#when it's easier to just let the response number speak for that statistic

[gamebunny-advance]

Baseless NSR Theory #82: Gigi & Mystery Man

Y'all should know better than to get me hyped up about my own theories, but let's run with this since I haven't done one in a while.

---------

After thinking about it some more, I feel pretty confident that Gigi is NOT Mystery Man (MM). The stained-glass portraits are a little abstract from the characters they represent, but the broad strokes are always there. No character is depicted with a completely different skin hue, and Gigi's face and features are a little round for the angular MM.

Granted, given the mysterious nature of MM, I can't completely rule out that his portrait is an outlier. Let's consider that the only (human) characters depicted with gray skin are also the nameless NPCs: the ones that are almost literally supposed to be a part of the background. If MM's nature is truly about secrecy and blending in, then having a giant accurate portrait of him in your main office would probably work against that.

Still, in other "official" pieces of art depicting MM, he's always shown with sharp, angular features that Gigi just doesn't have, so I'm going to go forward with the assumption that Gigi and MM are not the same person.

(Art by Ddaddystar, a concept artist for No Straight Roads, Source: 1 | 2 | 3)

However, they could still be related in someway. It's possible that MM has underlings that help him with whatever he does. Even though we never see them, we know that DJSS has at least one other person working under him related to his work as a rocket scientist, so it's very possible that all or most of the other Megastars also have staff directly under them for their non-music roles in NSR.

If MM's role in NSR is related to secrecy, perhaps spying, given his stereotypical spy outfit, it's possible that MM has set several spies around the city to aid in that work.

(duckduckGo image search of "cartoon spy")

And since this is a setting that works on "cartoon logic" where the spies might have a uniform, it's possible that MM's underlings have calling cards connecting them to him. Perhaps, something like a hat and glasses and a toothy smile.

Oh, would you look at that.

Of the evidence that Gigi is working for NSR under MM, there isn't a lot to directly connect him to them. However, he has a few of the same, "he knows more than he should" moments that also implicated Kliff as untrustworthy in the opening parts of the game, so I do believe that the player is supposed to have some doubts about him even if it's only to be a red herring.

For starters, he's one of the few NPCs that force-triggers an interaction to continue the story. The same thing happens when Zam stops you to join the revolution. This implies that in both instances, it's the NPC stopping you to talk instead of vice versa. Given how casually they all talk to each other, the implication at this point is that he was friends with B2J before the events of the game, but as will be revealed later, this isn't actually the case.

Mayday and Zuke later mention that neither of them are actually familiar with Gigi and just assumed he was a friend of the other. This never gets commented on further, but it does confirm that Gigi is just so naturally charming that he infiltrated their friend circle without either of them really noticing until much later.

Mayday isn't even certain about his name while Zuke doesn't know it at all, implying that he may have never directly told them, or didn't tell them unless asked. This would be natural behavior if he assumed that they already knew his name, but then is this a case of Gigi also thinking that Mayday and Zuke are supposed to know him, like they've met in the past and B2J just forgot him, or is he purposefully concealing his identity?

Let's also consider the meaning of his name. "Gigi" in Malay translates to "teeth/tooth," an obvious reference to how his teeth are always showing. While it's possible that this is his real name, it's more likely that it's a nickname or an alias. So the matter is if he told Mayday that that's his name, or if she and others just started calling him that when they realized they didn't know his real name. Something like people originally calling him, "That guy who's always showing his teeth." then morphed into just calling him "teeth." Either way, he's concealing his true identity, which would be necessary for a spy.

I do assume that most of the time the characters are actually speaking Malay, but is shown in English for the benefit of the player. When Mayday encounters DK West, she doesn't ask why he speaks a different language, she asks why he speaks with a different accent, possibly implying that all the characters are actually speaking Malay, DK West just has a different dialect.

Both times Gigi stops you, it's to talk about how he's seen what B2J have been up to (first their audition and later their battle with Sayu) and to offer them a drink. He seems really insistent on giving them those drinks he offered, since after he was turned down the first time since B2J were busy, the next time he prepared for another rejection by having the drinks with him and just inviting himself to the underground hideout, which is supposed to be secret.

Granted, (I lost the source, but I swear this is at least *80% true), the reason why Kliff found out about the hideout without being directly told is that Mayday apparently posted that info online, so it's not impossible that Gigi found out about it the same way. B2J didn't react to him knowing about it the same way they did Kliff, but it's possible that by this point they realized that their hideout just wasn't as secret as they originally thought.

*I can't remember if it was just that she posted her phone number online so that's why Kliff was able to text her, or if she posted all their info. Either way, she's unintentionally created a paper trail that could lead people to her.

However, after he enters the hideout, Gigi is effectively written out of the game as he has no other interactions with B2J besides seeing them off when they leave.

This seems odd as the other two guys who join the hideout but do nothing (Robot and Yiruk) still appear above ground to talk, whereas the two guys that actually do something (Zam and Kliff) only appear underground after they're recruited. If Gigi also wasn't doing anything important in the sewers, then you'd think he'd also stay above ground to talk like the former group.

Unless he is doing something.

It's possible that Gigi is collecting intel in the hideout. Since Kliff is apparently already monitoring how the fights are going, Gigi could theoretically just get the info he needs from Kliff instead of directly watching himself as he appeared to do earlier. That would also give Gigi the time to focus on other areas of interest. Perhaps something like leaking B2J's main source of outside communication: Zam FM.

When Tatiana calls into the radio show, she admits that she's been spying on them the entire time, though by what means aren't elaborated on. At the time, the implication seems to be that she was just listening to the show, which theoretically could be listened to by anyone who knows their signal and wouldn't necessarily need additional spying to achieve, but that doesn't exempt that she could have had other spying methods.

Let's consider that Tatiana didn't consider B2J a threat until after DJSS's defeat, but doesn't get actually angry about them until Sayu's defeat. Gigi's first attempt to get info from B2J was directly after DJSS, but he failed to stop them from meeting with Kliff who gave B2J the tools to defeat Sayu. After Sayu, he finally just forces his way in, possibly as a response to Tatiana's rising stress over the situation.

However, I must concede that if Gigi truly is a spy for NSR/MM, then why wouldn't he report about Kliff's involvement? Even if he didn't know the personal history between him and Tatiana, I think it would be pretty important to report that they have a significant ally that they should keep tabs on and then naturally Kliff's involvement would make it to Tatiana.

But also keep in mind that in this theoretical, Gigi is still reporting to MM first. So if MM disregarded anything he deemed irrelevant and then sent that revised report to Tatiana, then Kliff's involvement could have been lost even if Gigi made note of him. The message could have been diluted from, "Kliff is an ally of B2J." to, "An information specialist is an ally of B2J."

It's not like NSR was trying to destroy B2J from the inside. NSR's main goal was to have B2J defeated by a megastar to strengthen NSR's political support/make an example of B2J, as to maintain order. To do this, they needed to prove EDM's superiority over rock by its own power. Using any sort of foul play to defeat B2J would conflict with those ideals and likely lead to chaos irrupting in the city had they won or even significantly hindered them in this way.

For example, an easy way to discombobulate B2J could have been to shut down Zam FM, which they actually tried to do before he got in contact with them. However, after he was able to get set up, there wasn't much they could do without rousing suspicion. Gigi theoretically could have taken down the show while he was there, but if something had suddenly happened to cut off B2J's communication with their fans, then the fans might suspect NSR of foul play and start revolting on their own or at least spread the word that this happened, which could weaken NSR's support.

With that in mind, Gigi's orders might have been to report on B2J's activities and plans, but not to directly interfere, thus explaining why B2J didn't have many major set-backs and why NSR didn't have any meaningful advantages over them even if they had someone on the inside.

In conclusion, I think there's a strong case that Gigi is actually an NSR spy, and a weaker but still compelling case that he's also connected to Mystery Man, who might be the director of NSR's spies.

[digitalspack]

The Rapid Growth of Pet Industry in India

The pet industry has been experiencing a surge worldwide, and India is riding this wave of change. With urbanization and shifting family structures, services like Pet Boarding, Pet Sitting, Pet Grooming, and Pet Taxi are becoming essential for today’s pet owners. What once seemed a niche market is now central to modern lifestyles. Let’s explore why pets are gaining popularity, compare India’s growing pet culture with that of Western nations, and delve into why working parents are increasingly opting for pets over kids.

Emotional Rewards of Pet Companionship

Pets offer more than just cuddles—they bring emotional warmth, reduce anxiety, and even boost physical health. Studies show that interactions with pets can elevate oxytocin levels, strengthening the bond between humans and their furry friends. For couples and individuals navigating the high-speed lanes of city life, pets become reliable sources of comfort and connection, filling homes with companionship and a sense of responsibility.

India vs. the West: Pet Ownership Perspectives

In countries like the United States and Canada, owning a pet has long been considered part of the norm. According to the American Pet Products Association (APPA), over 70% of U.S. households own a pet, with the industry valued at $136 billion in 2022. Services like Pet Boarding, Pet Grooming, and Pet Sitting are widely accessible, and pet-friendly spaces are abundant.

The pet care market in India is expected to exceed ₹10,000 crores by 2025, driven by urban pet parents who are treating pets as family members.

 CNBC-TV18Cities like Bengaluru, Mumbai, and Delhi are witnessing a rise in pet-friendly cafes and grooming salons. Brands like PetMichi play a vital role in bridging the gap, offering services that make pet care easier, from booking grooming sessions to finding trustworthy Pet Sitters.

Why Working Parents are Opting for Pets Over Kids

An interesting trend has emerged: more working parents, especially in urban areas, are choosing pets over children. With lifestyle shifts, increased career focus, and rising costs, many find pets to be the perfect alternative—offering love and companionship without the heavier commitments. In the U.S., studies show that 1 in 10 parents prefer pets over kids due to fewer responsibilities and lower financial strains.

In India, while the trend is newer, it’s gaining traction. Many dual-income couples find that adopting a pet offers a sense of balance between companionship and freedom. Services like Pet Sitting and Pet Boarding—such as those offered by PetMichi—make it easier for pet owners to maintain their fast-paced urban lifestyles while ensuring their pets are well cared for.

Supporting Today’s Pet Parents

To cater to the evolving needs of modern pet owners, a wide range of pet services has emerged. Here’s a glance at some essential ones that make life easier for pet parents:

Pet Boarding: For frequent travelers, Pet Boarding facilities provide peace of mind by ensuring pets are safe and cared for when owners are away.

Pet Sitting: A more personal approach, Pet Sitting allows pets to stay in the comfort of their homes while being cared for by professionals like those available via PetMichi’s app, ensuring pets are fed, exercised, and loved.

Pet Grooming: With the rise in pet ownership, grooming salons have become increasingly popular, offering everything from basic baths to specialized treatments. Apps like PetMichi simplify the process, allowing pet owners to book grooming sessions easily.

Pet-friendly Cafes: The trend of pet-friendly restaurants is growing in Indian cities, where pet owners can now enjoy a meal without leaving their furry friends behind.

Pet Taxi: As pet ownership increases, so does the need for convenient transport solutions. Pet Taxi services ensure that pets can travel safely to their vet, grooming, or boarding appointments.

Statistics and Future Growth 🚀

The numbers speak volumes about the industry’s growth.

The global pet care market will hit $241 billion by 2026, with India contributing significantly.

 Euromonitor International

Around 20 million pets are estimated to reside in Indian homes today, a number that is continuously rising.

 Mars Petcare

The Indian pet industry, growing at 12% annually, is expected to see a 19% CAGR by 2025.

In Conclusion

The pet industry in India is expanding, driven by urbanization and changing lifestyle patterns. Services like Pet Boarding, Pet Grooming, and Pet-friendly cafes are making pet ownership easier, while platforms like PetMichi provide all-in-one solutions for modern pet parents. As more people opt for pets over traditional family structures, the Indian pet care market is on track to become a global leader, ensuring that pets are well-loved and cared for across the country.

[rjhpandapaws]

Strictly Professional Feelings

Ch 3: A Comprehensive Guide to (Not) Surviving Staff Meetings

It didn’t take Hank any more than a week to settle in to his new job. Desk jobs didn’t change much even if the technology had. His office was more comfortable now, he had decorated the room space with a couple of plants and he had pictures of Cole and Sumo on his desk. He had brought in a chair that was kind to his old injuries, and just like he had at the precinct he operated under an open-door policy. Working at AME was definitely an experience. Other than working for someone considerably younger than the average CEO, the whole place seemed to have a relaxed atmosphere. The business office at the very least didn’t seem to have a dress code. It almost reminded him of a college campus. The policy seemed to be that as long as the work got done how it was done didn’t really seem to matter. The bullpen was loosely divided into departments, but even then it wasn’t strict and Hank certainly couldn’t tell when one ended and another began. Every one seemed to work well together which made things easier. His department had a problem child of course, but that came with the territory. His went by the name of Gavin Reed. He was a good worker, but something always seemed to be going wrong when it came to him.

If he wasn’t accidentally breaking another computer, he was getting a visit from the CFO. Gavin dealt with most of the numbers for the business office so seeing Richard wasn’t too much a surprise, but Gavin always looked annoyed afterwards. Hank had offered to help, but Gavin made it clear he could handle it so he backed off. If he wanted to deal with it on his own that was fine. Things went smoothly after that. Hank kept to himself for the most part and helped when it was needed. He had an easy routine that of course involved avoiding Connor at all costs. A routine that was decidedly shattered about a month in. He was aware that there were monthly staff meetings; in the same sense that someone would be aware of a storm building on a distant horizon. It wasn’t an issue. yet. Not until Monday when he was staring down the email reminder for the meeting that Friday. Objectively speaking, it wasn’t that big of a deal; but he tended to lose brain function around Connor and he wasn’t exactly to make a fool of himself in front of his colleagues. So he settled into his desk and got to work with his fingers crossed that something would come up before Friday.

Nothing came up, Hank wasn’t that lucky. So Friday afternoon he made sure he had everything he needed before he headed up. The conference room was the same as any other he had seen.  There was a long wood table down the middle of the room with office chairs on either side, glass walls, a projector; all the usual fanfare. Much to his surprise he was the third person there, and Connor wasn’t among the small group. Josh and Silas were seated close to the door. Hank walked by them with a wave and took a seat a little farther from the door. He sat back and leaned his cane against the table where it would be out of the way. Richard came in about ten minutes later with a blonde Hank’s hadn’t met in toe. They took seats on the far side of the table closest to the projector on one side. Markus came in next and took the seat  on the other side of the projector. Connor was the last one to show up. He came in just before the meeting was set to start. He had a box in his arms that looked to be completely filled with papers. His first staff meeting, and it was shaping up to be a long one. Connor set the box on the table then rolled his shirt sleeves to his elbows and leaned on the table. Hank made a point of staring at the blank projector screen. This was definitely going to be a long meeting.

“Alright.” Connor said as he moved to close the door to the conference room, “Let’s get this started.” He settled back at the head of the table and tapped the box, “These are damage reports that were printed and left outside of my office out of spite.” Hank watched Silas wither a little and grew curious. This had obviously begun well before Hank got hired. Whatever it was couldn’t have been too serious because Richard and Markus were both sharing a look of mild amusement. “I just wanted you to have an idea of how many things my department has had to repair.” Silas replied, in a tone that wasn’t quite casual, “It’s close to the end of the fiscal year and I don’t want to be put on the hook for expenses that aren’t mine. Again.” “They are your responsibility though.” Connor raised a hand when Silas tried to cut in, “I’m aware that most of these aren’t your fault. Between questionable downloading practices and coffee related... mishaps; but your department is in charge of fixing them. I’ve talked to Gavin already, so next year should be easier on you.” He picked up the box and walked to set it on the table beside Silas, “Save a forest next time and send an email.

“There goes the R and D budget.” Silas muttered dryly. “With that done, let’s get on to department reports. Who wants to got first?” It was officially time for the boring stuff to begin. Hank did his best to pay attention after he gave his own report, but he could only listen to figures and statistics for so long before boredom set in. He wasn’t the only one that wasn’t giving this his whole attention. Everyone else also looked like they were only half listening to Richard. Hank would give it to him though, he was definitely thorough. Before the meeting ended Richard spoke up again, “I’ve been running numbers; we could set up a yearly repair budget for each department.” he explained, “IT will cover up to a certain amount each year, not including department wide replacements, and after that it’s up to the department the computer came from.” It was an attempt at keeping the peace. Every conversation Hank had been paying attention to would come back to this eventually. Silas looked to actively consider it. Which was the most ground covered on this the entire course of the meeting. “Sure.” He agreed, “How soon can you have it confidently laid out.”

Richard looked down to the small stack of papers Hank had originally believed to be notes, “The end of next year, assuming things go well.” Silas gave a slow nod, “Does that sound alright to you Connor?” “As long as I don’t wind up with another box full of paper right outside my office door you two can resolve this however you like.” He replied, “Just send it to me once it’s done so I can implement it properly.” With that the meeting finally seemed to be finished and they began to pack up. Hank took his time because he was still trying to process the odd mix of sibling rivalry and business jargon he had spent the last two and a half hours listening to. When he finished he noticed that Connor seemed to be waiting for him. “Do you have a minute to talk Hank?” He asked, “I just want to check in.” “Uh, yeah.” He replied as he made his way to the door, “I’ve adjusted alright. This place is a lot more calm than my old precinct.” Connor laughed, “I would hope so. So nothing is giving you any trouble then?” He walked with Hank toward the elevators, “The first month can be a bit rough.”

Hank shook his head, “Other than Gavin’s shit luck with computers everything has been fine.” “Oh, good then. I’m glad you’re doing well.” He replied as Hank hit the call button, “Hopefully the computer issue will be resolved with this.” “Hopefully.” He agreed. Connor nodded and stepped away as the elevator doors opened, “Alright, see you at the next meeting then.”  “Yeah.” Hank said after a moment, “See you then I guess.” He stepped into the waiting elevator and let out a breath once the doors had closed. Hank honestly thought he would have out grown his awkward phase by now. The last time he’d had it this bad was with Ezra, and Cole was the only good thing to come out of that. Apparently he wasn’t too old to make the same mistake twice. At the very least he had another four weeks to figure out how he was going to survive the next staff meeting.

[glitterpeachdelusion]

Lets Talk About Crack Pipes!!! (and maybe get a little philisophical about shit)

So, The DHHS was probably gonna give people crack pipes before Republicans got all morally outraged about it. Let's be honest here. They already have the full kits available in Oregon, and even a conservative state like North Carolina offers a kit that includes condoms, brillo pads, rubber bands and wipes. They don't offer the pipe itself, but they tell you what kind to use.

By the way, ever wonder why you go into a shitty gas station and they're always selling little fake roses in glass tubes? Because they're actually crack pipes! :) with a free rose!!

They do this to lower the risk of disease transmissions. Open sores on the mouth(crackhead lips), combined with the sharing of drug equipment and people inevitably Fucking while High leads to hepatitis, aids and all kinds of crazy shit. Beyond that, in the world of fetanyl and overclocked super drugs its far easier to not OD if you're smoking it instead of injecting it.

Seriously, no one actually said this was specifically for crack. Its way more likely the government is trying to encourage people to smoke their HEROIN instead of inject it.

Now why would they do that?

Because fetanyl will fucking kill you, thats why.

In a world of Bacardi 151, weed so potent that it can drop an elephant, crack cocaine and heroin. Fetanyl is just the next chapter in Drugs that Man Probably Shouldn't Have Invented.

In fact, we're reaching an absolute peak here when it comes to over all substance use.

One in 5 people use -illegal- drugs. If you include legal drugs(alcohol and tobacco) that number skyrockets to 60%

If you don't think that's a problem and people should be allowed to do whatever, whenever(which is cool, live and let live). What would you say when I told you that no one knows how to make you stop?

No, seriously. Once someone meets the criteria for addiction, it is almost impossible to make them stop.

I'm not just speaking on this from a statistical stand point, I have experienced this personally. I have friends and family members who have been in and out of rehab facilities and jail for this shit. Rehab for the drugs, jail for the crimes they committed to get the drugs. They will not and cannot stop. They'll lie to you, they'll steal from you, they will hurt you if they have to. The only thing they are loyal to is getting fucked up. If you've been around junkies, its very hard to maintain sympathy and see them as a victim. No one told you to steal your grandma's wedding ring and pawn it for blues. No one told you to break into all the cars in the walmart parking lot and sell their radios for an 8 ball. No one told you to get high on meth and choke your girlfriend until her eyeballs had ruptured vessels. No one told you to smoke crack and molest your kids.

There's a reason so many women voted to ban alcohol immediately after they got the right to vote. Because their alcoholic husbands were beating them, starving them, and hurting their children. There are two sides to every coin.

I guess that's just a wider debate between where societal responsibility ends and personal responsibility begins. Regardless, i can be mad at lots of things at once. Multi-tasking rage.

So the government flooded our cities with crack in the 80s(then arrested you for it), they allowed companies to develop incredibly potent and addictive opiates and pass them out like candy for a massive profit(then arrested you for it), they are currently allowing companies to develop franken-weed that's absolutely nothing like the shit people were growing on the DL 30 or 40 years ago(that they also arrested you for!!!)

We are like 60% of the way to Brave New World right now. Aldous Huxley was a prophet. We are over sexualized, over medicated and over fed.

And the absolute icing on the cake?

Biden looked at all the data, took a deep breath and decided that 30 million dollars to "harm reduction" was adequate.

What a goddamn joke.

[sweetalnazar]

I saw your tags about people not reading fics bc its not smut but I just want to assure you you're underestimating the ammount of people who dont actually want smut in this fandom

Aaksjdhakjdas i didn't expect someone to read my vent post much less reply, so thanks for the reassurance, anon, it's very kind of you 💖

Don't worry, I don't think no one at all would read, it's more of the reception I'd receive I guess?

Statistically speaking, lemons (to use old fanfic speak) tend to perform much better than most fics. I wouldn't be surprised if reader fics were the same (fun fact: my most popular fic is both smutty and a reader fic lol). Those types of fic are just easier for a larger audience to get into imo, and as a result, will have a higher chance of getting more kudos/comments

It’s not a bad thing, but, well I have a lot of self esteem issues, particularly in regards to Validation™ (thank u childhood trauma). I compare myself against ppl automatically and if I don't 'perform as well‘, if there's an absence of sufficient Validation (in this case, a certain number of comments/kudos/etc), it feels like a rejection. I tend to take those quite hard and I almost always end up just quitting a project partway through when that happens

Good news is I'm getting a Lot better at managing my feelings and responses and being more mindful of my mental health in general, and preventing stuff like this from happening. 😁😁

That's why I'm doing my best to finish this entire fic so I can post the whole thing and not leave readers hanging (also bc i would rly rly like to finish a WIP one of these days 😂😂)

But I really appreciate the ask, and well, for the curious, here's the current summary I've come up for the fic:

“Let’s make a promise. From now on, let’s see each other again every year, no matter what. Even if it’s only once.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

This is a story of a love that was an almost, a nearly-meant-to-be.

This is a story of a quiet love that went unspoken, that could have been but never was.

