we were permitted to use spit me out closest to my condo, so it was just ½ block to bed. Sleep, however, was hours off.

Inaugural Day: Epilogue

Experiencing this event first hand was an extraordinary opportunity. I only regret that I don’t have the vocabulary to paint a better picture with my words; that I cannot adequately express my feelings from the day. Someone asked me today how I could consider that day one of the best of my life when I actually feared for my life at one point. Well, I guess I have two answers: one, I did live and there’s nothing better than living when you think you might not. Two, that I see that day as a best in spite of my scary experience and injuries may help illustrate the level of positive emotional intensity surrounding the inauguration of Barack Obama.

There were many frustrations the inauguration attendees experienced. Long lines, cold weather, being turned away, misdirection, lack of cooperation or communication among law enforcement…and there was more to come. Closed Metro stations, a clogged airport, missed flights and road closures that went on long after the event all could have been bruises on the day, and would have been scars that lingered on any other day.

But not on this day. And that above all should say something about the generous people around me and their spirit. The unifying force of positive energy reassured me that Americans can and will meet the current challenges and rise to meet our potential. It told me that after all, I can still have faith in humanity, faith in my country. This experience reinforced to me that we can live in a great nation as long as we participate. After all, it was the people that voted Barack Obama into office; the people that made the day special; and the people that helped one another when things got bad.

Now, if I can just find that plate…