This is the story of you and me.

Also another snippet from my (super duper extremely super) rough draft

Once, there was a little 5-year old, in his warm home with his parents. His mom had taken out her qanun, her most treasured possession, while his dad carried him, riq in the young child’s hand.

“Ready, habibi?”

The child bobbed his head excitedly.

“Just like I showed you,” his dad whispered, squeezing the child close.

Aisha began to play, and the small child joined in, his tiny hand slamming the riq as hard as he could while his dad laughed and sang snippets of Zadithi along with the melody.

The room grew brighter, pink light washing over the room, crystallizing the memory.

And then, Asra awoke.

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 9 

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

Warnings: Just some self doubt. 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner 

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

If you were honest, you didn't sleep much that night. Too much was on your mind. Namely a specific Doctor. 

You stared up at the terrible, obnoxious, and stupidly carpeted ceiling. It was a silly pattern you'd expect to be in a cheap motel that most likely had bed-bugs. Not one that was considered 'decent'. 

You had tossed and you had turned over and over for the past hour. The way Spencer had completely ignored you after the interrogation irked you. You kept getting mixed signals from him. Was he just jealous? Did he just not want to see his friend sexualize herself? Or was it just embarrassment that you were his coworker? No matter how much logic you applied to the situation, the latter seemed to be the truth. And that hurt you to no end.  

Were you really so much in the wrong for Spencer to think badly of you? You'd think he'd be one to understand that people make mistakes. Or that you have to do some things to get to the end goal. And that not all of those things are pretty or something a 'lady' should do. 

But then the other portion of your cerebrum began to ponder whether or not you were just overthinking this. That you had only known each other for two months. Over that even. And you remembered every waking moment. 

After staring into the void that was the ugly ceiling, you sat up with a huff. This was ridiculous. You weren't going to be able to sleep whatsoever if you didn't resolve this. At the very least put the self-doubting part of your mind at ease. 

You stood up from the terribly hard mattress and grabbed your phone. You adjusted your shirt and the way your pajama pants looked before you exited your room on a mission. 

You brought up the memory of Emily giving you your room number and overhearing Spencers. Room 206. 

You locked the motel door behind you and headed towards the door in question. Thankfully his room wasn't too far away from yours. 

You finally reached the door and without fully thinking about the time and whether or not knocking on someone's door at fucking 3 in the morning was going to piss them off, you knocked three times. 

And then that's when the doubt set in. Immediately you began debating on what was the safest escape route. The side of the building was closer to Spencer’s room than your room was. Maybe you could just ditch the doorbell and hide behind a bush like a child. 

But of course, as soon as you had made up your mind, the knob miraculously turned. And a few moments of nervous panting later, he opened the door, giving you a curious, but genuine smile. 

"Hey, (L/N). You need something?" He asks. You narrow your eyes at him. He was asking something so off the obvious elephant of a topic that you knew he was avoiding it. 

"Yeah, I'd think coming to your door at 3:02 am means I need something, Spencer." You tease. He chuckled back and smiled a little easier. 

"I'm listening." He promises, his gaze focused seemingly on your eyes. 

"Heh. Well… first off, why are you even up? And don't give me the excuse that I woke you up. Because you are a dead heavy sleeper." 

"Guess you caught me." He says. His body language was completely different than what his eyes and words were telling you. He was looking at you warmly and greeting you kindly like a friend. But his body language was more hesitant, almost like he was trying to keep himself from doing something. 

"Guess I did." You trailed as you pondered over your newfound observations of the tired Doctor. "So? Why are you up?" 

"I...can't sleep." He admits with a heavy sigh. 

"Really? Well, I guess we're both insomniacs." 

Spencer lets out a gentle laugh and looks down towards the floor. "I suppose we are."

You laugh gently with him for a few more moments, before you both fall back into silence. You look away from him after a build-up of embarrassment just as he turns to look you in the eye. You were both so damn awkward. 

After a couple of seconds, you didn't know where it came from but a strong surge of confidence pushed through your veins. 

"Look… Spencer…" you begin, looking up at him. His ears seem to perk up at your starting tone, finally looking you in the eyes. As you stare into his hazel eyes, you feel the nervousness of talking to him melt just a little. You could do this. 

You take a deep breath and continue. "I don't know what I did, exactly to warrant you ignoring me yesterday. I get that seeing someone you're close to doing something like what I did, probably was as embarrassing as it was for me to do it knowing you all were watching." The blush on your cheeks brightened and you could feel how warm they were. 

Spencer turned his head slightly to the side, his eyes narrowing as he began to try and understand what you were saying. Before he could say anything in response, you continue your statement. 

"But I don't want our job to drive us apart. Cause… I kind of like this dynamic we have. I like being your friend and I like talking statistics and facts. Especially when we both know that the rest of the team won't understand. It's the best way to mess with them." You begin to laugh as you continue, your eyes never leaving his. 

"I-I do too…" he admits, smiling down at you. He wanted to say so much. So much was on his mind that he wanted to tell you, but he knew you had to say your peace first. Otherwise he'd be talking over you.

"I don't want to lose this. So… let me make it up to you. Let me bring you over to my place this time. I'll let my roommates know not to bother us and I'll show you Voltron or something." You suggest, sighing through the last few words. "Please. Don't push me away. You're the one person I've met in the last five years I haven't wanted to push away so they didn't get too close." 

You immediately realize what you said, causing your rapid inhale to stutter. You desperately hoped he wouldn't take it the wrong way. Even with as much as you wanted to tell him here and now how you truly felt, you knew you couldn't until you dealt with your mother. She had ways of torturing you and the people around you that you didn't want to be used on your newfound family. So for now… you had to keep it on the down low. 

Spencer's gaze got as soft as it could get and he smiled his brightest. "People with abandonment issues, whether being abandoned or doing it themselves tend to have a harder time choosing and keeping friends. So… I'm glad to have made that cut, for you." He expressed. "And… I would gladly have a vol...tron marathon with you. With or without your other friends." He assured you. 

And in that instant you felt as if the entire world was lifted off your shoulders. You had been so nervous that he was going to reject your attempt at making up. Guess that was what you got for assuming of people. 

You smiled and pressed a hand to your chest. "Thank you…" 

Spencer nodded slightly, his smile still present on his lips. After a few moments he widened his eyes and looked around. "Do-" he started, watching as your bare shoulders shivered a bit. "Do you wanna come in? I made coffee." He asks, an extra chipper tone in his voice as he began to prioritize your health. 

You chuckled. "Sure, Spence. I'll come in and have some coffee. As long as you don't start going crazy and bouncing off the walls when you're slap-happy." You couldn't help but tease, nudging his shoulder as he let you in. He grabbed a nearby blanket and wrapped it around you as you did, chuckling to himself as you teased. 

"I never got the idea of 'slap-happy'. The dictionary definition is 'casual or flippant in a cheerful, almost inappropriate way' but in recent years it's been used to describe a lethargic person unwilling to sleep." He asks, pushing the door behind the two of you closed. 

"I dunno where I even got it. I just kept hearing it used like that in my childhood. Guess it stuck." You pondered, taking a seat on the motel sofa. "So, where is this coffee you speak of?" You ask, putting on your most childish smile. Spencer’s gaze never left you, bringing him to a bright smile as he watched you. 

"Heh, I'll go get you a cup. Sugar?" He asks. 

"Three whopping spoonfuls, Spence. No more, definitely no less." You insist in a fake posh voice you definitely didn't make up just now. 

Spencer couldn't help the loud laugh that echoed out his mouth as he went over to the kitchen counter with the coffee maker. "Sure thing my lady." He played along with a chuckle, taking out the coffee pot and a cup to pour it into. 

He couldn't ignore you in hopes these feelings would go away. They weren't going to. He couldn't even get through 6 hours, 37 minutes and 43 seconds without talking to you. Or at least being near you. He couldn't sleep without knowing you were okay. Without seeing you before he went to bed. There was no use in ignoring these feelings. They were there, no matter how much he wished they weren't, for your sake. 

He was glad you took it as him being uncomfortable with what you had to do to get information from the unsub. Sure, it had caused a fire-like jealousy that burned in his chest. But that wasn't why he left. He left because a part of him imagined it was him getting to flirt with you. Getting to see under your skirt if he leaned back in his chair enough. It was perverted, and you didn't deserve that. 

He let out a gentle sigh and added the creamer and the three spoonfuls of sugar to your cup, letting his worries wash away. He had feelings. And sometimes those feelings lead him to the bathroom in hopes he wouldn't give it all away to you when you returned from interrogation. 

"One extra sugar-y coffee for her highness." He says, chuckling as he gave you your cup. You giggle from his own fake-posh voice, taking the cup as he hands it to you. 

"Thank you, Spencer." 

Spencer’s heart could have stopped right in this moment and he wouldn't be happier to see you smile as happily as you were. You trusted him. You wanted to be friends with him. If that's what he could have for now, it's what he would take. 

○●♡●○ 

You were groggy that next day when you got onto the plane and got home. The time you spent filling out the report for the case was mostly full of you and Spencer sending each other psychology memes through email when no one was watching, and waiting for the other's reaction. One you ended up sending him made him laugh so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. So despite feeling groggy, you felt victorious.  

"So… you wanna tell us what happened between you and boy-wonder?" Morgan asked, leaning against the counter in the lounge area of the bullpen as he drank his second coffee of the day. 

"Nothing! We just… talked. And now we're good." You answered vaguely, knowing the hell that would break loose if Morgan or Garcia even knew what you felt last night. Even if it was most definitely platonic, (at least that's what you keep telling yourself.) You couldn't deny how many times you actually thought about kissing him. 

"Nuh-uh, mama. You ain't gonna get away with just a touch and go." He teases. You rolled your eyes playfully, a smile pulling harder onto your face. Morgan grinned. 

"Kid, that face alone tells me something happened. Spill. Or I'll go talk to pretty boy and get my answers from him." He playfully observes and threatens. 

You widen your eyes and gently push against Morgan’s shoulder. "Hush. Nothing happened. We just had a chat at like 3 am over the coffee he made. And I fell asleep on the couch in his motel room, alright?" You giggle as you remember the night. Miraculously, you didn't fall asleep on his shoulder and trap him. You were glad for that. 

"Uhh uh… and I'm a superstar wrestler." Derek teased, taking another sip. 

"Who's a wrestler?" Emily asked, walking into the lounge with an empty coffee cup. 

"Apparently Derek is because he keeps insisting that something happened last night when nothing did. Spencer and I just had a chat. Nothing more, alright?" You insist, hoping Emily would be more on your side. 

"Alright, whatever you say kid." Morgan gave up, drinking the last bit of his coffee before washing it. "Have a good night, (Y/N). See you tomorrow." He bids you farewell. You roll your eyes again and wave him goodbye. 

Soon after Morgan left the doorway, Spencer replaced him, obviously looking for you. Emily looked at you once she realized who you were looking at. She smirked and nudged your shoulder.

"What?" You ask, seeing Spencer coming towards you. 

"You got it bad." She comments, immediately sending your cheeks into a bright red fury. 

"Who's got it bad? Is it allergies?" Spencer asks, making you sigh with relief that he was so innocent in those departments. 

"U-uh…" you start, seeing Emily watch your misery with a smirk on her face. You make a mental note to get back at her for this later. "Yeah, talking about u-uh… allergies. I get them bad." You finally answer, feeling stupid for taking the low-hanging fruit. 

Spencer, thankfully, didn't say anything and instead shrugged. "Well, I hear the over the counter medication Aleeve can help with that." He offers, clutching at the strap of his bag. You smile at how cute he was in his cardigan and tie. Always formal. 

"Yeah, I need to try it. A-anyway… you ready to go?" You ask him, walking away from Emily. You already knew she was giving you a teasing look from behind you. It was best Spencer didn't.  

"Y-yeah, I uh… was coming to get you actually." He says, looking into your eyes with the widest and most adorable fucking smile you'd ever seen. You felt a bit of yourself melt and flashed him a smile in return. 

"Really? Okay then, let's get going to my car. Unless you don't want me to drive to my own place." You tease, reminding him of how insistent he had been when he had offered to take you home. He chuckled, obviously remembering the memory. 

"I think it would be better if you drove. I haven't visited just yet." He answers, beginning to walk with you out of the lounge and out of the bullpen. 

"Good, so at least this time I don't have to worry about rain in my car cause I always keep a small part of my driver side window open for air. " you tease again, walking beside him to the elevator. 

"That… is a terrible idea. There are more opportunities open to people to steal your car than for your car to stay cool from an open window." Spencer expressed, giving you a look of disbelief. 

"Hey, it's a habit." You say, pressing the down button on the elevator. 

After a few minutes, you begin to feel a nervousness build up in your belly. The last time you left together, your mother had greeted you with her fake face and fake cleavage. You couldn't help but feel a little deja vu. 

Spencer looked over to you, having found something else to say. He noticed the gentle indent in your cheek, making him slightly smile at how cute it was. He reached out his hand and rested it on your back once he made sure you knew what he was doing. 

"I doubt she'll be here, (Y/N). The probability of her being here after two months, 1 week and 3 days is very unlikely. If she does, the office has been notified to arrest her on sight." Spencer assured, rubbing your back gently. You sighed again, a smile forming on your face again. You felt strangely assured as you felt the warmth of his hand against your back. It was even better knowing he didn't do this for everyone. This was going to be okay. You were going to be okay. Even if your mother decided to be a bitch and try and come back for you. 

"Thanks Spence." 

Spencer nodded as the elevator doors opened, prompting the two of you to begin your walk to your car. 

"So… tell me about this 'Voltron'..." Spencer prompted as you both entered the parking lot. You giggle and wrap your arms around your sides. 

"Man, you are so behind on the times." You commented, unlocking your car and climbing into the driver's seat. 

Spencer joined you in the car, promptly bumping his head against the ceiling of the car. You gasp softly and fight off the urge to laugh. 

"What are you, a gnome?" He groans, rubbing his head. You finally laugh, leaning over your steering wheel. 

"Try lowering the seat. It's one of the notches on the side." You tease in a mixture of laughter and giggles. 

Spencer smiled at your reaction, putting the seat down and putting his seatbelt on. You pushed through the rest of your giggles and started the car. 

"Oh… uh, just as a fair warning, my roommates they… can be a little much." You turned towards him and warned. He shrugged. 

"I'm sure they aren't that bad, (Y/N). I mean, we hang out with Morgan and Garcia all the time. How much more weird can they be?" He asks. "Considering the probability, not very likely." 

You shook your head and laughed. "Alright, let's see if your theory is correct, Doctor." 

[spencers-dria]

Do You Trust Me?

Someone To Stay Ch. 6

Spencer x fem reader

Y/N POV:

*whack*

You smack your alarm as it goes off for the third time this morning. You look at the clock: 7:15AM. Was it later than you get to sleep in for work? Sure. Did you want to get up this early on your day off? Nope. Between JJ being the planner and Penelope's excitement for the weekend, they had convinced the the group that it would be best to get an early start. It was a several hour drive the to the lake, and they wanted to make the most of our time there.

You roll out of bed and look in the mirror. Sweats and a spaghetti strap tank...this will have to do. You leave your hair in the messy bun that you slept in. Half asleep, you fumble around for some socks and slip on some sandals. A horrific choice you know, but we're going for comfort here, not fashion. It'll be fine. You're not trying to impress anyone, and you'll fix yourself up once you get to the lake. You fully intend to nap part of the way there. You don't even bother to grab breakfast. Instead, you grab your bags you packed the night before and head downstairs. Spencer is probably waiting on you already.

You see him pulling the car up, right on time, as you make your way down the stairs. You slide into the passenger side, setting your bag down in the back seat. Reaching into a road trip bag in your lap, you pull out a blanket and pillow and curl up in your seat.

"Good morning sleepyhead" he chuckles. "Not a morning person, huh?"

You grin. "What gave it away?"

He hands you a paper bag and a coffee cup.

"Don't worry, it's green tea and honey" he reassures you, sensing your hesitation.

"I also got you a bagel."

"I don't know who's been giving you trade secrets but food is really the number one way to win me over." You glance over to see a slight smirk on his face. "How are you so awake? You had time to get ready, grab food, drive to my apartment, and you still seem more awake than I do."

"I'm kind of used to not getting much sleep." He shrugs this off as if it's nothing. You sense he doesn't intend on explaining any further, so you decide not to push him.

"I brought some snacks too. You're welcome to anything you'd like." You pull out a some goldfish, fruit gummies, and Capri suns.

He responds with a laugh.

"Ok you have the appetite of a ten year old."

You feel embarrassed for a moment until you see the smile he's giving you.

"It's cute though."

You find yourself blushing, not used to compliments. "Yeah I guess sometimes I just like to let loose, let my inner child out. Not everything has to be so serious all the time, ya know? What we do, both of us...it's stressful stuff. Sometimes eating whatever the heck I feel like helps with that. If that means chocolate milk and cocoa crispies cereal for dinner then so be it!"

Spencer gives you another smile before holding his hand out. "Alright, you won me over. I'll take a Capri sun."

You can't help but laugh as you watch him try to insert the straw with one hand and drive with the other. After awhile you decide to help him out.

"Here, let me see that." You fix the straw and hand him back the drink. "Goober" you laugh as you rolls your eyes at him.

"So what all are you planning on doing at the lake this weekend?" He asks.

"The question is...what am I NOT going to do?"

"Ugh." He rolls his eyes and laughs. "No fair. You're athletic, coordinated. You can actually do all the fun stuff."

You turn to face him with an incredulous look on your face, jaw dropped. "You're kidding me right? Me? Athletic? That's funny!" You laugh shaking your head. "Nahh I'd say we're on a level playing field. I'm not coordinated at all! I just like go have fun, try adventurous things. Like kayaking, I'm just mediocre but I still love doing it. The only sport I ever did was swimming."

"Ha! You were a swimmer, we're going to a lake, and you think we're on a level playing field?"

"Ok fair enough" you concede. "Will you at least try something new this weekend? Please?" You bat your big brown eyes at him, a technique that rarely failed you.

He feigns a look of annoyance, before a smile finally starts teasing at the corner of his lips. "Alright, alright." He throws his hands up in surrender. "But only if you help me with whatever it is we do. A swimmer and a nurse, you're practically our lifeguard for the weekend. Don't let me drown, ok?" He teases.

"Well since you asked so nicely." You give him a playful punch in the arm as you both laugh.

After a brief moment of silence you hear Spencer speak up. "Did you know that Michael Phelps is the most decorated Olympian of all time, winning 28 medals in total, 23 of those being gold medals? He swam in his first Olympic Games at only 15 years old, and won his first gold medal at 19. And you...already knew this didn't you?" He stops when he sees your eyebrows raised, giving him a slight smirk.

"Yeah Spencer" you smile, shaking your head at him. "I don't mind though. I like hearing all the cool stuff you know."

You spend awhile listening to Spencer talk about everything from Olympic swimming facts to CPR statistics and the origin of the different swimming strokes. A lot of it you don't know already, and you enjoy learning all of this stuff from him. After awhile, you unintentionally drift off to sleep.

He looks over and smiles, he doesn't mind. This happens to him quite often, and the fact that you encouraged him to share his knowledge gives him comfort. He reaches over and pulls the blanket over your shoulders. Hoping to drown out the sound of the highway, he puts on some classical music at a low volume.

You wake up a couple hours later as you hear the loud sound of gravel under the tires.

"Morning sunshine" he grins at you.

"Oh I'm sorry! I wasn't going to make you drive the whole way."

"It's ok, you got your rest. Better you be rested up and have fun today than stay awake just to drive."

"Thanks Spencer." You smile to yourself. He really was very sweet. Good friends are hard to come by, especially ones you can trust that will stick around. You secretly hope that Spencer doesn't plan on dropping you as a friend anytime soon.

You climb out of the car and take a look around. You've arrived at a modest log cabin, sitting right on the edge of the lake. It's surrounded by y'all trees, so thick that you can't see any buildings anywhere else, if there are any. You stand there for a moment taking it all. You lean your head back and close your eyes, enjoying the sounds and smells of nature. It felt like home. You grab your bag out of the backseat and make your way along a dirt path toward the cabin. You stick yourself hand out by your side, brushing the leaves on the trees as you walk by.

"You really are in your element here, huh?" you hear Spencer call out from behind you.

"Oh you have no idea. Just wait till I get in the water" you shout back over your shoulder.

The two of you make your way into what appears to be the common living room. The cabin appears to be completely wooden everywhere, floors, ceilings, walls, beams. There's rustic decor and lots of plaid, but it's done tastefully. It feels so cozy, and you love it.

"Y/N! You made it! We're in here!" You see Penelope's head pop out of a doorway. You enter a room to find two sets of bunk beds. Penelope and Alex have taken bottom bunks. JJ has her stuff placed on the top bunk above Alex. You set your suitcase in an empty corner and throw your pillow on the bed above Penelope. You feel her sneak up and pull you into a tight hug. "Hey bunk buddy! This weekend is going to be so fun!"

"I'm surprised Penny, the outdoors don't seem like your type of weekend."

"Oh don't worry honey! I brought a float with coasters and a tray for the lake! I'll be sipping on wine and tanning all weekend."

"Just make sure to wear sunscreen okay." You give her a nudge and a smile.

"Okay Nurse Y/L/N." She rolls her eyes and laughs.

"Don't worry! I brought enough sunscreen for everyone."

"Haha, of course you did Aunt JJ."

You look over to see her unpacking her suitcase and organizing her things in the drawers and closets. You decide to do the same, that way it will be easier to find all your things later. After you've all finished unpacking, Alex says she's going to take a quick nap. After getting ready in your swim wear and coverups, you, Penelope, and JJ wander over to the guys room to see what they're up to.

You peek in to see Spencer reading on the bunk above Hotch, who appears to be on a FaceTime call with his son, Jack. Rossi isn't in the room. He's probably already started organizing things in the kitchen. Derek looks like he's ready for the lake, already in swim trunks and rubbing on sun tan lotion.

"You need any help with that, hot rod?" Penelope jests.

"You know it mama."

At this response, Penelope runs quickly across to room and helps Derek to finish rubbing in the suntan lotion on his back. She looks to be enjoying it a little too much.

You and JJ stay leaning in the doorway, laughing.

You finally speak up. "I don't know about y'all, but I've been stuck in a car all day! So if you need me, I'll be out at the lake!"

"I'm right behind, ya." JJ turns to follow you.

At this, Spencer finally pops up from behind his book. "Oh umm, we're going outside now? What are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet Spencer, come with us and we'll figure it out."

You wait on him while he changes into some swim trunks and a t shirt. He stands in the doorway a bit awkwardly, hesitant to leave the cabin.

"Come on!" You grab his hand pulling him out onto the porch and down toward the lake, following behind JJ, Penelope, and Derek.

When you get to the waters edge, you see the group has already spotted a rope swing. Derek appears to be climbing into a position to jump from. JJ stops him, to test the integrity of the rope first.

Penelope watches as Derek effortlessly climbs up the rocks. "My monkey man" she smirks.

Once JJ seems satisfied that the rope won't break, Derek swings out over the water, doing a back flip before making a splash in the water that sprays everyone watching from the shore. A chorus of groans rings out, half from annoyance at the show off, half from not wanting to get splashed.

You remove your shoes and your coverup as you prepare to get in the water. You can tell Spencer is making a conscious effort to avert his gaze. You blush, suddenly remembering the girls' previous comments about how good you looked in the slick back two piece.

You quickly make your way up the rocks and grab onto the rope as it swings back towards you. Spencer gives you a concerned look.

"Are you sure you want to do that? You could get hurt!" He shouts up at you.

Instead of answering you give him a quick smirk. You back up and get a running start for momentum, holding onto the rope as you swing out over the water. You let the momentum push you out as far as it will take you, as you angle your arms and body to dive deep into the water, just like you used to off the starting block in swimming. As you feel your body dive down into the water, you angle back up and do a quick, few dolphin kicks, propelling yourself much further from the shore. When you finally surface, you're about 20 or so meters from the shore. You see the group staring at where you dove into the water, confused and concerned.

"Over here guys!" You shout at the group to get their attention. They look up to see you much further away than they expected.

"Hey, you weren't kidding!" Spencer laughed.

"We might have to have ourselves a little competition little miss mermaid!" You laugh at Derek's new nickname for you.

You do a few strokes to bring you back to shore as you climb out of the water. You slick your hair back out of your eyes as you wring your hair out.

"Alright Spencer! Your turn!"

You giggle as you grab his hand and drag him towards the rocks.

"Umm yeah this is definitely not a good idea. You clearly know what you're doing, but I will definitely hurt myself. Did you know that drownings are the third leading cause of unintentional deaths?"

"Stop being such a party pooper! Loosen up a bit. Now climb." You cross your arms giving him a look that lets him know you mean business.

"If you fall, your knight in shining armor, Y/N will catch you!" Derek shouts from his spot where he's swimming in the lake. JJ and Penelope are watching from a float shaped like a giant unicorn. Typical Penny.

"Shut up, Derek!" Spencer shouts back at him.

You can tell that he's actually nervous, and not just unwilling to participate, so you decide to climb up after him.

"How about we go together?" You smile at him.

"Can we do that?" He asks, clearly not believing you.

"Yeah! See how there's a plank of wood on the bottom here? There's room for both of us to stand. And then we just hold onto the rope. We'll back up to get some momentum, then right when we get to the edge, we'll hop on the rope ok. But make sure to let go before it swings back towards the rocks."

The look he's giving you says he still doesn't think this will work.

You take his hand in yours, giving it a quick squeeze. "Do you trust me?"

You see the anxiety wash away as he's overcome by comfort. "Yeah, I do actually" he smiles, squeezing your hand back.

"On three okay? One...two...three!"

Before you know it, the two of you are landing in the water. You both come up for air as he starts a splash fight with you. You're both giggling and splashing like little kids, but having the time of your life. You feel water peg you in the back of the head. You turn around to see Hotch and Rossi armed with oversized water guns, peeking out from behind the trees on the shore.

"Hey that's not fair! We're unarmed!" You shout at the two men.

"Come join our team!" Rossi yells back. You and Spencer look at each other confused. You look up to see Alex carrying four water guns out to the water toward Derek, JJ, and Penny.

You and Spencer turn to each other, each with a huge grin. "Oh it's on!" You say.

"It's so on!" he replies before you both make your way onto shore as quickly as possible. Hotch and Rossi hand you each a weapon and the war commences.

After a long fight, the team in the lake finally surrenders. Your team is the clear winner.

"Winner's get dinner first!" Rossi shouts before the four of you make a mad dash for the cabin. You grab your towel, guessing that Alex had laid it out for you, as you see the other ladies' towels laid out as well well. Rossi had the dinner on warmers, so it's all ready for you. As the four of you take your plates full of food to the dining table outside, you pass your opponents. A series of snickers and goofy faces ensues as your team teases them endlessly.

You felt so comfortable around all of them. For people with such serious jobs, they sure do know how to let loose and have fun.

A/N:

I hope everyone is still enjoying it! I know it's a slow burn but it's so cute right 🥰I plan on picking up right where we left off! Please reblog or comment if you liked this chapter! I love hearing feedback!

[tea-at-221]

So, let's delve a bit into the Spanish dub of Supernatural.

I'm going to go through a lot of terms here, and a lot of basics, in order to increase people's level of understanding as to how the dub may possibly have come about the way it did.

This post will provide information and, I hope, allow some members of the fandom to move forward with their own theories with more reassurance. Information is power. I will define and clarify industry terms to the best of my novice ability to make it easier for others who wish to do their own research.

This post was inspired by the fact that I've been part of multiple fandoms in which queerbaiting has played an enormous part: I am tired of seeing fandom friends left devastated and without answers, no emotional resolution in sight. So this post is, in spirit if not content, largely dedicated to my fellow Johnlockers and Queliot shippers. And most of all, for Quentin Coldwater, who deserved not just better but the very best.

Disclaimer: This is my own research and there is a bit of speculation involved; I can't guarantee 100% that I will get everything right (I hit some very frustrating walls looking up what should be easy-to-find facts), but I did a *lot* of work for this. Other people will doubtless be able to clarify points/give better specifics/correct what I've gotten wrong. I am not promising a concrete answer to “SPN gate” here, as without more information than we currently have that is impossible to declare with certainty.

More under the cut.

All that having been said, onwards (see end for sources):

First, who airs the Spanish dub of Supernatural?

Answer: the Warner Channel.

Why? It goes back to who owns The CW.

From Wikipedia (2): "The CW Network, LLC, a limited liability joint venture between the CBS Entertainment Group unit of ViacomCBS; and the Studios and Networks division of AT&T's WarnerMedia, the parent company of Warner Bros., former majority owner of The WB. The network's name is an abbreviation derived from the first letters of the names of its two parent corporations (CBS and Warner Media)."

Warner Bros apparently is the side that handles the delegation of dubbing to outside studios. So, who does Warner use for their dubbing? Perhaps multiple studios, but the two I found in the course of my research were SPGStudios(5) (who specifically handle localization for Latin American Spanish productions) and Iyuno Media Group (formerly BTI Studios)(3).

What is localization?

Simply put, it refers to the translation of the home language of the show in question to the language of the new market it's entering. So, Supernatural 15x18 is translated from its native English to Spanish for Latin American viewers.

And what exactly *is* dubbing (actually called revoicing within the industry; dubbing is a widely-recognized term, however, and it's pretty well understood what is meant by it)?

Here is the Merriam-Webster definition:

"1 : to add (sound effects or new dialogue) to a film or to a radio or television production —usually used with "in"

They dubbed in the music.

2 : to provide (a motion-picture film) with a new soundtrack and especially dialogue in a different language

The film was dubbed in French and Spanish.

3 : to make a new recording of (sound or videotape already recorded) also : to mix (recorded sound or videotape from different sources) into a single recording"

There is a slang term, "dubby," which refers to any overdub that is comically jarring and obviously a dub. The history of dubbing has been such that this has become a way to think of and recognize it: by how awful and ineffective it used to be when it came to foreign films sloppily overlaid with English dubbing.

However, we are in the midst of an age of networks and companies scrambling to play catch-up, eager to use modern technology to create more effective, convincing dubs. In short, they see the moneymaking potential of presenting finished works that viewers may not even realize *are* dubbed without careful inspection. It's true that a good dub is about 10x more costly than subtitling, but it's hard to satisfy the viewer's desire for escapism if they can't suspend disbelief because they're busy reading.

The truth of that is reflected in internal statistics Netflix (for instance, but not just them) parses to gauge viewer interaction and retention with their various shows: when comparing subtitled vs. dubbed shows, it's easy to see which is the winner.(1)

So to be sure there is no nefarious intent here, we would need to be able to identify the following:

A.) What exactly was the process for this dub?

B.) Who decides what changes to make during a dubbing process?

C.) Who approves those changes?

*Can* there be such a thing as a "rogue translator," as Misha Collins put it? (I am going to clarify here that I think Misha is an upstanding person who believed the best of the show he was involved in and all the people who made it, so his assumption of a rogue translator makes sense in the context of that emotion-based reasoning).

I'm not sure which studio did the dub for the Latin American Spanish version of Supernatural; if I had access to that episode perhaps it's mentioned in the credits. You'd think that would be simple enough to figure out anyway, but I was unable. So maybe someone can take a look and let me know. But, as an example, here is how SPGStudios outlines their localization (dubbing) process:

1.) They make a digital or analog transcription of a show/movie.

2.) The translation, or localization, is done by their staff (in any of 40 available languages their staff can speak). When translating, they translate for meaning and then adapt for time, tempo, and style. They say that "extensive experience is required to capture the essence of the language dialog while accounting for variances in speaking time between the source and destination languages." i.e.,  wording/word choice will be kept as true as possible to the original intention of the native language, but at the same time the translation will need to use its chosen wording in a way that fits what is being shown on-screen. To produce a convincing/pleasing dub, they won't replace a word like "looked" with a longer phrase like "scanned the horizon" because it's not going to match what's onscreen. That would be venturing into "dubby" territory.

3.) They perform the ADR process: the voice actors (in this case it would normally be Guillermo Rojas performing for Dean Winchester, though it appears things may have been different in 15x18, possibly due to covid) record the new dialogue to replace the original actor's performance.

4.) The newly recorded dialogue goes to the sound editorial department "to ensure that lip-synch is optimized and technical aspects of the vocal performance match the original."

5.) All of the new audio--including dialogue, music, and sound effects--is mixed together to emulate the quality of the original production as closely as possible despite the changes in rhythm that resulted from the dialog having been translated.

6.) Designers, animators, and VFX editors assist with the localization or enhancement of graphics, if needed.

7.) Localized Master: SPG has a 'traffic team' who 'ensures that all client delivery and storage specifications are met, including file formatting, labeling, and uploading." So in other words, the files are heavily encrypted (or that's how I read this).

Presumably, after all steps are performed, SPGStudios transfers the show back to Warner, who then distributes it. The other studio, Iyuno, makes it very clear that *they* can coordinate and handle all distribution themselves to a vast number of networks. That means that if the client desires, Iyuno can send the finished product directly out into the world.

There seem to be two types of scripts that can be given to the dubbing company:

1.) "In-Production Dubbing indicates that dubbing production is active in tandem with post production. In-Production Dubbing fulfillment partners should expect potential changes to source materials."(4)

2.) "Final Asset Dubbing indicates that dubbing production takes place after final delivery of the show. All source assets will be in a final state. The dubbing fulfillment partner should not expect any changes to the source materials."(4)

Without knowing which of these was agreed upon for SPN 15x18, it is very hard to say exactly where or if additional edits may have been performed on the original material that weren't performed on the translated material (in other words, earlier draft).

If the studio was given the episode as an In-Production Dubbing project, this could explain why the title of the Spanish translation reflected the original script title, "The Truth," rather than the final title in English, "Despair".

Assuming this difference was unintentional, rather than a calculated marketing ploy re: audience enticement (which seems admittedly unlikely), then yes, it could indicate a screw-up on someone's part. The question is, was the dub company given the task of generating the title card, or did some other graphics department handle that before the project made it to them? If the latter is the case, the choice to add "Me too" instead of "Don't do this, Cas" could be either a conscious choice on the dub studio's part as sort of a nod to what they thought "the truth" was, or could just be them going with what they were given and making their translation choices based on something else, such as rhythm/timing.

SO, could there have been an original script that had Dean say "me too" in response to Cas, which then went through translation and made it out into the world? Teeechnically yes, but one would assume that the original script and original *footage* would have to have arrived at the dub studio together if the script is being transcribed in-house as SPGSTudios outlines in their process. I'm going to reason that the odds of them using a later edit of the visual--one that contained what in this instance we would be assuming was Warner's preferred dialogue ("Don't do this, Cas") yet choosing to stick with their own audio revoicing of the (supposed) original script/visual's "Me too, Cas" with its now subsequently poor timing, seems unlikely.

So either they would likely have to redo the exact same "Me too" audio again (having made the choice to keep the original dialogue, while also having to work under pandemic restrictions re: travel and talent availability) to make everything match the visual footage time-wise, OR, it was simply a matter that the English scene always was just as we saw it, but that the studio chose to interpret the script the way they did and were able to do their timing the first time around to match accordingly.

This still leaves a question in the air regarding the origin and fate of certain clips of Dean's more visually emotive reaction to Castiel's confession that have been floating around the internet. I've only seen very very brief glimpses of them, myself, and I'm not certain that they're really evidence of anything other than more than one take having been done of that scene, which wouldn't be uncommon and doesn't necessarily point to a conspiracy.

I also want to state that in the wake of 15x18, I opted to protect my mental health rather than follow every development/rumor/speculation that cropped up in the aftermath, so there’s probably a lot that I’m leaving out of this post that may be pertinent. Do me a favor and do assume that I know nothing of it. lol

I will also add this about the other studio, Iyuno: they are very careful to state on their site, repeatedly and with great pride, that they are committed to presenting the world with the smoothest, most true-to-the-original localized version of a film or show possible. Quote: "...our entire team of staff wants nothing more than to make every single one of our partner's content feel as if it were never translated." They are not fucking around. They want to please the client. Would they have done something like the translation in question without any direct go-ahead from Warner? It seems unlikely, though they don't outline their process on their site the way SPG does.

Notice that in the SPGStudios process outlined above, there is no mention made of a review step in which the studio presents the translated dialogue to the client for approval re: the new wording. That doesn't mean there isn't a review step; however, without seeing the contractual agreement that was made between Warner and whatever dub studio they used, or knowing Warner's preferred process by some other means, it's difficult to be certain whether or not there was a review process for the translated script. I did find evidence that Netflix reserves the right to review such translated scripts before air.

Speaking of Netflix, I will include here what their translation requirements are, as I did find those. They, like Warner, also use Iyuno Media Group much of the time for dubbing (voiceover style dubbing in which they apparently like to leave the original language audible underneath, so that's slightly different from revoicing, but I'm working on an assumption that the general expectations are the same for both):(4)

"1. Translation Requirements

1.1 Main Dialogue

   All main dialogue in the source (original) language should be translated unless specifically noted.

   Due to timing limitations, some of the dialogue may be condensed/truncated as long as it retains all essential elements of the plot.

   Please refrain from dubbing redundant words such as character names and repetitions.

       Additionally, do not recreate laughs, hesitations, reaction noises, etc."

I'm looking at that bit: "Due to timing limitations, some of the dialogue may be condensed/truncated as long as it retains all essential elements of the plot."

So let's say just for argument's sake that this is pretty standard language provided to the dubbing studios. Netflix is a giant, so I'll proceed with that assumption given the lack of more concrete information:

Does it really change essential elements of the remaining plot to have Dean return Castiel's declaration of love? Forgetting about the outside, emotional ripple effect such a declaration was bound to set off in the viewing audience, no. The two characters have no further scenes together, nor does Dean go on in the next episode to immediately embark on a new relationship, or tell anyone that Cas said he was in love with him but he couldn't return it because he didn't feel the same. So technically, no rule was broken. And that is what it comes down to, if you're thinking like a lawyer reading a contract: specifics, not theoretical implications or consequences.

So, possibly what we have is something that was simple to add and easy to get away with/argue for: translated dialog that fit a dub better due to its length, and didn't actually change anything plot-wise (or at least, the argument for that could easily be made). This points to the painful crux of the matter: why would the Spanish version of Supernatural which aired in Latin America allow Dean Winchester to return Castiel's declaration of love with a "Me too, Cas"? Could it *really* be as insulting as the fact that "Yo a ti, Cas" would be a quicker, smoother dub than "No hagas esto, Cas"? ("Don't do this, Cas" in English.) Or did they see something they could get away with, and a reasonable argument to provide for it, so they went ahead and claimed a small LGBT+ victory?

Is someone, somewhere, getting in trouble for all this? Maybe. But could action be taken against them? That would look pretty bad, public-relations-wise, for the party expressing condemnation if that got out. Could Iyuno, or whatever other studio (again, I don't actually know which one handled the dub) theoretically feel a ripple effect from the fallout of this? Could they quietly suffer a drop in acquisitions/revenue for "reasons unclear"? Sure. That sort of thing happens all the time, so theoretically yeah.

Whatever the reasoning behind the decision to have Dean return Cas' declaration of love, surely they didn't have to do it. Surely they could have chosen some other phrase that fit. But they chose to do exactly what they did. I don't know what went down, in the end, or whether censorship was indeed involved, but I will certainly say that I think it was a brave and admirable choice that was made with the Spanish dub. It doesn't undo the "bury your gays" trope of course, but for some LGBT+ audience members it surely provides a sense of validation and maybe even lends a little hope for better representation--which is long, long overdue.

Thanks if you read this far. I hope that even though it’s not perfect it will be helpful in some way.

Sources

(1) https://www.indiewire.com/2020/02/subtitles-vs-dubbing-what-you-need-to-know-1202212800/amp

(2) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_CW

(3) https://www.iyunomg.com/

(4) https://partnerhelp.netflixstudios.com/hc/en-us/articles/115016062708-Dubbed-Audio-Style-Guide-VO-Style-Dubbing

(5) https://www.spgstudios.com/localization

[proper-goodnight]

Detroit: New Beginnings

Summary: It has been one year since the androids claimed their rights to freedom after the revolution, and one year since Connor has decided to stay on the force at the DPD. The duo are currently working on a case involving androids going missing while Connor grapples with what he almost did to Markus at the peace rally and fearing Amanda’s inevitable return.

Pairing: N/A

Warnings: Violence, Strong Language

A New Start: Partners (01)

Detroit Police Dept.

August 30, 2039

12:30 P.M.

Tuesday

Chris abandoned his wife’s pastries on the counter in the break room.

Over the years, it had become an unspoken rule to not berate him for the fact that Hank could count the people that were brave enough to try his wife’s newest lifestyle kick for that week on one hand. 

For all of the employees on the force, that wasn’t a lot. He didn’t need any special probability and statistics program to figure that out. 

But, it wasn’t like Hank hadn’t tried. He had, but only once--and couldn’t keep a straight face or control his gag reflex enough to even think about trying it again. Their outward appearance had been what threw him for a loop initially; being made of enough random herbs and healthy shit couldn’t sway the uncanny resemblance between it and actual shit and no amount of Chris promising such couldn’t and would never convince him otherwise.

While Hank may have never cared about what he put in his body, he was still not ignorant enough to test whether or not his tolerance extended to something beyond alcohol or cigarettes. Some days, Connor’s habit of sticking evidence in his mouth suddenly didn’t sound so fucking revolting. 

God, if the kid heard him say that…

In that same area of the precinct, a loud continuous whirring of a coffee machine grinded endlessly. DPD staff shuffled around it eagerly awaiting its cycle to complete, and Gavin had ingested just enough caffeine to erupt into his usual cacophony of loud remarks and comments about fuck-all that morning. 

Of course the prick couldn’t grant them reprieve for even a few minutes. 

Hank supposed if he didn’t then the fucker was either late or… late. It wasn’t like he ever called off.

No, they couldn’t be that lucky.

“No fucking way!” And to complete the morning, here Hank was with a deafening insistence in his tone that left little room to argue over Connor’s suggestion for the umpteenth time that morning. “I have had enough birthdays! I am getting too damn old for this shit!”

In response, Connor looked contemplative, but even more so, unsatisfied with his decision.

Typical Tuesday.

Sitting hunched over his desk, Hank sifted through piles of papers for his tablet. It furthered his incessant personal reminding that he should probably take a few minutes and clear his desk of all of his personal clutter--all of the memorabilia piling up over the years was beginning to make finding anything nigh to impossible, another indication made clear when he bumped a couple of pens to the floor with his elbow. 

Cursing, he dismissed it to the abyss below his desk, staring at the screen with faux concentration. The contrast between their work stations was proving more apparent as the days went on, Connor’s completely clean of surface clutter and retaining a fresh sheen despite having claimed it a little over a year ago.

Besides the mess, the spinning yellow circle glaring at him just outside of his peripherals held his focus, having more recently recognized it as a sign of the android’s thinking--thought processing. Whatever. 

Connor’s brows were furrowed, eyes fixed on him as if deciding in some sort of situational software that he had of some other option that would help move their conversation into a more positive direction, something that would somehow change it in his favor. He wasn’t getting anywhere, and Hank wasn’t going to take any bait. 

The android’s lips parted to speak, but Hank was already turning away, grumbling incoherently under his breath. 

And nothing that he would reiterate unless Fowler was going to lecture him about playing nice with his co-workers. Again.

Perched on the only unoccupied corner of his desk, arms crossed over a broad chest, Connor worked a tick in his jaw. If androids had actually possessed the need to breathe--and their biocomponents that simulated breathing were actually functional for that sole purpose--the asshole may have just sighed. For the briefest of an instance, he caught his partner’s stoic expression, tight-lipped and silently asking for some sort of agreement between the pair.

It wasn’t offered.

“I have been researching human cultural practices and I thought that maybe--”

“Drop it. You want to celebrate, then do it for yourself why don’t ya? Celebrate your one year since deviating. That’s in a couple of months.”

Connor almost looked thoughtful, features folding over in confusion as he worked through some sort of response. Hank’s celebration into an even older age was many in the long list of arguments that the two seemed to have, but it was also one of the only topics that Connor seemed ever insistent to talk about that didn’t revolve around a case.

That made it unavoidable.

Goddammit. 

“I don’t think that qualifies as the same thing, Lieutenant.”

“Take my word for it. Let’s just go over the case.” To further his point, he swept his hand over the case files that had piled up on his desk the last couple of weeks. One large unorganized mess of manila folders and reports. “If Jeffrey dumps any more shit about it on my desk, I’m going to resign it.” It was a harmless jab in an effort to get Connor motivated, anything involving the words case or leads never failed to catch his attention.

Connor straightening from his rare hunched posture proved that fact rang true. 

Even after finally closing the deviancy case. 

The conversation, begrudgingly, wasn’t done though. It would be brought up again eventually. Unless the kid forgot or got distracted with something else.

Who the fuck was he kidding?

Connor never forgot. He didn’t possess the ability to forget. Maybe his stubborn nature could be argued with but in the last year or so being his partner, it was something that Hank faced with raw aggression and chose to avoid. 

“Could’ve originated from the peace rally.” Hank went on, rubbing at his chin with faux concentration at the various folders opened up in front of him. He didn’t think any of them were relevant to their current case anyway. “The dates between that and the first android incident are pretty damn close together. Then again, maybe it’s just a weird coincidence.” The words unfolded into a low mutter under his breath, slumping back against his chair. 

He spinned to the side to assess the clutter, a quick sweeping gaze over the mess and he retrieved the file that they needed and extended it to the android. 

Connor’s eyes had followed every movement, and Hank assumed he was judging his lack of organization. 

At least he kept his mouth shut if he was.

“Two guys were sent to the hospital last night.” Hank went on.

“According to the reports from Officer Miller, they were walking home from a Red Ice Anonymous meeting.” Connor confirmed.

Of course he’d kept up to date.

“They were jumped. He went to ask them some questions, bust aside from a brief statement, we ain’t getting much out of ‘em right now.” While he spoke, Connor flicked through it with practiced precision while simultaneously picking it apart. For what he already didn’t know, and Hank didn’t figure that was a lot. 

And while it would be denied for the rest of Hank’s life, he would never admit that he was even somewhat jealous of Connor. If humans possessed the ability to see anyone’s information by a quick scan or retaining an entire casework of information in a few seconds, the meeting and getting-to-know-you shit of social relationships would be made easier by miles. Then again, he didn’t need any superior programming to know that his time would be better spent at home with Sumo. 

“According to their file, Mr. Greene and Mr. Nicholson did in fact have a Red Ice history in the past.” 

“That bit checks out with what Chris managed to get from ‘em at least. Not the worst druggies I’ve had the pleasure of dealing with.” A smirk pulled at one edge of his lips. If they were the worst of the worst, his job would have been a lot easier and most cases would be an opened and closed one. 

“Possession and usage that earned them a few months jail time.” Connor confirmed, turning a suddenly quizzical gaze in his direction, dipping his chin. His brows pinched. “Wasn’t Detective Reed assigned all cases involving Red Ice?” The mention of their most eccentric detective was enough to pull a look of discomfort from the android. 

Maybe it was the ill memory of the beating that he’d been forced to give him in the evidence room last year. Either way, Hank swore that Connor had some kind of satisfaction from it. He didn’t think so. 

The bloody nose that he had given Perkins however? Fucking classic! 

“He is, but there was Thirium found at the scene. No fingerprints on the weapon that was likely used in the attack. We’re looking at another Carlos Ortiz case except we can push an android through a fair trial now.” 

Connor closed the case folder in his lap, his fingers plucking gingerly at the corner. That spinning yellow circle glared accusingly. “If the claims of their whereabouts are in fact correct, then I think that our best course of action is to question them ourselves. Maybe they can recall more when the shock period has passed. Distinct characteristics, how many androids there were in total, even.”

“Not to bust your balls kid, but we can’t scan a serial number like you can. Not to mention all of you androids have the same face. There’s no record of them ever owning an android, but…” Hank threw up his hands in surrender. “Maybe there’s a past history we don't know about. We’ll follow another lead over the next few days,” he decided. “See if they can’t give us anything else by the end of the week.”

With that, Hank breathed out a long-winded sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut as though fighting off a headache. Connor was a headache enough, the case being the migraine. He waved his free hand over his desk. “Take your pick. God knows we’ve got plenty.” A pained laugh slipped past his lips, almost incredulous. Borderline sympathetic. 

For them.

Propping his elbow on the chair’s armrest, he leaned his head against a curled fist. His partner’s gaze was distant, even as Hank tried to meet it with a vague curiosity of his own. 

He waited.

“What are you thinking, Connor?” No response was offered, that same accusatory yellow glaring at Hank just out of the corner of his eye. 

Connor’s features folded, looking to an empty space at his right. Upon further inspection, Hank noted that nothing was there, looking between the two confirming the assumption that he was in some far off place elsewhere. An abrupt snap of his fingers in front of Connor’s nose brought him back. He raised his eyebrows, tilted his head. “Nothing. Nothing relative to our case.”

“Any other time you’re pulling leads out of your ass.” The remark was followed by an exaggerated sigh. His eyes rolled to the side. “This is the first time that you don’t wanna input your opinion? Finally hit a damn wall with enough dead leads, didn’t ya?”

A slight tug pulled at one edge of Connor’s mouth, working a tick underneath a rigid jawline. “Hilarious, Lieutenant.” He mumbled.

“It was a pretty damn good joke in my opinion." With a dismissive hand gesture--a quick slice of his hand through the air--he reached across his desk to retrieve one stack of case files. It didn't account for the other large piles but hell, it was a start. 

“That is a personal opinion.”

“What the fuck ever.” Running a shaky hand through his hair--something else that Connor blamed on Hank's poor diet--his gaze never left him, flicking over his rigid form with a blatant curiosity. "We should go talk to Markus. There’s a good chance that he would know somethin'?" 

And then Connor moved from his perch. Carefully--stiffly was a better way of putting it--around the edge of the desk. Long precise fingers fumbled for the coin in his pocket. It rolled across his knuckles, coming to a complete stop as it was flicked into the opposite palm. Hesitation made the movement rigid, not as fluent as it normally would be. A tick worked itself underneath a rigid jawline. Connor didn't look at him, and instead passed by to his own desk. 

"You haven't seen him since the peace rally," Hank prodded. "I think it's about time we paid him a visit, don't you?" 

"I don't know," He answered in what was almost a whisper, voice low. Unsure. "I've assessed the database's files and all of the reports involving our missing androids. I have only come to the conclusion that older models, or new deviants are being reported disappearing from Jericho. That and it's still limited to Detroit and only a few surrounding cities.” He shrugged. “So far." 

Connor shook his head in defeat. "My most recent solution was to send a scan parts to Cyberlife, but-"

"All of the missing reports we’ve managed to solve end with the android self destructing and destroying their systems," Hank finished for him. "That and its considered murder with your rights. Can't just go pulling apart an android and not expect to get your ass busted." 

"I do not know if an exception can be made for some kind of malfunction. I could probe its memory, but there is no evidence as to how that would affect my own systems." 

"Keeping you at a distance makes the shit harder." Hank agreed, and other than nodding in response, Connor offered no comment. "Until we can figure out if it can be spread, there isn’t much that you can do." 

"Why don't you take your chances and see what the hell happens?" An all too familiar and unapologetically arrogant voice drew closer to their desks. Gavin came to a full stop at their desks, arms folded over his chest with a smirk that never ceased to infuriate him. Both of them, he assumed.

He grimaced. 

Fucking asshole.

"Fuck off, Reed. Don't you have your own case?" Hank grumbled, an edge to his tone that Gavin brushed off a condescending smirk.

"Unlike you and the plastic prick, I've actually made headway." Gavin boasted, his interest in Hank diverted to Connor who watched passively. Most of the time he acted as if Gavin was gum under his shoe that he could scrape on the sidewalk and be done with. Like he couldn't be bothered even when he had a gun in his face and death threats on his name. Hank had been guilty of that look once.

Gavin was full of shit, but Hank wouldn't put anything past him. Even now.

"Hey plastic," Gavin halted in front of the android, squaring up his shoulders. The situation would have been alarming if the difference in height wasn't so obvious. Reed had to look up to address him and Connor responded by raising his eyebrows, tilting his head to the right. 

"Hello, Detective Reed."

"I thought that after the walking toasters were suddenly recognized as people you would leave. A detective android prototype hunting androids is still doing the exact same damn thing." He sneered. 

"I assessed that it would be appropriate to remain in the android crimes department to further offer my assistance to the DPD." His hands folded in front of him, meeting Gavin's eyes with that usual infuriatingly neutral expression. The little twitch in Connor's facial features gave him away however, signaling his annoyance at the detective's harsh jobs.

Gavin didn't see it, but Hank knew him well enough that it was impossible to miss. 

"Yet you're still wearing your Cyberlife threads. I'd almost think that you liked hunting 'em down. Does it give you a sick thrill, prick?" 

"Reed!" Hank interjected, rising stiffly from his desk chair. "That's enough."

"I believe that wearing my uniform shows more professionalism than a leather jacket and a relentlessly hostile attitude, Detective." Connor's brows raised and relaxed sequentially, a slight and subtle twitch pulling at one corner of his mouth. 

"The hell did you just say to me, tin can?" Gavin leaned forward, hand clenching at his side into a fist that he pulled back and took aim on the android. 

"I said that's enough!" Hank barked, shoving himself in between them. 

Gavin was shoved back a few steps.

Connor didn't budge. 

"Back off! Can't you ignore him for five fucking minutes?" 

"Fuck," An enraged gaze flicked between Hank and Connor. Gavin snarled in frustration, one hand slipping seamlessly into the pockets of his jacket, the other pointing an accusing finger in the android's direction like it hadn't been the detective that had approached them with the intention of starting shit. 

Hank scoffed. 

"I'll never so much as tolerate the plastic asshole. The day there are two of him is the day I put in my resignation." One last threatening glare was thrown their way, the threat released into a spat. Before either could comment, Gavin was storming off, cursing incoherently under his breath. 

Surprisingly it had gone better than most of the other times. Hank would have admitted that. 

Evidently, every altercation passed by Connor without a second thought. Hell, maybe not even a first. The evidence room incident remained the only time that the android actually retaliated on him. That being that he needed to in order to accomplish his mission. 

Still, he caught Connor's expression as Gavin was leaving. He watched him through distrusting slits, LED flashing yellow for a split second before correcting itself. His jaw was tense, something dark stirring within him, something troubled that Hank didn't quite recognize. It was only when Hank actually decided to speak that Connor finally looked at him, eyes softening into something more calm, relaxed. Normal. 

"Let's go ask Markus some questions. Any idea where he might be?" In a gesture of reassurance that didn't quite reach him, Hank placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Markus has been overseeing the conversion and stock of dormant androids at the remaining Cyberlife stores. We can pull up those that have yet to be listed as maintenance and distribution centers and start there." And as if nothing had changed, as if the threat from the DPD's most eccentric detective had already been forgotten--at least it would have been if he wasn't squirming underneath a clenched jaw--the task of talking to Markus seemed to unnerve him more. Talking to the deviant leader was a task that Connor was less inclined to do over listening to Reed berating him every chance he got. 

The observation was a question for later, and truthfully Hank didn't anticipate an answer. 

Connor stepped back to allow him through first, Hank's hand slipping from his shoulder to dangle uselessly at his side instead. Expression falling flat, he waved him through. "After you, Lieutenant."

[tsarisfanfiction]

WIP #46

(Send me a number 1-60 [or a fandom/character I guess] for the corresponding wip) because I’m bored and brain-fried and have too many wips that’ll otherwise never see the light of day.

For @janetm74 who actually asked for ‘Thunderbirds, 31′ but 31 isn’t TAG so we’ve got the closest TAG one instead. (top tip: wips are mostly arranged alphabetically by fandom and the TAG wips are 46-59!)

It was really only a matter of time before someone hit Scott!whump, wasn’t it?  Snippets of this one have actually appeared in previous ask games, so you get the whole thing this time (because I don’t remember which bits I’ve already posted).  Fun fact: this was my first attempt at Virgil’s PoV!

There was always something wrong about Scott in Thunderbird Two.  Of all the Tracys, he was the least likely to travel in the green behemoth that was, in Virgil’s private opinion, the heart of International Rescue.

And yes, that included John.

Gordon was his co-pilot, his wingman, his back-up.  For all that the aquanaut was, well, an aquanaut, there was honestly no-one else Virgil would rather behind the controls of his beloved girl if he was needed elsewhere. Heavy lifting, or – his least favourite – medical duties could sometimes pull him elsewhere, and in those moments his immediate brother would take the helm with a joking smile but steady hands that would never let anything befall Two (if only, he thought from time to time, because without Two Four would be grounded).

Alan was all nervous energy, a genius pilot but too cocky for Virgil to ever be truly relaxed when Two was in his hands, but it was far from uncommon for his youngest brother to be perched behind him, screens and panels showing readout after readout as he assessed situations and started remote assembly of pods when time was particularly of the essence.  Sometimes, often, he knew Alan desired the speed of One, but he also liked his comfort and short of pulling Three’s own seats into One (a feat done once, never repeated), there was no comfort as a passenger of their first response craft. Or even as the pilot, in Virgil’s opinion.

John was an unusual passenger, unlikely to be Earthside for a mission – and even if he was, quickly wrapping things up and ascending back to the lofty heights of Five and the world at his fingertips – but when he was Earthside, well, Thunderbird Two was his ship of choice.  He didn’t pilot her, for all that he was trained, but no matter what Scott would mutter, John was stubborn about always using Two to get to the danger zone.  Something about reckless flying and too much gravity. Virgil couldn’t truly say he understood, because John’s aversion to gravity had never been a point in common between them, but he did at least appreciate that Thunderbird One was fast, and generated far more Gs than any atmosphere-bound craft had any right to make.

Statistically speaking, Scott did travel in Two more than John did, but as he didn’t spend over three hundred days in the year off planet, Virgil wasn’t quite so fussed on the literal numbers.  Scott in Two always, always meant something was wrong.  Maybe One was out of action (again) but Scott wanted to be on the rescue anyway.  Maybe the world was conspiring against them, and Scott just wanted to be with his brothers rather than haring off at triple their speed and leaving them alone and vulnerable (Virgil knew that really One was more vulnerable than Two, although his eldest brother could never see it that way).

Or maybe, the worst wrong of all that always lined Virgil’s stomach with lead and dried up all the saliva in his mouth, Scott wasn’t fit to fly.

John was hovering, holographic form always a little too dull to accurately capture his brother’s vibrancy. Gordon had flight control, gloved hands firmly on the yoke as though he was her designated pilot.  Alan had co-pilot, booted feet reaching the floor with little difficulty nowadays – he would out-grow Gordon soon – as he flicked switches in uncharacteristic silence.

Virgil was in the medbay, scanner clutched in his hands like a lifeline as it told him nothing that he wanted to hear, and many things that he didn’t.

Scott was in the medbay, doing nothing.

Danger dogged their steps with every rescue.  They knew that – had always known it, even before the Zero-X blew their father sky-high as he tried to save the world – but it never made it any easier when it got closer than normal.

As normal for them was less than a second’s escape – buildings collapsing the moment their trailing foot left the threshold, planes erupting into fireballs the instant they leapt clear – closer was barely possible.  Closer was a Thunderbird coming home with deep gouges.  Closer was broken bones and terrorised faces.

Closer was their eldest brother lying motionless in his ‘bird’s medbay because it had taken thirteen minutes to find him after the snow roared down.

Avalanches were a messy business.  Survival rates were low, some of the worst odds International Rescue ever faced, and there was no denying that their own past experience did nothing to help whenever John uttered the word in a brief.  This one shouldn’t have been too bad, as far as snow monsters went.  Out of season, with few people in the huts that dotted the lower reaches of the slopes and fewer still outside.  Ten people were reported missing.

They found nine, all fortunate and breathing, before the second one struck.

Alan had been in Thunderbird Two, holding her steady in the air because the large Thunderbird would have done more harm than good if she’d landed and providing a much-needed birds’ eye view of the danger zone.  It had been entirely due to the combined information from him and John that had let them find the nine lucky people so quickly.

Gordon had been on triage in the hut deemed safest in the event of a second avalanche.  Virgil had just reached him with rescuee number nine when it had struck.

Scott had been heading up the slope, travelling scant inches above the snow via jetpack, searching for person number ten.  One’s drones had been with him, scanning furiously even as John hijacked them to give Five even more data than the space station had already obtained from other means. Those same drones had given them a glimpse of blue, grey and white all jumbled together before going dark.

It took two minutes for Virgil and Gordon to force their way out of the semi-buried but still standing hut. One more for Alan to configure a pod and tentatively lower it from the module even as they realised their original one would take too long to excavate from the snow.  In those three minutes, John had triangulated all the data he could amass from Five to provide the most viable search area.

Five minutes to find a body, cold to the touch.  Rescue number ten had never stood a chance.  Face down and neck broken, he would have been killed almost instantly during the original avalanche.

Fifteen minutes was the time limit.  Nine people had already defied it, surviving anything between half an hour and an hour under the snow before International Rescue reached the scene and dug them out. The Tracy family never had that much luck, and an avalanche was their own personal hell.  They knew, in that cold-fist-closing-around-their-hearts way, that Scott would not be number ten.

Twelve minutes and the pod’s heat sensors showed yellow-green in a sea of blue.

Thirteen minutes and their eyes showed them blue in a sea of white.

Scott had been wearing his helmet when the avalanche struck.  As Virgil knelt to ease his limp, cold, but breathing body from the frigid prison, he’d thanked their parents for that fact silently but profusely.  Still intact, the helmet had stopped snow clogging his airways, and had enough of an air supply to stop Scott from suffocating to death in the thirteen torturously long minutes it had taken them to find him.

In the medbay, scan finished, Virgil finally removed the life-saving gear.  The detached feedback from the scan told him as much, but he sighed resignedly when there was no response.  Scott didn’t gasp dramatically as his recycled air supply was replaced with the real deal, nor did lightly closed eyes snap open.

“How is he?” John asked unnecessarily as Virgil’s hand lingered under brown hair longer than strictly necessary after lowering the now helmetless head back down onto the stretcher.

“Cold.”  Virgil humoured him, knowing full well that John had been desperately analysing the results of the scan as they occurred. Their suits were well designed for the varied environments they found themselves in, and while Scott had shown up far, far too cold in their initial search for him, as soon as they’d got him into the security of Thunderbird Two the hint of a shiver had taken hold and Gordon had encouraged it with a single blanket.

Scott’s uniform was somewhere in the middle as far as easy to remove International Rescue uniforms went. While Gordon and John’s specialist environments necessitated almost vacuum-tight uniforms, and Virgil and Alan had heavy-duty but therefore less clingy attire, Scott wore a streamlined flight suit that didn’t adhere precisely to his body but wasn’t exactly loose either.  Still, the zip tugged down easily enough and Virgil manipulated his rag doll of an eldest brother out of the tough material delicately before clearing away any leftover snow trying to chill him further and cradling him in blankets.

John watched in an agitated silence, the distance between their physical bodies never so apparent as when one of them was hurt and he was twenty two and a half thousand miles away. Sooner rather than later, Virgil knew the space elevator would be docking at Tracy Island, but before John could leave Five he needed to get One nestled back safely in her hanger.

The Thunderbird had escaped the avalanche by never landing, set to an autopilot hover by Scott upon his arrival to the danger zone because despite being smaller than Two, her VTOL posed just as much of a risk to the stability of the snow.  With Gordon at the helm of Two, and a universal desire for the whole family to be together landing Alan in the co-pilot seat rather than their brother’s Thunderbird, it was up to John to remote pilot her home.

Hypothermia was not the only issue Scott had been hit with by the avalanche.  None of them had done the exact calculations – John might have done, but if he had he hadn’t shared them – but Scott had been swept a fair distance by the sheer might of the snow and the journey had been far from smooth. Something had knocked him out in the tumble – what, Virgil couldn’t begin to decipher – and while his ribs were miraculously okay, thanks to the support of his flight suit, his left arm was bent awkwardly.  Already, beneath the blankets, his skin was blossoming in the reds and purples of early bruising.

“Any change?” Alan asked, his hologram flickering into existence beside John’s.  Gordon was just visible at the edge of the projection.

“He’s warming up,” Virgil assured them, eyes never leaving his eldest brother as shivers slowly intensified.  “No sign of consciousness, though.”  He leant forwards, running his hands gently through gelled hair.  The scan didn’t indicate a concussion to accompany the rest of Scott’s injuries, but with no evidence for why he was remaining unconscious barring the hypothermia itself, Virgil needed a more hands’ on check to reassure himself that there would be no further complications.

“We’re almost home,” Gordon chipped in.  “Make sure you’re both ready for the landing.”

“F.A.B.”

Securing Scott was easy, straps looping over him and cinching tight but not too tight against the stretcher.  The temptation to stay standing beside him, watching like a hawk for any sign of change – good or otherwise – was strong, but John made a small noise in the back of his throat and Virgil forced himself to take the two paces away from the stretcher and collapse into a fold-out seat.

“Thunderbird One has landed,” the astronaut informed him, and Virgil managed something that was almost a smile.

“See you soon,” he said, and John returned the almost-smile before floating with purpose.  With the limitations of the holograms, it was difficult to tell where he was headed, but Virgil knew there was only one place John wanted to be.

Their landing was soft, softer than Gordon had ever managed before, and Virgil shot out of his chair and back to Scott’s side as soon as he felt the wheels connect solidly with the runway. The touchdown had done nothing to disturb him, eyes still softly closed. His skin was pale, and the shivering was still gaining in intensity, but Scott’s face was as peaceful as Virgil had seen it since the Zero-X.

He pulled the scanner back out, running another one just for something to do as Gordon taxied them back into the hangar.  Scott’s temperature had risen marginally, still too cold but headed in the right direction.  He adjusted the blankets cocooning him as Thunderbird Two finished her rotation and the hydraulics either side of the module whirred into action, raising the body of the craft.

Someone had remembered to call ahead – a flash of guilt coursed through Virgil as he realised that should have been his job – because as the module door lowered, letting in the orange flickering light that indicated mechanical movement in the hangar, Grandma was standing there, arms crossed and finger tapping nervously. She didn’t wait for the door to finish lowering, jumping into the module as soon as she could and heading straight for them.

“What happened?” she asked, wrapping an arm around him firmly for a moment before taking the final step to Scott’s side and tutting at the results of the scan.

“Avalanche,” Virgil responded, even though he knew she knew.  Old hands that had yet to lose most of their dexterity pulled at the blankets, exposing Scott’s throat enough for her to press two fingers to his pulse. “Nine survivors, one fatality.”

“Broken arm and extensive bruising,” she mused, light fingers dancing over her eldest grandson’s body as she confirmed the scanner’s results for herself.  “His suit protected him from the worst of it.  Let’s get him inside.”  Virgil nodded, reaching out to activate the hover jets on the underside of the stretcher before releasing the clasps that held it to the wall.  Hurried footsteps indicated the arrival of his younger brothers, finished with their flight checks and anxious to see their eldest brother.

“Is he awake yet?” Alan asked, blue eyes filled with hope.  Virgil shook his head as Gordon placed a hand on the youngest’s shoulder.

“Your brother will be fine,” Grandma assured them all before he could find the words to explain Scott’s condition.  “A little battered and bruised, and rather cold, but some rest and home cooking will sort him right out, you’ll see.”

Gordon’s mutter that home cooking would do more harm than good wasn’t as quiet as he’d clearly intended, but Grandma ignored the slight as she put a firm hand on the hovering stretcher and started to guide it towards the house.  Virgil paused, checking his two younger brothers over thoroughly.  Alan was pale, shaken at the sight of Scott’s limp body, while Gordon headed over to the discarded uniform and picked it up.

“He’ll be alright,” he told them.  Both nodded sharply.  “John’s coming down; Alan, why don’t you go meet him?”

Neither asked why John was coming down if Scott was going to be fine.  It was a much appreciated fact that sometimes a hologram wasn’t enough for reassurance, and none of them would ever begrudge John the chance to be there in person.  Alan nodded again and left.

“I’ll clear up here,” Gordon said.  He was feeding the damp uniform through his hands, most likely unconsciously.  Damp, half-melted snow littered the module, and the remaining pod.  “Go help Grandma.”

Virgil didn’t protest, although he gave Gordon a final look over before turning to leave his ‘bird. They all needed to feel useful, finding something to do while they waited for Scott to wake up.  He would have cleaned his ‘bird himself, but Gordon’s order had been a hidden plea: I want you with Scott.

“I want her spotless,” he said instead, and Gordon laughed.

“Yes, yes,” he dismissed. “Now go help Grandma keep Scott in bed.” Because that was going to be the hardest task of all.  None of the Tracys made for a good patient, but Scott was the undisputed worst patient of all.  Alan and Gordon would try for subtle, the elder blond with more success, escape attempts made when they were left alone for too long.  John hid in Five, well-practiced in manipulating holograms to make him appear healthier than he actually was – although the arrival of EOS had put a stop to that particular trick.  It was the thing that had finally got her into Scott’s good books.  Virgil himself knew that he gave his brothers a little too much grief, largely because he knew how to treat his own ailments better than they did.

Scott didn’t bother with subtlety.  The moment their backs were turned, and sometimes not even then, he would be forcing himself up and out of bed, determined to carry on working no matter what. He’d never been a good patient, but it had only worsened since their Dad’s crash.  Knowing why didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Not bothering to change out of his uniform, he ran after Grandma and the stretcher, catching up with them just outside the infirmary doors.  Scott was still unconscious, a fact that bothered him considering there was no sign of injury that would cause it, but it made transferring him from the stretcher to the soft bed far easier.  A pile of warm blankets were gently tucked around him, mindful of the broken arm.

As Grandma fussed with an IV line, more a precaution than a necessity, Virgil turned his attention to the limb.  It was a clean break, simple enough to reset and splint.  Scott let out a noise of complaint as the bones were dragged back into place, and both he and Grandma immediately looked at him.  Brow furrowed, hazed blue eyes flickered open.

“Scott?”

“Vrrgg?” his eldest brother slurred, eyes slowly focusing on him. “Whh..?”

“We’re home,” Virgil told him, resting a hand on the blankets over where Scott’s right shoulder was buried.  “The rescue’s over.”

Scott blinked at him slowly, the haze of confusion not quite leaving his eyes.

“Rsscu?”

“Let’s focus on getting you warmed up for now, Scott,” Grandma cut in, smoothing his hair back gently. She gestured sharply with her other hand – hidden from Scott’s view – to the reset arm.  Virgil took the hint, returning to strap it up, knowing that he’d need to mix up a proper cast for it if he wanted any chance of it healing properly with Scott’s reluctance to rest of any length of time.

“Buh-”

Scott’s protest was cut off by the door slamming open, the pitter-patter of Alan’s booted feet flying into the room.  Behind him, at a more sedate pace, John followed, turquoise eyes raking over the scene in front of him sharply.

“Is he awake?” Alan asked, skidding to a stop by the bed.  “Scott?”

“Ara?” Scott started. Virgil lunged up to stop him as he made his first attempt to get up.

“No, Scott,” he said firmly. “You’re still too cold.”  Scott didn’t fight him, a sign that he was still confused.  It didn’t go unnoticed by either Alan or John, the former losing his smile and the latter narrowing his eyes for a moment.

“Go get yourselves changed,” Grandma told them.  “He’ll still be here when you come back.”  Hoping she wasn’t including him in that order, Virgil busied himself with fussing over Scott, fixing the blankets he’d dislodged and hushing any attempts to ask about the rescue.

“It’s over,” he repeated as his two brothers left the room with orders from Grandma to also locate Gordon and make sure he got changed, too.  “Stay still.”

“Virgil,” Grandma warned, and his shoulder slumped.  “You too, young man.  You’re still wearing some of the snow.”

He hadn’t noticed, but when she mentioned it he realised that the creases of his uniform still carried damp white.

“I won’t be long,” he promised Scott, who looked at him with wide blue eyes.  They reminded Virgil of Alan.  Usually it was Alan who reminded him of Scott; he didn’t like it the other way around.  “I’ll bring you back a drink.  Think you can manage that?”

“Drrnk?”

Virgil sighed, and turned to Grandma.

“I’ll bring him something,” he told her and she nodded with a tired smile.

“You do that,” she said. “Now go get out of that wet uniform before you catch a chill, too!”

With a last look at his brother, still too pale but thankfully shivering properly at last, he forced himself to leave the room.

When it came to Grandma, there were fights that could not be won, and unspoken orders to be heeded nonetheless.  It was not as simple as tugging off his uniform, throwing on some casual clothes and running back into the infirmary with a warm, sugary drink in hand served with a straw to sip it with, so he begrudgingly threw himself under a hot shower, allowing his own body to warm up after too long in the snow himself, albeit not buried like his big brother.  Still, a shower did not have to be long to be effective, even if he would usually take the time to let his muses grow amongst the gentle hiss of pouring water, and within five minutes he was thoroughly warm and worming his way into clean clothes.  A quick blow with his hair dryer got the worst of the water out of his hair, but he forwent the gel to return it to its usual style.  Certain younger brothers might have a field day about his hair not being carefully sculpted, but a certain hypothermic older brother was worth a little bit of pride.

John had beaten him to the kitchen, a hot squash – blackcurrant and apple, from Scott’s personal stash – steaming on the counter.  Virgil glanced around the room to make sure nothing was broken.

“You haven’t taken it in?” he asked, wrapping a hand around the container.  It was almost hot to the touch.  John shrugged.

“I’d drop it,” he said, plucking a blue straw from the collection in the cupboard and neatly dropping it into the top of the cup.  Virgil couldn’t disagree with the possibility and scooped it up, straw bobbing in the dark liquid, before continuing on to the infirmary.

Alan and Gordon were there, both out of uniform as per Grandma’s orders, and trying to get a laugh out of Scott, if their antics were anything to go by.  Scott himself, Virgil was pleased to see, appeared less confused than when he’d left.

“I have a drink for you,” he announced, passing it to Grandma as he perched on the bed by Scott. “Think you can manage some sips?” Scott was still shivering but managed a grateful smile.

“Will i’ tas’e goo’?” he asked, still too cold to pronounce his words properly.  Virgil gently brought the head of the bed up slightly before propping Scott up in a more upright position with the use of many pillows. Gordon helpfully readjusted the blankets as Alan crawled onto the bottom of the bed.

“It’s from your own stash,” he promised, taking it back from Grandma and holding the straw to his lips. “John made it hot, so be careful.”

“’M alway’ ca’ful.” Scott mumbled the biggest lie Virgil had ever heard before accepting the straw and taking a sip.

“If you say so,” he said, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help keep him in place as he drank.  He was still cool to the touch, despite the blankets wrapped around him firmly.

Scott hissed as the liquid entered his mouth, and Virgil tightened his grip even as he rolled his eyes.

“I warned you,” he said lightly, as John entered the room and perched on the end of the bed, watching Scott carefully.  Scott took another sip, more cautiously the second time.

...tbc one day..?

[kookiebunnii]

🌗 two. confrontation

pairing: jinyoung x vampire!reader

word count: 2.1k

warnings: n/a

There aren’t a lot of things you have to fear as a vampire. Having superhuman strength, speed, and healing capabilities made you the epitome of an apex predator. Yet for some reason, standing outside of his bedroom window absolutely terrifies you.

You already took a huge risk by waiting three days to go back and finally resolve your mistake. In those three days he could’ve told a number of people, and you would have no real way of tracking them down and wiping their memories too. When you’re done pacing for the hundredth time, you jump up the side of the complex the same way you had three days ago. Throwing the side of your body upwards to grip the ledge of his window, you grit your teeth and once again enter through the slightly opened windowsill.

Silly human, still making the same mistakes after being dinner for a vampire.

This time you land a lot more gracefully, likely because you are not on the verge of insanity this time around. Having fresh blood was working wonders for you. These past few days had not plagued your throat with dull aching like before. Surprisingly, your features were also much less sunken and distraught as if the man you’d preyed on had simultaneously been a fountain of youth. This change wasn’t something you banked on for the long term though. You were still against feeding on people directly.

When you look up, the dark-haired man is sitting at his desk with a book in hand. The light thump of your entrance immediately causes him to set his reading material face down upon the wooden surface. His eyes instinctively find yours, and despite the prickle of fear you feel in your spine, you don’t look away.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

He says this with no semblance of horror or anxiety. Instead, his soothing tone could easily be acceptable if he were commenting about the weather or scolding a pet for finally returning home. It causes you to momentarily forget the whole purpose of your trek here, forgetting the dangers in letting a human remain aware of the existence of vampires.

“You aren’t afraid of me,” you mean it as a statement, an observation based on his responses, but you can’t help the fascination that holds onto the end of your sentence like condensation clinging a cool surface.

He smiles sadly, as if he realizes the same thing you do. Leaning his fingers against his cheek, he whispers, “Yeah. I guess not. Perhaps when you live in fictional worlds as often as I do, the supernatural rarely surprises you.���

Confused by his words, you step forward to move around the border of his mattress and approach his figure that is sitting by the desk. Your footsteps barely make a sound against the floorboards, but what interests you more is the lack of tension in his shoulders even as you stalk closer to him.

When you’re finally in front of him, his chin tilted upwards to maintain eyes contact with your empty gaze, you wonder if this human is formidable or foolish.

“You have no idea what I could do to you.”

The words slip out your lips without much thought, appearing into the air as soon as they’re formed in your head. The acknowledgement that a human could look at you in your entirety without disgust was something completely foreign. While you took the shape of a person, he knew that the essence of you being was far from that. From your oddly pale skin and your predatory movements, he should fear you like the monster you were.

“Maybe not,” he leans his cheek against the palm of his hand and continues to observe you, “I’d love to learn though.”

At this point you have absolutely no idea what to do. Mark had never taught you what to do when a human didn’t fear you, instead seemingly wanting to talk to you. You still had half the mind to wipe his memories, knowing that even if he didn’t tell others, it would still be a huge liability. The less entangled you were with others, the better. Humans included.

“I’m not your friendly neighborhood housecat that you can just chat up every afternoon. Besides, last time we met I drank your blood. Do you need another reason to be scared?” you take a seat on the side of his bed, allowing yourself to finally see him at eye level.

Seemingly ignoring your question, he scoots his chair closer to you. This causes you to momentarily seize up in fear. How funny, a human is making a vampire quake in their boots.

“Do you have a name? Maybe something dreadful like Dracula or Vladimir?” he asks, as if he were speaking to a friend, one he made online whom he was finally meeting in person.

“Pretty such Vladimir is an actual name humans use. That’s an insult to Vladimirs everywhere,” you crack a smile, and the motion feels so awkward on your face that it instantly surprises you.

Sitting back in his seat with a small smile of his own, he crosses his legs and says, “You don’t look quite that fearful when you smile.”

Quickly fixing your features back to the monotonous one you’re used to wearing, you quip, “Don’t get used to it.”

“Sure thing. Can you answer my question now?”

You hesitate, considering your options. It doesn’t matter all that much if you amused him for a bit. You could easily wipe his memories at any time, and he was too weak to stop you even if he tried. He wouldn’t remember anything you told him, so perhaps you could enjoy this brief lull in your journey. It’d been years since you actually spoke to someone about anything beyond the end you were searching for.

“Y/N.”

He looks at you quizzically and you roll your eyes to retort, “Not sure what kind of demonic name you were expecting, but most of us are turned and we keep the names we had before.”

“Turned?” he echoes, and for such a bright guy he was really struggling to connect the dots.

“Most vampires were humans at some point. I don’t know all the lore about how they first came about, but we’re not just born as a monstrosity.”

He considers this briefly before looking at you with a new shine in his dark eyes, “Why did you come back? Looking for another bite?”

You scoff, humored by the way he doesn’t seem to either dislike or like the proposition. It’s almost as if he asked you if you stopped by to borrow another cup of sugar, and you swear there must be something wrong with the man. He’s giving you all the wrong reactions.

“I’m here to wipe your memories. I forgot last time.”

His eyes widen slightly in surprise as he nods and runs a finger under his chin in thought, “So vampires can wipe memories too, that’s interesting.”

“It makes feeding a lot easier. For us and for you,” you fix the cuff of your shirt as you answer his musings.

“Does this happen often? Are the statistics crazy? Something like…one in every three humans gets bit once a week?”

You laugh, and the sudden noise seems to make him jump more than when you catapulted yourself into his bedroom without notice. Once you’re back to just giggling lightly, you notice how embarrassed he looks. This just makes you chuckle all over again.

“I don’t think there’s anything like that, no. Feeding from a live human helps dispel the thirst for a good amount of time,” you say, tilting your head to view him with interest, “You’re a rather curious sort of person, aren’t you?”

He rubs the back of his head shyly before responding, “I guess so. It’s just an interesting experience for me, waking up from a nap to see a woman hovering over me with fangs.”

You give him a lilting smile, “I agree, it must be rather odd.”

“My name is Jinyoung, by the way. I live alone so you definitely picked your prey wisely,” and once again, the nonchalant air about his words intrigues you.

“I don’t think I had much choice. I was practically delirious when I fell through the first open window I saw,” you note, slightly sheepish with your confession.

“Why? Were you sick?” bless his heart, he actually has the audacity to look concerned.

“Nothing like that. I needed blood but the hospital here was too crowded, so you became the lucky victim. Congratulations.”

“Hospital?” he echoes as if he couldn’t fathom why you’d need to be there.

“I don’t like feeding on humans. It’s rather dehumanizing for me. Which, I suppose, must be a rather funny notion coming from a fully-fledged vampire. All hospitals keep some portion of blood bags available for emergency purposes. I like to take some of those when they’re available, and I switch locations frequently to ensure I don’t drain the blood supply,” you explain, looking around his room to absorb the environment as you do so.

There’s a brief pause before he says, “You’re rather kind for a self-described monstrosity.”

If vampires could blush, perhaps that would have been your cue. Sputtering in anxiousness, you quickly blurt, “Kind? You’re actually crazy.”

He gives you a laugh of his own before saying, “You could bite any stray human any day of the week if you wanted to. You could take a whole city’s supply of blood bags if you were feeling particularly mischievous. Yet you do neither.”

You decide not to add anything further, knowing that there isn’t much you could respond with. Perhaps it would be strange for a vampire to take so much care, but it was something you naturally adapted to. Considerations like these were simply habits, and even if it made for a slight inconvenience on your part, you’d lived just fine for the past two centuries. No big deal.

Standing up suddenly to close the small gap between the two of you, you declare, “Well, I’ll have to wipe your memories now.”

He stands up abruptly at this, once again training those deep brown orbs on you. It unnerves you, that the only thing he seemed to fear was forgetting his whole ordeal with you, but you didn’t want to stick around long enough to figure out exactly why it was happening.

“Please don’t.”

You don’t know what to say, a feeling that’s overwhelmed you multiple times this evening. You knew that this was the right thing to do—the easiest thing to do. But why did it feel like such a loss? This human, Jinyoung, could you let him live knowing something dangerous like this?

“There’s no benefit to remembering. Leaving you like this puts me in danger. It’ll put both our peoples in danger,” the words are difficult to get out, but you know that the responsibilities mean more than whatever internal conflict you’re battling.

“I won’t tell anyone. In fact, I don’t even have anyone to tell. I’m not a threat.”

You laugh harshly, running your fingers through your hair. He was asking you to put your faith in a human, of all things, whom you’d just met formally half an hour ago. You might be a little wacky with all the years you’ve spent devoted to ending your immortality, but you weren’t stupid.

“It’ll be better for you too. It’ll be quick and painless. You won’t remember a thing afterwards,” you reach up to brush the side of his hair away from his forehead.

The strands are soft against your skin, and when you rest your fingers against his temple, you can feel the tiny vibrations of his voice when he speaks.

“Let’s make a deal.”

You can’t help but smirk, wondering if you were in some teen webcomic where the main character makes a pact with the devil. There wasn’t anything a human could offer you, especially since you weren’t exactly looking to bargain for souls as the cliché goes.

“Let’s hear it then,” you decide to give yourself, and Jinyoung by extension, a last moment of interaction. You can feel his pulse quicken under your fingers, likely excited by the possibility that you were actually interested in his intentions. Humans are so easy to read.

“You can have my blood. Anytime you want it, I’ll be here. In exchange, let me keep my memories.”

Smiling at him as if he were an innocent and foolish child, you reply, “You’re really giving yourself up like that? Just to remember the countless times your skin is pierced, your blood is drawn, your eyes meet that of a starved vampire? You’re rather masochistic, Jinyoung.”

A slow smile draws itself against his lips, and not even living for more than two hundred years could prepare you for his additional proposition.

“Six months later, I also want you to turn me into a vampire.”  

______________________________________

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[bubonickitten]

TMA fic: where there’s a will, we make a way

New chapter is up on AO3 here!

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 11 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 11: mild self-harm (brief instance of wrist banging/bruising to distract from intrusive thoughts; mention of scratching/skin picking); some Buried-related claustrophobic memories; mentions of Jon starving himself (wrt to consuming statements, but worth mentioning for anyone who needs content warnings related to eating disorders, restrictive diets, etc.; there will be more going forward of Jon being hungry and restricting himself, and I'll keep warning for it, especially in chapters where it features heavily). SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 11: Reaching Out

The tunnels are as ominous as they’ve always been, but at this point, Jon just might be growing accustomed to them. The creeping fear he’s always felt down here has faded to the background – an ambient sense of dread. It's almost tolerable, or at least less oppressive than the omnipresent sense of being watched that he’s long since accepted as his normal.

Here, he can compose his letter to Martin without the risk of Jonah Seeing exactly what Jon’s eyes see.

After the Watcher’s Crown, Jonah did not Watch through Jon’s eyes anymore. Whether that was because Jon was stronger than Jonah at that point or because Jonah did not bother to try, Jon doesn’t Know. Once the ritual was completed, Jonah no longer had any stake in Jon’s trajectory, no need to monitor his progress or ensure his survival. Moreover, Jonah’s inflated ego never allowed for the possibility that Jon could pose a threat to his reign. His Archivist – his Archive – had no further interest to him except as a source of entertainment, and he didn’t need to See through Jon’s eyes in order to behold the show. He could See all of creation from the Panopticon.

Jon is stronger now than he was the last time he was here, but he’s still nowhere near as powerful as he was during the apocalypse. He’s tried to Know how he measures up against Jonah now, but the Beholding seems intent on withholding that knowledge from him. Last time he made an attempt, the Eye treated him to a litany of statistics about the interactions between the human body and the venom of various species of spider.

Sometimes Jon thinks that if the Beholding is sentient, it might just be the pettiest of the Dread Powers.

In any case, Jonah Magnus is still as much of a gnawing question mark as he’s always been. It’s safest to assume that he has the advantage until proven otherwise – and Jon will take the tunnels over Jonah’s voyeurism any day, no matter how harrowing they may be. Even if he has to be down here alone – which he is.

Georgie is with Melanie, and Jon is reluctant to ask Basira for any favors right now. He wonders again if this is how Martin felt, living in the Archives, spending sleepless nights with himself and the scratching of a pen as his only companions. Just like Jon, Martin was never very good company for himself, especially back then – and back now. He was primed for the Lonely long before he started working at the Institute.

Speaking of which…

Jon sighs, puts his pen down, and begins to read through what he’s written.

I’m sorry I left you.

…now I’m here, trying to explain things –

– had changed since he left –

– it seemed he was alone –

– as far as I could tell, all alone in the world, and rather unhappy about the fact.

I will admit to taking a dislike to the man when I first met him – but –

– I’d say that – was a foolish act of past me.

Jon is still worried about starting the letter like this, but this is a point in time not too far removed from his early mistreatment of Martin. Jon had made his apologies and explanations at length in his future, but this version of Martin hasn’t experienced that yet. Jon can’t just jump into showing affection before taking accountability for his past behavior – recent past, from the perspective of this timeline.

He can only hope that Martin will read through to the end, and that Jon’s intention – his sincerity – will be understood.

Soon I was giving my account as a full confession –

– trying my best to fit this into a relatively coherent narrative.

It’s plenty of things I’ve done I couldn’t explain to you. I mean, I’m constantly – looking back at my past self and thinking, what an idiot. How the hell could he have done such an obviously stupid thing? How was I surprised it went so badly? What a relief I’m now so much older and wiser.

I’ve never really been the social type – I’ve always just been happier alone. Well, maybe happier isn’t quite the right word. I did get a bit lonely sometimes. I’d hear laughter coming from other rooms in my building, or see a group of friends talking in the sun outside, and maybe I’d wish I had something like that, but it never really bothered me – I didn’t need another people and they certainly didn’t need me.

Jon looks down at the words with a dissatisfied scowl. Does this come off as too self-centered? As more as an excuse than an explanation? This would be so much easier if he could just say what he means. Then again, Jon’s always struggled with discussing emotional matters, hasn't he? He can’t blame it all on the Archive.

These thoughts, these feelings were always in my mind – until – I realized the deeper truth of it all.

I tried to put it into words, but without any real success. Even here, with the time to compose it properly, I’m not sure I’ve caught the essence of what I felt –

– I had a look through my library, and couldn’t find anything that matched it –

– those are musings for poets, among whom I do not number –

– it’s all very well to say ‘write down what you saw,’ but what if you don’t have the words?

I suppose I’ll just have to try.

I’ve always been more comfortable alone –

– had few friends – reluctant to make the sort of connections that might lead to –

– the prospect of being genuinely loved –

– fully and completely known –

– having people be genuinely lovely to me, I didn’t know what to do with those feelings –

– I could never bring myself to try. It felt more comfortable, more familiar, to be alone.

It is the fear of being watched, and judged, and having all your secrets known.

Ironic, in some ways –

– being what I am –

– an Archivist pleading for knowledge –

– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.

Eventually, I opened my eyes –

– feeling absurd about how terrified I was about being seen –

– kicking myself for having been so stupid –

– it wasn’t natural for people to live in isolation – we were creatures of community by nature.

Soon enough, I could no longer fool myself –

– the man I loved –

– who was by all accounts such a kind and gentle soul –

– when I – saw him standing there waiting for me – I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than in that moment.

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

Everything about being with him felt so natural that when he told me he loved me, it only came as a surprise to realize that we hadn’t said it already.

…to say – “I love you” – honestly it’s one of the few decisions I’ve ever made that I completely understand.

It’s… woefully inadequate. Too devoid of context. Unlikely to reach Martin through the fog. But maybe it will be enough to at least convince him to talk to Jon. To keep the Lonely at bay, at least for now.

After leaving the hospital, the next thing that is properly clear in my mind is –

– I need him to be okay.

I couldn’t see him or hear him –

– I didn’t even get a chance to speak to him – asked what had happened, he was just gone. And I was alone again.

I wanted to say something reassuring, to reach out and let him know I was still there –

– I wanted to act, to help, to do something, but – I felt helpless to do anything but watch as events progressed.

I think he might be part of something really awful, and I don’t know how to make him see that – of course I did worry. I knew that, secretly, he was as well.

I know how that sounds – but – I ask you to read on.

For a split second, the memory of the ritual flits through his mind – Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading … – and Jon brings his wrist down on the side of his chair, hard. The pain jolts him out of the recollection and brings him back to the present. He watches halfheartedly as the discoloration fades before his eyes, frustration with his overreaction itching in the back of his mind. Stupid.

With a longsuffering sigh, he rereads the previous section again. The borrowed words sound patronizing, without the qualifying context he wishes he could provide more explicitly. He isn’t just nitpicking – it’s crucial that Martin knows that Jon isn’t underestimating him, despite a history of doing exactly that for far too long.

The first time around, he trusted Martin – more than he trusted anyone, including (perhaps especially) himself – and even knowing what he knows now, he doesn’t regret it. He heard the tapes.

“But if I could just explain,” Martin had said.

“And how do you think Jon’s going to react to that explanation, hm?” Peter had replied. “You think he’ll accept it calmly? Come through with a well-considered, rational response?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Or would he assume he knows better than you and do something rash?”

“I don’t like being manipulated.”

“That’s fair. But I’m not wrong.”

“No.”

In Jon’s original timeline, he had proven Peter wrong. He had trusted Martin, respected his boundaries, followed his lead. This time, though… Jon won’t be able to demonstrate that with non-interference, and not being able to use his own words doesn’t help him explain that this isn’t just another instance of Jon just assuming he knows better than everyone else, that he actually does have special knowledge, and – well, truthfulness aside, that sounds condescending, too, doesn’t it?

He doesn’t blame Martin for agreeing with Peter. For a significant portion of Jon’s life, it would have been a fair assessment. He didn’t trust people. He didn’t trust himself, either – not really – but at least he knew his own intentions. That bone-deep fear of being manipulated, of being rejected, of not having control… it never played well with the concept of trust.

And when they first started working together, Jon made no secret of his knee-jerk judgment of Martin as being incompetent, clumsy, and unreliable. In retrospect, he couldn’t have been more wrong – and he knows now that he was only seeing what he wanted to see, projecting his own insecurities and fear of failure onto Martin to distract from his own floundering.

After learning that Martin had lied on his CV, Jon readjusted his initial opinions. He was impressed. Martin was remarkably capable for someone with no prior qualifications, no experience, no degree. What he lacked in experience he more than made up for in effort. He was clever, and resolute, and dependable, and genuine, and… and god, wasn’t Jon a fool for taking so long to notice? And then for never saying as much until it was almost too late?

This version of Martin hasn’t heard that apology just yet – or the corollary apology for waiting so long to apologize. Georgie had told him years ago that he needed to use his words, that people needed to hear directly that they were acknowledged and appreciated. Jon himself struggled with reading between the lines. Just because he had low tolerance for receiving direct praise – despite craving it deeply – didn’t mean that other people had the same hangups.

He’s since taken that advice to heart, but he should have done sooner. Georgie had been right about a lot of things.

Jon did eventually say as much and more, during those brief few weeks they had in the safehouse. Peter hadn’t been all wrong when he questioned how much they really knew one another. Between Jon’s early irascibility and the distance he felt obligated to keep given their employee/boss relationship; between preventing apocalypses and being in such constant life-or-death peril that it started to feel normal, so normal that Jon didn’t know what to do with himself when he wasn’t being chased or held captive; between the coma, and descending into inhumanity, and the Lonely… they hadn’t had a chance to get to know each other outside of a crisis situation.

Jon didn’t even know himself anymore. He wondered if he ever had.

For the first time, they finally had the time and space to remedy that. Both of them were changed and would never be the same, but they had each other. They were both willing to put in the effort, to learn how to communicate and accommodate and navigate boundaries, despite neither having much experience with a healthy relationship. And for a little while, it had seemed that they could both learn how to be present in the world again – starting with their own microcosm, one day at a time, encouraging one another to be more patient and kind with themselves.

It wasn’t fair, how abruptly that hesitant, hopeful attempt was stolen from them. Jon didn’t feel like he deserved comfort and contentment – he still doesn’t – but Martin… Martin deserved – deserves – to be safe and cared for and loved. Martin deserves to be happy.

Jon desperately wants to help him See that.

Don’t… misunderstand me, please –

– I trusted his instincts almost as much as I trusted my own.

More than I trusted my own, Jon amends in his head – but the Archive isn’t cooperating.

But I knew that I – knew the future –

– the promise of secret knowledge, of seeing something that no one else was privy to –

– there was – a lot – we were missing.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed –

– a chance to express myself –

– said something about knowledge being a good defense here –

– so here I am, pouring out my lunatic story on paper in the hopes that you might eventually read it.

Statement of Georgina Barker regarding –

– travel through time.

Jon still has to ask Georgie if she can explain the situation to Martin, but he doesn’t think she’ll mind. It won’t be as comprehensive as Jon wishes it could be – he still struggles with explaining the fine details of the apocalypse to the others given his current limitations – but he’s done his best, and he can trust Georgie to do the same.

Some fears can only be endured for so long. I remember every second of that fall. Like it was happening in slow motion. I was certain I was about to watch him fall like I had.

That knowledge I had gained – could finally be put to use.

I shall do my best to explain, and hope that any revelations contained here in me sway you from the path you have started upon.

I wanted to tell him to stop, to warn him – because I knew –

– the Extinction – while I have seen evidence of its influence in other powers –

– there was no sign of – imminent arrival – I resolved –

– its emergence as a true power of its own –

– wasn’t a threat.

Whatever he was planning –

– to try and rescue those trapped –

– trying to protect me –

– defending the world from the darkness…

…I know – to talk to other people about it –

– desperately wishing for another human being to talk to –

– to take too much comfort in – people – would go quite strongly against the spirit of the experiment – had to really feel alone. That at least didn’t take too long to set in.

All that remained was the fog – could wander there for years, and never meet another – utterly forsaken – there seemed to be no end to it.

But it didn’t need to be forever, did it?

“This too shall pass.”

I tried to explain but all I could manage to get through the shaking sobs was, “I love you.”

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears,

Jon stops reading for a moment, realizing that, aptly enough, he’s on the verge of tears right now. He swallows them back and continues.

By then it looked like he was on the verge of tears, but I couldn’t leave it alone – just couldn’t let it go.

I have tried to write it down, to put it into terms and words you could understand. And now I stare at it and not a word of it is even enough to fully describe the fact that –

I cannot lose him.

I – cared deeply about his well-being.

I know he didn’t deserve what happened to him.

He deserved to –

– to be – beloved –

– cared for – trusted –

– being wanted and appreciated –

– being genuinely loved –

– no matter how wrong it might feel –

– when you’re at your lowest point, when you’re your most emotionally vulnerable.

I need him to be okay –

– and the world is so much better for –

– the easy, charming man I’d fall in love with –

– being in it.

Please. All I ask is that I be allowed to –

– talk to you, before it all comes to an end –

– and I swear to you that –

– if you decide to do it – if –

– you want to be alone – and –

– didn’t say much to me after that –

– I made sure to keep – distance.

There’s so much more Jon wishes he could say; so much that he wishes he could say in his own voice, rather than the stolen words of survivors recounting the most traumatic moments of their lives. It still feels perverse, to use their statements like this. It might not be as bad as feeding directly on a victim, but it still falls on a spectrum of appropriating the torment of others for his own use.

At the end of the day, it really doesn’t feel all that different from Jonah’s brand of dehumanization. It’s just one more way Jon is complicit in the evil that thrives in this place –

“Hey,” comes Georgie’s voice from just a few yards away. Jon startles, sending his pen clattering to the floor. He had been so lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even heard her descending the ladder. “Sorry,” she says with a wince. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

Retrieving the fallen pen, Jon waves the apology off – it’s okay – and Georgie comes to sit next to him.

“Finished with your letter?”

“…I’m vague on the details,” he says. “I have to be.”

“Want me to take a look?”

Jon nods; he had been planning on asking her to read it through. Even if it was in his own words, he would likely run it by her. He trusts Georgie’s judgment regarding relationship matters far more than he trusts his own, and he knows she’ll be straightforward with him if he’s said something… well, stupid. He’s gotten better at communicating, but that doesn’t mean his tendency to put his foot in his mouth has disappeared entirely.

He jiggles his leg restlessly as she reads, increasingly self-conscious the longer the silence goes on. He resists scratching at his hands – Georgie is sure to reprimand him if he starts that up again. It isn’t that she has a problem with his fidgeting; she was actually one of the first people in his life to tolerate it. Encouraged it, even. She pointed out quite bluntly once that whenever Jon tried to force himself to sit still, his restless energy didn’t go away, it just came out as waspishness instead.

But she had a rule: no self-harm, no matter how mild. Personally, he didn’t categorize the scratching as self-harm, but she was firm about it. Lately, the scratching is limited mostly to his burned hand, and he’s tried explaining to her that it doesn’t even hurt – the scar tissue doesn’t register much sensation anymore – but she won’t hear it. For the past couple weeks, whenever she catches him at it, she gives him a look until he stops.

“I think it’s good,” Georgie says. “But…”

Jon tenses, but then he glimpses Georgie’s playful grin.

“It’s nothing bad! It’s just… well…”

He can hear the spark of mischief in her tone and somehow that makes him more apprehensive than the prospect of criticism.

“See, you say you’re not a poet,” she says, pointing at the letter, “but this part here…”

He spoke words I thought existed only in my heart, and I loved him as the soil loves the rain –

– and it seemed he felt the same way –

– and together it seemed like we would get past our pain.

“You go and use a sappy metaphor – and I know,” she says, seeing him ready to protest, “they’re not your words and you’re using what you have available.”

Yes, he wants to say, and my vast library comprised solely of people’s retellings of their supernatural trauma isn’t exactly forthcoming with declarations of love, Georgina.

“But,” she says, goading now, “then you go and rhyme the first and last lines.”

Jon squints at the letter, and…

Fuck. It does rhyme.

He moves to snatch the paper away and Georgie stands and holds it out of reach, dancing backwards.

“No, nope, absolutely not,” she says, laughing. “Jonathan Sims, I refuse to let you change it. You’re leaving it exactly as is.”

“…being used against me in a cruel joke,” he huffs, glowering at her – but her laugh has always been infectious, and he can’t fight it as his lips twitch into a smile.

She hands the letter back to him after a minute, still grinning when she takes her seat again.

“I’m teasing you. You can change it if you want, but I think it’s adorable and you should leave it. Besides, Martin’s a poet, isn’t he? He might get a kick out of it.”

Honestly, it doesn’t bother him enough to rewrite the entire thing. And if there’s a chance of it coaxing a smile out of Martin…

“On a more serious note – this part here, ‘statement of Georgina Barker’ – I’m assuming you want me to try to convince him that you actually are a time traveler here to stop the apocalypse?” Jon nods. “Probably easier than trying to write it all out. I don’t mind, but are you sure he’ll listen to me?”

Jon shrugs. He has the same worry, but…

“As for myself, I must cling to –”

“– that most insidious of emotions: hope.”

“Somehow both unexpectedly sappy and predictably ominous,” she replies, “but I’ll take it. Better than despair, anyway.”

Despite the light teasing, the smile she flashes is genuine. Fleeting, though, as she continues.

“Oh, and one more thing – that one bit, capital-E Extinction? One, don’t like the sound of that, and two – should I know what that is? Melanie hasn’t mentioned anything like that before.”

“I’m sorry – it won’t let me say the words,” Jon says with a frustrated sigh.

“Will Martin know what it means, though?” Jon nods. With any luck, Martin can be persuaded to fill the others in on it. “Good enough.”

She watches him for a few moments as he chews at his thumbnail, leg still shaking, staring at the floor.

“Something’s on your mind.”

Jon sighs and closes his eyes.

“I could feel hunger gnawing at me.”

“You still haven’t had a statement?” Georgie says, frowning at him.

“Something he could salvage from the whole situation,” he mutters, not looking up at her. “Just a way of getting some control over his life, you know?”

“Jon, you can’t just starve yourself –”

“Running was pointless,” he agrees sullenly. “To try to escape from my task would only serve to fulfill another. I finally understood what I needed to do –”

“– some hungers are too strong to be denied –”

“– you have to feed it – or it will feed on you.”

“So why haven’t you?”

“Even as I did so, in the back of my mind I hated myself –”

“– to feed the sick voyeur that lurks in this place.”

“I’m not saying you should… go hunting, or whatever you want to call it. This is an archive, there are plenty of statements lying around.”

“…you’ve got all this… all these people’s experiences listened to and filed away.”

“Right. They’re already given. They can’t be taken back. You’re not going out and hurting people, you’re just… reading what’s already here.”

She thinks he was just agreeing with her, he realizes – she didn’t comprehend his true meaning there. How could she have? He hasn’t properly explained to them that he is the Archive. He already Knows all of the statements housed here. Old statements were stale even when he hadn’t read them yet. Now, they’re even less fulfilling.

As a child, he hated reading anything that he felt like he had read before. It seems morbidly fitting that the Archivist in him is much the same way.

“Think of it like… like harm reduction,” Georgie is saying now. “From what I can gather, abstinence just isn’t an option for you, at least not right now. The next best thing is to meet yourself where you are. Even if you can’t stop, you can still take steps to minimize the harm – and that includes harm to yourself. Reading the statements that are already here – I think it’s justifiable, if the alternative is starving to death.”

“I am not sure how long this might continue for. Maybe years. Maybe forever.”

“Maybe. But right now, you need to take it one step at a time. You’re getting ready to hurl yourself into danger. You should be at full strength for that. If you aren’t going to sleep, you at least need to eat something.”

She has a point. There is one other concern, though.

“It seems I cannot avoid the ceaseless gaze of – Jonah –”

“– still there, still watching me –”

“– eyes were always focused on something, always watching. And – I always felt afraid –”

“– being under constant scrutiny and observation –”

“– it may be worth your while to keep an eye on the statements – in case he finds his way here –”

“– my mind has always been receptive to the thoughts that lurk in the written page –”

“– that throw out strange or sometimes even dangerous things –”

“– a simple ruse or deception –”

“– quietly waiting for you to lose your footing, to slip up and fall.”

“You’re afraid of getting tricked into reading the wrong statement again.”

Jon nods, not quite meeting her eye. All of the statements housed here are already catalogued in the Archive. He can recall them on his own word for word, if he concentrates. But something about that doesn’t feel right. Physically reading the statement, speaking it into the tape recorder… it’s like its own little ritual – like there’s an order of operations that has to be followed or it doesn’t count, somehow.

“…I outlined basic checks in due diligence –”

“– checking and double checking –”

“– before I finally felt safe enough –”

“– to read a statement – hitting record and speaking it aloud.”

“Well… we can probably vet them before giving them to you?”

“…they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong – in case –”

“– it tried to read me back.”

“Okay,” she says after a moment’s consideration. “I’ll let Basira know.”

Her expression is concerned, but there’s something else underneath it. It doesn’t seem like judgment, or suspicion, or any of the other reactions he’s come to expect when discussing his reliance on the statements. It’s definitely not fear; this is Georgie. Pity, maybe?

Whatever it is, it makes him feel small and exposed and uncomfortably seen.

“Jon, look at me.” He does, with hesitation. “I know things are bad, and I’ll admit I was skeptical when you first said you wanted to change, but based on what I’ve seen over the past few months? I believe in you. It’s okay to have a little faith in yourself, too. I think you’ll need to, if you want to get through this.”

His gaze drifts to the floor, self-conscious.

“Anyway, it's probably best that Elias doesn’t see us pre-screening statements for you, right? Might make him suspicious. I can just gather a box of them and bring them down here. I’ll bring Basira with me, and we can explain the situation.” She stands and starts to walk toward the ladder, then stops abruptly. “Wait.”

She does a half-turn, not quite facing him, watching the floor pensively.

“I don’t know what I’m looking for. Is there something particular – like, do you have preferences, or – are there… nutritional requirements or something?” Jon can’t help it; he smiles at the absurdity of it all. “Do you need variety? Does a balanced diet even apply in this –”

Realizing he isn’t replying to any of her questions, she finally looks up, sees his amused smirk, and pauses mid-flustered gesture. He chuckles softly and shakes his head, mortified by the idea of cultivating a preference for statements as if choosing from a menu, but also just a bit shamefully, morbidly endeared at her thoughtfulness.

“Well, I don’t know!” she says indignantly, but she grins back. “Fine. I’ll grab a bunch at random then, and you can just deal. Ass.”

God, he missed this easy, playful banter even more than he had realized.

Jon watches as she climbs the ladder, preparing for the customary anxiety that tends to hit him whenever she leaves his presence – that conviction that it will be the last he sees of her.

When she pulls herself up through the trapdoor, though, he’s pleasantly surprised to note that the fear doesn’t come. He’s even more surprised that a half-hour later, when Georgie sends Basira with a box of statements but doesn’t accompany her, the fear still doesn’t overwhelm him. It shouldn’t be that surprising – he does trust Georgie – but intellectually understanding something isn’t the same as emotionally assimilating it. It seems that for once, his emotions have caught up with reality.

“Melanie needs company right now, so Georgie couldn’t come with. She didn't say exactly what you needed help with, but I think I have an idea.”

“…to keep an eye on the statements –”

“– they were also there as a backup in case something went horribly wrong.”

“Figured as much. Anyway, Georgie said she’ll come see you before she goes home today.” Basira drops the box on the floor in front of him. “I told her you probably wouldn’t want her present for the statements anyway. No need to expose more people to them if we can help it. I thought you’d agree.”

Jon nods, thankful that Basira is on the same page and he didn’t have to bother explaining it himself.

“So, any stand out to you?”

May as well get it over with, Jon thinks with a heavy sigh.

He leans over the box and sifts through them, eyes skimming over the case numbers until one catches his eye. CASE #0020312, the label reads. Figures, he thinks to himself with a grim, humorless smile, and he hands it over to Basira for her to inspect.

She skims through it quickly – she’s a fast reader, Jon notes – and at several points her eyebrows raise and furrow.

“Seems normal enough – for a statement, anyway,” she says, handing it back to him. Then, meeting his eyes: “A bit on the nose, though.” Jon shrugs. “You want me to stay while you read it, right? Go on, then.”

The tape recorder clicks on in his pocket, as if to voice its agreement. Jon removes it and takes a moment to glare at it before turning his eyes to the statement, clearing his throat, and beginning his monologue.

“Statement of Tova McHugh, regarding their string of near-death experiences. Original statement given December 3rd, 2002. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, the Archivist. Statement begins…”

The Coffin sits where Breekon dropped it, hungry and waiting. It’s the densest, most solid thing in the room, as if it has its own gravity, a sort of metaphysical black hole. It’s not as bad as the rift at Hill Top Road, but it has a similar feel to it: oppressive, wrong, its existence impossible but unavoidably present all the same.

Jon stands at the threshold, blocking the entrance, Basira and Georgie standing behind him.

“So this is it, then,” Georgie says. “You’re sure you know what you’re doing?”

“…as you can imagine, getting out of there proved – difficult –”

“– but they did return.”

She still looks uncertain, watching the Coffin as if it might move on its own.

“…try to keep you far away –”

“– didn’t want a good look inside that room – stopped at the threshold –”

“– make it very little distance over the threshold before – swallowed –”

“– you must trust me on that and not come looking –”

“– supervise from a distance –”

“Jon,” Basira says, cutting him off, “we get it. It’s dangerous, stay away, et cetera. I can feel the compulsion from here; you really don’t need to tell me twice, let alone five times.”

Jon barely hears her, his mind already entirely occupied with what he’s about to do. He stands paralyzed, knees locked, hands trembling just slightly, pulse thundering in his throat. Already his breath feels constricted, and he hasn’t even opened the thing yet.

“Do you need more time?” Georgie asks gently.

Jon shuts his eyes, swallows around the lump in his throat, and shakes his head no. The longer he puts it off, the harder it will be to take the plunge. And Daisy has waited long enough.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Jon breathes out, opens his eyes, and turns to face her. She opens her arms slightly, offering an embrace – but he shakes his head, giving her an apologetic look. Pressure is usually good, grounding him, but right now – well, he’s about to have all of creation pressing in on him, and any reminder of that is only going to send him spiraling.

“Okay. You have everything you need?”

He nods, trying to project whatever thin veneer of confidence he can muster – more for himself than the others, really. He holds up the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement tape in it, then gestures vaguely at the tape recorders littering his desk.

“…like breadcrumbs taking us home. Home, in this case, was –”

“Martin,” Georgie says with a knowing smile. “I’ll make sure he gets your message – and yes,” she says, seeing him about to interject, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t read it outside the tunnels. And I’ll explain… the situation. Don’t worry about things over here. Just focus on what you need to do on your end.”

Jon nods again, clenching and unclenching his fist at his side, stuffing the tape recorder back into his pocket with the other hand.

Time to stop dithering, he tells himself firmly.

“Tell Daisy I –” Basira blurts out, then pauses, struggling for words. “Tell her…”

She breathes out a short exhale and looks up at Jon. He nods at her: I understand.

“Tell her I’m waiting.” She pauses, biting her lip. “And Jon?” He makes a questioning noise. “Come back safe,” she says, then turns on her heel and walks briskly away down the hall.

“We’ll see you home soon, Jon,” Georgie says. She pours every ounce of reassurance into it that she can manage, but he can feel that she’s still apprehensive. “Don’t get lost.”

“…I’d – get out of there as soon as possible,” he says, trying to mirror her composure.

“You’d better. I doubt I’ll be the only one cross with you if you stay away too long.”

The tape recorders fill the room with a low, static-leaden murmuring – dozens of overlapping tones, unbroken streams of phonemes rendered nearly incomprehensible, discrete parts unable to compete against the cacophony of the whole. Although it sounds like the background noise of a crowd to Jon, he Knows every word being said: a litany of horror and dread unspooling in the air around him.

He also Knows that they will continue running, replaying each statement on a loop until he returns, no batteries required.

A notebook sits on his desk, battered and careworn. It’s Martin’s, half-filled with poems and works-in-progress, many of them from the weeks he was living in the Archives. He left it here when he went to work for Peter. Whether it was meant as a deliberate symbolic gesture – leaving the past behind him, sacrificing this sentimental part of himself in order to become what Peter’s plan required him to be – or was simply an oversight after months of having no time or mind for writing, Jon still doesn’t Know. He never asked. In the future, after Martin started writing again, Jon felt it was best not to reopen old wounds for the sake of satiating his own curiosity.

If only he could have learned that lesson earlier in life.

Jon has never been a fan of poetry. It’s never really resonated with him; he’s never understood it, and he… doesn’t have much patience for things he cannot understand. But then, Martin went to work for Peter Lukas – and the last time Jon was here, he had burned every other bridge between himself and humanity.

When he was a child, he had convinced himself that he didn’t need friends, didn’t need affection. He found human connection in books, and he told himself that it was enough. It wasn’t, in retrospect: he entered adolescence and then adulthood with stunted social skills, and practicing didn't seem worth the risk of failure. Between that and being the Archivist, it was no wonder he had chased everyone away.

By the time he woke up from his first coma, he knew that books would be no replacement for actual companionship, but he thought it might at least take the edge off, like it used to when he was a child. It backfired terribly. He would always Know how the story ended before even finishing the first chapter, and it would demolish any motivation to continue reading. It wasn’t just that his reading habits now tend to be as particular as they were when he was young, having little patience for anything that felt like he had read it before. It was that he couldn’t have a moment of peace from the knowledge of what he had become.

One day he stumbled across Martin’s notebook in Document Storage, along with some spoken word recordings that Martin had made while living in the Archives. At first, Jon didn’t know what the tapes were, and listening to any tapes that turned up had long since become automatic for him. Once he realized what was on them, he probably should have stopped, but he listened to every second of that handful of tapes, over and over and over again. He felt guilty – he had already violated Martin’s privacy once before, when he was deep in the throes of paranoia – but he justified it to himself because he… well, he'd needed to hear Martin’s voice.

The poetry was… well, Jon still didn’t get it, not really. But he found himself liking it anyway, because it was Martin’s voice and Martin’s words and Martin’s story, and Jon didn’t have to understand it for it to have meaning and value and warmth. He should have been content with the tapes, but he kept stealing glances at the notebook, itching to open it and start reading. Part of it was that simple curiosity that was always leading him astray, but for once, that wasn’t the loudest part of him.

It wasn’t a need to Know. It was a need for closeness.

So, he pushed that guilty voice in his head aside and… he read. Unlike the fiction stories he had been trying to lose himself in, he never once Knew anything about a poem before he finished reading it. He rarely Knew anything about it even after reading it, and then rereading it, and then rereading it again. For the first time in his life, not having answers was… refreshing. Freeing, even.

It didn’t take long for Jon to memorize every word, cover to cover – and he never grew bored of them, despite their familiarity.

Gingerly, almost reverently, Jon turns the pages. There are a handful of poems in here about him, and even now, indelibly etched into his memory, reading them on the page still makes him feel seen in a way that is all at once terrifying and comforting. Affecting, certainly, but in a way he could appreciate, once he gave it a chance.

You’re stalling, Jon tells himself, closing the notebook and placing one last tape on top of it.

He closes his eyes and forces himself to take several deep breaths – it’s the last chance he’ll have for the next few days – and he checks his pocket for the tape recorder with Daisy’s statement in it. Pointless, really; he already Knows it’s there, same as it was the last dozen times he checked.

Swallowing hard, he finally turns to look at the Coffin. The moment he lays eyes on it, the static rises in his mind.

Oh, shut up, Jon thinks tiredly. The Dread Powers are like cats yowling at overflowing food bowls, insisting that they haven’t had supper yet. At least cats are endearing. The Fears are noisy and intrusive with none of the charm. You’re all so goddamn needy, you know that?

The Coffin carries on, and Jon rolls his eyes. Wrapping himself in annoyance does little to drown out the fear, but it offers a slight buffer. He’ll take it.

You’re still stalling, he reprimands himself.

With trembling hands he picks up the key, fits it into the lock… and he opens the lid. It lifts easily with only a slight creak, no heft or resistance to it: it wants to be opened, like so many of the other hungry doors lurking around this world, bear traps and snares and spiderwebs all lying in wait for somebody foolish and curious enough to ignore all the alarm bells for just one… peek… inside.

Knock-knock, comes the intrusive thought.

Shut up, Jon shoots back.

The tape recorder clicks on, whirring impatiently in his pocket, as if to urge him onward.

You too, he snaps – but as much as his knee-jerk impulse is to be contrary, he has put this off long enough.

Jon steels himself, takes one last deep breath – savoring fresh air, full lungs, airways clear of dirt and grime and debris – and he begins his descent.

Martin is in Peter’s office, tending to some tedious administrative tasks. His brain feels fuzzy, thoughts sluggish and stunted from the lack of stimulation. The tick-tock of the wall clock drones on and on. He’s considered removing the batteries, but it’s the only company he’s had in days. Complete silence might be worse. Besides, the longer he sits here, the less and less the noise scrapes against the edges of his consciousness – and even when it does penetrate the fog filling his head, he can’t bring himself to care.

If Peter intends for the monotony to highlight his isolation and desensitize him to the absence of… well, everything, it’s working.

Then, between one moment and the next, there’s a shift. It crashes into him, tears through the quiet, and the world around him comes rushing back in, a sharp and blinding and cacophonous flood of sensory input.

There’s a palpable void where one shouldn’t be, and he knows with certainty that it’s distinct from the general sense of absence that he’s grown accustomed to over the past few months. The Lonely feels soft, quiet, gentle – natural, like a cocoon tailored specifically for him. This feels like a knife to the gut, a gaping wound, alarm bells screaming in his mind that something is wrong, wrong, wrong –

“Something’s happened,” he says to himself. He flinches at the sound. It’s jarring, hearing his own voice, raspy as it is with disuse.

Before he even realizes that he’s moving, he’s out of the office and hurrying down the hallway, not bothering to close the door behind him.

“Jon,” he whispers with a passion and urgency that feels alien to him now, thoughts no longer muffled and detached. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he does: Jon’s done something drastic, and given his track record, it can’t be good.

The only thought running through his mind is Jon, playing on a loop like a stuck tape; like the nervous stammering of the person he used to be, intimidated by and enamored with the man in equal measure; like a – like a prayer: Jon.

Martin picks up his pace, making a beeline for the Archives.

End Notes:

The Buried, Round Two: BEGIN.

I might not have much free time to write this weekend, so the next chapter probably won't be ready until next weekend at least. It will have some Martin POV though, FINALLY. This story hasn't had enough Martin screentime yet and that is entirely a hell of my own making, but I WILL remedy it. Also: ACTUAL DAISY CONTENT SOON, I SWEAR.

Citations for Jon's letter to Martin are as follows: MAG 040; 112/007/029/102; 007/150; 020/019; 150; 013; 135; 048/144/007/021; 021; 013/002/032/147/153/013; 161/091/101/089/135; 048/028/067/013; 143/150/008/013; 135/048/009; 013; 150; 013/117; 085/052; 063/124; 123; 011; 123/133; 070/154/123; 133/019/036/011; 094/088; 075; 135; 127; 124/157/050/157/130; 143/107/012/056; 122/012/057; 013; 145/121; 150; 042; 042; 032; 037/136/110; 152/008/101/153/032/129/153; 117/155/013/155; 133/112/152/154/013/051/049.

Citations for Jon's dialogue are as follows, broken down by section: Section 1: MAG 064; 019; 138/139; 019; 058; 148; 121/014/089; 066/135; 043; 096; 138/060/154/060/113/017/005/116/121; 054/022/054/147; 057/091; 155. Section 2: 150/096; 095/006/023/157/139; 125; 047. Section 3: None. Section 4: None.

The cited dialogue between Peter and Martin is from MAG 126. And it probably goes without saying but the Jonah/Elias statement quote is from MAG 160.

As always, you can also just ask if you want to know where a particular line comes from. c:

[kdscannabisblog]

Customer Service as a Career

What is Customer Service????

Customer service is: professionally ensuring a positive customer experience.  Being a great assistant is much like being a customer service representative, with extra technical skills. In both cases, soft skills: social skills that relate to how you operate in your workplace, are the core of success in your chosen line of work.  According to the article: What Are Soft Skills “soft skills include interpersonal (people) skills, communication skills, listening skills, time management, and empathy...Adaptability Communication, Creative thinking, Dependability, Work ethic, Teamwork, Positivity, Time management, Motivation, Problem-solving, Critical thinking, [and] Conflict resolution.” They are some of the hardest skills to master: to put it simply, there is no hard science or measurable metric to determine how good you are at things like; work ethic, and networking. There is no real way to gauge how good you are at empathizing, how much every single customer likes you, or who comes back to the business because of how much you understood their issue.  Yet, there is an undeniable correlation between the improvement of business and the development of soft skills; that lets us know they have a major impact.

1. Soft Skills

Soft skills are notoriously difficult to learn and practice intentionally. But, it is possible, the trick is: you truly have to learn from experience and honestly evaluate your behavior. Working in any position requires at least some of these soft skills.  Dale Carnegie, in his book How to Win Friends and Influence People, claimed that soft skills, like understanding that people like to be greeted in the morning, are the key to a successful career.  He cites people like Andrew Carnegie, Teddy Roosevelt, and himself; all great leaders who went very far in their careers.  All of these men had much less technical knowledge than a lot of the people working under them, what made them such effective leaders were soft skills.

2. Positive Attitude

Working in any customer service environment requires a genuinely positive attitude and conflict resolution skills.  All of these skills are important to master in any workplace; at some point or another, you will have to use each one.  Honest reflection is the best way to master soft skills; ultimately discussing how you can improve with peers, and supervisors will yield the best results. Just make sure to make suggestions on how you think you can improve, rather than asking how others think you can improve.

3. Sincerity

One of the reasons that soft skills are so difficult to master is because they have to come from a place of sincerity.  People trust other people when they can tell that person is being sincere and making their best effort. People do not trust people who insincerely flatter them, cave to them, or hide behind company policies they don’t believe in. To be sincere you must actually seek to understand your customer. Find something interesting about everyone; there is something interesting or relatable about every single person. It may take several tries to find that point of common interest, but you will find some way to relate to your customer eventually.  Actively listening to your customer or coworker you can gauge their interest in whatever you’re trying to talk about, if you’re not interested: your expression, tone, or even the words you choose to say will give it away. Ways to show your interest in your customer can include: commenting on their hair, noticing they’re upset, asking about some of their favorite products and services they offer.  Whatever it is, make sure you’re interested in the topics you're pursuing; it will be a lot easier to ask follow-up questions and respond enthusiastically. If you’re just trying to keep the conversation going: you’ll give your customer or coworker subtle signs and should they choose to continue buying from your company, it will not be because of your contribution to the customer experience; which as a customer service representative is your job.

4. Empathy

Empathy is the number one skill in customer service, no matter what environment you’re in it will be the heart of the job. There is a big difference between having empathy for another person’s situation and treating other people the way you want to be treated. The key to empathy is: treat other people the way they want to be treated. Everyone has different expectations of how they should be treated; no two people want to be treated the same way. Some will want to engage with you, and some people legitimately want to be left alone or don’t want to make eye contact, and that’s fine.  What is really important to keep in mind: make an effort to relate to the customer, sometimes relating to the customer means: leaving them alone. When you treat people in the way that they want to be treated they are more likely to return to your business because you’re giving them the experience they want.

Think about the last time you called into a call center or went into a store: did you spend any time thinking about how the customer service representative wanted to be treated? Probably not, you most likely went into the store or called in expecting to be treated a certain way and if that expectation is not met, then you probably won’t patronize that business frequently if at all. It is when the customer’s, or supervisor’s needs are met that the job is well done. 

5. Listen

Active listening is the best skill you can develop to understand how your customer expects to be treated; it is the act of listening to the customer and responding to the customer in a way that shows you understand what they really want from your interaction. When communicating with a customer: always greet them with a positive attitude, and gauge their response, but don’t expect that act to brighten their day. Some customers will merely say hello, some want to talk until well after your business or transaction is complete, and some want to ask questions but are too nervous to initiate that line of conversation. To figure out what the customer wants: try to start a small conversation with them, avoid just asking: “how are you?” most people will just respond “good” and leave you nothing to work with. Instead, find something else to ask them, that has to do with them, ask them about previous orders, see if they have any questions about your service or products. The simple act of showing sincere interest in them, makes the customer feel special and important. No matter who you are; everyone wants to feel special and important like people care about them. Customers will come back to your business if they get that feeling from your interactions.

 Making people feel special and important is a skill that is a lot harder to develop than what you might think; when you’ve been sitting in a call center or at your desk, or standing at a register all day, no matter how much you're being paid, active listening can exhaust the brain, it will only develop with practical experience and a legitimate will to understand people. 

6. Understand Your Market

Understanding the statistics of market behavior is immensely helpful to any customer service representative.  “Studying consumer behavior is important because it helps marketers understand what influences consumers’ buying decisions.”  To expand on that, to effectively communicate with others, often the key to coworker and customer relations, you must be able to: understand what other people think and how they feel, what influences people to make the choices they make, one’s environment outside the workplace or customer interaction area influences their behavior. When you understand this kind of general information, you can more quickly find ways to bond with your customer.

7. Remember: it’s not the customer’s job to care about your day.

No one is contacting a customer service representative because they care about your day, but it is a customer service representative’s job to care about the customer.  At the end of the day, the representative is being paid to be there, the customer is paying for a service or product the company is providing. This statement may be blunt, but it’s not quite as cold as it sounds; people do not want to go out of their way to be considerate of others.  Most of the time customers do not think about the cashier they’re buying from, or the banking representative taking their call.  This is important to keep in mind when communicating in any environment, if you want to work effectively or provide a good experience for another person you must communicate on their terms, speaking to them about how you can help them, not necessarily what would be easy or convenient for you.

8. Treat People the Way They Want to be Treated

It’s important to remember that, no matter how empathetic and sincere you are: a portion of the people you’re interacting with will not be in a good mood, will not want to communicate, and will respond with negativity over positivity. It is your job as a customer representative to remember that these people are not mad at you personally, and still deserve your respect and empathy. If they only want their problem resolved, resolve the problem and leave at that, if they want to talk there is nothing wrong with taking an extra minute to be someone’s sounding board.  In the office environment: you will have to interact with people every day eventually you’re going to have to find a way to work together.  Most people who come into a conversation with a negative attitude toward your business, have a point in the heart of their complaint. Only the occasional person is trying to scam the system and get ahead.  Use your empathy skills to get to the heart of their ranting and raving. To confirm that you understand what the issue is, and what the customer wants simply: restate the issue and what you think the customer wants out of the interaction, and ask them if that is what they're trying to say, then resolve it as best you can.

For example a customer calls a store, they are up in arms and ready to curse you out and report your store to the corporate because; they read their receipt, and they believe they did not receive their senior discount.  The website does say that the store offers a senior discount, there is a disclaimer at the bottom of the page that explains: discounts don’t get stacked.  The items the customer purchased were on sale.  In this instance, it is your job as a customer service representative to resolve this situation, ideally, without losing the customer’s business or having to involve a supervisor. It is tempting to do one of two things in response to a belligerent customer: get defensive, condescend to the customer and stand behind company policy, saying there was a disclaimer on the website that discounts do not stack; or cave and give the customer their extra money back. 

9. Respect the Customer

The customer is not necessarily always right but they do always deserve kindness and respect. Even when you’re denying a person what they want, because; you’re unable to give the customer more money off. Neither of the above outcomes is ideal: using empathy, understanding your customer, and putting their needs at the forefront; will usually yield better results. 

To respond to the above scenario: start by empathizing with your customer; put yourself in your customer’s shoes, you came into a store expecting to pay a certain amount of money, and now you have to spend more.  In the heart of the anger and cursing, this person, on some level, has a point. When you understand your customer, relating to them becomes a lot easier.  Express your understanding that the website is a little unclear: even though the information is there, it is not prominent.  It can be frustrating having to spend more than planned.  Before you explain to them: your company doesn't stack discounts, think about your tone and your wording. One method to take is: express to the customer; the company doesn’t allow you to stack the discounts, but you, the representative, did the math and gave them the best deal you could within the rules of your job. Stating that you understand the customer’s frustration, and letting them know that you’ve done the best job you can, humanizes you to the customer.  Oftentimes, the customer appreciates the acknowledgment that they are not an idiot and the representatives of the company recognize (within reason) that there is room for improvement. 

10. Why You Should Care

Most of the time, using empathy and recognizing the customer’s frustration will end with repeat business, without having to give away extra money.  While the customer may still be frustrated with the situation, they will on some level understand. Most customers will appreciate that at least, you as an individual, have done the best you were able to to make right the frustrating situation. More often than not; responding with empathy and making a little effort for your customer will result in repeat business, at the end of the day people want to feel important and be taken seriously.

11. Work Ethic

One of the, not so obvious, keys to a positive resolution to the scenario is strong work ethic. When a customer has a complaint, it is easy to dismiss them, or just apologize and throw a refund or discount at them.  If you have a strong work ethic, it means you not only do your job, you make it a point to go the extra mile. While giving away money usually makes the customer happy, in the moment, it alone will not form the more personal relationships that lead to repeat business. Do the bonus work every time, even when it’s difficult and inconvenient. Going the extra mile: actually bothering to listen and understand the customer goes a long way to most people, and as a customer service representative, you need to go the extra mile at every opportunity. The same goes for any work environment, you will be noticed if you become known for going the extra mile.

12. Know Your Business

One of the best ways to go the extra mile is to become knowledgeable about the business or industry you’re in. When you understand other aspects of the business that you don’t necessarily work in; you can better assist both the customers and your coworkers. Understanding this can help you perform your job more efficiently.  Developing your own processes to adapt to the changing responsibilities of a working environment.  When you know how your boss organizes their time, and what is expected of them; you can better prioritize the tasks that you are assigned. 

Knowing the laws and policies of the company you work for can help you to solve problems more easily on your own, without the assistance of coworkers or supervisors. That way, the fewest number of people’s days are inconvenienced by the little hiccups that happen every day in every workplace.  Understanding other people’s jobs will allow you to assist them more effectively. For example: if you’re a secretary, and you need to generally support office staff; knowing how other people’s jobs work will help you prioritize when to complete each task.  When you understand the business you’re a part of; you can make suggestions and help to improve the system. This both serves to make everyone around you’s life easier And makes you an asset to your work environment.

13. Time Management

Time management is paramount to the success of every single assistant or customer service representative.  There is only so much time in one day or one shift. As an adult, whether you’re someone’s assistant, a waitress, a salesman, or a secretary: you’re going to spend a lot of your time at work; alone and in charge of how you’re spending that time. Planning out your day, and knowing how long tasks typically take, will help you do the best job you can do.

In the service industry: entry-level sales positions, and wait staff are usually responsible for most of the cleaning, and general building maintenance.  To keep the entire staff from having to stay late to finish tasks assigned earlier: a lot of things are left undone so that everyone can get out on time.  One needs excellent time management skills to schedule your time in a way that allows for every task to be completed. If it’s a busy day, you can multitask on simple projects.  For instance, if you’re on hold trying to make an appointment, get some filing done, just be prepared when whoever you’re calling picks up. If you do not manage your time well: your fellow staff members and supervisors will have to work overtime to cover what you’re not doing, or the cleanliness and (actually very important) side work is neglected.  

When planning out how to manage your time on a given day: you should keep a few important tips in mind.  Nothing is going to take the exact amount of time expected.  From day to day, any task can vary in the time it consumes.  People can eat for hours; and clients can call into your office, seemingly, just to talk your ear off; printers jam; etc. your schedule always needs to be adaptable and organized. Give yourself deadlines, tell yourself that you need to have a certain portion of the work done by a certain time. Try to overestimate how long something will take; it’s tempting to estimate how long something will take based on the quickest you’ve ever completed the task. This is a trap, don’t fall in

Little disasters happen all day long, you need to work time into your schedule to fix those disasters.  Adaptability, in conjunction with effective time management, will be the keys to dealing with issues throughout the workday.  Overestimate slightly, how long each task is going to take you, there will always be something that goes wrong in your day.  But the tasks you finish early will wind up giving you extra time to fix those disasters, or this time can be used to go the extra mile, and show you actually care. It will give you the opportunity to get extra tasks done that you normally can’t get to.

14. Make Yourself Indispensable

Make yourself as much an asset as possible to the workplace, there is nothing that makes one shine in customer service, like being indispensable; find something no one else is taking care of regularly, and take care of that task -- it can be a cleaning task, or proofreading all the paperwork before it’s submitted-- whatever isn’t getting done, just do it.  

15. This is A lot, Why Bother?

In the end, what makes a successful assistant, or customer service representative are: the soft skills that we all possess but few bother to try and master.  Being able to communicate effectively is the key to any good representative.  Strong empathy for, and understanding of: the people you deal with is paramount to that communication.  Going the extra mile every time you’re able is what makes the difference, you can’t just do extra things for people who are nice to you. A strong work ethic will push you to do things like: learning every aspect of the business you're in, and that will grow your understanding of how to best perform your job.  If you put in the effort to manage your time properly: you can save yourself time, and avoid the consequences of a lack of time management skills.

A career working with people is one of the most rewarding a person can experience. You can be working the call center for a fast food company, and still somehow manage to make someone’s week. Some of the best leaders in the world have made a point to practice empathy, understanding, work ethic and time management.  When those people were reflecting on their lives; many of them were more proud of the issues they solved with empathy and understanding; than the fights they won being belligerent, or even violent. These soft skills will help you understand people better and many report that practicing them actually improves their lives outside of work.

[evien-stark]

✧I Need You✧ 💙 Chapter 176💙

Sleeping in until ten in the morning was a luxury you were well aware of. However, waking up next to a still sleeping Tony? That was beyond luxury. One the both of you hadn’t had in a long while. It was why you didn’t wake him immediately, instead admiring the deep sleep as it still held him. The steady rise and fall of his bare chest. The peace that had enveloped him. 

It was an accident, of course, but when you settled your hand over his heart, he stirred. Perhaps ready to not be asleep any longer, even if unconsciously. It was instinct, you were mostly sure, that drove his own hand up, moving to cover yours. He then lifted, breathing out a long, low noise as he dragged his lips along the inside of your palm until finally pressing a real kiss at the center of your wrist, and you felt the curve of his smile against your skin. 

“Good morning.” You’d already disturbed the moment, so there was no harm in getting the first two words in. 

They caused a wider grin, and the drift of his lips from your palm to your wrist. “Good morning.” Echoed back in a rumble. Not fully awake. “Does that look as good on you as I think it does?” Surprising you with his sudden coherency, though his tone hadn’t changed. 

What he meant, of course… It was your first morning as a newly engaged couple. What an exhilarating feeling. 

So much so that you let it propel you. He was asking a question. You were keen to answer. Moving the blankets aside, you sat up and then settled yourself atop him, hands in a slow wander over his chest. His eyes strayed, as they always did. First to you, down to your chest, appreciative smile widening as his hands touched over your hips- but then they moved back up, same as his eyes.

He captured your hands in his, fingers twining, and held them low and center. Squeezing first, then he let go, his touch falling back to your waist. Your hands held in the air for a moment, confused what to do without him, but you got a very good idea- at least he seemed to think so, as you lifted your hands, running them down over your chest. 

Ring on full display. That’s what he’d asked about. So… why not show him? His sleepy smirk got the better of you. Easy to tell, as your hips shifted down against his, and his moved in turn. He sucked in a small, warm hitch from his parted lips. And after, “Looks even better.” 

“You think so?” Playing at coy as you gave your breasts a little squeeze. Not minding putting on a little show for him, eyes going purposefully half-lidded. 

His brows lifted quick and then back down, eyes growing dark. “I know so. But…” The tip of his tongue swiped out across his lower lip before he drew it between his teeth. His hands held you a little tighter, keeping you in place while his hips pressed up against yours again. “-I don’t think I’d mind testing the theory… if you’ll stay right there…” 

“Mn…” Less of a show now and more just… unable to help yourself from enjoying him. Your head fell just a little back, hair moving, a few stray pieces falling over your eyes. You couldn’t help the grin that went with the tease, “Right here?” Punctuating the statement with an impression of your hips. 

He huffed out a noise just short of a groan, eyes fluttering closed for just a second and then opening again to look up at you. “-alright, maybe not right there.” His grin was lazy and damnably handsome. “Maybe just up a little-” Fingers drawing a little tighter around your hips, helping you by propping you up. It was too much to ask that you not ogle while his biceps flexed. But once he had you right where he wanted you… 

The positioning was easy, and you almost thought about not giving him what he wanted.

Reveling in the feel of him teasing himself against you. Enough to throw you for a loop. Enough to make you unable to wait as long as you wanted. With an easy roll forward you sank down, filling yourself with him. The feeling overwhelmed you, your senses, and you hadn’t realized that your hand had shot down to clutch his until the slow brush over the backs of your fingers brought you forward.

He was admiring you, when you remembered to look. Smile warm and hazy. That was when you realized you couldn’t bear to be that far away from him, and eased forward, hands landing at the sides of his head against the sheets, mouth finding his in a deep kiss. His hands roamed up your back, holding you there as he pumped lazily into you.

This was what you wanted. It was what you needed.

Him. Always him.

                                                                       ---

While you wanted to stay away and pretend like it would be like that forever, you and Tony weren’t completely divorced from everyday life- a lot of which still had to do with The Avengers, much as you’d been trying to get out. And even more of it had to do with Stark Industries which was… sort of the same amount of taxing but in a different way. And very soon you became to appreciate just how stupid a request you’d made. Asking to keep things quiet was hard. Harder than you’d expected.

June began with meetings and annoying little things that you were capable of handling. Easier things than saving the world. The clean-up of it, though… that was something else. And every other moment you had to catch yourself from staring at the empty space on your finger. Hiding the engagement meant taking the ring off every morning before heading downstairs to your office. And it was like taking a piece of you off every time.

Maybe it was silly, but you just couldn’t help yourself. It especially didn’t help at all when Tony gave you those sad puppy dog eyes. It was no surprise he wanted to announce it. Show you off- show off your engagement to each other. Announce to the world here we are, and we’re not going anywhere. Only forward. That was what he wanted to do, and maybe in some parts you did, too. But… it was also nice. Coming back up to the Penthouse (the both of you having decided not to make the Facility a mainstay until the Tower was emptied out of all things Avenger… and maybe it’d make the transition easier, too, if everyone had actual time apart)-

When the days came to a close you’d come back up.

And Tony would be waiting. With the ring. And it was almost like proposing all over again. He’d slip it onto your finger and give you one of those smiles that melted your heart. Then the two of you would get lost in each other. With an energy and affection like that… 

All the more incentive to power through the day to keep your privacy. To keep the feeling of just being only each other’s alive. 

One of the days you found needing that extra strength came in the middle of the month, on an unassuming Tuesday. The 16th, to be exact. You had a meeting with Damage Control. The staff that had swarmed one of your conference rooms were buzzing. Talking amongst themselves. At least until you entered. You sat at the front of the table, folded your hands together, and let Maria Hill- 

Who seemed less like the Maria Hill you remembered- In that weird way that you wanted nothing to do with- -Maria took control of the meeting. She turned on the holograph display. Went through statistics. Numbers. Tallies on casualties and injured. Still missing. What the scorched earth that Ultron had left behind looked like. You sat there. Quietly. Holding yourself together. And when the silence came, when the lights went up, you pretended to be in control. 

“Tony sent out final tallies of assumed Sentries- we can’t be sure. Let’s overestimate. They should be in everyone’s inboxes. We need groups out scouring a twenty mile radius outside ground zero. I don’t want another meeting until we’ve hit quota. If a single one of those bots gets into somebody else’s hands, it’s trouble.” Your first priority was always the people. Well. That ask was going to take a long time. 

This wasn’t a situation like New York. Sokovia had been obliterated. And its people were now struggling to find places to be. Governments weren’t being as cooperative as you would have liked, something else that you were going to have to strongarm an initiative over. But that would take more time than you had in regards to clean up. So this time it had to be the other way around. 

“The world was privy to what Ultron had been doing. What he was. His scrap pieces will be sold to the next highest bidder. And the chances of them being kind are nil. From now until we get a final count, I want Damage Control working on reclaiming all his missing pieces. We don’t stop until there’s none of him left.” 

Yes, ma’am. It rang from every throat in that room. If this was any closer to something you didn’t want to be responsible for any longer, they’d have given you a salute, too. 

A headache was forming. The agents left. All except for Maria who stood with her arms crossed at the door. Waiting for you. And when you approached, she tilted her head. “Fury wants to speak with you.” 

“Which one?” This came out of you before you could stop it. This was not a discussion you wanted to have right now. And her shocked expression told you all you really needed to know. “He’s-” 

“I don’t have time for this. Whatever this little game is. And I really don’t care. Not anymore. So if it’s not urgent, let’s all just stay out of each other’s way, alright?” That was part of the life you didn’t want to have a foot in anymore. Fury- Talos- whoever this one was- you wanted none of it to matter.

Maybe if you kept telling yourself it didn’t, eventually it wouldn’t. 

                                                                      ---

Selfishly, among the other more important things, you started drawing up NDAs. Started working on the bid for land development. Started work to find a good developer. A great architect. An even better interior designer. All of whom were bound to the highest form of legal secrecy. And if that wasn’t enough… when you met with a handful of people, you let your presence dictate you were not someone to fuck around with. 

If a shred of any of what you were talking about somehow leaked to the press, they wouldn’t have to worry about fines or jail time. They’d have to worry about you. And there was no telling what you would do if they jeopardized your secure future with Tony. That was what you imparted to them. And they took it very seriously. 

Smart people that they were. 

House building wasn’t really your forte, so they’d have to draw up some plans after the land was reworked and just run them by you and Tony and keep working on them until it looked like whatever picture the both of you had in your heads. That was going to take a while. Which was fine. You and Tony weren’t in a rush to greet the new dawn. Not yet, anyway. 

But even more secret than private world building… 

You had a jeweler meet you for lunch after a downtown meeting. You’d been doing some very private research. On if… women were allowed to give men engagement rings. If that was a thing that even existed- well- sure it did- but. After a man proposed, were they still allowed to give a ring in return? 

...were you? You kind of wanted to. And you were keen to find out if you could perhaps make some sort of slim stackable. An engagement ring that suited his eventual wedding band. 

Tony, of course, could absolutely not find out about this. Half the fun of it would be surprising him with it. And, of course, not even the dumbest jeweler in the world would tell you no that’s not a thing that’s done. You were who you were, after all, and it was clear you wanted to do this-

But even clearer than that was money. And you were willing to spend… whatever a proper engagement ring that matched with a wedding band cost. Something of which you had no idea. However, you at least didn’t get the sense that the guy was trying to pull one over on you. No. Instead he seemed genuine and delighted to be able to help you. He said he’d draw up something, and have it to you by tomorrow based on your babbling at him over what you thought might look good. 

You’d let him leave fifteen minutes ahead of you, so as to not be suspicious. And you were busy tucking the freshest NDA of the bunch into your bag as you stepped out onto the curb. Happy was waiting for you. 

And so was Ms. Christine Everheart. 

A true shame. You’d almost made it to July without any real incidents to speak of. 

“Can I get a quote from you?” She already had her recorder out. 

“If it’s something important, Pepper will forward it to me.” You were almost in the car. Happy had the door open for you. He was eying Christine down pretty hard- 

Not that it fazed her at all. “I’m blacklisted from your office. We both know that. Why don’t you tell me how you feel about being directly responsible for the deaths in Sokovia? If not that, can I get your reaction to a series of polls WHiH has been releasing- on the general public’s opinion on whether or not vigilante superheroes should be held accountable for the kind of destruction the Sokovians suffered?” 

“If it wasn’t this, it’d be something else.” You were half in the car.

“Excuse me? Hey- maybe you’d care to comment on how dangerous Bruce Banner is- and talk about the deaths he caused in Johannesburg?” 

And half back out. Mistake. Huge mistake. But you just couldn’t help yourself. “I said- if it wasn’t this, it’d be something else. Because that’s what signs your paychecks. An editor over you who tells you to go out and bother people. Maybe for causes you don’t even believe in. But that doesn’t matter as long as the cash keeps coming in, right, Christine? You’ll blame everyone and anyone just to try and get a front page story- or- get something with a high click-rate, anyway. Have I mentioned how terrible it is that they pulled your daytime show? Must make you really desperate to get something juicy. Well, here’s a quote for you, you can go fuck yourself. And be grateful for the people bigger than you who would risk their lives to save you no matter what you said about them. Because I sure as hell know I could never count on you to do the right thing. Not since 2009, anyway. It’s been a long fall from grace.” 

Happy couldn’t get the door closed fast enough. 

                                                                      ---

Tony was there, right as you got off the elevator. Welcoming you home with an arm around your shoulder- and a soothingly tight hug after that. “Long day, honey?” 

There was only one reason he’d ask something like that. Not that it wasn’t obvious. “What’d she put up on her website?” Mumbling into his shoulder, hands reaching up to clutch at his shirt. 

“Who knows? Seems like somebody DDoSed it.” 

Tilting your head up, you tried to give him an unsatisfied look. “Tony…” 

“Yes, dear?” 

“We can’t suppress the media.” Really, that was the last thing you needed. To get Stark Industries in the middle of some giant conspiracy about suppressing stories. No. No you weren’t sure you could deal with something that huge. 

But his slight smirk made you feel almost okay with it. “Are you insinuating I had something to do with it?” 

“I’m saying I know you did. She bothered me. And she brought Bruce into it. Now her website doesn’t work. That has you written all over it.” That was about as much common sense as it got. 

He readjusted, putting an arm over your shoulder, walking you slowly into the kitchen. “It actually doesn’t.” Waving his other hand in a little shrug. “-not in a traceable way, anyway.” 

“Tony-” He had the best of intentions, all done with love, of this you had no doubt. But he was an idiot sometimes. 

“If you want me to say I’m sorry, I won’t.” 

“I don’t. I know you’re not. I’m not either.” Stopping at the kitchen island, you pressed your hands a little more against his chest and peered up at him. “But- don’t do that again. We don’t need that type of backlash and… I’m not scared of Christine. Or her readers- watchers. Whatever they are. Her fans.” 

His next smile was an easy one as his hands settled on your hips. “I know you’re not. And, for the record, her whatever they are don’t seem to get along with her, either. So you’ve got that going for you.” 

You couldn’t help the tilt of your head. “How do you mean?” 

“FRIDAY, pull up those polls Ms. Everheart was talking about.” At his direction, the tablet implanted in the counter lit up and he tapped his fingers on it and then drew it upwards into the air. “Seems like the general public is still on our side.” 

It was a little too much to ask that your eyes not glaze over those numbers and questions. The graphs were a little friendlier to read. All pressing questions though… things like are you in favor of the regulation of superheroes? And who should pay for the damages caused by superheroes? And… do you feel safer with superheroes? 

All in favor of your people.

And perhaps a very telling one… 

Asking people if they felt like you were being responsible with your resources and time… if people felt like you were genuine. 

Overwhelmingly yes. 98%. In favor of you. 

The people were still on your side. That was… very very good. 

You raised a hand up, pushing the graphs out of the air until they disappeared completely. Tony then caught that hand, reaching into his pocket with his other so that he could retrieve your ring. As he slid it onto your finger you couldn’t help your smile. Feeling that same sense of completeness that you’d come to crave. 

“Let’s keep the public on our side, shall we? And not squash media we don’t agree with.” You moved your now ringed hand to cup his cheek in your palm. He just kept on smiling. “Like I said. Doesn’t have me anywhere on it.” 

“It better not.” 

“It doesn’t.” 

Leaning up on tiptoe, you pressed a light kiss to his lips. And- when you were mostly finished, though not by his say-so, “Do you think it’s too late to do something for the 4th of July?” 

“A date?” Mumbled out as he kept trying to kiss you. 

“Sure- but- also-” Having a hard time speaking, as kisses grew more frequent and urgent. ...and suddenly you’d been lifted up onto the counter. “-how about some fireworks? From the Tower- just a little something for people-” 

“We can arrange that-” Somehow his shirt had been taken off. 

Probably by the same mysterious force that had your legs wrapped tight around his waist. “-remind me when we’re finished to make some calls-” 

“You remind me-” 

“-I’ll remind you to remind me-” 

“-sure- sure- sounds great-” 

When the two of you had gotten naked was beyond you. And not important. 

The only thing that was important was that you were home. You were his. And he was yours. 

[takillas]

A Viceo On the Internet, Scene 14: Number One, Men

“Number one, Men. This entry might surprise most of our viewers, but there are several reasons it made the top of our list. Each item on this list affects men far more negatively than women.”

  “Let’s start off of child care. In 2033 there was a ruling by the Supreme Court of the United States which said that parents had a duty of care to their children, instead of a right to be a parent. The status quo at the time implied that children were property of the parents, and no human being could be a property of another. This began a shift from parental agreement care, when parents split up, to prioritizing the well-being of children. Most times, the income of each parent decided the custody.”

“This brings us to work, or more accurately the lost their of, for men. Most statistics site men making roughly eighty cents on the dollar compared to women. However, there are several factors that skew these numbers. First, if you don’t include at the top five percent of all earners, men make only fifteen cents on the dollar comparatively. This number is calculated by taking the total income annually of the working man and dividing it by the eligible working man. The same is done for women. Some people don’t like this method, though. So here’s another telling statistic. If you look at human men, who are married to human women, they make roughly ninety-seven cents on the dollar. The only way for a human man to do well is to marry a human woman and have her get him a suitable job.”

“This brings us to the dating world. The often repeated statistic of a ninety-five percent drop in matches after being in a relationship with and aminoid is true. The thing is, it affects men and women differently. The average woman on a dating app will match with 4000 men a week, so after a relationship with an aminoid it would be around 200. Further, only about fifty of these men will talk with her. For men, though, it’s a lot more bleak. At most, they can expect to be matched with about sixty women a week. A man may never get a match if it turns out he was in a relationship with an aminoid.”

  “What's worse is everything surrounding these numbers. When women get with an aminoid, they stop dating humans for good. Men have to date aminoids no matter how they feel. Further, how these relationships are exposed is different too. While women will just flat out say it, men are usually outed on social media. And many times it's wrong. A lot of times they'll get outed for a night out with his older sister for a birthday.”

  “And it gets worse. If you're over 21, don't have any college education, and haven't been with a human girl you won't be, ever. This highlights the massive education gap in the western world. The US, only forty percent of men complete high school, and among men there is a thirty percent illiteracy rate. And who could blame them for not caring? It's not like they will put the education to good use, anyway.”

“This leads us to arguably the most uncomfortable discussion, the disabled. Now I’m sure many, many people benefit from needing an aminoid while having legitimate disabilities. These are not the people I’m talking about. However, an increasing number of men are being diagnosed with PTSD symptoms. It’s not a mystery though, we know why it’s happening. Men are far more likely to be involved in an abusive relationship in their lifetime than women are. And this isn't from other men or aminoids because men don't raise their own kids anymore, and the only thing aminoids are guilty of is loving their siblings too much. This leaves moms, sisters, and domestic partners. A 2048 study backs this up.”

“Did you know that the relationship between organized crime and aminoids was also more complicated than we originally let on? There is mounting evidence to suggest that the Chinese and Japanese breeding authority have been smuggling nekos and inus using these criminal syndicate. We now believe that this was the primary reason nekos rose against the cartels.”

  “Speaking of the breeding authorities, they have fired every doctor that has been caught having sex with a female aminoid. The breeding authorities have cracked down hard in the last six months too. Over two million parents have been euthanized since the crackdown started. However, that doesn’t speak to how the men are treated. For my aminoid viewers, I’m sorry that this problem isn’t more well known. Every single male raised in the breeding authority is raped by the nurses. It’s not just a few times either, the average is over 150. And they encourage this behavior, as it teaches them to be under total control of their partners. And their lives truly are on the line; if they don’t comply with the nurse’s demand, they will die.”

“This problem isn't limited to aminoids either. An often repeated statistic is that a staggering twenty-five percent of women will be raped in their lifetime. What this doesn’t say however is how much this has dropped over the last thirty years. In 2020, sixty-six percent of women were sexually assaulted before the age of eighteen. Today, sixty-one percent of men are raped before the age of twenty-one. Again, it's hard to blame nekos and inus for this either, as they'll be put to death if they get turned in. Many of you may decry this statistic and say many of these men were drunk, at some party, or it was a misunderstanding with a girl that liked them, but keep in mind thirty years ago women were told the similar things when they brought up rape charges against men.”

  “The question I have now is, why did all this happen? I think the answer is very simple; I think it’s economics. Without the ability to use their own resources men feel like they don't have agency which leads to the aforementioned problems. And truth be told it's far easier now for a man to get a girlfriend or wife now than it's ever been, and these aminoids meet all of their needs in the process. I'll admit we have a lot of work to do, our aminoid sisters have been cleaning up our society's mess for over twenty years now. They deserve better than what we've given them. So I hope you enjoyed that video…”

Myra shuts it off. Eliza huffs. “And here I thought she would take responsibility. What was I thinking,” she asks sarcastically. Julia clicks her tongue. “I mean, they abuse men, toss them aside, and are totally devalued as objects, but hey, we gave ‘em sexy girls with great racks. So it makes up for it.”

William looks at Myra, “I didn't like that video.”

Elijah laughs. “Nobody liked it.”

Myra texts Vanessa, “Cringe worthy, more like vomit inducing.” She gets a, “LOL,” a moment later. Myra smiles.

  William lies on her shoulder again. “Can you guys teach me that name thing?”

Eliza shrugs. “You mean the honorifics?” He nods and then Eliza smiles. “Sure we'll teach everyone.”

[stopbullyingatschools]

Op-Ed: Only adults can stop bullying in schools

Most probably, you are familiar with the following situation: a group of children stands and tosses a hat to each other, and a boy runs from one to another and tries to grab it. Adults, including teachers, often think children have so much fun and their games are just like that. But it's one thing when they threw my hat today, tomorrow - yours, and the day after tomorrow – someone else’s. Yes, in that case, you might think that this is a game. But if this is done every day in relation to only one child, it is already bullying.

Often, parents and teachers think that bullying is just childish naughtiness. They close their eyes to this problem and try to stay away from arguments. But this position held by adults is wrong.

Nowadays, there is a lot of information about this phenomenon in mass media. Children persecute each other, parents argue with offenders and teachers, and some of the students even bring cold steel to their school. Why does it happen?

There has always been the problem of bullying in schools. The fact is that not all cases became public. According to the UNESCO Institute of Statistics, one third of the globe’s youth is bullied; this ranges from as low as 7% in Tajikistan to 74% in Samoa and is pervasive across all regions and countries of different income levels. For example, 44% of adolescents in Afghanistan experience bullying, as do 35% of adolescents in Canada, 26% in Tanzania and 24% in Argentina.

Often, adults - both teachers and parents - do not know what to do when a child is being bullied. They are lost. And some mums and dads do not even know what is happening to their son or daughter at school. If you are a parent and begin to notice that your son or daughter suddenly starts to be rude to you, stops doing homework, and generally announces that he or she no longer wants to go to school, keep in mind that bullying may be the reason for this behavior. It is possible that your child is being bullied by a classmate and, from this, the child is under constant stress. In this case, your child's behavior is understandable. When children abruptly lose educational motivation, they do not want to develop and they stop being interested in what they liked before - all of these are the consequences of bullying. And it should alert parents in the first place.

Bullying is the repetitive aggressive behavior of one person or group of people and is a very cruel form of treatment. By inflicting physical harm or causing moral suffering to someone, the offenders enjoy it in a way.

There are three main forms of bullying: physical abuse, verbal abuse, and social isolation. Physical abuse is when a child is beaten, kicked, locked up in a room, or when his things are damaged. Verbal abuse is verbal humiliation, insults, or giving offensive nicknames. Social isolation is when children do not want to sit at the same desk with you, stand next to you at a physical education class, or even talk to you.

Some parents believe that, when their child is being teased, he should deal with this problem on his own. From parents, you can often hear, “Why are you sneaking? You must decide everything yourself! I do not want to raise a sissy out of you and every time interfere on every occasion.” Or, “Try to earn the sympathy of the offender, win his favor, negotiate with him.” Also, parents can give this piece of advice: “Well, ignore him, do not pay attention, then he will let you alone.” And fathers generally like to advise the following: “Give a rebuff to him. Be stronger, be braver.” Parents simply do not understand that their child, who is the object of bullying, no longer has the strength to resist this pressure. Indeed, as a rule, not one type of bullying is used against him but several at once.

The fact is that bullying affects not only the child being bullied but also the children watching the situation, or bystanders. They think, “if no one stops the bullying, then this is normal and it should be so.” This does not pass without a trace for the bully, too; reality is distorted in his mind, which makes it more difficult for him later to build relationships in a team or family. Having once felt the power over others, he gets pleasure from it.

Adults must be able to distinguish bullying from conflict. So, in a conflict, both parties bear the same responsibility for what happens in their relationship and can evenly influence the situation - this is a one-time action. Bullying, on the other hand, is a purposeful, repetitive action committed for the purpose of causing pain and receiving a pleasure in return. Conflict has a reason, bullying doesn't.

Sometimes, we hear from the parents, “So what, children shouldn't be in conflict at all?” But if conflict is the normal dynamic of the group's development, then bullying is a pathology of its development. If the conflict can be resolved, then bullying can only be stopped. And adults must definitely interfere; the children themselves will not improve the situation. It is important to get the bullied child a chance to talk. Yes, it's not easy. They may be afraid of bringing up the topic or seeing the indifference of adults. It is also difficult for teachers in this regard. Sometimes, even very good teachers shrug their shoulders: “We do not know what to do with this ...”;

A child who has found himself in a bullying situation should, first of all, be told, “You must not be silent!” At this moment, it is important for him to trust someone, to speak out, because bullying is not a shame, not a disgrace, and in general the child is not guilty of anything, which means that he no longer needs to endure. When working with a child who has suffered from bullying, you should try to help him raise his self-esteem, such as by saying that he is good and clever. It is important for him to hear these words from his parents. Surely, it is necessary to explain that the situation in which he finds himself does not make him better and stronger, it only hinders his development.

Sometimes, parents transfer their child to another school. But first you need to try to resolve the issue with the teachers. If necessary, involve the school administration. You can deal with bullying. But it's a long journey and sometimes a difficult one. And here it is important to consider that, at a younger age, this process is easier. However, if adults do not intervene in the situation and remain indifferent, the consequences can be quite serious.

Most often, children with some peculiarities become the object of bullying. For example, they have colored hair, protruding ears, or some kind of physical disabilities. A child with mental disabilities from a dysfunctional family can also become a victim. In turn, a bully can be a child who really wants to achieve leadership positions in a team and to be in the top roles. And, unfortunately, they do not know how to achieve this in socially acceptable ways - for example, by means of success in sports, studies, or social activities. Very often, children who are abused by their parents become aggressors. Thus, the child relieves his stress by acting out on his peers.

It is important to remember that bullying is not a two-person problem between a bully and victim. This is a problem for the entire team, for the entire system. If we are talking about a school class, then this situation needs to be addressed at the level of adults, not children. By standing together and preventing tossing someone’s hat, the number of depressed and suicidal children can drop along with those who fear for their life while attending school.